I know dedicated gods of games and sport are worshipped in other dominions, but those were all once Marakori god-kings. Any Joratese would rather smear hot lead onto their feet than honor them. Some might say Taja—Goddess of Luck—would be more appropriate in such contests. But in Jorat we don’t believe tournaments are won by luck. Thus, it is the custom to look to Khored as the patron of challenge, conflict, and contests.

Also, Khored was Emperor Kandor’s patron god. Now he’s ours as well.

Khored’s Temple is awful. Awe-filled. Horse statues stand guard around the perimeter, while a red marble carving of swarming crows ascends or descends from the battlefield altar at its center. Incense smelling of blood and cinnamon filled the cathedral with fog. Light, red and violet, filtered through the stained-glass windows above.

And Aroth Malkoessian, Markreev of Stavira, prayed at the main altar.

Dorna tugged at my elbow. “No, don’t slow down. Don’t stare.”

I forced myself to keep walking and muttered a prayer under my breath to the Eight. I pushed down panic when I remembered Brother Qown wore a Vishai priest’s distinctive robes. I reminded myself Aroth had never met Qown. The Markreev likely had no idea what a Vishai priest even looked like.

Regardless of one’s destination inside the temple, everyone stopped at the altar first. No rule said I had to stop right next to Aroth. So I found a pillow farther back and went down on my knees as I offered the ritual prayers. Dorna picked a spot several seats away, and the others spread out farther so as not to draw any attention. Qown, I noticed, sat quite far away as if to distance himself from me in case his presence might betray my own. As I prayed, I saw Aroth stand from the front row, gather his soldiers to him, and turn to leave.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

A few seconds later, Dorna made a small, strangled sound as Aroth Malkoessian sat down on the cushion to my left.

All the air in the cathedral turned heavy and weighted, a thick morass allowing me to neither move nor breathe. My skin burned, and I didn’t have to look to know Aroth’s men surrounded us. Even here, they would be armed.

I didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at me. We gave each other no formal greeting.

“I wasn’t convinced you would appear for the tournament.”

“It’s my duty.”

“Given the circumstances surrounding your departure from Tolamer, your feeling toward duty has been in question.”

“It’s an odd situation,” I said, trying hard not to grind my teeth, “to be a canton’s ruler yet own no land within it, not even one’s ancestral castle.”

“You have my condolences on your grandfather’s passing,” he murmured next to me. “He was a good man.”