Chapter 24

M ost of the warriors are already back in the procession by the time I stagger free of the encampment, and the crowd is alive with shouts of outrage that there was no marauder blood spilled. The villains had gotten away cleanly—and apparently, this isn’t the first time. Anger rumbles and rolls about the outlaws, though at least this day, they were interrupted. Rumors of a tent filled with pallets of gold rush along the breeze with whipped-up furor—a tent and holding that remained safe because of the intercession of the tournament’s warrior knights.

Caleb is there with Darkwing and helps me mount up, making no comment about my disheveled state. A cheer goes up all around us as we reform our procession, and now shouts of thanks drown out the grumbled protests. No one seems to know yet if anything was stolen, but at least no Light-honoring tournament attendees were harmed.

There’s no further opportunity for true conversation as we ride, though there’s plenty of murmuring about the attack. The guard nearest to me holds forth long and earnestly that these unusually bold marauders are some scourge from the west, possessed by the demons that live beyond the Protectorate’s borders. A grim smile teases across my face as I listen. How much more horrified would they be to know that on top of their apparent magical powers…these fell attackers were women?

Eventually, their talk dies away as we plod back to the First House. Unlike the morning’s journey to the coliseum, I’m now surrounded at all times by guards. I don’t know if they’re protecting me from further marauder attacks or ensuring I don’t flee, but the pain in my shoulder grows with every stride. By the time we wind our way back up the mountain passage to the First House, I’m drooping in my saddle.

At Nazar’s insistence, we don’t stop to rest until we’re back in the barracks of the First House, beneath the immense central tower. The priest sends Caleb to stand guard at the open door and to alert us if any should draw near. Then he moves quickly, slicing through the lacings of my sleeves and down the delicately picked-out embroidery stitches of my tunic.

“Should another guard care for you, he can take off your tunic in pieces,” he says, making no mention of the dirt and smoke that are now ground into the material.

I groan, leaning against the wall as he works. “If another guard cares for me, I’m already dead, Nazar. You know that.”

He purses his lips and pulls the last of the material away. The burst of blood on the outer tunic is nothing compared to what lies beneath it. The thick padding covering my breasts is soaked, and deep slashes mar my skin where the snake bit Gent. I frown down at it, despite my skin pulling taut at the movement. “Do people normally get hurt this badly?”

“People don’t get hurt at all. Warriors do. It is the way. In this battle, the serpent maintained the hold longer than prescribed, and that’s why the wound reached you. It’s a mark against Kheris that he allowed that to happen.”

“Or a mark against me that I couldn’t get it off Gent more quickly.” Disgusted, I sag back against the wall. “I thought—for one moment there, I thought we had a chance.”

“You completed your strike in one timing,” Nazar says. The salve he puts on the wounds instantly cools my skin. “You then should have hit with the cut of no design, no conception, but that takes much training. Training of the mind and of the spirit as well as the body.” He glances at me. “Gent’s arm is as a long stave or sword. The way is close to your understanding.”

“None of this is close to my understanding.” I sigh as Nazar finishes wrapping my shoulder. “There were flower petals at my feet when it was done, did you see that?”

He hesitates then motions me to lean forward. He drops a new tunic over my neck, standing back to review his handiwork. Then he nods. “Caleb,” he calls, and I look over as our squire ducks inside our quarters.

Caleb grins at me. “Not one fight but two!” he announces. “Did you even see the marauders you all were after? I heard they went to ground almost immediately, but they smuggled out a stash of gold from one of the richest tents in the camp. Did you see any of them, anywhere? I can’t believe we were all so close!”

I let his words wash over me without responding, and as usual, Caleb leaps in to fill the gap. “But forget all that—you did so well in your fight today! That first hit took everyone by surprise where we were standing. Apparently, no one has ever gotten so close to Kheris’s Divh before.”

“For good reason. Its skin is toxic.” I hold my arms out, but there’s no trace of the poison on me as Nazar works to reattach the sleeves of my tunic. On my left arm, the tattoo remains fixed into the skin, but other than appearing darker to me, it’s unchanged. “Don’t ever let it touch you. You can tell that to everyone you know too.”

“But you got in close and threw it down, exposing its belly. There were some who thought you’d win at that point, but the serpent Divh is one of the most difficult to defeat in single combat. Most didn’t think you had a chance.”

I smile grimly. “Well, then at least I didn’t cost the bettors too much money.” My eyelids are suddenly heavy, and I fight to keep awake. But there’s something—something I want to know. Something I’d asked Nazar already, but it’s already slipped my mind…

“Show her what you found in your pockets, Caleb.”

“Oh!” Caleb says with such force that my eyes flare open. “These—here.”

He sticks his hands in the pockets of his breeches and pulls forth a fistful of flower petals, the deep midnight and white of the mountain flowers Gent showed me. “Nazar says they were at your feet as well, but I couldn’t see, and he told me to stop asking about them almost as soon as I started.” He looks down at the petals, then strides over and dumps them beside me on the pallet. “They just appeared.”

“When?” I pick up a delicate petal and turn it over in my hand. It’s dark blue from the tip to almost the base, with a burst of white leading down to the stem. Others are white with a burst of blue, and I paw through the small pile absently, wondering at their silken touch against my fingers.

“At the end, when you and Gent reached for each other. I felt something brush against my legs, and I swiped at my pockets out of habit, thinking they were being picked. Instead, these were there.”

“They appeared in my belted pouch as well,” Nazar says. He’s retired to the other side of the room, his long pipe now glowing in the dim light. Smoke wafts around him, thick and redolent. “Not too many. A handful.”

“The boy…” I murmur sleepily. “The boy in the stands. He had them too.”

“Well, no one else did,” Caleb says emphatically. “Otherwise, there would have been a stampede. That’s some kind of magic .”

“Well, obviously.” I quirk a brow at him. “The Divh are magic.”

“But that’s magic we know. This…” He points to the flower petals. “This is something else. Something different.”

I smile a bit, thinking of the picture in Gent’s mind, in my mind, of the flowers silhouetted against the sun-brightened sea. “I think they were intended to make me feel better, is all. Gent will heal, but he was surprised I was hurt.”

“Rest, Merritt.” Nazar stands abruptly, as if eager to be away. “There is a victory feast for Kheris tonight, and we should be present to do him honor. No one will expect you to make an appearance so soon.” He gestures. “Drink the water before you become thirsty. You’ll heal more quickly.”

“I’m really?—”

“Rest.” Then he and Caleb are gone.

I drift for several hours, and when I wake, it’s full dark outside. I’m still alone in the barracks. The courtyard of the First House isn’t silent, though, as the sound of high-pitched laughter carries to me on the breeze. I sit up, testing my balance, and find my head clear. Even my shoulder no longer aches, for which I give up a prayer of thanks to the Light.

Sitting in the darkened room, my mind immediately returns to the marauder attack, the wounded woman, the well. What was beneath that well, that she wanted—that all of them wanted to escape there? Some sort of ancient, unused aqueduct, heading out into the marsh? And there were four—no, six women in that one place alone, coming out of the encampment. Was their entire group female? How had they survived without being found out?

With a wry smile, I recognize the irony of this last question, given that I am masquerading as a warrior in a far more public arena. But I can’t stay focused on the mysterious women for long. I stand and pull on one of Nazar’s long robes, belting it in place to keep it from dragging the ground. The idea of fresh air and the sound of laughter tugs at me, and I move down the silent corridor, all the cubbies empty of warrior knights and their retainers. When I enter the courtyard, I glance up at the lit-up windows of the First House. I can hear the music filtering through them, but the laughter I heard was much closer, and I swing around to see where it came from.

Women stand at a small well with large stone jars. One by one, they lower the jars into the well. These are the house servants, tasked with replenishing the carafes and jugs throughout the castle, and they don’t notice me as I sidle closer. Their laughter heals a part of me I’d not thought injured. How long has it been since I’ve eavesdropped on the casual conversation of my peers? It feels like forever.

And these women are my peers, as much as the nobles are above. Far more so, even, given the life I’ve led. Certainly more so than the fierce women I encountered on the edge of Trilion, at least for the moment.

For the moment…but not for long, I resolve.

I edge closer to where the servants have shed their outer wraps in the warm night air. Within the castle, they will always be hidden in those hooded wraps, their hair tucked back from their faces, their bodies covered from their necks to their toes. The wraps aren’t shapeless sacks, but they’re modest and distinctive, patterned in bold gold and black, with a fringe of delicate gold chains falling from the crowns of their deep hoods. Beneath them, the women wear long kirtles over their shifts, their sleeves rolled up to free their hands for their work.

“He was sweet and shy, he was,” insists one of them now. “Stumbled all over himself, shocked I was there to bathe him.”

Another snorts. “I’ll take him next, then. The Third House warriors took my presence as their due, and they’re all bigger’n the monsters they’re banded to, you ask me. Twice as rude too.”

That brings more laughter, and the talk runs round the group—most all of it about the men. Who’s handsome, who’s not, who’s cruel or frightening. As I’m beginning to fear I’ll be discussed next, one woman pokes her mate. “The Lord Protector had you in his chambers for longer than any of us, this morning. Are you hurt?”

The woman shrugs. She’s older, her face lined in the moonlight, her mouth thin. “It was nothing as bad as you’re thinking. He wanted me to take on the care of the beast below.”

The other women’s gasps were audible, and my brows climb. None of the Divhs remain corporeal in this world long enough to eat…otherwise, they’d ravage the countryside. So what sort of beast could Rihad be keeping, and where was “below”?

“You be safe—it could eat you—why you, what did you do wrong?” The servants’ words tumble over on themselves, and the older woman holds up her hands.

“It’s all right, it’s all right. The guards have been called away to handle the incoming warriors, is all. The Second House is sending others. After today, we should expect more from the Third as well.”

I freeze. After today? Why? Because of the exhibition battle at the coliseum? The marauder attack? The other women titter knowingly but don’t speak anything aloud. I clench my hands and strive for patience. There’s still too much I don’t know!

“But who’ll care for the councilors, then?” asks a quiet voice, a woman off to the left of the group. She can’t be much older than I am, and her hair’s pulled back, revealing a harsh scar beneath her eye. I wince, my own scars at my father’s hand beginning to throb as my cheeks flush. Who’s harmed this girl so boldly?

The older woman waves a dismissive hand. “They barely eat as it is, and I’m glad to be shut of that job for a while. They ask without asking about all that goes on in the lord’s private chambers, but I tell them nothing. What goes on there isn’t fit for any eyes that aren’t wise or ears that aren’t cagey.”

“Well, your eyes have seen it all,” another servant jokes. “And Light knows what your ears have heard.”

“My eyes and ears know how to detach from my mouth. It’s why I’m still alive, with my tongue still working.” The older woman stares around at the others. “You ever find yourself in Lord Rihad’s chambers, remember that. He’s asked the whole of the council to attend him after the feast tonight, what with that warrior of the Ninth House dead on the ivory road.”

I go rigid. The Ninth House?

“Oh no,” sighs another. “Not another attack, with the tournament so close. No wonder the councilors have been in a huddle.”

I press my lips tight together. There’s too much going on in the hidden rooms of the First House that I don’t understand, too much I need to know. But I can’t swagger into hidden spaces looking for secrets as bold warrior Merritt. He draws the eye wherever he goes. For this work, I need to be invisible.

A loud splash at the well draws all their attention. Almost before I know what I’m doing, my hand darts out as they all turn away. I grab one of their overwraps from the pile and ball it up as best as I can against Nazar’s robe. I step quickly backward on kitten feet until I reach the arched barracks entry. Then I turn and flee to our chambers.

Caleb and Nazar aren’t there, and I move quickly to our packs, rifling through them to find what I need. A long tunic of dull gray replaces my dark green warrior’s garb, and I switch out my heavy breeches for thinner ones I’d worn as I traveled to the tournament. Then I pull out my wig of Lady Talia hair and set it aside. Sure enough, beneath it in the burlap sack, lies a second wig of simply braided hair, this one far more suitable to a young girl—or a servant.

I pull it on, then drag the servant’s hooded cloak over my head, arranging the fall of thin gold chains that hang from its crown, smoothing my hair along my neck to hide my scar as best as I can.

I rub my hands down my face. Had the servants worn kohl around their eyes and salve on their lips? I hadn’t noticed, and I don’t have a glass to apply either with any sort of skill. At least my face isn’t too beat up from the day. I slap my palms to my cheeks to give them color and move back outside as silently as possible. Striding quickly, I cross the courtyard and enter the First House. The other serving women would recognize me as an outsider, but I hope in the great celebration that’s still carrying on, I might have better luck blending in. Rihad must employ temporary servants from the village, surely. Especially with additional warriors coming in.

Warriors. Like the newly deceased warrior from the Ninth House.

I screw my face up in concentration as I enter the great hall. Unlike the night before, there are no bards holding the attention of the revelers, but several bands of musicians are playing a discordant clash of music in every corner. I see Lord Protector Rihad immediately, and as always, he’s attended by a dozen servants, all of them female, all of them dressed like I am. If he doesn’t see me directly, I can make it work, I think. I need to get closer, but I could?—

“Wine!” A woman jostles into me and would have sent me sprawling had I not had all those years of training in the shadows, hiding from my father’s attention. As it is, I hop sideways, banging my hip against the nearest table. I turn and see graceful long fingers tipping a cup precariously toward me. I hastily pull it from the woman’s hand.

As yesterday, flagons of wine line every table. I grab the nearest one—it’s empty. So’s the second and third. By the time I find a flagon and turn around again, the woman is no longer holding her hand out for her cup. Instead, she’s pulling down the face of the nearest warrior to kiss him full on the lips.

I stand there, staring dumbly, my eyes impossibly round as I watch Fortiss return the kiss.

The woman is beautiful. Not Elise, but every bit as stunning, she’s petite, fair, and dressed in richly embroidered silk. Her golden hair is styled in ornate coils that pour down her back like a frothy avalanche. When she pulls her mouth from Fortiss and laughs, I can see the detailed kohl-work around her eyes, and the soft pink of her lips, still touched with salve despite the wine and kissing. She moves in for another embrace, and I duck my head, keeping my eyes trained on the floor, never mind that they are sparking with rough, angry tears. I hold the cup up and am startled a moment later to hear her laugh.

“Well, then. An even trade.”

Instead of merely plucking the cup from my fingers, however, she grabs my wrist as she frees the vessel, turning me smartly to the left. I go pliantly so as not to hurt her, only to realize that she’s thrust me into Fortiss’s arms— Fortiss , who stinks of wine and something sharper, his eyes unfocused and his manner loose.

“A trade I’ve clearly won,” he laughs, before his arm snakes around my back and he pulls me in for a kiss.

A kiss!

I’ve never been kissed before, not like this. Fortiss’s mouth is hot, his lips both soft and demanding at once. Something bright and fizzy explodes in my stomach, warming every inch of me, and for one blessed instant, I press back, touching and tasting of a fruit so forbidden that it can only mean my death. My hands reach up of their own accord, and dimly I’m aware that beneath Fortiss’s tunic, there is no telltale band wrapped round his bicep—as Caleb’s said, he’s yet to be awarded a Divh.

Then my brain catches up with my body, and I jerk hard away.

Fortiss looks equally thunderstruck. He blinks and tries to stare at me, but his eyes keep sliding away from my face, still half-hidden by my thick hood. I’m glad of it as I struggle in his arms belatedly, and he opens them to allow me to escape. The blonde girl giggles as I stumble back, then wraps herself expertly around Fortiss’s outstretched arm.

“Your service is fully appreciated. Thank you.” She dimples at me.

I bow deeply from the waist, still backing away. By some miracle, I don’t knock anyone over, and by the time I look up, Fortiss and his woman are gone.

I swing my gaze to the high table.

Unfortunately, so are the Lord Protector and his councilors.