“Good enough.” Janel inhaled deeply. “Ninavis, I need to change the plan. I know what we discussed, but there’s simply no way—”
The tent flap moved as Markreev Aroth Malkoessian entered. He halted, shocked. Under normal circumstances, he probably would have had guards enter first, but maybe he’d assumed he’d be safe in the middle of the Quuros army encampment.
He recovered quickly, closing his mouth as he starred at Janel. “I had half convinced myself I’d seen a ghost when I spotted you earlier.”
Janel broke off from her conversation with Ninavis. She leaned against the table, stretched her arms up over her head, and smiled. “Oh no. Not at all. So now we really must finish that conversation we once had so many years ago about my ‘place.’”
The Markreev’s eyes narrowed as he lifted his chin.
Before he could respond, Janel continued, “But first I have an unpleasant task to complete.” She lowered her arms. “I regret I must inform you that your son Oreth is dead.”
He barely reacted, except his face paled. “Did you kill him?”
“He fell in with the Yorans—”
“So did you.”
“I was kidnapped by the Yorans. Not the same thing. In any event, I believe you already know about Oreth’s crimes. But after he left, your son found himself mixed up with unpleasantries. Really, it had nothing at all to do with Oreth, but he took the blame. Duke Kaen had him executed. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it worked out the way it did.”
He swallowed, eyes bright, and said nothing for several heavy, tense seconds. “Very well.” He nodded. “I shall take it under advisement. I assume you’ve come here to throw yourself on my mercy—”
“No.”
Malkoessian frowned.
“I’m here to explain your new situation,” Janel corrected. “I’m sure you realize, or must suspect, that Duke Xun is dead. And you likely think that you’re the obvious choice to replace him.” She shook her head slowly. “Let go of that idea, Aroth. It’s not going to work out that way.”
“Have your years away made you forget all etiquette? You call me my lord.”
“No, I don’t.” Janel’s eyes flashed blue as she snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Look at me, Aroth. Look in my eyes.”
The rest of the Markreev’s admonishment died stillborn. Ninavis gave Janel an odd look.
“No, Aroth. You talked your son into believing that he was entitled to my bed. You gave him my grandfather’s letter and told yourself that you were forcing a marriage between us for my own good, for the good of the Theranon family name. Because of that belief, Oreth tried so hard to gain what you’d told him was his birthright that he strayed right into treason.” Her smile was cruel as she saw Aroth flinch. “I owe you no thudajé. But you owe me a great deal.”
The Markreev’s expression cleared. “So you want to be duke.”
“In fact, no.” Janel stepped away from the table and clapped a hand on Ninavis’s shoulder. “Please allow me to introduce you to Sir Ninavis Theranon. She’s going to be next Duke of Jorat.”
The Markreev likely didn’t notice the slight widening of Ninavis’s eyes, the startled glance the woman gave Janel. Ninavis recovered quickly.
“Theranon? But there are no other—”
“I’ve decided to adopt her.” Janel turned to Ninavis. “Did you know there’s no rule that says I can’t adopt someone older than myself?”
“Well, I know now,” Ninavis admitted, eying Janel warily.
“I’m also abdicating,” Janel continued. “I suppose that means she’s properly Count Ninavis Theranon. You will, of course, approve that succession. Which should be more than enough title to soothe anyone who would object to a Joratese ruler jumping from knight to duke.” She tilted her head toward Ninavis. “Bad news, though. I’m afraid you’re going to have to give up the tournament circuit.”
Ninavis stared at her hard. “I’ll cope.”
Aroth sputtered. “You can’t just pick a person and declare them in charge!”
Janel laughed. “Yes, we can. We can, and we do. All the time. Now you and I both know that since the duke died without heirs, there will be a meeting of the ruling nobles to pick a successor. You’ll find a great many of those nobles will have no problem putting in their vote for the Count of Tolamer. Especially once word begins to spread that said count is the Black Knight. You know, the one who slew that giant dragon? Everyone saw her ushering people to safety earlier while you and your family evacuated with the rest of the herds.”
Aroth’s nostrils flared. “This woman didn’t kill that dragon.”
“Oh, but I say she did,” Janel corrected. “And as I’m Janel Danorak, I know something about the power of a reputation. However, I never planned on relying on your good grace and kindness to ensure your cooperation.” Janel motioned to Ninavis.
In response, the woman pulled a sheet of parchment out of her satchel. She leaned over a brazier next to the desk and set an edge on fire, releasing the sheet as the whole paper caught.
“What was that?” Aroth demanded.
“I do believe that was a lien for fifty thousand thrones given to Count Jarin Theranon,” Ninavis explained. “Oh, did you need that?”
“What? How did you get that?”
“And this—” Ninavis pulled another paper out of the satchel. “Is another lien, originally between Jarin Theranon and the Baron of Omorse, but you bought that, didn’t you? Only ten thousand this time. Still, you have lent people a lot of money, haven’t you?” She rolled up the piece of paper and tapped it against the edge of the brazier. “All these loans. Half the empire is in debt to you, Aroth.”
“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Janel pursed her lips. “Truth be told, you stopped being a Markreev a long time ago. You’re not a Joratese noble protecting his herd; you’re a bank. A usurer.”
“How did you get those?” the Markreev demanded again. He glanced back at the entrance as if giving serious consideration to calling for his guards.
“I should rather think that obvious, Aroth,” Janel explained gently. “We stole them. All of them. Every proof of lien you have and all your accounting books as well. It turns out that while this giant dragon was attacking, no one was guarding the Atrine Gatestone, and there was only a token guard back at your castle.”
“Which means,” Ninavis said, “that as of this moment, you cannot prove you have lent anyone so much as a chalice.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Markreev Malkoessian snarled.
Janel waved a hand. “Think it through, Aroth. Yes, you can bring in Blood of Joras—wizards and truthsayers—to verify your claims, but do you really want to remind your fellow Joratese just how in bed you are with the Royal Houses? D’Aramarin in particular. Your Censure would be quite real. Or you can honor Ninavis’s claim, support her, and no one has to know this ever happened.”
His nostrils flared, and he didn’t answer.
Janel sighed. Again her eyes seemed to change color, flickering into something resembling an ice-blue cat’s eye before it settled back into crimson. “I’m making this offer because you’re a smart, pragmatic man, and I think you and Ninavis will work well together. Jorat will need a lot of effort in the years to come and our people need strong leaders.” She shrugged. “If I didn’t think you were the man for the job, I’d have simply killed you and your son Ilvar and let your firstborn son, Palomarn, become duke. But Palomarn’s a mare, and I know he’d hate having to be in charge of an entire ward. And Dorna would be upset with me if I killed you.”