A loud clatter greeted the movement; a sword and scabbard resting against the door fell to the floor. They’d just given someone inside in the jail a few seconds’ warning.

“Shit!” Someone cursed as punctuation to a strangled scream. “Ow! Bitch!”

Count Janel abandoned subtlety and barged inside. The dungeon looked much the same as the night before, with a single exception: it appeared empty.

Brother Qown saw no sign of guards or prisoners.

Then a guard ran out from behind stacked wine crates, straightening his tunic and brushing his hair to the side.

Dread twisted in the pit of Brother Qown’s stomach. They’d surely interrupted something sordid. If his story about a contagious disease hadn’t been believed … if someone had called his bluff …

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be here,” the guard protested upon seeing who had interrupted him.

“That makes two of us,” Count Janel said.

“Now why are you bleeding, colt?” Mare Dorna cocked her head to the side and pointed to the man’s scalp. Even with his hair pulled over, blood trickled down and stained his leather-covered shoulder.

If the guard had been smarter or more creative, he might have had a plausible story ready. Instead, he reached for the sword at his belt and realized he’d left it with his scabbard—leaning against the dungeon door. He picked up a discarded chain and shackle, wielding it like a flail.

Then the guard rushed Janel.

The count sighed. She stepped forward, grabbed the man by his jerkin, and threw him against the stone wall. He collided with a thick thud, headfirst.

The man’s eyes rolled up as he slumped to the floor.

“Stars!” Brother Qown hurried to the guard’s side, hoping by some miracle Count Janel hadn’t killed the jailer outright. Brother Qown saw other signs of violence; someone had bitten the man’s ear, and they’d been dedicated to the task. Quick on the heels of that thought, Qown realized he should first check on whoever had bitten the man. Count Janel must have had the same worry, because she rushed behind the stacked crates.

When the priest caught up, he saw Ninavis unlocking her shackles with the jailer’s key. Scarlet dripped from her lips and chin as she brandished the manacles at them like a weapon.

To Brother Qown’s amazement, Count Janel smiled. “Ah, now the blood makes sense.”

“I’m not staying in this basement.” Ninavis tightened her grip on the chain and glared.

“No,” Janel agreed. “That would be ill-advised.” She appeared to be putting an effort into controlling her laughter. “Let’s leave this place.”

“Aren’t we going to be in trouble for this?” Brother Qown resisted the urge to wring his hands. He failed to see how the baron could ignore a visiting noble—even a count—attacking his guards.