She chuckled. “Quite a lot, although nothing I’d hold a grudge over. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh no,” Kihrin said, “I’m the one who should apologize for storming off.”
“I’m glad. Do you want to join us again?”
“Yeah, I should.”
She stood up from her stool and started to walk back to their table, but then turned back. “Kihrin?”
“Yes?”
“When we were in the Afterlife together, I told you I was insulted—” She paused for a moment, still finding her words. “That I was insulted Xaltorath had assumed you and I would have a relationship—as long as you consented. That my interest had been taken as already granted.”
Kihrin felt like he’d eaten rocks. “Oh.”
“You should know I wouldn’t reject you just to spite Xaltorath. If I’m interested in a relationship, I’ll tell you.” She grimaced and held up a finger. “That didn’t come out right. What I mean to say is this: Xaltorath was right. I am interested.”
The rocks in his stomach changed into butterflies, a much more pleasant feeling. Still … “What about Teraeth?”
“Oh, I’d ask him about his attraction to you. It’s not my place to say.” The corner of her mouth turned up.
“Very funny,” he said.
“I thought so.” She smiled at him. “One more story. Then we’ll stop for dinner.”
Kihrin picked up his drink and headed back. It was Qown’s turn.
Qown’s Turn. The ruins of an estava, Barsine Banner, Jorat, Quur.
The rain poured down.
It stopped being rain by the second day, turning into slushy, dank snow. Mereina’s survivors huddled for warmth. Brother Qown felt grateful for being underground; the huge stone cavern provided insulation from the weather, but everyone still clumped together and shared their blankets.
They had no way to judge morning, but Janel opened her eyes at what Brother Qown suspected was the moment the sun crested the horizon to the west. She sat up and pulled away her blankets, stretching and examining her limbs as if amazed they were still attached.
Then she wandered over to the hearth in search of breakfast.
“They were clever,” she said later as Dorna, Sir Baramon, and Dango gathered together to play dice.
“Clever?” Brother Qown kept his voice neutral.
“Yes,” she agreed. “They knew the smoke would kill everyone in the town. The demons would then eat their souls and animate—kill still more people for their brethren to possess. Then the dragon comes through and buries the local countryside in storms and snow”—she waved a finger toward the ceiling to the storm still raging above them—“so when the army comes through, they are slowed by the weather.”4
“Oh, I see,” Brother Qown said. He bit his lip. “I hate clever. I would much rather we were dealing with stupid.”
She sighed. “Alas. That would have been preferable.” She brightened then. “But at least they didn’t succeed. The weather may be grim, but it will have all been in vain. There will be no Hellmarch.”
“You’re sure?”
She smiled. “I am.”
“We can’t stay here.” Ninavis limped over in their direction. “We don’t have enough supplies for all these people. Folks didn’t grab near enough before they left. Nobody is prepared for snow. It never snows here.”
Janel leaned back on one arm. She nursed a strong cup of tea from Dorna’s stores, but in general, everyone had agreed to half rations. No one thought it wise to assume when the unnatural storm would end.
“When the storm passes, you should return to Mereina,” Janel said.
“Mereina?” Ninavis looked appalled. “Where the demons are?”
“Where the demons were,” Janel corrected. “Not anymore. And you know the army is traveling there next. You can’t just abandon the place, Ninavis. It’s your home now. Where else would you go?”
“You keep saying ‘you,’” Ninavis said. “I’m noticing a distinct lack of ‘us.’”
Janel sighed. “I’m not your baron. When Kalazan returns…”
“If Kalazan returns,” Ninavis snapped. “We don’t know—”
Janel looked over toward where Ganar Venos (who no longer had to pretend to be Gan the Miller’s Daughter) helped with the cooking. “Keep your voice down, please.”
Ninavis’s expression softened. “Fine. But you’re just leaving?”
“Someone has to try to warn the others. I’m not just talking about the army either. Someone has to make sure people know what happened here. My people and I will go to Atrine and speak with Duke Xun.”
Dorna looked up from her dice. “Atrine? Oh, foal. We can’t! I know you told Arasgon to meet us there, but it’s a terrible risk…” She didn’t look behind as she slapped at Sir Baramon’s hand. “Don’t be changing those dice. I’ll cut you. See if I don’t.”
“I would never!” Sir Baramon protested, while moving his hand away from the dice. “Um, why would going to the dominion’s capital be a risk?”
Dango nodded. “I was gonna ask that.”
Brother Qown studied his hands as tension played over Janel’s and Dorna’s expressions.
“Is there something you haven’t told me?” Sir Baramon squinted. “Tamin said something about you outrunning Censure. That true?”
Janel sighed. “It’s true. It’s not…” She shook her head. “It’s not earned, you understand. My grandfather wasn’t even cold when Sir Oreth showed up on my doorstep with a small army.”
“Sir Oreth? The Markreev of Stavira’s second son?”
Dorna rolled her eyes.
“The same. Our parents arranged the match when we were children, but it … it didn’t work out.”
“Naturally, it didn’t work out,” Dorna agreed. “You’re a lovely young noble, and he’s a horse’s ass. Cross-species relations are frowned on in these parts.” She grinned, her expression impish. “Ain’t that what you said in that last letter just before we left?”
Janel couldn’t quite stop herself from smiling. “You know, I think it may have been.”
Sir Baramon’s eyes went quite wide. “Well, then. I see why he’s so upset with you.”
“No, I suspect he harbors a grudge—because just after our engagement, he behaved like a thorra, and I gave him a lesson in manners.” Janel frowned. “He wanted me to bow to him, and I refused. So he tried to force me.”
“Oh aye,” Dorna chortled. She leaned over to Sir Baramon and said, “I hear she broke both Oreth’s arms and dragged him by his feet into his father’s bedroom. Oh, I wish I could’ve been there.” She made a face. “But I ain’t welcome around the Stavira estate.”
“My point is that he thinks I should owe him thudajé,” Janel explained, waving a hand disdainfully. “When he returned after my grandfather died, he gave me a choice: marry him, agree to accept my place as a mare, and make him count, or … or the alternative was paying off the people he’d already bribed to declare Censure on me. Since I had no way to do that, I left.”