Page 2 of Court of Talons
I’ll take that chance. I’ll make the Twelfth House strong. Eventually, I’ll make both our houses strong.
For now, however, I must remain careful, quiet, and small beneath my stupendous pile of hair. When news of this marriage finally trickles out to the rest of the Protectorate, it’ll be the merest footnote: Merritt’s supposedly sixteen-year-old sister Talia, second of the Tenth House line, married in accordance with the Lighted Path. Forgettable, forgotten. Still a lie, in many ways. But a lie that keeps me breathing.
Far better to be the second-born daughter hidden away in obscurity, than the firstborn girl who should never have lived.
“Straighten up there.” Adriana’s order breaks through my thoughts. “Your hair is listing.”
That makes me giggle, and we spend the next quarter hour in relaxed companionship, picking our way through the tangled forest. Eventually, we come upon a babbling stream, and I think about Merritt’s direction. It isn’t a bad idea.
“Water the ponies,” I tell Adriana. “I need to take off some of these clothes.”
She doesn’t remind me to be careful. She doesn’t need to. If for any reason I don’t successfully reach the Twelfth House and complete the marriage ceremony awaiting me there, my father will end my life without another moment’s thought.
After helping me out of my long cloak and its restrictive hood, Adriana turns away to hang the garments while I head deeper into the trees. I can’t strip off the rich green gown that falls from my chin to my ankles, cleverly split to allow me to ride, but I wish I could. Instead, I grumble dark curses against its maker, punching down the voluminous cloud of material as it catches at every branch and twig. I’ll be dragging half the forest with me by the time we reach the Twelfth House. But that’s not my fault now, is it?
“Orlof won’t care about my clothes,” I mutter to myself, maybe a little bitterly. “He won’t notice anything but the hair.”
“He might notice that you talk to yourself when you think you’re alone.”
I turn in one movement at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Twin daggers snick out of my wrist sheaths and slip into my palms like the unfurling of a heron’s wings. I see the man’s movement as I whirl, judge, and aim true upon my exhale, releasing the first blade with a practiced jerk of my right wrist. It cleaves through the air then buries itself into a sturdy trunk a scant three inches away from the arrested face of a man I’ve never seen before, a man dressed in cloth of gold and glittering ebony.
I swallow hard, staring at him. This man is undoubtedly a threat, a villain.
He’s also as jarringly beautiful as an angel fallen straight from the Lighted Path.
My forbidden training reasserts itself in half a heartbeat, and I quickly take in more relevant details. This is no common marauder. He’s young—maybe just shy of twenty-five years—rich and well-fed. He’s also taller than most any man I’ve ever seen, broad-shouldered and long-limbed. Slender, yes, but sturdily built. His hair is jet black, his skin as shimmering bronze as the coins Adriana wagered so foolishly back on the trail. His eyes glint gold above a generous rose-granite mouth and iron-forged cheekbones. He grins at me, and his teeth flash white and even.
Additional assessments flow in. He’s not only rich and healthy, his gold and black garments mark him as a member of the First House. His breeches are heavy but well made—a rider then, for all that he’s now on foot. Whether he’s truly First House or no, he comes from one of the larger houses, I think, some holding in the middle of the fertile plains that doesn’t know privation.
He’s a lord, too, not some soldier. I’d bet my hair on it. There’s something about the smugness of his grin that speaks of long years of fulfilled expectations.
The shock of my blade impaling itself so close to his perfect jaw doesn’t seem to faze him.
“You missed,” he informs me.
“Did I?” I slide a second blade into my palm to replace the first, and I turn it to catch the thin stream of light flowing through the trees. “Should we try again?”
“Not yet.” He pulls the blade free from its trunk, examines it, then leans against the tree. Leans! As if we’re in a courtyard and not a wild wood. Distantly, I wonder if Adriana is watching.“There aren’t any markings on this blade. One would think you wouldn’t want to lose it, yet you don’t claim it as your own. And it’s not often that I find a lady who’s also a marksman.”
I know better than to answer all his unspoken questions. The blade is unmarked because I’m not allowed to have a weapon on my person sharper than a paring knife. My safety lies in my lineage. No man would dare risk my father’s wrath to touch me.
Then again, we’re no longer in my father’s house.
“Perhaps you don’t know many ladies from the borderlands.” I gesture to the knife. “Return it, if you would. I have more need of it than you do.”
He doesn’t. Instead, his gaze drifts across my face to rest on my uncovered hair. I watch him count the rows of silver and jade beads that thread through it, taking their weight and measure. Yes, definitely someone from a larger house. I’m sure of it.
“So fierce,” he murmurs, studying me. “You’re heading to the Tournament of Gold?” His gaze drops to my gown of emerald green.
“Right now, we’re traveling through a forest we expected to be empty. What brings you this far from the plains when the tournament is so close? Surely, the First House must be missing you.”
His brows shoot up in surprise, and I know that once again, my aim is true. But the question still remains.Why is he here?
Deliberately tucking my blade into his belt, his expression remains easy, unconcerned. He carries no obvious weapons, but I don’t see his horse—or his men. Someone dressed so well would have both.
He gestures to my gown. “There are no warriors at the tournament wearing Tenth House green. Is this about to change?”
“No,” I say flatly. “Nor will it for years to come.”