“Most recently? Kazivar.”
A box creaked as Sir Oreth stood. “Let me extend my hospitality so we might discuss this further over dinner. I—” He paused. “The servants need to clean, put a fire in the oven. Might I suggest we retire to the Green? I know a fantastic tavern.”
“Nothing would please me more. Wake.” An impatient snap of fingers accompanied the last command.
Kovinglass said, “Whah, what? What happened? What just—”
“Relos Var and I are going to dinner. Clean up here while we’re gone.”
A long pause followed. Gatekeepers were not, after all, servants. They often acted as advisers, simply because their level of education made them well suited for that role. But first and foremost, they were mages who paid their dues to House D’Aramarin.
Kovinglass eventually snarled, “Yes, sir.”
Brother Qown prayed his thanks. As he did, Relos Var and Sir Oreth left. The room fell quiet. Brother Qown started to wonder if Kovinglass had departed with them, after all.
Then the Gatekeeper walked over to the closet where Janel and Brother Qown hid and threw open the doors.
Brother Qown almost shrieked but managed to stay silent as Kovinglass opened the top chest in a stack. The Gatekeeper rummaged through what might have been cloth. He stopped as someone opened the front door upstairs.
Brother Qown held his breath, hoping against hope Dorna and Sir Baramon hadn’t returned. Luck smiled on him.
“What kept you?” Kovinglass snapped. “We need fresh linens on the beds, and someone needs to clean the kitchen. It hasn’t been used in years. Get started!”
A chorus of “Yes, Master Kovinglass” rewarded his scolding; the house servants had arrived.
A woman said, “Would you care for tea, Master Kovinglass? I brought a pot from the castle along with steamed sesame buns. Sinon is setting up in the kitchen.”
“Yes. Oh yes.” Kovinglass’s annoyance seemed to melt at the suggestion of tea and fresh food. His volume lowered as he moved away from the closet. “Siva, what would I do without you?”
She laughed. “Go hungry and without tea, Master Kovinglass. Now get you gone. You Blood of Joras types are too important to be left with the sweeping. I’ll take over down here.”
Brother Qown frowned. The woman’s voice sounded familiar.
Kovinglass’s footsteps faded from the room, and a second later, Janel stood up.
“Ninavis, what are you doing here?” she hissed.
Brother Qown blinked and peeked over the chest.
Ninavis stood there, dressed in a Joratese serving mare’s dull brown split skirts and tunic. She had one hand frozen as if reaching for a weapon no longer by her side.
“By the Eight!” Ninavis whispered. “Don’t do that! What in the hell are you doing here?”
“I asked you first.”
Brother Qown stood up and fled the closet. “Never mind all that. We need to leave before anyone returns.”
Janel looked up toward the kitchen areas, then grabbed Ninavis’s hand and pulled her into the hallway and down a second set of stairs. Brother Qown followed, feeling naked and vulnerable and like they would be discovered at any turn. Had the servants gone downstairs? Would they stay quiet? It all made his stomach ache.
The staircase down to the first floor ended in a long hallway, already lit as the serving staff had moved through the house. Chatter echoed through the apartment as the staff cleaned and uncovered furniture, preparing the house for occupation. The count ignored this noise and motioned for everyone to follow her into a dark storeroom.
Once in the room, Janel grabbed a lantern from the wall and handed it to Brother Qown. “Light this.” She moved over to a thick iron grating in the floor, fastened shut with a chain.
“What are you—” Ninavis started to ask.
Janel broke the metal chain with her bare hands. “Follow me.”
She yanked up the grate and set it to the side.
Brother Qown lit the lantern and held it over the trap door while the count lowered Ninavis. Janel then did the same with Brother Qown.
“What the—”
A Marakori family sat up from their bedrolls, blinking at the intruders. From the way boxes had been pushed to the side to form a mini-fort, it seemed obvious they had disturbed squatters. They were taking advantage of the fact ground-floor basements were seldom used or visited.
For several heartbeats, no one said anything.
“Excuse us,” Count Janel declared. “I apologize for the interruption. I recommend you all leave. Our pursuers will eventually search down here.” She stepped over an old man as she headed for the door.
“Sorry,” Brother Qown said to the family. “Is there anything I can do for—”4
Ninavis grabbed him by the arm and dragged him with her.
The basement exited to Atrine’s ground level. The count unbarred the door and opened it, revealing the city’s garbage-strewn streets. From the smell, Brother Qown surmised refugees had been using the streets for sewage disposal.
Count Janel turned around to face Ninavis.
“What are you doing in Kovinglass’s employ? Talk,” Janel whispered, her face stony.
Brother Qown understood the count well enough to realize she wore this expression when she was furious.
Ninavis rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you too.”
Janel’s nostrils flared.
“Nina, please,” Brother Qown said.
The bandit leader shrugged. “It was the baron’s idea. Kalazan, I mean. We figured since you lot were on foot, the hike to Atrine would take you some time. In the meantime, once the army had cleared matters up back in Mereina, their Gatekeeper opened that stone for anyone who wanted to leave. I asked to go to Tolamer. Figured I could find work at the castle, keep an eye on Sir Oreth, and give you warning if I ever saw him move forward with that whole Censure business.”
“Khorsal’s droppings,” Janel muttered as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t need your help.”
Given their most recent conversation on protection, Brother Qown understood why she’d say that, even though—from his perspective—she lied. Count Janel did need help. She needed as much help as she could get.
Ninavis raised an eyebrow. “I don’t hold to your idorrá ways, Count. I’ll help who I damn well like, and I don’t expect any hand-holding or oath swearing in return.”
“I just meant…” Janel inhaled. “You didn’t have to do this. Kalazan didn’t have to do this.”
“Beg your pardon, but we damn well think we do. Kalazan owes you thudajé and don’t you try to deny it. He’s baron because of you. You think he’s just going to forget?”
“And you? Didn’t you just say you don’t believe in this idorrá or thudajé business? Why are you doing this?”
“My reasons—”
Brother Qown cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, but how are we going to find Dorna and Sir Baramon? If we don’t, there’s a very good chance they’ll run into Kovinglass when they return. Or worse, Sir Oreth or Relos Var.”
Ninavis startled. “Relos Var? He’s here?”
“Yes,” Janel said, “and just as much a villain as when last I saw him.”