26: THE GREAT TOURNAMENT OF CHALLENGES

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Teraeth failed to kill a mimic

Janel looked Ninavis in the eyes. “I really am trying to understand, you know.”

The older woman shrugged. “Yeah, I know. But at the time…”

“I had no idea what the Royal Houses were doing in Marakor,” Kihrin said.

“Why would you?” Ninavis traded out her liquor for more water. “It’s not like the Royal Houses are going to walk around saying, ‘Hey, did you know we’re trying our damnedest to enslave an entire dominion? So much profit to be made. It’s working out really well for us.’”

Dorna chuckled. “At least, it was.”

Janel nodded. “There’s that. Pity people keep disappearing off the plantations. So unfortunate.”

Kihrin stopped and looked at the three women. “Wait. What are you … what are you saying?”

“That depends,” Ninavis said. “How loyal are you to House D’Mon?”

“I’m not,” Kihrin said. “Believe me, there’s no love lost there.” He paused a minute, frowning. “Although it occurs to me I should at some point check to see if I’m Lord Heir or if Galen is…” Kihrin shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not returning.”

“Okay, so what we’re doing is—” Nina paused as Janel put her hand on the other woman’s.

“Not so fast. I think our new friend needs to hear about my meeting with Duke Xun first.” Janel threw Kihrin a smile that flirted with apology but made no firm commitments.

Kihrin leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Be my guest.”

Janel’s Turn. The Green, Atrine, Jorat, Quur.

“Did you find Brother Qown?” I said as Ninavis entered the tent. I put a hand down to my waist, fighting down nausea. “Please tell me he’s well.”

Ninavis threw herself down into a chair, cocking her head to the side to look at me as Dorna continued fussing over the feathered cloak and headdress. “He’s fine. Got himself into a spot of trouble with charlatans, who didn’t like him cutting into their profits. So Mithros is letting you take his place as the Black Knight?”

“This is the easiest way to gain access to the palace. Dorna, this cloak is too heavy. I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“Ain’t the cloak, foal. That’s nerves.” Dorna gave me a knowing look. “Your mother used to be the same way. Threw up before every show, she did.”

I felt queasy. Of course. The last time, I’d been focused on fighting, on Dedreugh. This was so much worse.

“Your mother used to perform in the shows?” Ninavis looked intrigued.

“Yes,” I said, still hoping to keep the meager porridge I’d been able to force down. “That’s how she—” I paused and cleared my throat.

“That’s how her parents, Frena and Jarak, met,” Dorna said, “and how Janel’s mother met me.” She thumped her chest. “I helped train her.”

Ninavis eyed me. “So you’re upholding a family tradition.”

I sat down and concentrated on my breathing. “It’s only for today. When the duke leaves his box to go to dinner, I’ll be waiting for him.”

“Be careful,” Ninavis said, all levity gone.

I stood up again, aware my cloak flapped around me like a giant crow as I let my restless energy get the better of me. Still, the thick worry in Ninavis’s voice stopped me with a sudden insight.

I looked at her and wondered just when Ninavis had become my woman. Any promises to Kalazan had been kept weeks ago. She bore no onus to look after my people, to help with my quests, to care about my safety. And she wasn’t Joratese, which meant any lingering herd instinct to stay—because she’d nowhere else to go—didn’t motivate her.

She stayed because she wanted to.

I wondered if Ninavis realized she’d switched her loyalties, but had she ever had any? Kalazan had been her man, not the reverse. Her loyalty to him had been idorrá loyalty, not thudajé.

She squinted at me. “Now don’t look at me like I just cursed your favorite horse. I just think you’re walking into a jaguar’s den, for all he’s your duke. Be careful.”

I shook myself and grabbed the feather-plumed helmet from the tent-side table. “I will. Don’t worry—” My eyes widened as a thought occurred to me. “Dorna, they’ll recognize Arasgon—”

Dorna waved a hand. “Nothing about this will kick back to you. I dyed his legs; Mithros spelled his eyes. He’s a handsome black stallion right now. Beautiful and larger than most, but nothing special. Borrowed the saddle and kit from the Red Spears. As long as Arasgon keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t go shouting his name to anyone who will listen, he’ll be fine.”

I breathed deep and tried to calm myself. “Thank you.”

Dorna put a hand on my back and shoved me toward the tent opening. “Now be off with you. You’ve a crowd to entertain.”¹

---

The day passed quickly.

The tournament started with grand spectacle: knights, contestants, and entertainers all parading through the city before entering the tournament grounds. Joratese filled every stand and rooftop with enough height to see the contests. Enterprising souls rented spaces on sky bridges to those unfortunates who hadn’t managed to find themselves seats in the stands.

The tournament contestants wore riotous colors to proclaim the hues of their sponsors, their homes, and any businesses whose interests they’d been paid to represent. The next week of fighting would decide a great deal: business contracts and commodity prices and even the guilt or innocence of accused criminals. No one in Jorat would do any significant business without first establishing the respective idorrá and thudajé for all involved parties. The most civilized way to establish those parameters was through the contests.²

Everyone watched and cheered and drank. Fights broke out both inside and outside the tournament grounds. Jorat’s finest artists had sculpted the lacquered armor worn by the knights into fantastic shapes—jaguars and elephants, monkeys and parrots. Such armor gave way more easily than its metal equivalent, so broken bones often took knights out of the competition.

I had a hard time watching the tournament without remembering Sir Xia Nilos and her squire, dead by Dedreugh’s blade. Or Mereina’s people, choked to death on blue smoke.

But no, that wasn’t relevant here. Atrine was Jorat’s capital. Even if Jorat frowned on magic, every noble had brought their Gatekeepers. Every priest of the Eight attended. No witch could try Senera’s trick without being caught.³

So Arasgon and I played with the crowd and pretended to be black-clad jesters while we passed the time. Finally, the evening sun set behind the eastern mountain, and the duke waved his goodbyes to the crowds as his court rose to go inside.

I knew they would be headed to the parties: eight evenings of dancing, drinking, and merriment to match the daytime festivities.⁴

I quelled my envy and disappointment. This would have been my first Great Tournament after coming of age. My first opportunity to show myself in splendor as Count of Tolamer, to parade before my peers and revel in dancing and accolades.

No one stopped me as I made my way to the corridor I had chosen for my ambush. I had once used it as a child to lie in wait for the duke—the current duke’s father—who rewarded such ambushes with sugar candies. I stood there, acting like a bored knight awaiting orders.

All my plans would be for naught if the duke took another passage.

Footsteps told me I had guessed correctly. And as they drew close, I pulled the helmet off my head. I tucked it under an arm and stepped out from around the corner.

Foran Xun, Duke of Jorat, had gained his title young—like me he’d lost his father in the Lonezh Hellmarch. His mother, Pyna, walked just after her son, dressed in rich brown robes, only technically obeying mare propriety. Foran himself was a beautiful mahogany color, with a white laevos and light-kissed hands.

His brown eyes widened in surprise as he saw me ahead in the hallway. His soldiers, armed and armored in real metal rather than lacquered leather or reed, seemed no less surprised … but a great deal less pleased.

“My duke.” I crouched down to the floor even as guards drew their weapons. “Please hear my plea.”

Footsteps toward me.

How he reacted to this would tell me if he had been poisoned against me. I tensed, even made ready to run.

“Wait. Janel Danorak? From Tolamer? I haven’t seen you in years.” He sounded surprised. Then he began to laugh. “No, no, she’s fine. Leave her be.”

They did not leave me be, but the guards respectfully helped me to my feet.

“Look how she’s grown,” Pyna Xun murmured to her son. “So lovely, but we must get her in a different color. She looks like a Black Knight dressed so.” She laughed at the ridiculous idea.

I breathed deeply and kept my eyes to the ground. “My duke, I would speak with you about Barsine Banner.”

“Barsine? Barsine … Mother, why does that sound familiar?”

“The witches, dear.”

“Right! Yes, the witches.” Duke Xun snapped his fingers. “And you attended, didn’t you? By the Eight, that must have been hideous. Walk with us. You’re coming to the party tonight? I’m told the chefs have made a life-sized stallion from rice flour and corn silk. I’m so excited.”

I glanced up at the duke in surprise, unable to stop myself. While his knowledge of the disaster reassured me, he’d given far more importance to the party.

“Sorry to hear about your grandfather,” the duke continued, “although I can’t say I’m surprised. He was so old. Wasn’t he, Mother?”

“Oh, quite so. But very loyal.”

“I suppose. He always made me feel like I had food caught in my teeth,” the duke admitted. “I bet he makes Thaena straighten her dress in the Afterlife. Was he very strict with you?” He didn’t look back at me, so it took a second to realize I’d been addressed.

“Uh … I admit I didn’t find him so, my duke.”

“Of course. You were all the family he had left, after all. Probably let you get away with all manner of things. You did bring a different outfit, I hope? That armor’s just fantastic for the tournaments, but it’s not going to work at all for the feast. People are going to think you’re a mare if you don’t wear any jewelry.”

“I hoped I might speak to you about Barsine first—”

“Oh, of course. I mean, someone shows up and wipes out an entire town, during a tournament no less … I have to pay attention, don’t I? We can’t have that happening again.”

I exhaled and felt tension leave me as we walked down the hallways. “Yes, my duke. I quite agree.”

“Fortunately, I have been briefed on the situation and have everything under control. It won’t be a problem.”

“That’s wonderful, my duke. The baron told you what happened?”

“No, no. I have a letter from the new baron, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him in person yet. No, a survivor made it here to the city and explained everything. Wonderful fellow. I’m thinking I might keep him around, even if he isn’t Joratese.”

We came to the hallway’s end, where soldiers waited before ornate double doors. They saluted at the duke’s approach and then opened the doors for him.

“He isn’t Joratese?” I had a moment’s puzzlement. Even as the doors swung open, I realized the only person he could be describing. The bottom dropped from my stomach.

“My duke,” said Relos Var, sweeping into a deep bow. “I’m so pleased to see you.”⁵