Ninavis stood there, dressed in a Joratese serving mare’s dull brown split skirts and tunic. She had one hand frozen as if reaching for a weapon no longer by her side.

“By the Eight!” Ninavis whispered. “Don’t do that! What in the hell are you doing here?”

“I asked you first.”

Brother Qown stood up and fled the closet. “Never mind all that. We need to leave before anyone returns.”

Janel looked up toward the kitchen areas, then grabbed Ninavis’s hand and pulled her into the hallway and down a second set of stairs. Brother Qown followed, feeling naked and vulnerable and like they would be discovered at any turn. Had the servants gone downstairs? Would they stay quiet? It all made his stomach ache.

The staircase down to the first floor ended in a long hallway, already lit as the serving staff had moved through the house. Chatter echoed through the apartment as the staff cleaned and uncovered furniture, preparing the house for occupation. The count ignored this noise and motioned for everyone to follow her into a dark storeroom.

Once in the room, Janel grabbed a lantern from the wall and handed it to Brother Qown. “Light this.” She moved over to a thick iron grating in the floor, fastened shut with a chain.

“What are you—” Ninavis started to ask.

Janel broke the metal chain with her bare hands. “Follow me.”

She yanked up the grate and set it to the side.

Brother Qown lit the lantern and held it over the trap door while the count lowered Ninavis. Janel then did the same with Brother Qown.

“What the—”

A Marakori family sat up from their bedrolls, blinking at the intruders. From the way boxes had been pushed to the side to form a mini-fort, it seemed obvious they had disturbed squatters. They were taking advantage of the fact ground-floor basements were seldom used or visited.

For several heartbeats, no one said anything.

“Excuse us,” Count Janel declared. “I apologize for the interruption. I recommend you all leave. Our pursuers will eventually search down here.” She stepped over an old man as she headed for the door.

“Sorry,” Brother Qown said to the family. “Is there anything I can do for—”

Ninavis grabbed him by the arm and dragged him with her.

The basement exited to Atrine’s ground level. The count unbarred the door and opened it, revealing the city’s garbage-strewn streets. From the smell, Brother Qown surmised refugees had been using the streets for sewage disposal.

Count Janel turned around to face Ninavis.

“What are you doing in Kovinglass’s employ? Talk,” Janel whispered, her face stony.

Brother Qown understood the count well enough to realize she wore this expression when she was furious.

Ninavis rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you too.”

Janel’s nostrils flared.

“Nina, please,” Brother Qown said.