Page 64 of Court of Talons
How can I leave her here?
“I’ll come back,” I whisper. “As soon as I am able. I’ll come back, and we can…” I break off, feeling foolish. This creature doesn’t know me, won’t care if I come back. I am as nameless to her as to whomever brings the large jars of salve to coat the rock wall, no doubt to allow her to soothe the pain of her broken wing. She won’t miss me.
But still, I’ll definitely return for her. Somehow.
No Divh should be held captive like this.
There’s no further sound from the cavern below, and at length, I retreat back through the bars. I’ve no intention of picking up my half-filled jar of water and lugging it up the stairs again, but perhaps there’s another one that’s not so heavy. As soon as I can see by the far-off torchlight again, I go to the jars lining the walls. I lift the lid of the nearest one and stop.
The jar is filled with small metallic balls. I pick one up, feeling the weight of it. It’s lead. I half turn. The bars are made of lead as well. Did lead have some sort of effect on the Divh? Is that what her shackles are made of? I think about her face next to mine, staring at me with her huge eyeballs. If I’d lined my pockets with lead, maybe thrown some down to bounce off the sloping rock wall, would she have left me alone completely? If they were sending down servants to ladle the salve over the cliff, that made sense.
But forget about the salve. What do you feed a dragon whosefootis chained to the floor? The very thought is preposterous.Dragons are made to hunt, to fly. Not to eat leavings tossed over a cliff.
How long has she been here?
The other jars are empty, and I realize I can’t leave mine here, not half-full like this. It might be noticed. I also don’t want to dump its contents over the side like so much garbage.
I sigh, suddenly wanting to be free of this place, these bars, the extraordinarily beautiful Divh tied up like a cow in the cavern below. Something is desperately wrong in the First House. Something that has led to the death of the Ninth House warrior…the death of my own brother. And I have a feeling that the truth of it all lies in one of the other two doors off the great hall. Doors I must enter, if I ever want to learn the truth.
Reluctantly, I pick up my heavy jar of water and trudge back up the long staircase.
Chapter 26
For a scant moment as I emerge from the dragon’s lair, I entertain the possibility of exploring another passageway. A quick glance around advises against that strategy. Guards now stand at the entrances of all three doors, including mine. Grateful that I’ve lugged the jar all the way back up, I duck and hurry past the guards like a scuttling beetle. They don’t spare me the slightest glance, but I only breathe easier when I’ve cleared the high table once more and set down my jar next to several others.
The Feast Hall is nearly empty, the revelers apparently having taken themselves outside to enjoy the fireworks. Servants swarm the tables and floors, cleaning away the leftovers into large burlap sacks. I don’t know if these scraps will go to feed animals or people, or if they’re intended for the glorious dragon below. Anger burns in my gut—no Divh should be so constrained.
I lift the hem of my overwrap to hasten out of the feast hall just as a knot of guards stride in. All of them are First House men in gold-and-black livery.
“Wine!” barks the man in the lead, and my heart stops in my throat.Fortiss, no longer appearing anywhere close to drunk.He jabs a finger at me and two of the closest servants, both women. “Wine and whatever is left of the bread and sweetfruits. Quickly.”
He sharpens his glance on me, and I lean down to scoop up a large mason jar that stinks of red wine. The other women grab platters of untouched bread and fruit, and we follow in the wake of the guards. As far as I can see, Fortiss is the only nobleman among them, but I don’t recognize the guards as his personal attendants. Has he been summoned by Lord Rihad?
Perhaps this night’s work hasn’t been in vain after all.
Once more we traverse the steps and pass the high table, but instead of angling right, toward the door that leads to the dragon’s cavern, we move beneath the leftmost arch. Fortiss’s pace is a long-legged, angry stride, and the women and I have to trot to keep up, no small feat with our long cloaks. The other two women are ahead of me and don’t speak, nor do they look at me sidelong. I get the sense they don’t know each other either, which is a blessing. The castle must be teeming with villagers to assist the First House with these enormous feasts. For Fortiss to have summoned us so carelessly means that we might not see anything interesting, but at least I can discover one thing of value: where this doorway leads.
We encounter more stairs, several short flights curling up into the mountain, finally leading to a long corridor. I stare, shocked to see that the corridor empties out into open sky at the far end—some sort of observation deck that clearly looks out over the marshlands. A breeze flows in from the deck, and as we turn away from the open doorway, I see that the airflow continues through a set of high windows at the opposite end of the hall.
“Faster,” grunts one of the guards, and I stiffen, realizing I’d fallen behind as I stared gape-mouthed at the open deck. I hasten forward, falling in line with the women ahead of me, andwe soon cut to the right into another archway. Two guards stand on either side of the arch, and my stomach knots anew. If I’m caught…
But I can’t be caught. I won’t.
The arched corridor angles around, opening into several small antechambers, until it empties into a room dominated by a large fireplace. The flames within roar, and smoke licks up a slender chimney despite the warmth of the night. Rihad is surrounded by his councilors, everyone standing except Rihad himself. They turn to observe Fortiss striding in, then their eyes fall on us as we slow.
“Put the food and drink on the table and leave.” The voice is authoritative, crisp and certain…and female. Miriam. We all rush to comply, and I sweep the room hurriedly with my gaze, trying to glean any secrets from its very walls.
I’m almost to the door again when I glance back a final time toward the fire.
And then I see it.
Two great urns stand on either side of the fire, stone cylinders fashioned like quivers for arrows. But while the vases are of stone—the arrows that fill them aren’t. Their feathers stand out stiffly from slender shafts—all of them the same color. A dead, flat gray. Identical to the broken arrow still hidden in my bags.
My gaze darts from the left urn, which bristles with arrows, to the right, which appears to be only half-full.Half-full.
I blink, staring at the urn as if it holds the key to everything…and yet—how? How could that be possible? Only one arrow was loosed to take down Merritt, one deadly arrow of gray, but it seems like there are several missing here. Is that the case, or were they always arranged so haphazardly? My eyesight dims, as if to ward off what I’m seeing, what I’m clearly seeing, and my heart seems to curl up into a hard little stone in my chest. Couldthis be? Could the First House be behind the death of Merritt after all—and not a lesser house?
They’re just arrows, I remind myself sternly. Gray arrows made with care but gray all the same. Unhoused. Anonymous. They could be used for anything.