The guards pulled Brother Qown and Mare Dorna into the tent. Flame motifs stitched in red and glittering gold decorated its interior. The Stavira jaguar grinned at them from every surface, as if to mock their foolhardy trespassing.

Brother Qown had met Sir Oreth once, when he arrived at Tolamer Castle months ago with soldiers and malice. Sir Oreth had grown no less handsome in his absence. The Joratese called his coloring sun-kissed—a golden-white laevos and bronze-brown skin paired with darker brown socks on his hands. A white blaze surrounded one eye, which gleamed a lighter brown than its twin.

His temper hadn’t improved either. When they returned to the tent, Sir Oreth raised his sword to Mare Dorna.

“No, Sir Oreth,” Senera admonished. Her accent placed her origin in the Quuros Capital. “Bodies lead to investigations. We don’t wish to draw attention. Lord Var would be very disappointed.”

“This bitch knows me,” Sir Oreth said. “If she tells my father, he’ll call due on his loans, and then your people won’t have a Gatestone in Tolamer to use.”

“She’s an old woman. She can’t hurt you.” Senera looked at Mare Dorna, then at the guards. “Someone remove her gag.”

Brother Qown had expected expletives to rain from Mare Dorna’s mouth as soon as the guard ungagged her. But perhaps because Dorna understood their situation, they didn’t.

“What happens now?” Mare Dorna asked, chin held high.

“Oh, the usual,” Senera said. “We talk, I ask questions, you try to give me some story—truth or lie, whichever you prefer—to convince me not to let the charming Sir Oreth here slit your throat.”

Brother Qown swallowed. “It’s not done here, you know. Trespassing isn’t seen as a capital crime in this dominion. It would seem very odd to put us to death. No one is going to believe we’re assassins caught in the act. If Sir Oreth kills us, there will be repercussions.”

Senera turned and looked at him for the first time. Her warm gray eyes were not god-touched, not one of the Royal Houses’ divine colors.

She winked at him.

“The priest has a point,” she said to Sir Oreth.

“The old woman is an evil hag with a wicked tongue,” Sir Oreth said.

“Ay, that’s just what your mother used to say,” said Mare Dorna.

He drew his sword again and took a step in her direction.

A guard stepped in the way.

“Dorna!” Brother Qown said. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Couldn’t stop myself.”

Senera watched the group with an expression bordering on disbelief. She crossed over to a table and poured several cups of tea. “I stand corrected. The old woman can hurt your feelings.” She held up a cup. “Would anyone like tea?”

“Oh, I would,” Mare Dorna said. “If you’d just untie me…?” She wriggled her arms behind her to emphasize her restraints