Janel tilted her head. “Mine.”

“Horse crap.” The woman laughed. “I’ll be damned if you could even lift metal so big. Where’s your guard? Out in the woods, maybe, relieving himself?”

Brother Qown looked toward the trees. The leaves rustled as the bandit’s men shifted position or expressed their impatience. Whoever had fired their bow either knew their business or had been blessed by Taja. But if they had more bows, if their main assault came as a volley of arrows …

Brother Qown suspected the count knew the danger, but she had a gleam in her eye, as if enjoying herself.

Brother Qown suspected she was enjoying herself.

He made a sign to the morning sun. He wondered what he’d done to upset Father Zajhera. Did this assignment serve as punishment?

“You’re so convinced I must have a guard,” Janel mused. “There’s a saying about judging how fast a horse runs by the color of her coat. It may apply here.” She stood then, brushing the remaining breakfast crumbs from her embroidered riding tunic before she bowed. “I offer you a deal.”

“You think you’re in a position to make deals?”

Brother Qown met Dorna’s eyes. The old woman made the smallest gesture toward the large camphor tree near them, one with thick roots perfect for ducking behind. Janel always did well in fights, but Dorna and Qown needed a place to hide.

Count Janel waved the complaint aside. “You’re the herd leader. You’re concerned about my guards, and rightly so; you don’t want your people injured. So I suggest a compromise. A duel. I’ll fight any of your associates—yourself, if you wish—using any weapon you choose. If you win, I’ll give you everything I have. You have my word.”

Brother Qown held his breath and watched to discover if the leader would take the bait and leap at that twitching, vulnerable tail …

The bandit said, “You must fancy I’m a fool or a weakling, and I’m neither.”

“You are a robber.” The insult had no sting to it; Janel’s smile harkened back to a child at play with her new best friend.

She seemed so pleased to fight another woman. Few women in Jorat turned to robbery. The bands she’d faced so far had been male.

The bandit put one hand on her hip. “You’re getting on my nerves, little girl.”

Janel laughed outright. “I might care more if you weren’t robbing me.”

“Now I’ll take the sword too.”

“If I’d been polite, would you have left it?”

“And that fancy ring.” The woman pointed to the chain around Count Janel’s neck.

The Theranon family sword and the Tolamer Canton signet ring. Brother Qown fought to keep from sighing out loud, but at least their would-be robber hadn’t yet said no.

“And the deal,” Count Janel pressed, “will you take that too?”