“We can’t stay here.” Ninavis limped over in their direction. “We don’t have enough supplies for all these people. Folks didn’t grab near enough before they left. Nobody is prepared for snow. It never snows here.”

Janel leaned back on one arm. She nursed a strong cup of tea from Dorna’s stores, but in general, everyone had agreed to half rations. No one thought it wise to assume when the unnatural storm would end.

“When the storm passes, you should return to Mereina,” Janel said.

“Mereina?” Ninavis looked appalled. “Where the demons are?”

“Where the demons were,” Janel corrected. “Not anymore. And you know the army is traveling there next. You can’t just abandon the place, Ninavis. It’s your home now. Where else would you go?”

“You keep saying ‘you,’” Ninavis said. “I’m noticing a distinct lack of ‘us.’”

Janel sighed. “I’m not your baron. When Kalazan returns…”

“If Kalazan returns,” Ninavis snapped. “We don’t know—”

Janel looked over toward where Ganar Venos (who no longer had to pretend to be Gan the Miller’s Daughter) helped with the cooking. “Keep your voice down, please.”

Ninavis’s expression softened. “Fine. But you’re just leaving?”

“Someone has to try to warn the others. I’m not just talking about the army either. Someone has to make sure people know what happened here. My people and I will go to Atrine and speak with Duke Xun.”

Dorna looked up from her dice. “Atrine? Oh, foal. We can’t! I know you told Arasgon to meet us there, but it’s a terrible risk…” She didn’t look behind as she slapped at Sir Baramon’s hand. “Don’t be changing those dice. I’ll cut you. See if I don’t.”

“I would never!” Sir Baramon protested, while moving his hand away from the dice. “Um, why would going to the dominion’s capital be a risk?”

Dango nodded. “I was gonna ask that.”

Brother Qown studied his hands as tension played over Janel’s and Dorna’s expressions.

“Is there something you haven’t told me?” Sir Baramon squinted. “Tamin said something about you outrunning Censure. That true?”

Janel sighed. “It’s true. It’s not…” She shook her head. “It’s not earned, you understand. My grandfather wasn’t even cold when Sir Oreth showed up on my doorstep with a small army.”

“Sir Oreth? The Markreev of Stavira’s second son?”

Dorna rolled her eyes.

“The same. Our parents arranged the match when we were children, but it … it didn’t work out.”

“Naturally, it didn’t work out,” Dorna agreed. “You’re a lovely young noble, and he’s a horse’s ass. Cross-species relations are frowned on in these parts.” She grinned, her expression impish. “Ain’t that what you said in that last letter just before we left?”

Janel couldn’t quite stop herself from smiling. “You know, I think it may have been.”