Dorna reached over and slapped Qown’s shoulder. “Go on, priest. I wasn’t there for this part. Tell us what happened next.”

Qown’s Turn. Barsine apartment, Atrine, Jorat, Quur.

As Ninavis and Brother Qown carried Count Janel away from the ambush, Qown pondered how much lighter she was than he expected. She took up so much space in a room when awake it was easy to forget her true size.

They had climbed several flights and made their way several buildings over from the ambush site, when they heard shouts and a scream behind them.

Ninavis looked over her shoulder. “Sounds like someone just found the bodies.”

“Stop.”

“We can’t,” Ninavis said. “They’ll chase soon.”

Brother Qown stopped, anyway, and with him, Janel. Ninavis began speaking in a language Brother Qown didn’t understand. He assumed Ninavis was engaging in a graphic description of his ancestry.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t see,” Brother Qown said. “We left the lantern behind us. I’m worried we’re going to trip over a bench and fall twenty feet. Aren’t you?”

“There’s spill light—”

Brother Qown summoned up a small ball of yellow light. From a distance, it looked like a candle, bright enough to light their passage.

She shook her head. “Hell of a risk. If people notice, they’re not going to stop to make sure you’re Blood of Joras first.” She took the opportunity to reposition her grip on the belt and scabbard holding the giant sheathed Theranon family sword. She ended up slinging the whole belt and scabbard over one shoulder, cross-body. “Let’s go.” Her face looked pale, her expression grim. With the fighting over, the shakes were setting in.

She stooped to pick Janel up by the shoulders, while Brother Qown grabbed Janel’s feet. Ninavis and Brother Qown ignored the blood covering them both—Janel’s blood, mostly.

The apartment proved close, although Brother Qown would have missed it without Ninavis’s navigation. To the priest, one windowless corridor looked much the same as any other. But when they reached one—the right one—Ninavis whispered for them to set down their wounded charge. She pulled an iron key from her pocket, unlocked the rooftop gate, and let them inside. Together, they carried the Count of Tolamer into the apartment that had been set aside for the Baron of Barsine.

Brother Qown paid no attention to the decorations or furnishings, except to look for what he needed. That table there. Yes. “Help me put her down on this. On her stomach.”

“Do you need hot water? I can start a fire—”

“Do it. We don’t have much time.” Brother Qown gestured, and the small magical candlelight became a dozen candles, enough to illuminate the room.

Ninavis gaped, mouth open.

“Set a fire,” Brother Qown snapped. “Boil water. Who knows what poison these men used on their bolts?”

“Leumites don’t use poison.”

Brother Qown exhaled, relieved.