“You will be soon enough,” Dedreugh snapped. “Now move, or I’ll use my sword.”

“Let’s continue,” Count Janel suggested.

They kept walking.

Brother Qown had assumed Mereina Castle would be comfortable since this banner’s rulers called it home. He realized his mistake. The stone walls had been made for security, not comfort, but in this age of modern magical siege-craft, they were long since obsolete. The castle was stuffy, cold, and cramped. He suspected when the summer rainy season arrived it would be stuffy, hot, and cramped. At no point did the fortress seem a pleasant place to live. The azhock tents appeared much more practical.

Qown pined for a House D’Talus Red Man to cast a warming spell, but given the local superstitions about magic, he didn’t like his chances of finding one.

Despite its lack of comforts, the castle had beautiful original features: wooden corbels made from cypress and Tung wood, carved with horse motifs. Tapestries, old and faded, hid the crumbling walls. Lanterns—sun patterns burned into their stretched hide covers—cast painted shadows over the tile floors. The fortress hadn’t strayed far from its military roots; armed men and women camped in the courtyard, horses left to mill in the mud-churned yard.

The guards paused at the gate while Dedreugh sent a messenger inside for the baron.

“Preparations for the tournament,” Captain Dedreugh explained to Janel. Between their first encounter and final destination, Dedreugh had decided to impress the count, transforming from belligerent to obsequious.

“I see,” she replied.

He grinned, a gleam in his eyes. “I’ll be competing myself.”

She looked at him sideways. “How nice for you.”

“I’m going to win,” he confided.

Her jaw set against her neck in a manner that suggested the grinding of teeth. Brother Qown watched her for any sign she might be rash. Not that he could stop her. He just needed to know which way to jump.

Captain Dedreugh leaned toward her. “I always win.”

That time she focused on him. “The baron doesn’t consider that a conflict of interest? Don’t you oversee who’s arrested?”

As Captain Dedreugh pulled himself up to counter the accusation, the double doors leading into the castle were flung open.

The Baron of Barsine marched into the courtyard.

The baron was dressed in sumptuous attire, far more opulent than Count Janel ever wore. Still, he didn’t match the priest’s expectations. Golden skinned and fine featured, he was also young.

As young as Count Janel herself.

“Tamin.” Janel laughed. She threw out her arms in delight as the baron gave her the traditional Joratese greeting: forehead to forehead, hands placed behind each other’s necks. She cradled him like the finest porcelain, her touch so gentle it would be easy to mistake her delicacy for shyness. “I’ve brought you a gift for your fires and goodwill for your herd.”