“We haven’t reached that part of the story yet,” Brother Qown said, “but it’s your turn.”

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

I have wondered if it would be better if I couldn’t remember what occurred that night. Would it be cleaner, happier, if I had woken the next morning, unsure what I had done, innocent through ignorance? Could I pretend I had committed no wrong, or would I wallow in doubt? Which would be worse, to wake hoping I hadn’t killed someone or to know with absolute conviction I had?

No matter. I knew. I remembered.

I threw off the bedcovers and reached for a robe.

“Ah, foal!” Dorna scolded as soon as I moved. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.” Dorna sat at a small table by the hearth, darning the tears in my bloody tunic. She’d be the first to admit she’s a terrible cook, but amazing with needle and thread; by the time she finished, I wouldn’t be able to tell the fabric had ever been ripped. She’d dye the whole thing a new color to hide the stains.

“I’m fine, Dorna.” Which was true. I wasn’t in any pain, and touching my lower back, I felt no injury.

I picked up the bodice from the table next to her. “Who healed me? Qown?” I poked my finger through the hole in the back. The bodice could be salvaged. Not so long ago, I’d have thrown the garment out and ordered a servant to make me a replacement.

Now I would have to make do.

Dorna hadn’t answered. When I looked at her, she focused so hard on her embroidery I wondered just what had happened to me while unconscious. “Dorna? Did Qown heal my wounds?”

Dorna ignored the question as she laid her embroidery to the side. “Was it a bad one? To be fair, last time you weren’t shot through the middle, but still…”

I set the bodice back down on the table. “Where are we? Is this the Barsine apartment?”

“Aye, foal,” she said, smiling. “We’re even here legally. Kalazan granted us permission.”

“I know. Did you meet up with Arasgon and Talaras?”

Dorna gave me a hard look, started to say something, then pressed her lips together. “Foal—”

“What about my mother’s jewelry? Did you sell it?”

Dorna sighed. “No. Aroth’s always been a crafty bastard. He’s got the pawnshops watched too. But I’m wise to his tricks.” She saw the look on my face. “We’ll figure something out. I still have a little metal saved up. We’re not turning out our pockets yet. And the firebloods are fine. Romping over on the Green and catching up with old friends. Flirting with the mares like the shameless stallions they are.” The old woman stood. “Ninavis told me what happened. Don’t be hard on yourself. They were bad men.”