I walked in a slow circle around Relos Var, forcing him to turn to keep an eye on me. “I did see the witch at Mereina. White-skinned and foreign. She’d enchanted a warden, pretended to be his serving girl.”

“Ah, so you see, Duke, that matches the former baron’s description.” Relos Var’s smile had returned, the armor back in place. “But she must have been working with others. Witches always have a coven, after all.”

“And you would know, being their leader.” I said the accusation as simple fact. I couldn’t let Var continue to control the conversation. I couldn’t let him lead the duke to myself and my friends.

“What? Janel! Relos Var’s our guest.” Duke Xun’s look suggested he was scandalized.

“Choose your next words carefully,” Relos Var said.

“Oh, I have. You see, Your Grace, this seems harmless enough, and this Relos Var’s all smiles and wise eyes. But the white witch who choked Mereina owes Relos Var her thudajé, just as Tamin did, and does still. He uses honeyed words to twist the truth. He’d have you think that my people or I are witches, to stop us from revealing the truth: he summoned those demons. His will caused all those deaths.”

Relos Var’s expression turned ugly. “I’m disappointed in you. This is the desperate and ill-fated allegation of a woman who knows her guilt is about to be uncovered.”

I laughed out loud, even though I found nothing about this funny. I’d always thought someone might one day make such an accusation against me. My grandfather had known too—so had demanded I never correct anyone’s beliefs about the Lonezh Hellmarch.

“You’re a foreigner. You don’t understand us. You don’t understand our ways. You hear him, Your Grace. You hear his words. And you hear mine. You know there is only one way this can be decided.”

The duke nodded. “Oh, quite. How exciting. But … Janel. Please tell me you’re not a witch?” His expression was better suited to finding out whether his favorite horses had snuck inside the palace to have an attack of diarrhea.

“I’m not, Your Grace. I swear I’m not.” I had long ago decided Brother Qown’s definition of witch—one who summons demons—rang truer. The so-called crime of possessing a talent for sorcery didn’t deserve a death sentence.

“Now who lies?” Relos Var snapped.

The duke didn’t seem to have heard Var’s words, or if he did, he took it all in stride. “Well, then … it is decided.”

I exhaled in relief. “Here? Or in the main yard?”

“Oh, the main yard,” the duke said. “It is the tournament, after all. No reason not to share.”

Only then did Var look uncertain. “Wait. What’s been decided?”

The duke and I looked at each other.