“But I—”

“And you can thank whatever pagan deities you pray and blaspheme before that Sir Los wasn’t there. He’d have gutted you the moment you drew your dagger. Gods!  Have you not learned any sense in all the time you’ve been among us?”

“They attacked me,” Dain began. “I had to defend myself.”

“Brawl with your fists, you dolt, when the prince is there.” “I had little choice in the matter,” Dain said stiffly, his back rigid with resentment. “I did not start the fight.”

“And what does that matter?” Sir Roye said without a trace of compassion. “Sir Polquin has taught you that a knight commands his combat. If honor requires, you move it to a place that’s—” “And if you have no choice?” Dain asked hotly. “If there’s no honor shown?” Sir Roye’s single eye was stony. “Honor is your responsibility. You don’t don it or discard it according to the situation. That’s where you will never be one of us, boy.”

“Enough of this talk. I am no keeper of yours, nay, and no teacher either. You have enough of those, and your head must be made of bone for all the good their work has done.”

Dain opened his mouth, but Sir Roye held up his hand for silence.  “As soon as you’re done with his lordship, you go collect your gear and report to housekeeping. They’ll house you elsewhere than the fosters’ room. You never should have been in there in the first place.”

His censure stung. Dain looked down, frowning. “I am glad to get away from Mierre and Kaltienne.” It was the truth he spoke, but he knew what Sir Roye meant. No doubt the protector thought he should be sleeping in the stables, if even in the hold at all. Glancing up, Dain added, “Could Thum and I share a chamber?”

“Nay,” Sir Roye said with a snort of disgust. “Thum, for all his spindly ways, has at least enough sense to stay out of trouble. He doesn’t need to mix with the likes of you. None of them do. I told his lordship you’d bring grief to the place and sure enough you have.”