Page 48 of Court of Talons
“Awed, certainly.” I raise a hand to take in the sweep of the room. “You could fit most of the Tenth House in this room alone. The food I’ve seen falling from these tables would feed our retainers and their families for a month. That too, I think, is intentional.”
“You think we waste food for a purpose?”
“The illusion of waste.” I point to the servants gathering up the leftover breads and cheeses and platters of meat. “The illusion of excess. The warriors who leave this place will believe that Lord Protector Rihad and the First House have more wealth than they could ever spend, so much wealth that they become the arbiters of what true abundance even means. It solidifies their position twice over.”
“It does at that.” Miriam’s voice is steady, and I’ve no way of knowing if I’ve offended her in some way by being so candid. “You’re more than you appear to be.”
I blink, wary once more, but Miriam’s gaze sharpens over my shoulder. “Some of your fellow warriors are less, it would seem.”
She clasps her hands behind her as I turn to see what she’s looking at. The women of the high table have now completely surrounded the few warriors of the Eighth House who’ve not escaped to higher ground.
Miriam sends me a sidelong glance. “You don’t seem to be drawing your share of admirers yet.”
I shake my head, not having to feign my discomfort. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“True,” she says. “But I wouldn’t dismiss the fairer sex so easily as that. They often have eyes in places you might want to see.”
I frown at her, but she no longer looks at me. Instead, she keeps her attention trained on the women across the room. “Rihad is no fool, for all that he appears to be a beneficent lord, smiling indulgently as the young women of his court simper and preen before this robust crop of young men. This house is run by a man, not a woman. And that can mean one of two things. Women are either oppressed or they are used, each according to their merits. Rihad prefers the latter approach, which I generally appreciate.”
I nod then glance again at the beautifully dressed women of the court. They’re paying equal attention to each of the men, be they handsome or homely. There’s one young woman talking to Caleb too, and I grin to see it, even as I register Miriam’s subtle warning.Spies, I think. She’s warning me against not just spies, butfemalespies. Should I trust her? Dare I? I don’t know this councilor, don’t know any of these people.
More importantly, why is she telling me this? I resolve to watch her, to make sure she visits with each of the warriors, that she isn’t singling me out.
“How long have you served as advisor to the Lord Protector?” I ask, turning the conversation’s focus back to her. “It would seem a challenging role to manage a house this large.”
“For twenty years,” she says. I can hear the pride in her voice. “My father served before me, and I was at his side constantly. It was a seamless transition.”
Seamless. I suspect she’s lying, but I can’t gainsay her. “Lord Rihad is wise to seek counsel from many different sources.”
“It’s his most valuable trait.” Miriam’s voice has grown clipped again. “The bards assemble.”
Dread pulses in my stomach, but I angle my gaze to take in the bards lining up before the high table, their manner easy and laughing. Why did they bother me so?
The first man stands forth, and I frown. He seems strangely familiar, and yet…
Then I have it—Ihaveseen him before, and recently. This man had been kneeling to the Lord Protector earlier this day, when we were all in the great hall. Kneeling, not bowing, an act of allegiance to his house’s leader, according to Caleb. These men—bards all—are not supposed to be affiliated with any house. They earn their living as merchants of tales and information, taking money equally from every house and giving equally as well.
“Behold, I bring you news of the Western Realms!” declares the bard, but my mind is churning. Miriam departs my side and takes up her station next to another warrior knight, so at least that question is answered. I’m not reassured, however. I move my gaze from the bright and flashy bard to the equally glittering women, now arranged at various tables of warrior knights, clearly ready to be delighted by a diverting tale. It’s all I can do not to stare at them. These are the daughters of the First House’s lesser noble families, and we have no secondary nobility at the Tenth. But even if I hadn’t been relegated to the shadows atthe Tenth House, there’s no way my father would have allowed such a display of wealth and pride by me—or anyone—with the exception of my wedding regalia. My own mother dressed as simply as a servant, even at the high festivals. To see these women dressed so luxuriously, moving so freely…
I shake myself hard, forcing my gaze away. The bard is joined by a second man and a third, men I don’t know, haven’t seen, but somehow, I suspect they’ve also knelt in subjugation to the Lord Protector. And if they are dedicated to him and him alone—if all these men are so dedicated…
My memory conjures up the last bard to our home, some two months earlier. Merritt had been so taken with the man, he’d followed him around, begging for stories in exchange for coin or bread or wine. The man had given him far more time than I would’ve expected, but he’d not been the only one talking, I realize now.
What had Merritt told him about the Tenth House?
Not about me, surely. I’m a blot, a stain on the household. But how easy would it be for a man of wiles and guile to ease out of an unsuspecting boy the strength of the Tenth House—how many warriors we have, how many mere guards. What our strengths are, and our weaknesses. If that bard secretly reported to the First House…
“And there are monsters there the likes of which you’ve never yet imagined. Larger than the tallest Divhs our bold warriors command.”
That statement brings me back to the moment. The bard’s now strutting in front of the crowd, soaking up the attention. “They stood as tall as this mountain, I tell you plain, sentinels to the Western Realms.”
“Surely you jest, Bard Andris.” The Lord Protector’s voice rings out over the crowd, and predictably, all eyes turn tohim. “Or perhaps you haven’t seen the Divhs our warriors now control. You should stay for the Tournament of Gold.”
“I would be honored,” the bard says gravely. “But I assure you, I don’t jest. The monsters were dormant, almost sleeping, but you got the sense that they could be brought to life with a single word from the right mouth. When we saw them, I and my small company of men hastened away, back through the Pass of Naught, but we were not followed. There appeared to be no life within the Western Realms—just these two enormous monsters, and doubtless more besides, locked in eternal slumber. Slumber…but not death”
He turns, his gaze traveling around the room. “Behold, the truth of the Western Realms, and why the Exalted Imperium stopped pressing further against its immense and mighty borders. I tell you there islivingevil there.”
At that statement, a burst of conversation surges up around the room, the women fanning themselves nervously, the men squaring off as if against an unseen attacker. Living evil lurking among emptiness and dirt may sound a bit dire, but it also sounds…interesting.