Qown’s Turn. The ruins of an estava, Barsine Banner, Jorat, Quur.

Ninavis scowled as Count Janel walked away. “Hey, we’re not done talking.”

The count ignored her and curled up to sleep.

Ninavis started to hobble over to her, but cursed in pain and stopped.

Brother Qown sighed. “You’re so stubborn.” He offered Ninavis his arm. “Would it kill you to stay off your leg for a few days?”

“Given what we just left behind us, I’d say the answer is yes.” Ninavis limped over to Janel.

“Save your strength,” Dorna said. “She’s asleep. You ain’t waking her now.”

“Hey,” Ninavis said. When Janel didn’t respond, she screamed it.

A few people at the main camp looked over. “You need something, boss?” Dango shouted back.

Ninavis balanced on her good leg and bent down to shake Janel’s shoulder. The young noble gave no response.

“Dorna’s right,” Brother Qown said. “You won’t wake her. She’ll stay sleeping until the morning, and I’ve never seen anything hasten the process.”

Ninavis drew back, startled. “Priest, she’s not breathing.”

“Oh, she is,” he said. “Just slowly. And please, call me Brother Qown. I hate being called priest.”

“She’s not, priest. I can see she’s not breathing.”

Sir Baramon drew closer, listening to the conversation with growing alarm. “What magic is this?”

Dorna shrugged as she smoothed out her riding skirts. “She’s cursed. Ain’t nobody spreading those damn stories about ‘Danorak’ ever mention the curse?”

“What? But—”

Dorna gestured toward Janel’s sleeping form. “She’s asleep. The priest here says she ain’t dead right now, but you couldn’t tell it by my sight. She don’t breathe. Her body grows cold. Dead to the world, and that’s not just a figure of speech. Dead to the Living World. This estava could fall around our ears and she’d wake as much as any corpse would. Except when dawn comes, she’ll be right on her feet again, like she’d had a solid night of sleeping sound.”

Ninavis’s grip on Janel’s shoulder tightened. “I just assumed she was a witch.”

“Excuse me?” Dorna raised an eyebrow.

“Because she’s so strong. I thought she was a witch.”

“My foal don’t summon no demons!” Dorna looked ready to start her own fight.

“I mean—” Ninavis sighed. “I mean she uses magic. That makes her a witch, doesn’t it?” She waved a hand toward a crate on the ground. “Help me over there, would you, priest?”

She ignored his sigh as Brother Qown helped her over to the impromptu seat.

“The Count of Tolamer does not use magic,” Sir Baramon retorted.

Dorna and Brother Qown shared a look.