Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Janel crossed a really rickety bridge

“I always wondered what had happened to Talea,” Kihrin said. “I thought about asking Thurvishar, but I was afraid he’d tell me she’d been eaten by … you see, I used to know this mimic … Anyway, I’m glad Thurvishar freed her.”

Qown raised his head. “Did you say a mimic? I thought those were myths.”

“Oh no,” Kihrin said. “Very real and very terrifying. And this particular mimic—Talon—is the same assassin Talea mentioned, the one who murdered her sister, Morea.”

“Well, I’m just glad you saw sense and decided to run with mares,” Dorna said, nodding and patting Janel on the shoulder. “Talea seems lovely.”

Janel rolled her eyes. “Dorna, don’t start.”

“You run with whoever you like, dear. I will always love you,” Dorna said.

Janel plastered a tight smile on her face and turned to Qown. “Start reading. Right now.”

Qown’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.

Brother Qown didn’t see Relos Var again for several months, but when he did, the wizard seemed in a foul temper. He paused at the study door, still speaking to someone outside.

“Why haven’t you killed her yet?” Relos Var said, looking behind him, and, as far as Brother Qown could tell, failing to notice Qown. “Mark my words, you’re going to regret your misplaced loyalty. She’s dangerous. She should be destroyed.”

Then the Hon, Azhen Kaen, pushed past the wizard. “I have my reasons. This isn’t up for discussion, Var.”

As both men came into the room, Brother Qown found himself hoping they might overlook him, too involved with the conversation to realize someone was already present.

Luck wasn’t with him.

The Hon slapped the table before Brother Qown, making him jump. “You’re Var’s new apprentice, right?”

“I, uh—” Brother Qown swallowed. Apprentice wasn’t the right word, considering. But reminding the Hon he was Relos Var’s ensorcelled, soul-chained slave didn’t seem a good idea either.

“It’s fine, Qown,” Relos Var said, smiling down at him. “The Hon has asked for our help with a situation in Jorat. And since I’m sure you’ve had enough time to grow accustomed to Worldhearth, I volunteered your services. I hope you don’t mind.”

Brother Qown swallowed again, but this time managed a wan smile. “No. Of course not, Lord Var.”

“Good,” said the Hon. “I need to find out who has picked up the Black Knight’s mantle. Someone’s assumed that role at the last dozen tournaments—and I’m sick of it.”

“I’m sorry?” Brother Qown asked. “How does the same person playing the Black Knight cause a problem? It’s a tournament. It affects commodity prices and business deals…”