Senera studied her and held out the cup. “Untie yourself. We both know those bonds might as well be made from pulled sugar floss to someone like you.”

“What are we doing?” Sir Oreth gestured toward the azhock’s front. “My family will be back any minute. We have no time for socializing with peasants. You’re sweet enough to look upon, Senera, but you’re not fooling anyone into thinking you’re a stallion. Leave this to people who know what they’re doing.” He motioned to the guards. “Take them both. We’ll move them to the south barn and figure out what to do with them later.”

“Still charming as ever,” Dorna muttered.

Senera’s expression tightened, and she closed her eyes for a second. She set down the tea. “Sir Oreth, what’s that noise?”

The knight turned back to her. “What?”

Brother Qown realized Senera wasn’t making idle chatter. A dull roar had risen in the distance, as if they’d found themselves too close to Demon Falls.

Cheering. The tournament crowds were cheering.

A runner in red and gold came into the tent, panting. “Noble lords,” he said between gasping breaths. “There’s a late contest added to the schedule. The Count of Tolamer is to fight Relos Var.”

“Oh, that bloody idiot,” Mare Dorna said.

Brother Qown knew Dorna wasn’t referring to Relos Var.

“Damn it to Hell,” Sir Oreth said. “She’s going to kill him.”

Senera stared at Sir Oreth. “You are new here, aren’t you?”

“Janel’s strong as ten men,” Sir Oreth said. “Your master talks a good game, but in a duel, Janel’s going to rip him apart.”

Senera rolled her eyes. She looked inconvenienced, not worried.

“Come on, then.” Senera motioned to the guards. “Let’s get these two over to the stands. The least we can do is allow them to witness their beloved count’s death.”

“How could she be this stupid?” Mare Dorna uttered under her breath as they walked along, sometimes shoved from behind by an impatient guard. “She said she’d talk to the bloody duke, not challenge some sorcerer to a duel. What the icy hell was she thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Brother Qown said. “What did Senera mean about the ropes?”

“Never you mind, priest.”

“I’m thinking of the fireblood whose girth snapped,” he said. “And Kalazan’s ropes. For that matter, remember all those crossbows aimed at Count Janel back in Mereina? Where the strings just snapped?”

“Stop talking,” the guard behind them said. His accent sounded Joratese, but something else lingered around the edges.