He had hoped the grooms would be suspicious. But rather than question her unorthodox request, they seemed glad to pass along responsibility. They gave each other a significant glance and then motioned for Senera’s guards to take the body. The guards assigned to Brother Qown and Mare Dorna kept them under the knife, while others collected the stretcher.

Brother Qown almost didn’t notice the archers at the sidelines. They’d all quieted as the procession passed.

One of those archers was Ninavis. She made eye contact with Brother Qown and gave him a single nod before continuing her low conversation with the other archers.

Brother Qown forced himself not to make a sign of thanks to his god.

“What are you going to do with us?” Brother Qown asked Senera. “We’re no threat to you.”

“Oh, now let’s not be liars to each other,” Senera said, looking back. “But don’t worry. I have no plans to hurt you. We’re just taking a little trip. Someplace far from here where I don’t have to worry about you talking to the wrong people.”

“And why do I get the feeling I ain’t dressed near warm enough for this little getaway?” Dorna muttered under her breath.

Senera’s smile broadened for a moment.

Brother Qown kept an eye open for any sign of the others—Sir Baramon, Ninavis, the Red Spears. If they were near, they hid very well.

For her part, Senera didn’t try to hide. Like Janel, she’d mastered the art of being a queen in her own kingdom. Her posture screamed idorrá, suggested everyone should stay out of her way.

Mostly, they did.

Brother Qown found himself back in the Stavira compound, in the azhock where Senera had met with Sir Oreth. Guards pushed Brother Qown and Mare Dorna into chairs, while the other guards placed Count Janel’s body on a large table.

Senera removed the tournament flag covering the count’s body.

Mare Dorna made a strangled sound and looked away.

Brother Qown almost did likewise, but his professional training took over. Janel had suffered a nasty penetrating injury, running through her torso just underneath the sternum. On anyone else, Qown would have assumed the wound fatal.

But this was Janel. Qown knew her metabolism slowed when she “slept” to the point where she seemed dead to the uninitiated. Could she still be alive?

The tent flap flew back as Sir Oreth entered. He took one step inside and stopped, staring at Janel’s body with an unreadable expression.

Senera frowned at the Joratese knight. “Don’t tell me you loved her.”

“Is she dead?”

“That question doesn’t mean what you think it does,” Senera replied. “In any event, we need to leave, before the wrong people ask the right questions.”

Sir Oreth scowled. “My father will take this personally.”