If the Joratese liked to compare themselves to horses, then the subject of Dorna’s attention was a white stallion. Not that coloring called “gray,” which looks white only when full grown, but true white. The sort of white where the foal usually dies. This woman displayed a whiteness of skin and hair anathema to sunlight, stretched thin to translucence over a ripe body. She dressed like royalty, not following the Jorat fashions but dressing as men do in the Capital. She sported a tight, high-necked, gray silk misha over silvery velvet kef pants, tucked into high boots. Diamonds sparkled against her lustrous agolé like snowflakes falling at winter’s twilight. The soldiers who walked with her, as an honor guard, seemed more than capable of ensuring no one could do more than look and envy.

Then she turned her head, and Brother Qown saw her face.

“Dorna!” Brother Qown grabbed the old woman by the arm. “Dorna, it’s the Doltari woman from Mereina. That’s Senera!”

“Oh? Well, nobody told me she was smuggling all the damn melons in the garden under her bodice.” Dorna finished tucking her purse away. “I never got a good look at her last time.”

“She dressed less scandalously last time.”

“She’s dressed like a stallion, but I wouldn’t call it a scandal.”

Brother Qown craned his neck to stare after the witch. “We have to follow her.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Dorna handed her mug to a man next to her. “Hold this, would you?” She grabbed Brother Qown’s arm and dragged him from the stands.

Brother Qown would have never been able to follow Senera on his own. He had no idea how to get from the tournament stands to those labyrinthine skyways where they’d seen the woman pass. Fortunately, Dorna knew Atrine as if she were born here (which, for all Brother Qown knew, might have been the case) with all its shortcuts and back-alley skypaths.

Senera, for her part, proved easy to track. Her white hair glowed like a beacon in the distance. Just when Brother Qown thought they’d lost her, they would catch a glimpse of agolé or her soldier escorts and be on the trail once more.

Brother Qown yelped as Dorna pulled him back behind a corner. He realized the problem right away: he’d been so intent on following Senera he’d stopped paying attention to where she’d led them.

The Markreev of Stavira’s compound.

He swallowed as he saw Stavira soldiers in red and gold patrolling the grounds. Nobody looked alert. The soldiers seemed more interested in the cheering crowds, jealous of a tournament they couldn’t attend. But Brother Qown felt certain they would become vigilant immediately should the need arise.

Dorna tugged on Brother Qown’s sleeve. Senera was approaching the main azhock. To Qown’s surprise, a Malkoessian noble waited to greet her: Sir Oreth, no less.