Count Janel didn’t speak. She clenched her jaw, her hands tight fists at her sides. Brother Qown recognized the signs well enough. Kalazan had seen Janel fight Ninavis. Didn’t he understand what would happen if she defended herself?

“Let her go,” Tamin repeated.

“Not yet,” Kalazan said. “It’s rude, I know, but your reception’s been so cold I’ve little choice but to refuse your hospitality.” He backed up toward the archway.

“Very well,” Tamin said.

Kalazan smiled.

“Shoot through her,” Baron Tamin ordered.

Every eye present stared at him in disbelief.

Every eye but those owned by Dedreugh and his soldiers, who followed orders.

Much happened then.

First, Kalazan pushed Janel forward, away from him. Arasgon shielded Janel with his body. The crossbows fired, or rather misfired, as their drawn strings snapped, all at once. Of the crossbows that discharged, one bolt hit Arasgon’s saddle, and another missed him by a coin’s width. The remaining soldiers didn’t waste their ammunition attempting to find a mark. Given his size, Arasgon made an excellent wall.

Kalazan ran.

He skipped the main doors and darted to the side. He then slipped through a door behind a bulwark, even as soldiers found the clear shot they needed.

“After him!” Dedreugh screamed. “After him!”

The soldiers were quick to give chase, although some stayed to keep an eye on the prisoners.

Dedreugh crossed back over to the guard who’d lost his weapon. He grabbed the man by the jerkin and lifted him right off the ground, giving him a violent shake. “Idiot! Take these filth to the jail, and if anything goes wrong, I swear you’ll join them.”

Brother Qown rushed to Nina’s side. The woman was unconscious, which didn’t surprise him. Landing on her broken leg must have been excruciating.

Still, she was alive.

While Brother Qown looked over Nina, he heard the others debating another prisoner.

A soldier: “What about this one?”

Tamin answered, “She’s saelen, is she not? If she wants to slum with thieves, so be it. Put ‘Lady’ Ganar with her own kind.”

Saelen. Brother Qown remembered his Karo lessons. Lost, or a stray. A terrible insult by Joratese standards. Almost as bad as thorra, but with the implication the subject is a small child who doesn’t understand what’s in their own best interest. His heartbeat skipped. For a second, he thought Tamin referred to the count. But no. Tamin meant Gan the Miller’s Daughter, gnashing her teeth and straining to reach the baron with fingers hooked into claws. She’d have made his beautiful face much less so if her hands had been free.

Tamin had already turned to Count Janel. “I’m so sorry for this unfortunate incident.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Shoot through her?”