Page 107 of Court of Talons
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.