“One move and I’ll slit your throat. Die handsome or live honest. What will it be?” As one the crowd hissed and groaned when Silhara slowly carved a half-moon design in Balian’s right cheek. The man, beaten, humiliated and scarred, fainted. When he was done, the Master of Crows stood and tossed Balian’s knife so that it stuck in the ground near his head. No mercy softened his voice. No remorse colored his tone. “Don’t fret, boy,” he said. “No one will notice it if you fuck in the dark.”