Count Janel crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him.

“Mithros, you horny old ass, stop baiting the children and get yourself over here. You still owe me a hundred thrones from the last card game we played, and I mean to take it from your shiny black hair.” Dorna grinned and wrinkled her face. “Plus, we need to talk somewhere private.”

Mithros looked surprised. He tilted his head and stared at Dorna, then his eyes widened. “When did you become a woman?”

Dorna rolled her eyes. “Years ago, you clueless oaf. I told you I was visiting the Festival of the Turning—ack!”

Mithros ran over to Dorna, picked her up, and spun her around while giving her a hug. “I didn’t recognize you! What happened?”

“Put me down, you sod, before I kick you so hard you never ride a horse again. What happened? I just told you—”

“No, I don’t mean that. You’re old!”

“Oh, you big fool,” Dorna said, “it’s been thirty years. Humans grow old.”

Mithros took a step back, looking embarrassed. “So long as that? How the time passes.” He smiled at her, gentle and sad. That smile implied a closer relationship than friends. But in all the time he’d known Dorna, she’d consistently maintained her preference ran for mares and mares alone. Except …

Brother Qown leaned over to the count. “Uh … did I hear her correctly?”

Janel paused, distracted, and looked over at him. “What part?”

“Dorna used to be a man? How’s that possible?”

Janel blinked. “The Festival of the Turning Leaves. They hold it every year in Nivulmir, and Galava grants the supplicants’ prayers. It’s the reason Dorna wasn’t at Lonezh Canton.” She paused. “Do you do it differently in the west?”

Brother Qown blinked. “No! No, we don’t do it at all. Ever.”

Janel frowned. “Really? That’s odd.”

Sir Baramon cleared his throat and gave the Manol vané a half bow. “Sir Baramon, Captain. We met four years ago, at the tournament here in Atrine.”

“Ah yes! Good to see you again. Where’s your charming—” He paused while clasping Sir Baramon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Was it recent?”

Sir Baramon nodded. “But thank you.”

“Of course. It never stops hurting, to lose the ones we love.” They shared a look.

Captain Mithros squeezed the man’s arm once before letting go. “All right, everyone. Back to practice!” he bellowed, waving a hand at the archers. He then motioned for the entire group to follow him. “All right, you lot. You’ve convinced me. We do need to talk somewhere more private.” He began heading toward the temple, his long strides forcing everyone into a trot to keep up.

“You’re planning to talk to us inside a temple to one of the Eight?” Janel’s tone sounded scandalized.

To be fair, Brother Qown felt a bit scandalized himself.