Chapter 16

C aleb has the horses ready by dawn the following morning, but the camp still needs to be broken down. I stay huddled in my blankets as the sun clambers over the top of the spectator stands. I cannot get warm. Though I changed out of my tunic and breeches into clothes Nazar had at the ready when we returned to camp last night—even richer garments than before, soft and thick against my skin—my heart races and my teeth chatter, my fingers wrapped tight in the blankets.

“Are you sick?” Caleb murmurs to me as he walks by.

I try to shake my head, but my whole body convulses. “I don’t know,” I say miserably.

“You do know.” Nazar’s words are calm and matter of fact. “Caleb is your squire. He must know too.”

I blink up at Nazar, his form wavering in the morning sun. That’s part of the problem too, I think. My vision has never quite recovered from seeing through Gent’s eyes. And Gent is damned near blind in this plane, it appears.

Caleb is staring at me now, and I sigh. “I trained with Gent last night in, ah, secret. It went differently than I expected it to go.”

“You trained?” Caleb’s gaze swings from me to Nazar. “But you didn’t wake me?”

“You needed your sleep,” I begin, but he’s already on to his next objection.

“You couldn’t have trained, though. Not in secret. You would’ve been seen.”

“We weren’t here.” I pull an arm out to wave vaguely. “We were on the Divh’s plane. Out there, somewhere.”

He gapes at me. “But you can’t do that.”

The panic in his voice brings me up short. Here once again is something I don’t understand. I stifle a groan. I am absolutely going to be caught before I even attempt my first tournament battle.

“He can’t do that,” Caleb says again, this time turning to Nazar. Even in his surprise, Caleb refers to me as a ‘he.’ A tiny knot of worry I hadn’t realized I’d been weaving together unravels in my gut.

Caleb pushes on. “No warrior sets foot upon the Divh’s plane except when they’re first banded. No one ever returns from that plane other than fathers who bring their sons. And begging your pardon, but you don’t look like Merritt’s father.”

I frown into my blankets, the knot of my nerves now snarling back together. How little I know about this time-honored practice of the Protectorate. In truth, there’s been no reason for me to know, yet I draw my cloak around me more tightly, more for protection than warmth. I’m never going to pull this off, I think miserably. Never.

Nazar, however, is unperturbed.

“The Tenth House is on the doorstep of the Exalted Imperium. Its ways are different. Its warrior is different.”

Oh. Well, that sounds good.

Caleb snorts wryly as his gaze swings back to me, and I straighten despite the sick whirring in my stomach. “And its Divh is different,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. I throw off the cloak and stand. Surprisingly, the sun on my head and bare shoulders proves an instant balm, and I sigh beneath its healing rays, grateful for the heat that seems to blossom on my skin everywhere the sun reaches it. Even my eyesight is starting to clear, now that I’m standing.

“Exalted lord ,” Caleb stutters, and he stumbles back. I turn to him, but he isn’t staring at my face, but my arm—an arm uncovered, my tunic’s sleeves still at my side, waiting to be stitched on. I glance down.

The sentient band gleams in the sunlight, dark as onyx. But the flesh both above and beneath the band is no longer scorched. Instead, it’s ringed round with ink flowing in an intricate pattern. There are birds lifting away above the band, and a roiling sea beneath.

“That design wasn’t there yesterday,” he insists. “I know it wasn’t. But it looks like it was etched into your skin two summers ago, not two hours.”

He blinks up at me. “Did going to the Divhs’ plane do that to you? Because I have to tell you—I’ve never seen any of the younger warrior knights with a tattoo like that. The older ones…” he scrunches up his face. “Some have them, I think. But nothing that intricate, I’m sure of it.”

I study the ink with a curious detachment. It wasn’t there yesterday, of course. Caleb is right. Before, the skin around my warrior band had simply been a ruined mass of scars. But yesterday, I hadn’t truly met Gent. I hadn’t run with him, like a fish jumping through the water or a bird soaring high. I hadn’t felt his mind touch mine, hadn’t looked into that large and impenetrable eye.

I turn and face Caleb fully. “I’m a warrior from the borderlands of the Imperium,” I say evenly. “I’m different .”

He shuts his mouth with a snap, but a second later, he grins widely. “That you are,” he says, his eyes once more alight as he grapples with the change in my appearance.

He moves forward and picks up one of my sleeves, gathering the length of thick thread to attach it to my tunic. “Did it hurt? It looks like it hurt. Is that why you were sick?”

I sigh. “I don’t remember it, honestly. I was sick most of the night, after working with Gent. Maybe that’s when it happened.” I hold out my arm, and Caleb stitches the sleeve in place, weaving the twine through the premade holes. “Maybe it’s his excitement about the tournament.”

“Who?” Caleb shoots me a funny glance. “The Divh? It’s an it, not a ‘he.’”

I shrug and extend my other arm, glad to have my band covered. “Mine’s a ‘he.’” I waggle my brows at him. “And some of the others? Shes .”

“No way ,” he protests, looking mortified. But he says nothing further, and at length, I’m fully dressed. At this point, I’m useless for doing anything but riding in a parade, what with my festooned tunic and heavy breeches and ground-dragging cloak. I try not to collect dust as my squire and Nazar break down the rest of the camp.

By the time Caleb saddles Darkwing and helps me up, it’s high morning, which I suspect Nazar has timed deliberately. We move through the crowd with a single-minded purpose, and there’s a smattering of cheers as we do so. Men, women, and even a few children—their faces turning up to see the warrior knight pass.

I don’t miss the exchange of money bags either, bright flashes of color catching the light.

There are even a few dark green tunics in the crowd, and I blink in surprise as I recognize the men from the coliseum the day before, the soldiers we hired, whose time is their own until we leave for the Tenth House. They grin fiercely at me, raising their hands in support, and I wave back at them. My men, I realize, trying the idea on for size. Men who would fight for me. Support me. Defend me.

Men who would hand me over for execution in a blink if they knew what I was.

Then I see a boy I remember well. He looks up at me with eyes blackened, but his mouth isn’t mutinous, merely resigned. His family stands with him, but he seems to hold himself apart anyway, cloaked in shame and disappointment. This is the boy who’d won his bout in the fighting pits, not one day earlier, by smashing his opponent’s nose…and then who’d lost when that opponent had rushed him after the fight should have been called. His competition in the tournament is done, I know instantly.

He could have been Merritt, a few years ago.

Without considering anything more than the child’s hollow eyes and grim expression, I extend a hand. “You,” I say, surprised at how far my voice carries across the suddenly hushed crowd. “In the brown tunic. Stand forth.”

I half turn, but Nazar is already riding up beside me, and in his hands, he carries a simple green tunic, the smallest of those remaining from my search for soldiers. It will fit this boy, I suspect. It may not mean anything to him, but he deserves to know he earned it.

And to make this moment memorable, I need to sound like someone I’m totally, woefully not. The fiercely proud warrior knight of the Tenth House, first-blooded and firstborn. I take the shirt from Nazar and straighten my shoulders, pitching my rough voice even lower.

“You fought admirably and well, by the rules as you knew them. You fought with the spirit of a warrior.” I toss the shirt down to him and he catches it, for all that he stares gape- mouthed at me. He believes me to be what I appear to be; I know it in my bones. And so, in this moment, I am what he believes me to be. Nazar offers me a second bag, and I weigh it in my hand. Bronzes, I think. Not a large amount, but enough coin to make a difference here. “Should I fight well and win in this tournament, I’ll need squires. Squires who might one day become banded soldiers. I’d be honored to count you among my men, if it comes to that.”

The boy clutches the tunic to his chest and bows to me once, twice, three times in rapid succession. I nod to him as well, then to his father, whose face is now split in a wide grin.

I turn Darkwing away as the buzz of the crowd starts and point the horse toward the First House.

The journey takes longer than I expect. Once past the coliseum, the land turns into an uneven patchwork of field grass and mud, broken by dozens of small streams that pool into ponds and marsh. The path is clear, at least. A large, broad road has been cut into the marshland. But I peer to either side, confused. “Where does all the water go? Marshes such as these are usually close to great water, and the sea is nowhere close.”

“Remember, there used to be great water here, and there’s still a grand lake beyond those trees,” Caleb says, pointing into the far distance. “Not deep but fed by the winter snows from the mountains. See the falls?”

He points, but I can barely make out what he’s trying to show me, rocks and trees crowding round a geyser of mist. Something shifts in that mist, and I squint. “Are those horses?”

Caleb peers more closely too. “Marauders, most likely,” he says, disdain thick in his voice. “I told you; they’ve been worse this tournament than ever before, worrying at the edges of the encampments like a plague. Rihad’s going to have to do something about them, if he wants to keep the spectators happy.”

“They’re stealing money?”

“You’d think so, but it’s whatever they can get their hands on, really. Silver, food, weapons. Even clothing.” He makes a face. “Filthy bastards.”

I glance again to the mist, but the shadow horses are gone.

Caleb continues on, “It’s pretty out there, but believe me—be glad you’re not here in the spring. The bugs out there settle around you like a net.” He gestures next to the towers of the First House. “There’s a reason why they built the castle so high. It wasn’t just for the view.”

Nazar remains quiet, and we travel on with only occasional conversation, Caleb filling me in on everything I should already know about the First House. Though I’m grateful for the information, a second emotion wells with each new detail of the great house’s might, its glory, its honor.

What is the use of honor when one of these exalted houses is so bold as to strike down the firstborn son of the Tenth House? How can the First be so consumed with pageants and poetry when warrior knights are being slaughtered in its very shadow?

Surely, my brother isn’t the only son who’s been targeted…surely, he couldn’t be. The Tenth House is no threat—no threat at all!

None of this makes any sense.

Anger twists and spins within me, and I swallow it whole, struggling to maintain my composure. We aren’t alone on the road, but most of the travelers we encounter are coming from the First House, not heading toward it; a trickling stream of farmers and merchants, their smiles broad as they greet us, their voices carrying above the clanking of what’s left in their packs.

“It’s a good time to have something to sell,” Caleb observes after a string of horses pass, led by a tall, slender man and woman in a cart pulled by another team. “Those are pack horses. The First House is preparing for a series of great banquets, and it’s ever generous to its suppliers.”

“So, the Lord Protector is fair to his people?”

“Fair?” Caleb tilts his head at that, considering. In that moment, he reminds me of Gent, and I stifle a laugh. “Generous, as I say. Not fair, exactly. He can turn on you as easily as embrace you. As long as he’s in a giving mood, he gives. But you can’t ever expect it. That’s where you’ll fail.”

I nod. It’s sage counsel, and Caleb’s first hint that the Lord Protector isn’t as honorable and glorious as he might wish to be perceived. It’s also the advice of an insider. “How do you know so much?” I ask quietly. “Who did you serve?”

We’re well ahead of Nazar by this time, but Caleb still stiffens, glancing around. “I served no one. I simply hear things.” He hikes his left shoulder, his missing arm almost indiscernible given the artful hanging of the Tenth House tunic. “People talk freely around me, as if it’s my ears that are gone, not my arm.”

I don’t believe him, but I can see the blush flagging his cheekbones. My gut tightens with chagrin. His secrets are his own to keep. I certainly have mine.

“Well, however you heard it, I’m grateful. I don’t even know how little I know until you say something like this. I’ll be lost in the halls of the First House.”

“No, you won’t be.” Caleb turns to me, his gaze fervent once more. “You’re a warrior knight. You’ll be recognized as such. Maybe in the mountains you didn’t realize the importance of what that means, being the only warrior of the Tenth House, but here, you’ll see. Your position is one of great honor. There are men who live their entire lives dreaming of fighting alongside a Divh, and they die still dreaming. You’ve been banded. You’re already elite.”

I grimace, shaking my head. “I’m not elite, Caleb.”

“You are.” He smirks and looks forward again. “You just don’t know it yet.”

The sun crawls across the sky as we ride. We stop once to rest the horses at the base of the great mountain, where the road has been cut into the sheer rock.

Caleb notes my stare. “It took workers a generation to cut it, another to complete the great castle above. Until then, the First House ruled from this rise.” He waves across the open space. Roiling vines have taken over most of the terrain, and the trees grow tall. “No stone remained once the mountain tower was completed, by order of the Lord Protector of that time. He wanted no memory of any stronghold save the one that ruled from on high.”

“Seems a waste.” I squint up, but the mountain crowds around me, sheer cliff walls that hide the rich estate above. “Surely he could have housed someone in this secondary building?”

“A tower isn’t built for efficiency.” Nazar’s voice startles us from the side. He leans against the base of a stone wall, smoking his pipe. “A tower is built for might and war. To awe the approaching army, or quail the lone rider. The Lord Protector was wise in his choice.”

“I guess,” I mutter. I accept Caleb’s help in remounting Darkwing, and the warhorse snorts and stamps with anticipation. He too can feel the power of this place.

Power . My lip curls with irritation. What use is power in the center of the Protectorate, when treachery lurks at its borders?

Slowly, we pass through the great gates at the base of the mountain. Beyond the first turn of the castle road, we reach a checkpoint of guards. Nazar gives my name as Merritt of the Tenth House, and they stand aside—if not with deference, then with speed. Caleb straightens his shoulders and stares dead ahead, but I don’t think the men recognize him. Still, he doesn’t waver in his stance until we’re well around the turn, and we hairpin our way up the mountain at a pace slow enough to move forward but not tire the horses. There remains a steady stream of merchants coming down the mountain, but I pay less attention to them the closer we get to the main gates of the First House.

Then Darkwing noses around the last turn, and the fortress rises above us.

It’s nothing like the Tenth House.

Tall and slender, built in line with the mountain, the First House castle surges toward the sky in pinnacles and spikes, a mass of narrow rose-stone towers. Its foundation boulders are massive, and three large gates open at its base, with a drawbridge over a frothing moat. It looks most like a bird about to set flight from the mountain, and I sense the tension of its coiled strength.

The mountain trail opens out onto a wide plateau, and the castle dominates that space, surrounded by what looks to be a thriving village. There are people everywhere, rushing around as if it’s market day, and the air is filled with the smell of cooked meat and heavy spices, wine and ale. Beyond the castle, a waterfall crashes into what I assume is a small lake, which then feeds the moat and presumably the second waterfall whose mist I’d witnessed along the side of the mountain, pouring toward the wetlands below. Above the falls, the mountain surges up and up still higher, and I shudder to imagine winter in this place.

Now, however, the quaint village before the imposing castle is overflowing with laughter and cheer, and as we ride forth, the villagers take note of my warhorse. Many of them are children, and they rush closer with wide eyes and ready smiles. Beside me, Caleb sits almost painfully still, but no one points and laughs at him, no one seems to notice his missing arm. Instead, the current of their talk lifts and falls on the breeze, reaching my ears.

“Merritt of the Tenth House!”

I blink, looking down, surprised to see a line of young women ahead of us. Young women who smile and flutter, waving to me as if I…as if I…

“Merritt.” Nazar’s word is all the admonition I need, and I belatedly lift a hand in return greeting, bowing to the girls as I pass. Some of them are older than I am, and they all beam at me as I wave. It’s…unnerving.

Caleb snorts beside me. “You’re blushing so hard, I’m getting a suntan. Act like you’ve done this before.”

“I…” I shut my mouth, knowing he’s right. Nevertheless, I’m deeply grateful to leave the village behind us minutes later. Ahead of us, the wide moat of the First House roils, fed by the mountain waterfall. The main gate is open, however, and no guards stand at attention at its mouth. As we cross over the drawbridge, I look up at the archway—the sharp metal teeth of the interior gates held fast by a tight rope—and force myself not to shiver.

The courtyard of the First House is nearly empty, a shock after the chaos of the village beyond. The building is immensely tall—its entry stairway alone nearly as big as the manor house I’ve known all my life.

But the person who stands at the base of those wide steps is familiar enough, even surrounded by a cadre of guards liveried in shades of gold and black.

“Merritt of the Tenth House, hear our words,” Fortiss calls out, his voice rocking me with unexpected strength. “The Lord Protector of the First House welcomes you to the fight.”