Chapter 20

F ortiss leads me along the outer wall of the feasting hall and through a set of double doors that empty out onto a wide terrace. He stops only long enough to pick up two goblets of the-Light-only-knows-what, some kind of drunken brew. I accept it when he offers and down a sip with him. I’m glad to have something to do with my hands.

He finally pauses at the far end of the terrace, setting down his goblet on the thick, waist-high wall. It’s all that keeps an unwary reveler from pitching over into open sky. This terrace is oriented to look out over the same empty marshland we’d ridden through to wind our way toward the castle. Ostentatious preening or not, there’s no denying how well positioned the First House is against attack.

“So, how do you find the First House?” Fortiss asks abruptly, as if he’s having as hard a time as I am coming up with conversation. He stares out over the nearly empty marshland while he speaks. “Are your accommodations adequate? Your men have all they need?”

I remember to keep my voice low and graveled. “They are and we do. We don’t require much, and they knew our status coming in. We’re a small house in the mountains.”

“So I keep hearing. Yet I suspect you’ll surprise us in the tournament. I suspect your entire goal is to surprise us, no? To advance as far as you might into the Tournament of Gold and win more men than you bought? Maybe even take your seat in the Court of Talons and wear the winged crown?”

When I tried to formulate a protest, he waves it away. “You don’t need to stand on ceremony with me, Lord Merritt. We need strong warriors who are willing to fight for what they want. It’s why I’ve sought you out. Why I’ll continue to seek you out.”

Fortiss’s words are light, but his tone brooks no opposition. He’s the celebrated son of the First House, for all that he isn’t a true warrior knight, and he’s used to getting what he wants. If he wishes to show favoritism to the least of the warriors in the tournament, a symbol of his generosity of spirit, I’m honor bound to let him.

An ember of anger flares to life within me. Honor like this can’t stand much longer. Either it will fall, or I will.

I blow out a short breath. “I’m here to fight, and to win, if it pleases the Light. But then I’ll be off again to the mountains as well. It has more need of me than the First.”

“Mmm, as you say. So, again, what are your impressions of our tournament?” Fortiss sounds falsely cheerful as he redirects me, and his words clang in my ears. I glance around to ensure we’re not being quietly surrounded by his men in some sort of ambush.

Fortiss doesn’t say anything more, so I’ve got no other choice than to respond. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen battle.” I try to keep the irritation from my voice as too many emotions surge to the fore. Anger for the warriors who have already been wounded, for the boys and men cheated in the pits. Outrage that Merritt’s killer still walks free. “I won’t shrink from it tomorrow, if that’s your fear.”

“Not at all. But you hold yourself apart from the other men, and you shouldn’t.”

I snort, but Fortiss keeps going. “You’re part of a larger family now. A family of warriors that knows no house, but who works for the greater glory of the Protectorate.”

His words draw me up short. Warriors who know no house? The greater glory of the Protectorate? My surprise serves to calm my nerves. This time, when I respond, it’s with far greater care. This is the nephew of the Lord Protector. Something I should never forget. “I don’t want glory, Fortiss. I want to protect my house. My house and the borderlands until the Exalted Imperium returns. That’s what our charge is—our only charge.”

“The Exalted…seriously? You can’t truly believe that.”

I blink at his sudden disavowal, and Fortiss laughs. “Merritt, come on . It’s been nearly a hundred years since the Imperium left us to manage on our own. You really think they’re coming back?”

I can only stare now. “What do you mean?”

“You tell me. Your house stands at one of the easternmost points of the Protectorate. When is the last time you saw a messenger or even a bard from the Imperium who was planning to actually return to the capital and not just escape it?”

I open my mouth, then shut it again. “I don’t know.”

“You do know. You’re what, seventeen years old? The answer is never . Not in all your seventeen years. Do you think the experience at the Twelfth House is any different?”

“The Imperium doesn’t require tithes. There’s no reason for them to come to us,” I say mutinously. “Our service as protectors is enough.”

“The Imperium has forgotten us. The capital is corrupt with the power struggles that leave the troubles of the Protectorate a far distant memory.” He laughs at my expression. “Think on it, Merritt. Do you truly believe Lord Protector Rihad would leave our future to chance? While the Imperium hasn’t sent emissaries, he’s not been so lax. He’s dedicated himself to learning all he can about our land, our worth, our magic with our mighty Divhs…and why we’ve been abandoned. He’s sent bards all the way to Hakkir to watch and report, while never betraying who they are or where they’re from.”

Hakkir. Nazar’s home, for all that it seems a world away. The beating heart of the Exalted Imperium. Reluctantly, I curb my anger. “It would seem he’s very wise, then, if what you say is true.”

“Wise and farseeing.” Fortiss moves closer to me, and I cannot resist the small step back, ever mindful of the sheer drop to the rocks below, just over the terrace wall. I don’t shift enough for rudeness, but for the space I need to keep from breathing in his scent—or him, mine. I don’t know how intuitive he is, and I can’t risk him wondering where he might have sensed my presence before. I’ve done a good job keeping my distance from Fortiss as Merritt, despite Talia not being so wise. But I don’t want to push my luck.

“Your sister believes your attacker lies in wait among the warriors who do battle here,” Fortiss challenges me abruptly.

“My sister.” I scowl with all the brotherly censure I can manage. “Such thoughts are not hers to have, and certainly not hers to comment upon. My apologies.”

“Well, at least one of you is well taught.” Fortiss laughs, and I curl my hand into a fist despite my best efforts. Then his next words catch me up short. “She’s a fierce one, though. I’m surprised she’s been promised in marriage to Orlof’s son. It’s such a waste. The boy’s barely tall enough to wield a sword. Surely there could have been a better match.”

“Tell me she did not complain of it,” I groan, though my head is spinning. A waste. He’s used that term before. Where is he going with this?

“Oh, no,” Fortiss assures me. “But Lady Talia’s nearly of an age as you, well older than the boy. And Orlof is a hard man, with hard ways against his soldiers and servants alike. Did you not know this?”

I shrug. “Such matters are for my father to decide, not me.” And I have no doubt my father knew of Orlof’s cruelty. It would’ve been a soothing balm to his long-held outrage to imagine I’d be treated poorly. “Talia has learned to take care of herself.”

He snorts. “Now that, I can believe. Orlof had better make sure she’s been relieved of her blades before he tries to bed her himself.”

The barb was so expertly thrown, I never saw it coming. I jerk up my chin, face flushing with horror and fury at the suggestion, only to find Fortiss staring at me full on. “Strange, there’d be no reason for you to know of my sister’s knife skills, unless she’d had a chance to practice on you. Is there something I should know?”

Whatever he expected me to say, this wasn’t it. He blinks, then smiles at me, long and slow.

“Not at all,” he smirks. “If Talia held the secrets shared between us close to her breast, I can only do the same. But there’s something here you’re not telling me, something you both aren’t. With her having run away, I find myself wondering what secrets you’re hiding, Lord Merritt, and when we’ll all learn the truth.”

With that, he offers me a short bow then strides away, leaving me to look out over the dark, murky marshland. The desolate landscape stretches out in silent testimony to the truth of how poorly I’ve played my hand this night.

Fortiss knows something is wrong. He may know a little—or a lot—but he knows the Tenth House warrior is hiding something dire.

And when he finds out?

I’m as good as dead.