Page 47 of Court of Talons
I don’t want Fortiss to have anything to do with the death of Merritt for reasons both practical and stupid. I know this. But for Fortiss to be emphasizing the First House’s protection so stridently, means there must be others besides me who don’t trust that protection.
Pondering that, I settle back in my seat. I reach for a cup of wine and take a long draught.
“House protects house!” Fortiss cries aloud.
I join the warrior knights in another brash cheer, but no drink can wash away my growing uneasiness.
There’s something not quite right threading through the gilded corridors of the First House. Something that may lead me to Merritt’s murderer? Possibly. But there’s more to it, I think. A darkness that lies coiled at the heart of the Protectorate, waiting to strike.
Chapter 18
The banquet continues on for a solid hour of food and drink. There are no more difficult questions, though I don’t miss the furtive glances I receive from both the First and Second House warriors. I follow Nazar’s lead and not Caleb’s in conducting myself at Fortiss’s table. The priest eats little and drinks less, though his hands are most usually holding his fork and knife, and he’s lifted his cup to his mouth countless times. Caleb, for his part, both drinks and eats as if he might never be fed again.
Through it all, I do my level best to ignore Fortiss sitting opposite me. I don’t care that he laughs, smiles, and tries to stimulate conversation with men up and down the table. I don’t care when he speaks about art or war or falconry. I especially don’t notice when he catches the eye of one of the women sitting at the master table, lifting his cup to her. I’m the warrior of the Tenth House, and I know better than to pay attention to such foolishness and guile.
“Say, will there be music tonight?” asks Caleb brightly, looking around as if he half expects it. “Seems a fine night for music.”
Fortiss bows to him, acknowledging the question is a sound one. “Not this night, squire Caleb. We’ve a better entertainment planned. Bards have arrived from the western borders.”
That does sound better than music. “The western borders?” I ask, unable to restrain my interest. “What news do they bring?”
“Ah! At last something to draw the Tenth House warrior out of his shell.” Fortiss grins, but there’s a sharpness to his tone that makes me uneasy. “I wager their news will entertain us all. And in any case, they’ve been gone a long while. They’ve traveled farther than I ever have, and I’ve been to almost every border of the Protectorate.”
Something cold knots in my gut. “You have?” I ask gruffly. “Recently?” In my mind’s eye, I see the dead gray arrow winging toward Merritt, loosed by a skilled hand.
“Recently enough. The First House succeeds because it takes an interest in every inch of the Protectorate, as we all should,” Fortiss says. I notice he hasn’t answered my question. “We’ve sent out men to every corner to strengthen ties. You can never be too careful.”
I shift uncomfortably on my bench and try to keep him talking. “To the southern sects as well?” I ask. “I see the Third House is here. Were you who summoned them?”
“Not likely.” Fortiss snorts. “The southern houses are built on sands that would as soon burn your boots right through as support you. It takes a hardier man than me to tread so heavily for so long.” He waves his hand. “But you can be sure messengers of the First House went to summon them all, and we are assured by the Eighth House that all the western warriors will venture forth, for the glory of their houses and the Protectorate.”
Another thread of wrongness curls through me, and even Nazar stirs restlessly. But at that moment a single horn blows, cutting across our conversation.
We all turn in our chairs as the Lord Protector of the First House stands. “Tonight, we shall hear tales of the Western Realms—believe me when I tell you, these stories aren’t to be missed,” he announces. “We’ll clear away the food and keep the wine, the better to enjoy ourselves. While they are assembling, please—meet merry and well.”
That seems to be a signal for the tables to empty and the crush of people to converge, one group on the other. I lose Caleb and Nazar in the shuffle and find myself carried forward, closer to the high table than I truly wanted to be.
“Lord Merritt, is it? Of the Tenth House.”
I turn to see the female advisor of the First House striding toward me. She pays no mind to the other diners as they hasten out of her way. Up close, I can see she’s not as thin as I’d first thought. There’s no hint of curves to her, but she’s sturdy and well-built, nearly as tall as I am.
“Well?” She positions herself in front of me. “Speak, warrior. Do you have no tongue?” She peers closely at me. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” I say, instantly wary. How much does she know? If the First House has sent runners out to all the houses—even ours, as Fortiss has said—there’d be information on who lived in the manor house, and who didn’t. This was precisely why my father insisted I hide myself away during the whole of any outsiders’ visit. It was too dangerous for me to be seen, even dressed as the second child. Anyone could be looking.
Rihad’s advisor simply nods. “Young, but not too young. It’s no small task to stand tall against the hulking brutes we’re assembling here. You do your father honor.”
She flashes me a knowing smile, and I try to mask my dismay.
“I’m Councilor Miriam.” She nods in the half bow of the nobility, and I follow suit. “I like your aspect. You were not anexpected addition to the Tournament, and Lord Rihad enjoys surprises that set his own warriors on edge. He’ll make an example of you.”
I grimace. “I’ve no desire to be an example to anyone.”
“Which is why you’ve no choice in the matter.” She pivots abruptly, crossing her arms as she surveys the assembled throng. “So tell me, Merritt of the Tenth House, what do you think of our gathering here?”
“It’s…” I hesitate, choosing my words with care. “It does the job it’s intended to do,” I say at length. “The warriors from the far houses, especially the smaller ones such as mine, will be awed and humbled, as they’re meant to be. The warriors from the nearer houses, the Second and Fourth and Seventh, they won’t be awed, but they will be reminded of who holds the power in this area of the Protectorate. And that reminder is by design.”
She flicks me a glance. “You’re awed and humbled?”