“Oh,” Brother Qown looked abashed. “I grew up with it in Eamithon. It’s a children’s game, where it’s possible to have multiple simultaneous victories, and in fact, the most prestigious victory involves all the players winning.”

Kihrin made a face. “Eamithon sounds nice. Doesn’t Eamithon sound nice? I was going to open a bar there for my father.” He sighed, stared into his glass, and motioned to the bartender for another refill.

Kihrin turned back to Qown. “It’s your turn.”

Qown’s Turn. The tournament grounds at Mereina, Barsine Banner, Jorat, Quur.

Plans were made, tasks allocated—which, in Brother Qown and Dorna’s case, meant finding seats at the tournament. That ended up being a more complicated endeavor than Qown ever expected. While the stands were underpopulated, attendees crowded toward the front. A great many spectators had huddled together to talk in hushed tones about the day’s strange events, who else might be killed, and just how upset they should be over the whole matter.

“How long do you think it will take Sir Baramon to break down his tent?” Brother Qown leaned over and whispered to Dorna. If, or rather when, things started to go wrong, time would be at a premium. Someone would need to retrieve Ninavis too—a danger-fraught endeavor—so Qown wanted everything else readied first.

Dorna examined an engraved leather purse in her hands. “What was that?” She tucked the purse away into her skirts.

“How long do you think it will take Sir Baramon to break down his tent?” he asked again.

“It’s called an azhock,” Dorna said.

“That’s not the point.”

“Well, if you’re going to learn our ways, priest, you’d best start with the important words, doncha think?” The old woman winked at him before turning back to the tournament.

Dorna leaned over to tug on the sleeve of a woman sitting in a box seat. She wore a merchant family’s square crest on her sleeves. An embroidery hoop rested on her lap. “Morning there, Mare,” Dorna said. “Who’s the knight in the blue and yellow?” She pointed to the field, where two new knights approached.

The woman eyed Dorna’s lack of team colors before answering. “Gozen. Works for the Sifen family.” She sniffed. “Farmers. They grow mangoes.”

“Ooooh,” Dorna said. “He any good?”

The woman snorted this time. She started to return to her embroidery. “Wait, my purse! What happened to my purse?”

Dorna ignored Brother Qown’s accusing look. “Did you drop it? When did you last see it? Did you buy something? Maybe it’s still there.”

The woman gave Dorna a panicked look, grabbed her embroidery bag, and bolted back between the stands. Dorna took the woman’s place and motioned for the Vishai priest to join her.

“Dorna!”

She pulled him over beside her. “Don’t make a fuss. People will notice.”