That woman kicked like Khorsal himself.

The other bandits dropped their weapons by the campfire, signaling surrender. I paid little attention to them, besides counting their number. Eight total, including their leader. I caught a few names in spite of my best efforts at apathy. The woman with the white stripe was named Kay. Someone else was named Vidan, although I wasn’t sure who. Fool that I was, I didn’t think them important other than as a method to raise funds.

Luck was with us since Barsine’s capital seat, Mereina, was about to start their tournament, which the local baron was obligated to attend. We wouldn’t have to wait long for our reward.

Brother Qown had been astonished the first time we had played bait the bandit. He couldn’t understand why the other bandits never ran or fought once their leader was beaten. And while I tried to explain …

You see, everything in our world is divided into two concepts—idorrá, the power and strength possessed by those who protect others, and thudajé, the honor gained from submitting to one who is superior. We hold trials, contests, and duels to determine the difference. This fosters good leadership and good community bonds. There is no dishonor in defeat either. Our bandit prisoners would find sympathy and pardon by showing their thudajé. Naturally, they would surrender. And naturally, they would be treated well.

How could one strong in idorrá do otherwise? Those who use their strength to oppress are nothing more than bullies and tyrants. We have a word for that too in our language: thorra.

I knew Qown didn’t understand. Things were done otherwise across the mountains, to the west.

Everything, I think, is done otherwise in the west.

But in this particular scenario, one bandit had less thudajé than the others. A man with a laevos, the horse-mane hair we claim to hallmark our noble status. The same man who had bet on my defeat and lost. While all other eyes were on their former leader or Brother Qown, he stared at me.

“I know you,” he said. “You’re Janel Danorak, the Count of Tolamer’s granddaughter.”

Oh. How wonderful. He knew who I was.

I raised my chin even as I cursed my luck. “You’re mistaken,” I said.

Confusion flickered across his handsome face. He had dark gray skin and a white laevos, which must have been lovely once. He struck me as someone used to luxury turned to squatting in the woods, hiding from his enemies.

Much like myself, I suppose.

“I am?” He blinked his surprise.

“Yes. Once, I was the Count of Tolamer’s granddaughter. Now I’m the Count of Tolamer.” I forced my eyes back to his. “How do you know me? It’s been many years since I’ve visited this banner. I expected no one here to recognize me.”