“That’s something,” Kihrin said.
“I don’t know,” Janel said. “She’s amazing with a sword.”
“Plus, do you need to know sorcery when you can devour someone’s soul?” Qown asked. He skipped to the next part and began to read.
Qown’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.
Brother Qown fell to his knees as the guards pushed him into the great hall.
“Is that necessary?” Thurvishar D’Lorus said.
Qown wiped the blood from his lip and tried to stand. The guard, who liked Qown’s prone position better, set his spear butt against Qown’s back and shoved him prostrate again.
Brother Qown should have realized the first person who would fall under suspicion for Janel’s disappearance would be himself.
Qown wasn’t in much of a position to take in the geometric perfection of the palace’s grand hall. The air smelled cold and sharp. Qown felt like he was outside on a clear winter’s day, standing in a cathedral to winter and snow.
Except for the Yoran crowd gathered to see to his disposition.
Except for the duke, standing near the giant central hearth. Qown’s heart sank as he realized neither Relos Var nor Senera were present.
He had been counting on their presence—and Senera’s use of the Name of All Things—to establish his innocence. They would have been able to easily ferret out the truth.
“We checked all the rooms, Your Grace,” the guard said. “She’s not in the palace.”
The duke scowled. “Who last saw Janel?” He cast his questions toward the several dozen women standing to the side.
A woman the same age as the duke himself stepped forward. “Veixizhau welcomed Janel back upon her return.”
A younger woman—presumably Veixizhau—whipped her head round to glare at the woman who’d spoken. She stepped forward. “I left after Segra delivered her food, my husband, but I must say Janel seemed unhappy. Is it possible she didn’t want to be here? The young man is a sorcerer, is he not? Could he not have helped her escape?”
It took Brother Qown several seconds before he realized young man meant him.
“I haven’t seen—”
The guard hit him.
Brother Qown put his hand to his face. His jaw ached with a dull throb.
“Let him answer,” the duke said.
Brother Qown tried to stand a second time. He felt a hand on his arm; Thurvishar had stepped forward to help him. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“You’re welcome.”
Brother Qown wiped the blood on his mouth against his agolé. “With all respect, Your Grace, I haven’t seen the count for at least…” And then his mind blanked. Had a day passed? Two? How many? He’d lost track. “And I’m quite unable to even contemplate, uh…” He paused. “Escape is impossible.”
“For you,” said Duke Kaen, “but perhaps not for her.”
“Maybe she climbed out the window,” Veixizhau suggested.
“And what?” Thurvishar asked. “Slid down a castle wall in the middle of a blizzard while wearing nothing but a slip? I doubt she’d be strong enough for such a climb in winter gear.”
“You’re both wizards,” she snapped. “What did you do with her?”
“We aren’t allowed in your apartments.”
“Enough!”
Everyone fell quiet at the duke’s voice. He walked forward, boots echoing against the marble floor. He stopped before several men—all of whom had been present when Darzin D’Mon burned Brother Qown’s journal. Darzin himself was evidently back in the Capital.
“Son,” the duke said to Exidhar, “do you have anything to do with this? I understand the woman embarrassed you, but she’s important to my plans.”
“The priest’s probably lying,” Sir Oreth interrupted. “He’s always protecting her—” The knight went silent as the duke met his eyes.
Kaen returned his attention to his son.
Brother Qown found himself holding his breath. If Exidhar or any of his friends had been involved in Janel’s disappearance, Exidhar seemed the most likely to confess. If he convinced his father that Brother Qown possessed an overactive imagination, or worse, was covering for Janel’s escape, he was in trouble.
Oh, it made Qown shake just to consider how this might end for him, never mind how it might have already ended for Janel.
“Well?”
Exidhar blinked, then gave a panicked glance at his friends.
“Father, I—” He licked his lips. “I wasn’t involved, I swear. I didn’t know—” He glanced over at the wives.
The duke sighed. “What you mean is, you didn’t know, but your friends did.” With no warning, he turned and grabbed Sir Oreth by his laevos.
The knight went for his sword. In turn, Oreth found a half dozen soldiers pointing swords at him.
“It will be no great inconvenience to me, horse man,” the duke said, “to throw you out into the storm. And you’re new here, so my son won’t claim any loss if I kill you. So tell me everything.”
Sir Oreth didn’t hesitate. “It was Darzin D’Mon’s idea, my lord. A prank and nothing more. He said the winter snow wouldn’t bother her because she’s an Ogenra of House D’Talus.”
At this confession, the entire congregation broke out into murmured outrage. Brother Qown felt his own anger, but for different reasons. Janel was resistant to cold, but Darzin D’Mon had no way to know that. Indeed, Darzin would have assumed the opposite—because the Royal Houses didn’t teach their women magic.
Which meant Darzin D’Mon had tried to murder Janel as a lark. Assuming Sir Oreth wasn’t lying. It might well have been the knight’s idea all along.
“And how did you gain entry to the wives’ quarters?” The duke demanded. “Be specific.”
Before he could answer, a woman screamed and everyone turned toward the main doorway.
A dead woman walked into the hall.
She might have been beautiful, except for being so clearly lifeless. This woman appeared to be an animated corpse, left on the ice for years. Frozen blue crystals clung to her like tiny jewels. The ice and cold had dried her flesh to her bones.
She wasn’t Yoran. Her skin looked too dark. Her hair resembled snakes made from black wool, tied back with silver pins and rings. She dressed for battle, all silver chain and sparkling steel. Nothing about her seemed appropriate to the duke’s court.
Except her manner, the envy of any sovereign.
Two women trailed behind her, handmaidens to a queen of war.
One of them was Janel.
A shocked silence fell over the great hall.
Xivan Kaen, the dead but not gone Duchess of Yor, began to laugh.
“Oh, husband,” she said, grinning with a smile made grisly by how little tissue existed between her skull and skin, “Have they forgotten me so quickly?”
“It’s been a long time, my love,” said Duke Kaen.
Xivan drew her sword and pointed it to the gathered courtiers, each in turn, before sheathing the blade again. “Did you think you’d kept me down just because you’d murdered me? Did you think it would be that easy?”