Marji yanked Jora into a narrow alley.

“Where are you trotting off to? You’re just making yourself look guiltier than you already do.”

“Marji… if anybody finds out about me and Saliri… there’s no way I’ll wash this off me. Especially with the dagger situation.” Jora pulled his scarf off his face, raking over his short beard.

“Who else knew?”

Jora opened his mouth, then shut it again to let a peddler pass.

“From my end, only you. If she told anyone… I wouldn’t know.”

Marji scoffed. “That’d be stupid of a noble’s wife to air her dirty laundry.”

“Are you sure about the blade, Marji?” Jora asked, the panic edging his voice.

Marji nodded. “You don’t see something like that every day.”

A momentary silence settled, but a thought didn’t leave Marji alone.

“Jora, are you sure it was that same blade that you sold?”

Jora groaned, throwing his hands up. “Gods, Marji, may Tahzara take you… here, this is my blade.” He shoved his dagger at him. “This is the one I wear. No other. And just so you know,” he went on, tucking the weapon back in its sheath, “the only blade I used last night was the one in my pants. And last time I checked, it wasn’t deadly.”

Marji’s lips curved into a grin. “All right, all right. Perhaps you should keep that one sheathed, my friend. Told you she’d be trouble.”

Jora rolled his eyes so hard they nearly rattled loose. “I’ve been seeing her…” he stopped for a breath to rein in his voice. “I’ve been seeing her for almost a year, Marji. This was never an issue. How was I supposed to know her husband would get himself killed?”

Marji steered them towards the southern gate, across the market alleys and pulled him into a tucked away tavern. The building was run-down on the outside as much as on the inside. Paint chipped off the walls, the wooden panelling and tables were worn by years of use and lack of upkeep. Oil lamps flickered on the tables. The thick walls kept the heat of the summer day out and the indoors cool.

They sat at a table by the window, overlooking a small inner courtyard. At Marji’s signal, the bartender brought them two large mugs of strong ale. Jora downed half of it in two gulps, wiping foam off his moustache. Marji sipped his slower, laughing into his cup.

“We need to find who bought that blade,” Jora said, slamming his empty mug down.

“Do you even remember who you sold it to?” Marji asked, brow raised.

A long, inarticulate groan left Jora’s mouth. “Maybe…”

Marji groaned back. “Maybe? That’s not going to cut it, genius.”

The tavern had grown louder. Someone was laughing too hard at a corner table; a lute struck a wrong note and died. Outside, the first merchants of the day shouted prices at passersby.

“Ah, you know what?” Marji said suddenly. “Azahir is leading the investigation.”

Jora froze mid-sip, his eyes lit up. “That Azahir?”

Marji nodded wordlessly.

“Oh, that is good, right?” Jora said, a sliver of hope creeping into his voice.

Marji only shrugged. “Is it, though?” he asked, tilting his head. “If I recall correctly, his woman ditched him after having slept with you. And then you ditched her. Or is my memory tricking me?”

Jora blushed, burying his face in his palms. “That wasn’t really my fault, though!” He protested. “To my defence, I didn’t know she was seeing him. In fact, I didn’t know she was seeing anyone at all! When I knew, I cut it off.”

“I’m not sure Azahir remembers it quite like you do,” Marji said, smirking over his mug. “And I doubt he’s in a forgiving mood.”

Jora dragged his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes wearily. Earlier that day, when he was enjoying Saliri’s company and warmth, he couldn’t have imagined the day would take this turn.

Marji’s eyes caught on Jora’s fingers, his eyes narrowed.

“Jora, where is your ring?”

Jora looked at his hands, at first convinced he was wearing it where he always does: on his index finger. But neither of his fingers carried any jewellery. The band of tanned skin on his finger was glaringly pale.

“Shit… I must have forgotten it at the caravan,” he said with the certainty of a gambler betting his last coin.

Marji finished the last few sips of his ale. “You sure you haven’t forgotten it somewhere else?”

Jora’s head snapped up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Marji only raised a brow.

“Fuck,” Jora breathed. “If anyone finds it there…”

“They’ll know.”

Marji leaned back in his chair, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You know, jewellery suits you. But those shiny things have a way of getting a man in trouble.”

Jora dragged a hand through his hair, his pulse still hammering. “It’s just a damn ring.”

“Mhm.” Marji’s gaze stayed fixed on him. “A ring with your initials carved in it. You had it made custom, or am I wrong?”

The color drained from Jora’s face. He slumped back, muttering a curse under his breath.

Marji didn’t press. He didn’t have to. The silence between them said enough.