him, then jammed an arm under Elston’s neck and hauled his head upward, so that his forearm could pressure Elston’s windpipe. The guards circling the ring hooted and catcalled again, but as Elston’s face turned red, and then redder, they fell silent. As Elston’s opponent increased the pressure, Elston began to gag.
“Hold!” old Vincent, the Queen’s swordmaster, called, limping out onto the practice floor. “Let him go.”
With some reluctance—Niya could see that reluctance, though she wasn’t sure anyone else in the room would have been able to—the dark-haired man released Elston. He held his hands up, a gesture of harmlessness, then retreated across the practice floor and waited.
“Bloody hell,” Mhurn muttered at the far edge of the floor.
“Carroll!” Givens called; he had moved up to stand beside old Vincent. “Over here now! And you, the new lad—Mace, is it?—you come too!”
Mace went, following Carroll. Several of the other guards moved in to help Elston up; Elston shot Mace a look of pure venom that would have petrified another man, but Mace seemed not even to mark it.
“Nerves of steel,” Elyssa remarked quietly, and Barty grunted agreement.
“I am Captain Givens,” Givens told Mace. “Head of the Queen’s Guard. Who are you? Where are you from?”
“My name is Mace Wyler, sir. I’m of the Almont.”
“No shame in that, lad,” old Vincent muttered, inspecting Mace with a gleam in his eye. “Plenty of farm boys here; Kibby and Mhurn—”
“Where are you from?” Givens demanded again.
“The northern plain, sir,” Mace replied. “A village called Grey’s Close.”
“Barty?” Givens called.
“Aye, I know Grey’s Close,” Barty replied, stepping forward. “Who’s your lord?”
“Lord Wells, sir.”
“And what do you grow?”
“Cattle, sir. Forty-two head on my family’s acreage.”
Barty nodded to Givens, but the Captain clearly wasn’t convinced.
“Carroll! Where did you find this man?”
Carroll began to answer, but Mace cut him off.
“I came to New London to try my hand at boxing, sir. Carroll saw me in an amateur bout in the Gut.”
He’s lying, Niya thought, and for the first time all day, the problem of Arlen Thorne retreated a bit from her mind. He was a very good liar, this Mace, and Niya wasn’t sure that anyone not trained by the Fetch would be able to see it, but she knew instinctively.
“Is this true, Carroll?” Givens demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve no taste for blood sports, boy. What were you doing in the Gut?”
“I went there on my last day off. I’ve—” Carroll’s voice faltered, and he looked a little shamefaced. “I’ve met a girl.”
Barty snorted. The rest of the guards snickered, and Dyer rubbed Carroll’s head gleefully before Carroll batted him away. But Niya didn’t laugh. She was watching Mace, trying to push past the layers of deception she sensed here . . . not only from Mace himself but from Carroll as well. They were telling a lie, and telling it together.
Is he a spy? she wondered. An assassin?
She turned to Elyssa, to see what the Princess made of the new man, but Elyssa was looking at the ceiling, her eyes glazed, as though she were bored.
“I want him,” old Vincent announced abruptly.
“What for?” Givens demanded. “He may be a decent enough boxer . . . though what we’ve seen here was closer to wrestling. But his swordcraft is atrocious.”
“Swordcraft is easy. Footwork isn’t,” old Vincent replied. “You can’t teach reflex. I’ve spent my life training fighters, and believe me, this is good material. I can teach him to wield a sword.”
“Well, I don’t want him on the Queen’s detail. Barty would have to be willing to take him.”
They both turned and looked at Barty, who stood silent for a minute.
“Why are you here, lad?” he finally asked Mace. “Why do you want to be a Queen’s Guard?”
Niya turned to the newcomer and saw an interesting thing: he was warring with himself. There was something he was meant to say, but he did not want to say it. After a long moment, he shrugged and replied, with an odd dignity, “I’m not sure I do, sir. But I’m tired of fighting for no reason. If I raise my hand to another man again, I would like to have some purpose behind it.”
Some truth there, Niya thought. Barty considered Mace for another long moment, then said, “I’ll take him. But he’s your responsibility, Carroll. You teach him the ropes and rules.”
Carroll nodded, flashing a brief smile at Mace. Mace didn’t smile back.
“But he’d damned well better learn quick with that sword,” Barty muttered. “You, Mace! Come on over here!”
The hulking man approached,