Chapter 44

T here is no victory celebration this night.

Too many warriors have died; too much has changed. Too much and not enough.

Under Fortiss’s order, Caleb and I are carried back to the First House on litters, taken to dignitaries’ rooms.

My father remains at the First House, closeted with most of Rihad’s advisors. He has done nothing wrong, after all. He is no prisoner here. Somehow, I know, he will turn this to his advantage. Tonight, I’m too exhausted to care.

Rihad hasn’t awoken, but he also hasn’t died; he remains under heavy guard. He’s still a first line warrior knight, still part of the sacred trust of the Protectorate. And, until the Imperium hands down official rule, still safe.

For now, however, Fortiss is the Lord Protector of the First House, by full agreement of the council and the remaining House warriors, few though there are. The lords of all the houses will be summoned, but, again for now—it is enough. Fortiss will pass temporary judgment on Rihad, and that judgment will be harsh. It’s plain to all that the master of the First House has broken the first law of this land, which is never to turn warrior on warrior in true battle.

That isn’t the way to ensure the Protectorate stays strong. It’s the way to ensure it would be broken. And broken it is now.

Broken is apparently what Rihad wanted.

Nazar’s quiet words state the carnage succinctly as he speaks to me in the half-darkness of my room.

Of the original fifty-odd elite warriors who fought in the Tournament of Gold, thirteen remain, including Fortiss. Four of those are from the First House, two from the Eighth.

Of the surviving warriors, all but three were under the orders of Rihad to turn on the other combatants during the melee and destroy them. Their fates are for cooler minds than mine to decide, but in the end, they were soldiers following orders. They did as they were trained, nothing more.

The one defector had been Kheris. He’d contracted with Rihad not only to fight, but also to slay me. According to Nazar, he changed his mind during our shared fight, and was responsible for the three warriors who did survive to still be standing, along with their Divhs.

The priest pauses in his accounting, watching me with palpable interest. He draws on his long pipe, a thin tendril of smoke wafting through the room. “There are three additional discoveries of import that have been shared with Lord Protector Fortiss,” he says, nodding as I glance toward him. “The first is that Caleb is now a banded soldier.”

That makes me smile. “As he should be,” I begin, but Nazar continues.

“The second is that the bodies of two women were found among the dead—women who bore weapons and battle armor. Women who’d fought like men.”

I close my eyes, my heart aching that not all of the fearless Savasci escaped Rihad’s killing field. I’m sorry, Syril.

“You knew these women,” Nazar says. It’s not a question.

When I don’t reply, he sighs. “The blasphemy of their act has only been outdone by your own, it would seem. Trilion has become a city of whispers and gasps.”

I frown at him. “Mine?”

“Yours. You, Talia of the Tenth, a first-blooded and firstborn warrior who has, by all accounts, commanded the Divhs who won the melee…are a woman.”

That declaration makes me sit up in my bed, despite the spinning pain the movement causes behind my eyes. My tunic has been cut off my body and what’s left of my wounds is sewn and bandaged. There’s now a thick blanket over my chest and legs, my arms free. The right is heavily wrapped below the elbow, and the left is bandaged tight all the way up to my warrior band, which gleams anew against my arm, a pulsing, living thing.

“How is it that people know—beyond whoever stitched me up?” I ask, frowning. “I could be killed, Nazar.”

“You would be killed, executed, were this the Imperium or if Rihad still ruled. But it isn’t the Imperium, Rihad is imprisoned, and your Divh saved the warriors who were left on both sides of the battle. That battle would have otherwise raged on, I suspect, until everyone was dead. And you somehow managed to call forth a new army of Divhs?—”

“No,” I interrupt him. “I didn’t do that. Gent did. The Light did—I have no idea. But not me. I had nothing to do with that.”

Nazar just studies me implacably, falling silent as I lean back against the pillows, utterly spent. “I didn’t do it,” I insist again.

Several moments pass where neither of us speaks, and I’m too weak to ask what Nazar is thinking. But I know the truth. Those Divhs came because of something other than me—they couldn’t have done otherwise. I’m merely…

A warrior knight, Nazar’s words echo in my mind. First-blooded and firstborn.

As if he can hear my thoughts, the priest speaks again. “How it came to pass is perhaps of less importance than that it did come to pass. And the way of the warrior requires humility of spirit and strength of heart, Talia. You have both.” He takes another long draw from his pipe. “Fortiss has formally offered you command of the Court of Talons, should you wish to accept it. He feels somewhat outnumbered, though from all appearances, the council wasn’t aware of Rihad’s decision to use the tournament melee as a field of death for the Protectorate’s greatest warriors.”

“Command of the…” It’s too much. I can no longer hold my mind around the words. I close my eyes as Nazar continues to speak and sink back into slumber.

I wake hours later to utter silence. Gloom hangs heavily in the room, and a fire burns in the grate, though the windows are open to the just-dawning sun. It’s not a cold morning, but I gaze at the fire a long while, savoring its warmth.

At length, however, I simply have to move. The First House is quiet, and I slip out of bed, reaching for the heavy robe that Nazar has left me. I pull it over my shoulders, wincing at the pain. I don’t know how I’ve managed to survive to see this new day. I don’t want to know. But still, it feels right. It feels good.

It is enough, for this moment…and so am I.

I emerge from my room, startled to find two guards at the door—more startled still to see them wearing the tournament sashes with my colors—half those colors, anyway. The green has been cut away. Only silver remains.

The men drop to one knee, confusing me further, until I urge them back up again. I am no lord here; I have no house. But I’m grateful for them just the same.

“Thank you for…” I trail off, not knowing what to say. “Thank you.”

“The great hall is a flight down and to the left, Warrior Talia,” the man on the right says. “Lord Protector Fortiss directed us to take you there when you woke. If you’re able.”

I purse my lips, mystified at the new titles. Lord Protector Fortiss. Warrior Talia. Is that who I am, in truth? No longer a lie. A cheat. No longer a daughter or a wife or a servant to a greater lord.

A warrior. With a banner sewn of silver.

I could get used to that.

“And, ah…” I clear my throat. “The banded warrior, Caleb? Is he somewhere close?”

“The Lord Protector knew you would ask.” The same guard nods. “But he’s still in the throes of the delirium caused by his banding. He’s being watched over.”

I wince, remembering my own reaction to the band, the days of queasy pain that followed. Silently, I gesture to the guard to take me to Fortiss. Later, when he’s rested, I’ll visit Caleb. We turn down the staircase, the unexpected height of the step sending a jolt of pain through my body. There’s still so much healing to be done…in every corner of the Protectorate.

We find Fortiss in Rihad’s inner chambers, with the fire roaring behind him. He sits, alone, at a table he’s pulled into position in front of Rihad’s grand throne. Before him on the table rests Merritt’s shattered gray arrow. I look around the room, unable to keep from shuddering. It’s been mere days since I last stood in this room, betrayed by my father, sentenced to death by Rihad, rejected by both blood and all that I believed to be honorable in this world.

Fortiss looks up as I approach, and the guards bow to him and leave the room to take up their positions with the other men stationed outside the doors. Fortiss smiles wearily as he watches them go, then turns his gaze to me.

“My apologies, Warrior Talia,” he says stiffly. “The first of so many apologies I owe you. It’s you who should be sitting here, not me.”

I can’t help it, I laugh, then immediately regret the act as my ribs protest. I wince, pressing a hand to my waist. “I have no desire for that seat,” I say honestly. “And you…oh, Fortiss. You didn’t know.”

“I should have known.” Fortiss’s words are bleak, his face suddenly haggard as our eyes meet. The guilt of so much death weighs heavily upon him, and nothing I can say will change that. It’s his path and whatever there was—is—or might ever be between us, it’s too early to know.

But I want to know, I realize. My heart leaps to be so close to him, my fingers tremble with the desire to drift through his hair, along his skin. And deep beneath the sorrow shimmering in his eyes, I think I see an answering fire. I hope I do.

I hold his gaze, sharing his path, his pain with him. It’s all I can do, now. But I can do that much. He doesn’t break our contact for a long moment, and I pour all the strength I still have into him, knowing that there will always be more.

“You’re feeling all right?” I murmur. “After your banding?”

A quick smile brightens his face, erasing yet more of the pain. “I am. It was so long in coming and felt so natural, I recovered quickly. Being thrust into battle before my band had even cooled helped as well, strangely enough. But here.” He drops his gaze once more to the book in front of him. “Come closer, if you would. I…you should see this.”

I stride across the grand room, struck by how different it seems without Rihad in it. Brighter, lighter. A place of hope, not despair. I stop in front of Fortiss, and he points to the open book. “I can’t read it.”

I frown and lean close. The book is opened to a page inked with an elaborate, scroll-like lettering, a language I have never seen. I reach out and touch the page and lift it to see the next—more lettering, more words, all equally indecipherable.

“Is the whole book like this?”

“Yes. And three more besides. I began to sound out the words, but the fire leapt in the grate.” He gestures to the roaring fire behind Rihad’s throne. “I thought I should wait until I understood it more completely.”

“The fire.” My eyes widen as I take in the flames now crackling cheerfully. I’ve seen what’s emerged from that fire. “Ah…” I hedge. “Have you spoken to the council about it?”

“They claim no knowledge, but I suspect some of them are lying. It’ll take time to figure out who and how.”

I nod, then finally move myself to speak. “I don’t know these words, Fortiss. But I know what they summon. And if you knew that, perhaps you can work backward to what the words say?”

“But how…” He listens, clearly horrified, as I explain what I saw in this room the first night he’d found me in a servant’s clothes.

“That was you who jumped?” His scowl deepens. “Off the lookout perch?”

“It’s not like I had much choice.” I tap the book. “But the thing that Rihad was talking to—it was darkness cloaked in fire, a lizard coiling around itself, snakes writhing at its feet. It seemed—quite large. Rihad had to stand back and crane his head far back to see it all.”

Fortiss stares at me, his face now quite pale. “Wait here.”

He pushes away from the table, then strides over to the door to summon the guard. The man leaves at a run, returning with another book. Fortiss opens it to a full-color illuminated page, and I flinch back with a grimace.

“Is that what you saw?” he prompts.

I nod again, staring at the gruesome image, fire and shadows and twisting snakes. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Fortiss says, turning the book back toward himself. He pages forward. “My father kept these books, handed down over the generations, a full and complete record of the battles of the Western Realms. The Imperial soldiers called these things the Kot’lok—but no one knew their true names.”

“Evil,” I translate the ancient word, staring at the images.

“Evil from the Western Realms. And there’s more.” Fortiss nudges the great book. “Councilor Miriam has come to me, with enough evidence to convict Rihad of treason a dozen times over—evidence which, she says, she was holding against a visit from the Imperium that never came. She had decided she couldn’t do anything to risk that evidence.” He grimaces. “Not even try to save you.”

I lift my brows at that. Miriam did know more than she was letting on, all this time. Of course she did. Is that knowledge enough for me to trust her? Not even a little. But it’s a place to start.

“According to Miriam, Rihad has kept private counsel with outside ambassadors since the time he took sole control of the First House upon my father’s death. She first assumed these ambassadors were from the Exalted Imperium. She later realized her mistake, but could never identify them. I think they were these…things.”

I wave at the first book with the strange writing. “We need to get that translated.”

“I’ve checked. There’s no one in the First House who knows the language of the Western Realms. And the warriors from the Eighth are gravely wounded; most have not yet awakened, if they ever will. We’ll have to go to their holding on the western border, with a brace of new warriors, to see if there is any who can share this information with us. And we have to act quickly.”

I wince, once more seeing the chaos of the melee in my mind’s eye. I wonder if I will ever stop seeing it. “Rihad wasn’t wrong, in staging the melee. Such a staggeringly bold attack would have been all too easily explained as him saving the Protectorate from traitors. But with Rihad the traitor...”

I pause, staring at the book. Could someone within the Savasci know the language of the Western Realms? Possibly—at least some of it. I smile to think of the warrior women and wonder if they are safe in their cavern below the falls, or if they’ve already returned west. I hope…I hope they have left this place of death and betrayal. Still, I also can’t help hoping that we’ll meet again.

Right now, however, our path lies not only to the west, but to the east as well.

“We’ve got to warn the Imperium,” I begin, even as Fortiss holds up a hand.

“We will…but first, we must protect ourselves.” He turns to me. “Whatever Rihad was planning, he wanted it to catch us unawares, and we can’t let that happen. We’ll need your battalion of Divhs, Talia.”

I squint at him. “My battalion…no. That’s not what they are. Those Divhs aren’t mine to direct, Fortiss. They’re not banded to me. And they’re gone, in any event.”

He stands, looking suddenly far older than I remember him. Then again, I probably don’t look all that hale and hearty either. “Follow me.”

Fortiss leads us out the door and down the long hallway to the overlook. When we arrive, I find it’s not empty. A brace of ten soldiers awaits us, wrapped in silver. My soldiers, I realize with a start. The men I hired before the tournament commenced.

“Lady Talia,” the nearest one says, lifting his fist to his heart. The men behind him do the same. I find my own hand lifting as well, returning the time-honored salute. My soldiers.

Beside me, Fortiss’s attention quickly goes to the sky. As the wind rustles around us, he lifts his left arm, curling his right hand over his heart.

There, in the full dawn of a new morning, the great dragon Szonja appears.

“If you would,” he says to me, his eyes shining as he watches his glorious Divh stretch her wings—one straight and true, the other bent but no less beautiful. She’s already healing.

I frown but raise my left arm as well, pointing toward the wide plain. I curl my right hand to my heart. Gent, I call in my mind.

The sky shudders, and a moment later, Gent appears, tall on the open plain between the First House and Trilion. He lifts one long arm to me, reaching across the space, his wild, ululating call rife with happiness.

Then the air seems to bow outward, and I gape.

Fully thirty Divhs now stand arrayed around Gent, all with arms, wings and claws lifted…reaching out to me. Suddenly, a thousand pinwheels of blue and white flowers burst around us, soaring high in the rising breeze.

Unable to stop my startled laugh, I turn to Fortiss, who’s beckoning a guard forward. The man offers him something I can’t quite see at first—and then I blink.

It’s a sash of silver.

Fortiss takes it, then turns and holds the beautiful cloth out to me.

“Your company of Divhs, Warrior Talia, seems more than enough to form the newest house of the Protectorate,” he says, and his voice seems to cascade over the edge of the First House overlook, spilling to the wide plain below. “The Thirteenth House. Will you stand with the Protectorate, against whatever may come? Will you wear the winged crown?”

I can’t speak for a moment, but when I do, the sound of my voice surprises me. It’s easily as strong as Fortiss’s, and it is certain—more certain than it’s ever been.

“Yes,” I say, and I take the cloth of silver. “Yes. I, my soldiers, and all the Divhs of the Thirteenth House will stand for the Protectorate, against whatever may come. Together, we will fight.”

Fortiss gazes back at me, and in his eyes, I see something more than what had been there before. Something full and deep and filled with possibility. He bows his head slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. Once again, something powerful and sure shifts in his eyes, a promise newly formed.

“Together,” he says, “we cannot fail.”

My soldiers pound their fists against their chests, and I reach out for my company of Divhs, the same way I have reached for Gent across the battlefield, feeling our connection deepening as the sky is blanketed anew in blue and white. As one, my Divhs howl with joy, and I recall Gent’s cries as he cradled me to his chest a scant day before, surrounded by this mighty army that our bond has somehow raised.

Lifting both my hands high, I meet the Divhs’ outstretched arms and claws and wings across the far distance. And as I gaze at these protectors of this house, my house, I realize that Gent was right about something else as well.

In the end, after all the battles and the pain, the plans and the strategies, the way of the warrior is not death after all.

It’s life.

Beautiful. Powerful…

Fierce.

Thank you for reading COURT OF TALONS! To learn more about Book 2, CROWN OF WINGS, and get a FREE bonus scene from Book 1 featuring Fortiss, sign up for my email list at www.jenniferchance.com (look for the signup at the bottom of the page!) or drop me an email at [email protected] . You can also find me online at Facebook .

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