The name has an immediate effect upon Byerly. He grows suddenly very stiff, and very still, his face utterly immobile and his lips thin. But it’s not from anger, or even from fear; his grip falls away from his knife, rather than tightening on it. It’s something else - something more haunted.

“I…” He takes a breath in, then lowers his gaze. “Wartime is a very bad time for a duel, Señor Levati. Is there no other type of satisfaction you’d accept?”