Chapter 18

T he banquet continues on for a solid hour of food and drink. There are no more difficult questions, though I don’t miss the furtive glances I receive from both the First and Second House warriors. I follow Nazar’s lead and not Caleb’s in conducting myself at Fortiss’s table. The priest eats little and drinks less, though his hands are most usually holding his fork and knife, and he’s lifted his cup to his mouth countless times. Caleb, for his part, both drinks and eats as if he might never be fed again.

Through it all, I do my level best to ignore Fortiss sitting opposite me. I don’t care that he laughs, smiles, and tries to stimulate conversation with men up and down the table. I don’t care when he speaks about art or war or falconry. I especially don’t notice when he catches the eye of one of the women sitting at the master table, lifting his cup to her. I’m the warrior of the Tenth House, and I know better than to pay attention to such foolishness and guile.

“Say, will there be music tonight?” asks Caleb brightly, looking around as if he half expects it. “Seems a fine night for music.”

Fortiss bows to him, acknowledging the question is a sound one. “Not this night, squire Caleb. We’ve a better entertainment planned. Bards have arrived from the western borders.”

That does sound better than music. “The western borders?” I ask, unable to restrain my interest. “What news do they bring?”

“Ah! At last something to draw the Tenth House warrior out of his shell.” Fortiss grins, but there’s a sharpness to his tone that makes me uneasy. “I wager their news will entertain us all. And in any case, they’ve been gone a long while. They’ve traveled farther than I ever have, and I’ve been to almost every border of the Protectorate.”

Something cold knots in my gut. “You have?” I ask gruffly. “Recently?” In my mind’s eye, I see the dead gray arrow winging toward Merritt, loosed by a skilled hand.

“Recently enough. The First House succeeds because it takes an interest in every inch of the Protectorate, as we all should,” Fortiss says. I notice he hasn’t answered my question. “We’ve sent out men to every corner to strengthen ties. You can never be too careful.”

I shift uncomfortably on my bench and try to keep him talking. “To the southern sects as well?” I ask. “I see the Third House is here. Were you who summoned them?”

“Not likely.” Fortiss snorts. “The southern houses are built on sands that would as soon burn your boots right through as support you. It takes a hardier man than me to tread so heavily for so long.” He waves his hand. “But you can be sure messengers of the First House went to summon them all, and we are assured by the Eighth House that all the western warriors will venture forth, for the glory of their houses and the Protectorate.”

Another thread of wrongness curls through me, and even Nazar stirs restlessly. But at that moment a single horn blows, cutting across our conversation.

We all turn in our chairs as the Lord Protector of the First House stands. “Tonight, we shall hear tales of the Western Realms—believe me when I tell you, these stories aren’t to be missed,” he announces. “We’ll clear away the food and keep the wine, the better to enjoy ourselves. While they are assembling, please—meet merry and well.”

That seems to be a signal for the tables to empty and the crush of people to converge, one group on the other. I lose Caleb and Nazar in the shuffle and find myself carried forward, closer to the high table than I truly wanted to be.

“Lord Merritt, is it? Of the Tenth House.”

I turn to see the female advisor of the First House striding toward me. She pays no mind to the other diners as they hasten out of her way. Up close, I can see she’s not as thin as I’d first thought. There’s no hint of curves to her, but she’s sturdy and well-built, nearly as tall as I am.

“Well?” She positions herself in front of me. “Speak, warrior. Do you have no tongue?” She peers closely at me. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” I say, instantly wary. How much does she know? If the First House has sent runners out to all the houses—even ours, as Fortiss has said—there’d be information on who lived in the manor house, and who didn’t. This was precisely why my father insisted I hide myself away during the whole of any outsiders’ visit. It was too dangerous for me to be seen, even dressed as the second child. Anyone could be looking.

Rihad’s advisor simply nods. “Young, but not too young. It’s no small task to stand tall against the hulking brutes we’re assembling here. You do your father honor.”

She flashes me a knowing smile, and I try to mask my dismay.

“I’m Councilor Miriam.” She nods in the half bow of the nobility, and I follow suit. “I like your aspect. You were not an expected addition to the Tournament, and Lord Rihad enjoys surprises that set his own warriors on edge. He’ll make an example of you.”

I grimace. “I’ve no desire to be an example to anyone.”

“Which is why you’ve no choice in the matter.” She pivots abruptly, crossing her arms as she surveys the assembled throng. “So tell me, Merritt of the Tenth House, what do you think of our gathering here?”

“It’s…” I hesitate, choosing my words with care. “It does the job it’s intended to do,” I say at length. “The warriors from the far houses, especially the smaller ones such as mine, will be awed and humbled, as they’re meant to be. The warriors from the nearer houses, the Second and Fourth and Seventh, they won’t be awed, but they will be reminded of who holds the power in this area of the Protectorate. And that reminder is by design.”

She flicks me a glance. “You’re awed and humbled?”

“Awed, certainly.” I raise a hand to take in the sweep of the room. “You could fit most of the Tenth House in this room alone. The food I’ve seen falling from these tables would feed our retainers and their families for a month. That too, I think, is intentional.”

“You think we waste food for a purpose?”

“The illusion of waste.” I point to the servants gathering up the leftover breads and cheeses and platters of meat. “The illusion of excess. The warriors who leave this place will believe that Lord Protector Rihad and the First House have more wealth than they could ever spend, so much wealth that they become the arbiters of what true abundance even means. It solidifies their position twice over.”

“It does at that.” Miriam’s voice is steady, and I’ve no way of knowing if I’ve offended her in some way by being so candid. “You’re more than you appear to be.”

I blink, wary once more, but Miriam’s gaze sharpens over my shoulder. “Some of your fellow warriors are less, it would seem.”

She clasps her hands behind her as I turn to see what she’s looking at. The women of the high table have now completely surrounded the few warriors of the Eighth House who’ve not escaped to higher ground.

Miriam sends me a sidelong glance. “You don’t seem to be drawing your share of admirers yet.”

I shake my head, not having to feign my discomfort. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“True,” she says. “But I wouldn’t dismiss the fairer sex so easily as that. They often have eyes in places you might want to see.”

I frown at her, but she no longer looks at me. Instead, she keeps her attention trained on the women across the room. “Rihad is no fool, for all that he appears to be a beneficent lord, smiling indulgently as the young women of his court simper and preen before this robust crop of young men. This house is run by a man, not a woman. And that can mean one of two things. Women are either oppressed or they are used, each according to their merits. Rihad prefers the latter approach, which I generally appreciate.”

I nod then glance again at the beautifully dressed women of the court. They’re paying equal attention to each of the men, be they handsome or homely. There’s one young woman talking to Caleb too, and I grin to see it, even as I register Miriam’s subtle warning. Spies , I think. She’s warning me against not just spies, but female spies. Should I trust her? Dare I? I don’t know this councilor, don’t know any of these people.

More importantly, why is she telling me this? I resolve to watch her, to make sure she visits with each of the warriors, that she isn’t singling me out.

“How long have you served as advisor to the Lord Protector?” I ask, turning the conversation’s focus back to her. “It would seem a challenging role to manage a house this large.”

“For twenty years,” she says. I can hear the pride in her voice. “My father served before me, and I was at his side constantly. It was a seamless transition.”

Seamless. I suspect she’s lying, but I can’t gainsay her. “Lord Rihad is wise to seek counsel from many different sources.”

“It’s his most valuable trait.” Miriam’s voice has grown clipped again. “The bards assemble.”

Dread pulses in my stomach, but I angle my gaze to take in the bards lining up before the high table, their manner easy and laughing. Why did they bother me so?

The first man stands forth, and I frown. He seems strangely familiar, and yet…

Then I have it—I have seen him before, and recently. This man had been kneeling to the Lord Protector earlier this day, when we were all in the great hall. Kneeling, not bowing, an act of allegiance to his house’s leader, according to Caleb. These men—bards all—are not supposed to be affiliated with any house. They earn their living as merchants of tales and information, taking money equally from every house and giving equally as well.

“Behold, I bring you news of the Western Realms!” declares the bard, but my mind is churning. Miriam departs my side and takes up her station next to another warrior knight, so at least that question is answered. I’m not reassured, however. I move my gaze from the bright and flashy bard to the equally glittering women, now arranged at various tables of warrior knights, clearly ready to be delighted by a diverting tale. It’s all I can do not to stare at them. These are the daughters of the First House’s lesser noble families, and we have no secondary nobility at the Tenth. But even if I hadn’t been relegated to the shadows at the Tenth House, there’s no way my father would have allowed such a display of wealth and pride by me—or anyone—with the exception of my wedding regalia. My own mother dressed as simply as a servant, even at the high festivals. To see these women dressed so luxuriously, moving so freely…

I shake myself hard, forcing my gaze away. The bard is joined by a second man and a third, men I don’t know, haven’t seen, but somehow, I suspect they’ve also knelt in subjugation to the Lord Protector. And if they are dedicated to him and him alone—if all these men are so dedicated…

My memory conjures up the last bard to our home, some two months earlier. Merritt had been so taken with the man, he’d followed him around, begging for stories in exchange for coin or bread or wine. The man had given him far more time than I would’ve expected, but he’d not been the only one talking, I realize now.

What had Merritt told him about the Tenth House?

Not about me, surely. I’m a blot, a stain on the household. But how easy would it be for a man of wiles and guile to ease out of an unsuspecting boy the strength of the Tenth House—how many warriors we have, how many mere guards. What our strengths are, and our weaknesses. If that bard secretly reported to the First House…

“And there are monsters there the likes of which you’ve never yet imagined. Larger than the tallest Divhs our bold warriors command.”

That statement brings me back to the moment. The bard’s now strutting in front of the crowd, soaking up the attention. “They stood as tall as this mountain, I tell you plain, sentinels to the Western Realms.”

“Surely you jest, Bard Andris.” The Lord Protector’s voice rings out over the crowd, and predictably, all eyes turn to him. “Or perhaps you haven’t seen the Divhs our warriors now control. You should stay for the Tournament of Gold.”

“I would be honored,” the bard says gravely. “But I assure you, I don’t jest. The monsters were dormant, almost sleeping, but you got the sense that they could be brought to life with a single word from the right mouth. When we saw them, I and my small company of men hastened away, back through the Pass of Naught, but we were not followed. There appeared to be no life within the Western Realms—just these two enormous monsters, and doubtless more besides, locked in eternal slumber. Slumber…but not death”

He turns, his gaze traveling around the room. “Behold, the truth of the Western Realms, and why the Exalted Imperium stopped pressing further against its immense and mighty borders. I tell you there is living evil there.”

At that statement, a burst of conversation surges up around the room, the women fanning themselves nervously, the men squaring off as if against an unseen attacker. Living evil lurking among emptiness and dirt may sound a bit dire, but it also sounds…interesting.

And I’m not the only one who thinks so, it appears, judging from the hard grins of the warriors. After three hundred years waiting for an attack that never came, interesting is new.

Interesting is, potentially, dangerous.

The first line of houses have known the truth about the Western Realms for the past centuries—that there was a threat so immense, so dire, that the imperial army left the Protectorate behind to face it alone. The emperor’s army had returned two hundred years later, only to flee a second time.

That’s what we know. But no one ever talks about the exact form of that threat, or at least I’ve never heard of it. And if it’s simply terrible raging creatures who strike fear into the hearts of their opponents, well, we have Divhs. Dozens of them. And plenty of warriors itching for a meaningful fight.

I can sense the energy in the room building further. These men, these warriors, are here without the guiding hand of their own House Lord. Is that why Rihad has chosen this moment for his bards to share such tantalizing news?

A second bard jumps to his feet. “My news is from the south,” he cries. “For a full six months, I traversed the coast of the Dark’ning Sea, weaving through rock and hill and endless rolling sand. I came upon the greatest House of all in the southern climes, the Third!”

A cheer goes up from the table housing the warriors of the Third House, and I watch the women with them as they refill the cups of the warriors from the flagons lining the table. Their actions are smooth, arch, and flirtatious, but are they also shrewd and focused, each acting according to a plan?

“So too do we find the Seventh House, and finally the Ninth at the very mouth of the southern citadels. Rich houses, both of them, but none so great as the Third, with their ferocious warriors who stare down the truth of their fiery borders.”

“There are no monsters to the south, bard,” rumbles a man from the center of the Third House Warriors. “There is only sand.”

“And the sand is monster enough, I know. I’ve heard it stated so often, my ears would fall off.” The bard turns around, laughing. “But you who live in the north, in these lands of water and trees and earth, let me paint the picture of the world of the southern warriors, that you might understand their fire.”

The bard spools on, regaling the wide-eyed listeners with stories of the sun’s merciless heat and the dryness of the air, the freezing cold of the nights under the open sky. The rich lands to either side of the few major rivers in the area, and the thriving sea industry controlled almost exclusively by the Third House.

Unsurprisingly, the warriors of the Third sponge all the tales up with pleasure, their grins growing wider and their eyes brighter as the wine pours more quickly into their cups and down their throats. By the time the bard is finished, the men are almost reeling.

“But we aren’t only graced with the bards to the west and south this night—nor only their warriors!” Another man I hadn’t noticed strides forth out of the crowd to take his place near the high table, and I quail back.

It’s Blackmoor, the bard who visited the Tenth House not two months earlier.