“Of course he will. What happened today was an insult to his honor. What you can’t protect, you forfeit the right to rule. Isn’t that how it works here?” She smiled at Sir Oreth.

Sir Oreth’s expression turned ugly. “She wasn’t supposed to die.”

“Life is unfair.”

Another man entered the tent then, looking harried. The plump, well-dressed man looked more Kirpisari than Joratese.

“Kovinglass, what is it?”

“Your father is coming this way,” Kovinglass said. “And the duke with him.”

“That didn’t take long,” Senera said. She looked at Kovinglass with pursed lips. “I’ll need you to provide us with an exit.”

“Absolutely not. I can’t just—” Something made him gasp, and the air seemed to catch in Kovinglass’s throat. He grimaced in pain.

“Hurry, sorcerer,” Senera said. She’d her hand raised toward him, and although Brother Qown couldn’t see any obvious spellcasting, he knew magic must be involved. “We haven’t much time.”

She lowered her hand, and Kovinglass seemed to deflate. He caught himself before he fell and, gasping, nodded.

Sir Oreth’s gaze shifted to Brother Qown and then to Mare Dorna. A hateful expression settled there.

Mare Dorna winked at him.

“I’m never going to be able to explain this to my father,” Sir Oreth said.

“If we leave now, you won’t have to,” Senera said. She gave Kovinglass a significant and menacing look. “Do you not understand what hurry means?”

“You don’t tell me what to do, woman,” Kovinglass snapped. Perhaps he had convinced himself whatever spell Senera had cast, just moments before, had been a fluke. Or perhaps his pride wouldn’t let him admit he couldn’t open a gate without a Gatestone.

The soldiers stepped toward him.

As they did, Sir Oreth drew his sword. Instead of moving toward the soldiers, Oreth did something else.

He stabbed Dorna.

The old woman looked at him with dull-eyed shock before sliding off his sword in an untidy little heap on the floor. Brother Qown cried out, but no one paid attention to him, and his outrage had little impact on the outcome. He tried to run to Mare Dorna, but his guards held him back.

Senera’s expression tightened. “Why?” she asked Sir Oreth.

“She knew my father,” he spat out. “Had some leverage on him. I think blackmail, but I could never be sure. In any event, he’d believe whatever lies she fed him.”

Brother Qown tried to center his feelings, tried to slide his vision past the Veil. Impossible. He barely stopped himself from sobbing. He saw the light fade from Dorna’s stare, and unlike Janel, he had no reason to assume Mare Dorna faked her death.

Senera stared a moment at Dorna’s body, her expression unreadable, then she snapped her fingers. “Negrach, Molash, carry the count’s body. Pragaos, take the priest. Kovinglass, why isn’t that gate open?”