"But how are we going to catch him?" Tull asked. His voice kept itself low though the question pressed hard, and his hand hovered near the hilt he had taken earlier, a habit that grew stronger whenever the city pulled its cloak tight around them. The alley held its stale breath. A loose shutter clicked somewhere above and went still again.
"I told you, she'll get him. The problem is the aftermath… once the fight breaks… it won't be nice, also I think sir prince here gotta hide, can't have the royal die on us here…" Redd said. He did not look at them when he spoke. His head angled as a hound's does when it tests the wind, and the rough imprint of the collar about his throat rose and fell with the slow measure of his breath.
"I'm more than capable of carrying my own weight. So you don't have to worry," the prince said. He did not raise his voice. The certainty traveled quiet, a line of iron under cloth, and it settled the air for a heartbeat.
