The papers look real enough; Sir Lysander's forgery artist certainly knew what he was doing. Folding the stack of parchment back upon itself, I hastily place it into my doublet. Lysander's delivery boy looks as if he is about to speak, but I quickly silence him, tossing a small pouch of coin in his direction.

I pain in letting the money go, but no sense in letting a possible lucrative business connection go sour so quickly. This boy should have had the other half of my payment, but he insists his master wishes to deliver it in person.

Exchanging money in the middle of the tournament faire is risky at best. This Sir Lysander maybe stupid, or he may just be that confident in his ability to flaunt his power in Lincolnshire, even in front of the young lord, Alexander Clarke and the Queen herself. I shall see which tomorrow.

Papers claiming my line of nobility. Entry into a tournament of knights. Armour fitting of an Errant Knight. Lysander so far has provided everything, except my payment. I am not pleased. I've not survived so far from the Emerald Isle and my family being so reckless.

But to cross blades with Sir Ian Stewart, the son of an Earl to the North, legally in a tournament for the right to help teach and protect the child Prince. That will make this small concession almost a pleasure to bear.

"Go now, and forget my face."

The boy turns to leave, and I think how to protect myself I should end his life here and now. My hand wanders to the hilt of my punch dagger suspended behind my back.

But how would Lysander respond to the loss of one of his own pages?

Seeing as he has hired me to remove Sir Stewart from the tournament by any means necessary, I don't think he'll mind the loss.

My hand silently pulls the blade from its sheath.

"Boy! One more thing..."