Chapter 1

T he way of the warrior is death.

And if my chicken-brained brother keeps slowing us down, I may have to kill him myself.

“There!” He points, destroying any hope I have of ignoring his latest outburst. “What’s that over there?”

Merritt pulls his warhorse to the side of the crumbling trail for what has to be the fifty-seventh time this morning. I watch him with barely controlled irritation, keeping my head ruthlessly still beneath my hooded cloak. If I make any sudden move, the jewel-encrusted coils of my thickly braided hair will tip me right out of my saddle.

My brother has no such constraint. He bounces in his stirrups, then strains to see over the tumble of vegetation, his eyes bright and his smile wide. He’s every inch a seventeen-year-old off on his “first true adventure.”

“Patience, Talia,” my handmaiden mutters beside me. “He has the attention span of a gnat. Three bronze say we’re back on our way within the half-hour.”

“Done.” I’d never take Adriana’s coins, of course, but she’s wrong. I know Merritt better than he knows himself.

We’ll be here a while.

Merritt’s stallion huffs and stamps, driving a hoof into the broken stone. All around us are jagged piles of rusted metal, burned-out husks of what may have once been vehicles. Hollow buildings leer at us from either side of the collapsed road, redolent with long-ago death. Merritt seems not to see anything but the hulking wrecks, while I study a thin, fetid stream of goo that moves sluggishly along the bottom of a choked gutter, bubbling from a dark hole I don’t want to think about too much.

It’s a cursed place, salted with the fear of the forsaken who vanished from these same streets hundreds of years ago. So many died in the onslaught of the Western Realms before the Protectorate rose up to hold the line between order and chaos.

We shouldn’t be here…

But it’s also a shortcut to pass through the Shattered City, and we needed to make up the time.

“We have to keep going,” I call to Merritt, forcing a grin when all I want to do is shake him into deep unconsciousness. “We’re already arriving after dark, and that’s if we push hard.”

“Well, what’s the rush?” Merritt wheels his warhorse part way toward me, his mood immediately souring. “You’ll be married off tomorrow anyways, whether we get to the Twelfth House at sunset or midnight. Who cares when we arrive? Go water the horses or whatever, and let me see what’s what.”

With that, he’s off again, angling Darkwing around a fallen metal beast. The priest Nazar moves after him, always the grimmest shadow. Merritt is the old man’s charge, but Nazar also glances my way with steady eyes. I know what he’s asking of me. Scout the perimeter. Make sure no one is watching.

It’s the one task the perpetually grouchy priest has let me take on during this journey, and I won’t disappoint him.

“Adriana.” With that one-word order, my handmaiden falls in line behind me. Both of us have been relegated to fat-bellied ponies by order of my father, but they’re sturdy enough, and try their hardest to keep up. Meanwhile, Father is back at the Tenth House, drinking to his new wealth, while I—for the first time in all my twenty-one years—am free .

At least until we reach the Twelfth House.

My own “first true adventure” will only last the day.

“Are you supposed to protect him while wearing your bridal finery too?” Adriana asks me drily as we plunge into the forest that butts up against a huddle of gutted buildings. There’s a sort of outraged wildness here that seems to mock the stump of a rusted marker still visible beside the almost-trail. Whatever lettering or symbols the sign once boasted are long faded away. As are all the ghosts who made them or once read them. The forest, however, lived on. Violently, eagerly, chewing up what little of the doomed civilization remained behind.

I grin. “Only if I’m lucky.” I’d take any chance to put my secret combat practice into action, but there will be no need for it on this scouting expedition. “Not that we’re likely to find anyone here. Still, the tournament is barely a few days’ ride from this city. If anyone from another house heard about my marriage and thought Merritt might be traveling with me to the Twelfth House first, they could maybe want to see if he was worth worrying about.”

Adriana scoffs. “He’s not. He’s as useless as?—”

Her words die away as I lift my hand. Since Merritt could crawl, I’ve permitted only myself the occasional pettiness to say anything negative about my brother. He may be overindulged and a little exasperating, but Merritt’s boisterous affection for me and my mother’s stalwart commitment to us both are the main reasons I’m still alive. That and my docile willingness to go along meekly with whatever indignity my father demanded of me, including this absurd marriage to a house even more backward than our own.

Adriana breathes out a quick apology, and I accept it with an even quicker smile. Her easy candor is my fault. I’ve been too careless with her, but she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend.

I follow my smile with a chuckle. “But they don’t know that, yeah? To them, Merritt may be the newest entrant in the Tournament of Gold, not just passing through to secure fighting men for our house.”

“Well, I’d like to travel to the Tournament of Gold,” she points out, reasonably enough. “Not be stuck at the Twelfth House watching you try to play dutiful wife.”

“Not try,” I remind her as she draws up next to me.

She sighs. “Not try, no. You’ll be the perfect bride and helpmate, Lady Talia. A blessing to all you meet.”

“Yes.” And I will. I have to be, to ensure the heresy of my birth is finally buried for good. After twenty-one years of shame, I’ll at last have a chance to bring honor to my house—even if it’s only as the bride-in-waiting to a boy of barely fourteen years, whose house is the weakest of the Protectorate.

I’ll take that chance. I’ll make the Twelfth House strong. Eventually, I’ll make both our houses strong.

For now, however, I must remain careful, quiet, and small beneath my stupendous pile of hair. When news of this marriage finally trickles out to the rest of the Protectorate, it’ll be the merest footnote: Merritt’s supposedly sixteen-year-old sister Talia, second of the Tenth House line, married in accordance with the Lighted Path. Forgettable, forgotten. Still a lie, in many ways. But a lie that keeps me breathing.

Far better to be the second-born daughter hidden away in obscurity, than the firstborn girl who should never have lived.

“Straighten up there.” Adriana’s order breaks through my thoughts. “Your hair is listing.”

That makes me giggle, and we spend the next quarter hour in relaxed companionship, picking our way through the tangled forest. Eventually, we come upon a babbling stream, and I think about Merritt’s direction. It isn’t a bad idea.

“Water the ponies,” I tell Adriana. “I need to take off some of these clothes.”

She doesn’t remind me to be careful. She doesn’t need to. If for any reason I don’t successfully reach the Twelfth House and complete the marriage ceremony awaiting me there, my father will end my life without another moment’s thought.

After helping me out of my long cloak and its restrictive hood, Adriana turns away to hang the garments while I head deeper into the trees. I can’t strip off the rich green gown that falls from my chin to my ankles, cleverly split to allow me to ride, but I wish I could. Instead, I grumble dark curses against its maker, punching down the voluminous cloud of material as it catches at every branch and twig. I’ll be dragging half the forest with me by the time we reach the Twelfth House. But that’s not my fault now, is it?

“Orlof won’t care about my clothes,” I mutter to myself, maybe a little bitterly. “He won’t notice anything but the hair.”

“He might notice that you talk to yourself when you think you’re alone.”

I turn in one movement at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Twin daggers snick out of my wrist sheaths and slip into my palms like the unfurling of a heron’s wings. I see the man’s movement as I whirl, judge, and aim true upon my exhale, releasing the first blade with a practiced jerk of my right wrist. It cleaves through the air then buries itself into a sturdy trunk a scant three inches away from the arrested face of a man I’ve never seen before, a man dressed in cloth of gold and glittering ebony.

I swallow hard, staring at him. This man is undoubtedly a threat, a villain.

He’s also as jarringly beautiful as an angel fallen straight from the Lighted Path.

My forbidden training reasserts itself in half a heartbeat, and I quickly take in more relevant details. This is no common marauder. He’s young—maybe just shy of twenty-five years—rich and well-fed. He’s also taller than most any man I’ve ever seen, broad-shouldered and long-limbed. Slender, yes, but sturdily built. His hair is jet black, his skin as shimmering bronze as the coins Adriana wagered so foolishly back on the trail. His eyes glint gold above a generous rose-granite mouth and iron-forged cheekbones. He grins at me, and his teeth flash white and even.

Additional assessments flow in. He’s not only rich and healthy, his gold and black garments mark him as a member of the First House. His breeches are heavy but well made—a rider then, for all that he’s now on foot. Whether he’s truly First House or no, he comes from one of the larger houses, I think, some holding in the middle of the fertile plains that doesn’t know privation.

He’s a lord, too, not some soldier. I’d bet my hair on it. There’s something about the smugness of his grin that speaks of long years of fulfilled expectations.

The shock of my blade impaling itself so close to his perfect jaw doesn’t seem to faze him.

“You missed,” he informs me.

“Did I?” I slide a second blade into my palm to replace the first, and I turn it to catch the thin stream of light flowing through the trees. “Should we try again?”

“Not yet.” He pulls the blade free from its trunk, examines it, then leans against the tree. Leans! As if we’re in a courtyard and not a wild wood. Distantly, I wonder if Adriana is watching. “There aren’t any markings on this blade. One would think you wouldn’t want to lose it, yet you don’t claim it as your own. And it’s not often that I find a lady who’s also a marksman.”

I know better than to answer all his unspoken questions. The blade is unmarked because I’m not allowed to have a weapon on my person sharper than a paring knife. My safety lies in my lineage. No man would dare risk my father’s wrath to touch me.

Then again, we’re no longer in my father’s house.

“Perhaps you don’t know many ladies from the borderlands.” I gesture to the knife. “Return it, if you would. I have more need of it than you do.”

He doesn’t. Instead, his gaze drifts across my face to rest on my uncovered hair. I watch him count the rows of silver and jade beads that thread through it, taking their weight and measure. Yes, definitely someone from a larger house. I’m sure of it.

“So fierce,” he murmurs, studying me. “You’re heading to the Tournament of Gold?” His gaze drops to my gown of emerald green.

“Right now, we’re traveling through a forest we expected to be empty. What brings you this far from the plains when the tournament is so close? Surely, the First House must be missing you.”

His brows shoot up in surprise, and I know that once again, my aim is true. But the question still remains. Why is he here?

Deliberately tucking my blade into his belt, his expression remains easy, unconcerned. He carries no obvious weapons, but I don’t see his horse—or his men. Someone dressed so well would have both.

He gestures to my gown. “There are no warriors at the tournament wearing Tenth House green. Is this about to change?”

“No,” I say flatly. “Nor will it for years to come.”

Something in my confident tone finally seems to rankle him, because his lips twist with disdain, those gorgeous golden eyes going hard. “As if you’d know anything about it. It’s Lady Talia, yes? Of the Tenth. Daughter of Lord Lemille, sister of Warrior Merritt. You must be off to be married, dressed like that. And based on your path, I’d wager you’re heading to the Twelfth. That’s a waste.”

Indignation and all-too-familiar rage at my unfair plight boils within me. I bank it just as quickly, and execute the barest shred of a curtsey, my back as stiff as a board. “And you must have overheard your betters, to know all that,” I shoot back just as coolly. “Lord Rihad of the First has no children that he claims—or first-blooded warriors, for that matter.”

Surprise blanks the man’s face, then heat rushes into his cheeks, sharp and intense. I clench my knives as he steps forward?—

“Huzzah!” The far-off shout of pure and utter joy draws the man’s too-keen eyes up—up!

Fear rabbits through me. He’s looking to the sky, and if he’s doing that, he knows —knows I’m not traveling alone here, knows my brother journeys with me.

This man’s no villain, maybe. But he’s still someone I should manage and contain, not taunt with rudeness. Fool !

“Fair enough, you guessed true!” I blurt out breathlessly, startling his attention back to me. I still don’t trust myself to bow, not with my colossal coils, but I sink down into a far more respectful curtsey. “I am off to be wed to Lord Orlof’s son, and I’m ever so nervous. Please accept my apologies for being awkward. My own lord calls. I have to go.”

That makes him blink. “Your lord?—”

“Not my lord for long, by the Light. But always my big brother,” I burble on, doing my best imitation of a girlish smile. “You’ll bless me, yes? With the might of the First House, however you come by it? Despite my teasing, you are a warrior, I see that plain enough, though I don’t…I mean I don’t understand how you know so much if you’re not Lord Rihad’s son. But as you say, I wouldn’t.” I simper, blush, and all but bury the man in words, but I want him to see how foolish and unsophisticated I am. I want him to discount both me and the boy whose laughter rings out even now in the distance, as excited and full-throated as if he had no care in the world. See me. See us. We are unworldly nobles from the mountains. We cannot hurt anyone.

The fallen angel of the Lighted Path looks at me, then smiles.

“You are so blessed,” he declares. His tone is solemn and true: the tone of someone who’s given this grace many times before.

A chill snakes through me. Who is this man who wears the colors of the First House so easily? I know of no noble warriors that represent that house other than Lord Rihad himself—a man my father’s age. So, who is he, and why is he traveling in the mountains instead of taking his ease at the Court of Talons?

Oblivious to my racing thoughts, he bows to me and continues, “May you and your new husband walk ever in the Light.”

His final words are lost in Merritt’s bellowing whoop. “It’s a practice field, has to be!” my brother calls out.

My hope of a clean escape turns to ash. “I must—” But I no longer care anything for the First House man, I care only for my brother, my idiot brother, who wants to play at being a warrior without any understanding of what it means.

I whirl away from the man and rush back to where Adriana has the ponies ready. In another few moments, I’m cloaked, covered, and back in the saddle. Then we’re off, galloping through the woods, aiming toward the sound of my brother’s voice.

We rush up a gentle slope of fragrant sweet briar and beyond a rocky promontory and cheerful stream—and I see exactly what has excited Merritt so much.

The once-forested slope beyond the Shattered City is bleak. Devastated. A huge stand of trees completely flattened—and not from some long-ago war. Only a rough circle of fallen timber remains, trees uprooted and barreled over as if a sudden, raging storm had erupted in the middle of the mountains…erupted and then vanished without a trace.

This kind of destruction could be the result of only one thing.

A banded warrior and his massive Divh.

“Talia! You’re back. Whose was it, d’you think?” Merritt’s voice rings with eagerness as he dances Darkwing in a tight circle, his face alight. He scans the surrounding mountains, as if they’ll tell him who passed before us, both man and monster, heading to the magnificent coliseum of the First House, where the Tournament of Gold is held every year. “The Seventh—or the Fifth? The Fifth, I bet. I’ve heard their first-blood’s Divh can clear a whole army with the swipe of one paw.”

“We should go, Merritt.” My voice, always low, now sounds like gravel. I don’t want to think about Divhs as big as this, so much larger than our own. The lesser houses, like ours, have only one Divh—bonded to the first-blooded and firstborn son. The greater houses, such as the Seventh and the Fifth, have more, Divhs that belong to warrior knights and even banded soldiers.

But in every case, the house’s firstblood Divh is the largest Divh of the holding…and from everything I’ve heard, some of these Divhs are truly massive. I don’t want to imagine my starry-eyed brother one day facing such a creature in combat, even within the carefully restricted pageantry of a tournament.

At Merritt’s frown, I press my point. “Truly, it’s past time. The sooner we get to the Twelfth House, the sooner you’ll be done with me.”

He stiffens at that, then gapes at me. “But I don’t want to be done with you!” he declares, his voice suddenly betraying his youth in a heartbreaking quaver. “Are you so ready to be done with me?”

I blink, my breath stolen away from me. I take in my baby brother’s bright, earnest eyes, his flushed cheeks. “N-no, Merritt.” I say, too truthfully. “I’m not.”

“See?” His face clears, and he gestures again to the devastation before us. “And besides, a Divh was here—and not just any Divh, but one of the biggest, I’m sure— practicing for the Tournament of Gold.” He pulls up his horn and issues a sharp, cutting blast, calling back our other scouts. I can’t help thinking of the man in the forest, the First- or Second-House lord. “We’ll stop for a bit! I’ve a mind to practice too.”

“Practice for what ?” Forgetting my place despite our priest and retainers drawing near, I once more become Merritt’s older sister. A role I can never truly disclose or impose, of course. But one of us has to be sensible, and that’s never been my brother’s strength. “Your purpose at the tournament is to buy soldiers, Merritt, nothing more. And we’re to travel discreetly, remember? Father said we mustn’t be noticed.”

“Yes, well, Father’s not here ,” he reminds me with a grin. “Besides, there’s nobody around for a hundred miles. The mountains will cover me, and the Tenth House hasn’t competed in the Tournament of Gold in a generation. It’s more than past time.”

“Lord Merritt.” The priest Nazar has ridden up to us, his calm voice cutting across our standoff. Though he travels with us solely to ensure that my wedding ceremony is blessed by the Light, I’m glad to have him intervene now. The priest’s body is rigid and straight in the saddle despite his age, his long white hair as hidden as mine beneath his own hood. “Is practicing now the wisest choice? We’ve several hours’ hard riding ahead to reach the Twelfth House.”

“Oh no, no, no. Not you too,” Merritt groans, waving at the stream that froths around the nearest rocky promontory. “Do what you want. I’m practicing .” He dismounts with a light hop then unbuckles his sword and lets it fall to the ground.

I wince; beside me, Nazar also whispers a soft rebuke.

I should say something about the man in the forest, dressed richly in gold and black. Even if he’s no threat whatsoever, I should speak. But I only stare as Merritt bounds toward the small hill, scrambling up it to gain a better view of the devastation beyond. Meanwhile, one of our retainers picks up my brother’s sword and clutches it close, every inch the dutiful squire.

We have a pitifully small retinue of soldiers with us—only five, and not the strongest five of our house. But our father, above all else, wishes to draw no attention to our company until they are well and truly free of me. Until we reach the Twelfth House, we’re supposed to be ghosts.

Nazar and I dismount as well, but the priest makes no move toward the cheerfully babbling stream. Instead, he watches Merritt.

Since he first came to our house ten years ago, Nazar’s role has been to lead us in the rites and ceremonies of the Lighted Path, including the sacred transfer of our family’s Divh from Father to Merritt when Merritt turned twelve. The priest offered to oversee Merritt’s training as well, but Father told him he was far too old. He allowed Nazar only to speak aloud from the sacred book of war, while Father wielded both sword and stave.

Meanwhile, I watched them both. Whatever I heard, I memorized. Whatever I saw, I practiced silently and secretly in the shadows. My father isn’t that great of a warrior, but he could teach well enough, and I suspect he simply didn’t want to give up his influence over Merritt—his only son.

Four children died in my mother’s womb before I was born; after Merritt’s birth, she could bear no more. Two years ago, she passed into the Light, which means that now, only my marriage contract keeps me breathing. Yet another reason we should keep moving on the road to the Twelfth House.

Alas.

The priest squints as Merritt reaches the top of the hill. “This is self-indulgent folly,” he mutters. “He has no intention of genuine practice.”

Like so many other things, it’s forbidden for any woman to speak of Divhs and training and battles. Despite my better sense, though, I can’t hold my tongue.

“Even if he did, what’s the point?” I grouse. “Merritt’s not allowed to enter the tournament, and he shouldn’t. I know Divhs aren’t supposed to get truly injured anymore when they fight in the tournament games. But this—” I wave at the destruction around us. “Whatever destroyed this valley must be five times the height of our manor house. Merritt’s nowhere near ready to face a creature so powerful, and our Divh is far too small to be of any use in that kind of battle.”

I shiver. Was the man I saw in the forest a banded warrior after all? Was it his Divh who caused the destruction here?

I should tell Nazar about him—but the priest turns sharply to me, his scowl dripping ice.

“Are you saying a first-blooded warrior knight shouldn’t enter the Tournament of Gold?”

“Well, I…no,” I stammer. Is Nazar testing me? I’m not sure. Nevertheless, I must tread lightly. There’s no need to irritate him further.

And what’s the harm, really, of what I found? The man I met was no villain, he was a nobleman of the First House—that much was abundantly clear. There are rules among the houses to keep all nobility safe, but I’ll be robbed of all my freedom for the rest of this trek if I reveal I was talking to some stranger like an idiot child.

I clear my throat. “I’m saying Father’s already made the decision. Merritt isn’t going to the tournament to compete, not this year. He’s going to purchase soldiers. That’s all. Light knows we need them.”

That shuts up Nazar for a breath, and for good reason. With every season, more marauders seem to be weaving through the forests at night, more criminals and refugees streaming across the borders from the east. This marriage alliance we’re forging with the Twelfth House will help strengthen our two border holdings, but not as much as a garrison full of able-bodied men will.

And to get those men, we need to go to the Tournament of Gold.

“Talia,” Nazar murmurs, and I realize he’s not looking at me anymore.

I quickly return my attention to the embankment and can’t help the surge of excitement that overrides my dismay. Every time Merritt summons the Tenth House Divh, it’s as if the very air carries a song of pure possibility. My breath catches, my pulse jumps. We’re in the mountains. No one will see—well, except a fellow nobleman to whom we are no threat.

In fact, maybe it’s a good thing if that man sees Merritt and his Divh. Maybe he’ll decide we are of no interest to Lord Rihad and his Court of Talons. Merritt’s too young to fight, our Divh too small. He’ll see that and ride away, and we will be safe in the mountains. Safe.

Besides all that, Merritt is summoning his Divh! And this time, I’ll be allowed to see it, up close and in the light!

“Secure the horses,” I bark as my brother thrusts his left fist into the sky.

The men comply, more out of fear than any loyalty to me. It takes a trained battle mount to accept a Divh, and even Merritt’s warhorse swings his head as I race by him, his wild eyes also staring at the summit, his nostrils flaring.

Atop the ridge, Merritt claps his right hand to the thick leathery band that wraps tightly around his left bicep beneath his tunic.

“Gent!” he yells with delirious joy.

It’s his Divh’s name, a name I’ve never dared speak, not even in whispered imaginings as I’ve played at being a warrior knight. Certain indiscretions can be overlooked—but not that one. Though women can speak of Divhs in general terms, the name of a Divh is death to any female who utters it, no matter her blood or standing.

Merritt shouts it again.

“Move your ass, you lazy beast!”

The very air around us ripples with the force of the creature’s arrival from its spectral plane. My head rings with its scream.

Not yet, not yet! I want to see! I clamber up the rocky hill, barely clearing the promontory when the monster roars again. The ground suddenly shakes, sending me reeling. Dust swirls all around me, and I stagger upright—then gawk at the goliath before me.

I’ve never been this close to it.

Merritt’s Divh is twice as tall as our manor house and nearly as broad. It looks most like an enormous, sage-haired bear, except a single horn sprouts up from its nose, thick and pointed. Also, the monster’s body is hopelessly out of proportion to be a bear’s. Its neck is too thick, and even though it is standing tall, its forelimbs are far longer than its hind legs—so long they hang forward, the heavy paws knuckling the churned-up soil.

Scarcely able to breathe, I peel my eyes wide, determined to imprint this memory forever on my mind. As the Divh wheels around, my heart surges—not in panic, not in fear, but in a wild, exultant joy unlike anything I’ve felt before. In the brief second its gaze passes over me, I drink in its strength as if it were my own, filling me up, making me whole. Whispering in my mind that I am the monster, I’m the mighty power. That I can do anything and everything simply by opening my heart and hands and willing it to be so.

“Gent!” Merritt cries a third time, shattering the moment.

With an exultant laugh, my brother drops his arm, setting the beast into motion.

The Divh scrambles around on its powerful hind legs as if to get its bearings, then springs forward, employing its oversized arms and legs to launch across the shattered forest. It lands in a crouch next to a scraggly copse of trees.

I jerk my glance back toward my brother. This jumping maneuver is Merritt’s favorite move with his Divh. More than once, he’s done it too near the Tenth House manor, sending dishes bouncing off their shelves and fine pottery crashing to the ground—until my mother ordered cabinet doors built to protect anything that might be broken, and rushes doubled up on every floor.

Now Merritt swings his arm in a swooping arc, directing the creature to dive headfirst into the last remaining section of standing forest on the slope. My fists clench tightly—Merritt should be more careful! The two of them are linked mind to mind, body to body. If his Divh is injured, Merritt will be injured too. But my brother’s face is rapt with excitement, jubilant in the surge of power that marks his sacred bond with the giant protector.

And I realize as I watch, I want this happiness for him. This unfettered, unabashed joy. I want him to grow and find love, success, and real, lasting honor. He is my brother. I love him no matter what trick the Light played on us all those years ago, bringing me into the world first in violation of our sacred traditions. I love him no matter how foolish his notions are, believing that he could pit our Divh against the mightiest in the land—and win.

I love him no matter how much he likes knocking things down.

Merritt yells again, and the Divh bellows in response, whether in pain or frustration, I’ve no idea. Still, it does what Merritt orders and hurls itself forward. Its roar echoes off the mountains and shakes rocks free from the upper heights. Then it turns its shoulders into the remaining trees, toppling them.

Again and again, Merritt forces his Divh into yet more ambitious acrobatics—jumping, rolling, diving. With each punishing strike to the ground, dust billows up around the beast, only to be caught by the wind and scattered. The mountains seem to wince and shrink away as more rocks tumble and the beast’s bellows vibrate through the valley. The Divh responds each time in perfect service to my brother’s commands, though I cannot see the value in them. Instead of directing Gent to slash and tear, my brother treats his Divh like an overgrown pet, rolling it around the valley, causing maximum damage to anything that can’t fight back.

Nazar suddenly pushes by me on the ridge and takes several long strides toward Merritt. “Lord Merritt,” he shouts, and I’ve never heard the priest’s voice so loud, so curt. “If you’re going to train, you should?—”

“Watch this!”

My brother shoots his hand into the sky once more, making another fist, and the Divh leaps. As it descends this time, however, Merritt runs toward the edge of the promontory, knowing the Divh will break his fall when he leaps, knowing it will catch him in its enormous paws.

Unreasoning fear jolts through me as Merritt races so thoughtlessly toward the open air. He’ll be fine, I know he’ll be fine, he’s done this stupid trick a hundred times. Running at his Divh, knowing it will do anything he asks, and yet…

My heart is pounding so loud as Merritt jumps, I barely notice the flash of brightness in the air beyond him, the stab of light racing through the sky. It looks almost like…but no, that’s impossible, that cannot be.

Merritt!

I try to cry out the name, the warning, but my breath stalls in my throat, my hands lift up, my blood congeals. Time seems to rush too quickly, only to stop, halting completely as I lurch forward, too late—too late!

The stab of light is an arrow .

No sooner do I see it than it’s already reached its target, already ripped into flesh and muscle, piercing through my brother’s back and out his chest, Merritt’s body convulsing midair as his Divh’s roar shakes the whole world.

“No—” I start to run. Gent leaps. Its massive sage green paw swipes for my brother—swipes and misses , the Divh’s immense body also jerking mid-reach, mirroring Merritt’s agony?—

No! My mind refuses to accept, my eyes refuse to see, every inch of me bursting with the wrongness, the impossibility of this scene. I race on, heedless of the terrain, tripping over my cloak, my hair, my own feet until I reach the promontory’s cliff.

I scream with helpless outrage as the mighty Divh makes a final heaving grab for my brother. The goliath and the boy collide together beneath the bold and brilliant sun, both of them twisting, turning, tumbling as they…

Fall.