Davide sat in a faldstool opposite the lowest cell in the tower, cradling his tightly wrapped left forearm and keeping watch on the lowest cell's occupant. "Can someone fetch me a blanket!" He called.

Inside the cell, Duncan stirred. He let out a small groan and forced himself to sit up. His hand went up to his temple. "You piece of shit," he said. "I hope you bleed out."

He took another sip, watching the other man warily. "A healer bandaged it. Would you like me to call her back in for you?" He asked.

"What is wrong with you?" said Duncan--now more frustrated than angry. "You don't think the countess is going to see this as anything other than it is?"

Davide looked at him balefully. "That you stole a child and threatened to kill me when I confronted you?" He asked. "That you said I would fuck up your plans if I was dead?" He asked, as if he was confused. "I don't know how the Countess is going to see it. Not really my place. I just make the arrests."

"I said it would fuck up my plans if I had to kill you," Duncan explained patiently, as if to a child. "I would like to stay in the countess's good graces long enough to see my child born and go back home with my wife. A murder charge tends to interrupt that sort of thing. Even if it's just a tallfolk. Now if you just happened to drop dead, I wouldn't give a shit."

"Funny, I think the same thing about you." He set his drink on the ground and stretched his good arm. "Do you want to tell me why you took her?" He asked.

He rolled his eyes wearily. "I didn't take her. I didn't take anyone. And unless Her Majesty also named you her Royal High Inquisitor at the same time she allegedly made you a member of her guard, I don't have to answer to you. Get the Queen in here," he told him. "I fucking dare you."

Davide nodded. "All right. I've got no problem telling the Queen everything I know." He replied, calmly. "I told the guards, who will tell the Countess, and the Earl." He spread his hands, wincing. "I'll tell the bard." He shrugged and winced because of the bite at his neck. "I'm going to have to anyway. Won't be anything like the explaining you have to do."

"My explaining consists of 'I was walking down the hall when this clodpoll tried to pound my face in.'" He touched the mark on his face, as if mentioning it reminded him. It was bruising, but nothing like it should have done. "Gods, no wonder Dee was so interested in getting shut of you. You're not jealous, you're completely woodly."