Brother Qown winced as he heard the voice. He hadn’t been in Count Janel’s service for long. However, he recognized the voice of Sir Oreth Malkoessian, the Markreev of Stavira’s youngest son. Also, formerly the count’s sworn fiancé.

“One moment, sir. Let me check.” The second voice sounded unfamiliar.

Brother Qown ducked lower as swift footsteps approached, followed by a closet door being slammed. Not, thank Selanol, the one where the count and he hid. He heard boxes being tossed about. If the newcomer searched both closets, he’d find them.

“I’m sorry, sir. They took the jewelry box.”

“Are you sure they kept it in that closet?” Oreth growled, his anger obvious.

“Yes, sir. I’m quite certain. It seems we have been robbed, although I can’t imagine who’d think anything was worth stealing in here.”

“You can’t, Kovinglass?” Oreth snapped. “Do you think perhaps your former liege’s granddaughter might have known about her own mother’s jewelry box?”

“She can’t be so stupid as to show her face here, sir,” Kovinglass said.

“I need that jewelry to pay my father’s interest rates!”

“Perhaps you can convince him to give you an extension?”

Sir Oreth scoffed. “I doubt it. He thinks it’s character building.”

“Yes, sir.” Kovinglass kept his tone neutral.

“He wants me to fail. He’d love nothing better than to see me crawl back to him.” Sir Oreth’s voice dripped with hatred. “Let the servants clean all this. Perhaps we can salvage something of value.”

“Am I interrupting?” A third voice spoke, a pleasant tenor with a western accent.

Metal plate and chain clanked. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Pardon my rudeness. I seek the Count of Tolamer.”

“Again, I ask: Who are you?”

“Oh? My name is Relos Var.”

Silence. Brother Qown imagined the two men looking at each other in surprise. He could only guess at Janel’s reaction. This must be the man she’d met at Mereina.

“I am the Count of Tolamer,” Oreth said.

Relos Var chuckled. “Are you now? Have you done something with your hair? I didn’t recognize you. Probably because you’re male and look nothing like Janel Danorak—”

“Her name is Janel Theranon.”

“Yes, that too. Lovely young lady. What do you call her coloring? Night-kissed? Fitting.”

“Janel is my betrothed,” Oreth corrected. “I’ll be Count of Tolamer soon enough.”

“No doubt she’s counting the minutes until that happy day.”

“She’s not here,” Kovinglass said, “so perhaps you should leave.”

“Ah yes. I’m sure you’re right.” Footsteps walked to the stairs and then stopped. “But my pardon. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I believe we have a situation that may be mutually beneficial. I’d be remiss not to mention the opportunity.”

“Speak plainly,” Sir Oreth said. “What do you mean?”