“There hasn’t been a Duke of Marakor since the Lonezh Hellmarch,” Janel said. “And no one on Quur’s High Council—you know, the one owned by the Royal Houses?—seems to be in a real rush to replace him for some reason.”

Kihrin shook his head. “So that’s what Mithros meant when he said he didn’t think you’d have much success warning Duke Xun. Because of Relos Var.”

“Maybe,” Janel said. “But there is another possible explanation.”

“Oh?”

Janel shrugged. “Duke Xun’s a fool, without the wisdom to realize standing outside during a storm results in getting wet?”

“Ah,” Kihrin said. “So no thudajé for him, then?”

“It’s hard to hold thudajé for someone when you think a horse would do a better job.” Janel raised a finger. “Not a fireblood. A horse.”

“Now I really want to hear how your meeting went.”

Qown cleared his throat. “Except it’s my turn.”

Kihrin leaned against the counter. “Right. Sorry.”

Qown’s Turn. The Green, Atrine, Jorat, Quur.

“Ah, now that’s some nice metal,” Mare Dorna said as she counted out the coins into her hand.

Brother Qown blinked at her. She’d been counting a different coin purse earlier. This purse matched the bodice of a woman with whom Dorna had left earlier.

“That’s not—” Brother Qown paused and cleared his throat. “She gave you a gift?”

Dorna’s grin was best described as lascivious. “She appreciated my lesson.”

“What lesson would she have paid—?” Brother Qown held up a hand. “Never mind. Please forget I asked. I’m quite sure I don’t want to know.”

She cackled at him.

Ninavis left the priest in Dorna’s care like a stray puppy returned home, before returning to help the Red Spears with their contests. Sir Baramon had vanished to renew his own contacts within the tournament circuit, and Janel continued to prance as the Black Knight. That left Brother Qown alone with Dorna, who roamed the tournament, treating it as a movable feast, a banquet of larceny, liquor, and lust to feed her considerable appetites.

Brother Qown sometimes thought she performed her antics to shock him.

A low, appreciative whistle from Dorna drew his attention back to her. Brother Qown followed her stare. Predictably, she was ogling a woman passing on a sky bridge.