Page 66 of Court of Talons

I close my eyes and steady my breathing, trying to put everything in its own separate box. Lord Rihad has commanded the killing of warriors—but the houses he has chosen don’t make sense. Targeting weak houses such as the Ninth, Tenth and Eleventh cannot help him…can it?

My hands clench as I force myself to the next subject. Was Merritt killed to prevent him from coming to the tournament—or to prevent him from buying more soldiers? Either way, such a murder was wholly unnecessary. Gent as he originally appeared was a rabbit compared to the wolves I’ve seen so far. If my brother had been foolish enough to enter, he and his Divh would have been defeated within the first round of the tournament, at no time a threat or a risk to the outcome.

A pang of misery rings through me. Merritt would have caused no harm…no harm!

There must be a reason, though. Such a horrific offense could not have been an act of random brutality. I need tothink.

Despite my scowl, wetness scores my cheeks, and I press my fingers to the swollen skin beneath my eyes, willing the unwanted tears to stop. My brother had been so filled with joy at the idea of seeing the First House and competing with his equals amid all the pomp and finery of the tournament. For him to have been shot down so needlessly…

Move on,I command myself. But the inconvenience of grief won’t listen. I lean back in the darkness and let the tears stream down my face. Tears for a boy who would never see the coliseum of the Tournament of Gold. Tears for warriors I have never met, ripped from this life and their families, their Divhs dying as they took their last breaths, disappearing into the mists.

I wait and wait, and gradually, all goes still. And still I wait more. I cannot be found, I know. I cannot be found. Far betterto stay here all night than allow myself to be taken, discovered, when I’ve already learned so much. I will simply rest here, in my quiet nook. Rest my eyes but briefly, my breathing soft and still, my body heavy, silent…hidden…

An unfamiliar sound jerks me awake. I nearly gasp then snap my mouth shut. I’m trapped in the antechamber, still wedged in the darkness.How long have I been sleeping?

Hastily, I wipe my hands over my face, patting my robes back in place, and ease forward out of my corner. The roar of the fire still sounds from the other room, but there is no other sound. It’s never wise to leave a fire unattended, but Rihad’s blaze was contained in a deep and generous fireplace, so perhaps he’s gone as well.

I poke my head out of my hiding place and peer into the darkness. There’s silence all around me, the only light coming from the flickering shadows in the other room, and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.

Then Lord Rihad’s voice echoes through the silence. “It is done,” he says.

I freeze.

Another voice sounds then. Its words twist and curl around on themselves, some language I cannot hope to guess at. Almost against my will, I find my body turning toward Rihad’s private council chamber. I bite my lip to quiet the chattering of my teeth as I move through the shadows. Finally, I reach the edge of the last archway and realize there are no guards there anymore.

There’s no one except Rihad, standing, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the fire.

Only, it’s not a normal fire anymore.

The flames that leap from the blaze are stained a deep crimson, throwing the entire chamber into shades of red and black. And in the center of the fire is a twisting, roiling column of smoke, with something slithering and hissing at its base. It’s afigure, I realize with surprise, who turns to face Rihad as I watch. It wears a cloak of fire, its head shrouded in darkness. Then it speaks in a raspy voice not unlike my own, its words picking out through the feral muttering of the creatures at its feet.

“The way must be made clear,” the voice breathes, and the foreignness of it arrows through me, making my bones ache. “Speed is of the essence.”

What way, speed for what?

Rihad merely nods, as if he’s expected this. His words are placating. “The entire eastern border is already opened. The tournament calls all the warriors from every corner of the Protectorate, and when they assemble, those already controlled by my house will far outnumber the rest. We will be ready to aid you in your time of need.”

Aidwho?Questions crowd into my mind as the thing inside the fire changes aspect. It lengthens, still cloaked in fire, but now with arms that reach out wide as if in exultation. A face emerges from the hood for only a moment—a face? Or a reptilian maw? Then it retreats again, too quickly for me to get a fix on its features. Before the creature, Rihad falls to his knees, his arms also outstretched.

“See that you—” The fire demon stops midsentence and lifts its hooded head, staring out beyond Rihad…towardme. Unconsciously, I take a step back, deeper into the shadows, but the damage has been done.

“There’s no one,” Rihad begins, but he’s back on his feet again, and I know his half-hearted protests won’t last. “No one?—”

“A female!” spits the creature. “I can smell the stink of her.”

I turn, hiking up my dress as I run. My sight is still dazzled by the firelight, and I smack off one side of the archway, the sound unmistakable as Rihad roars in anger behind me. No guards come running, though—there’s only a single set of footsteps.

I turn down the long corridor and flee headlong toward the open doors at its end. I glimpse night sky beyond. As I run, I bend forward at the waist as Gent has done, the awkward position possible only because my right hand has knotted up my skirts to my waist.

My legs pump, eating up the distance. I hear Rihad’s sharp command behind me, but he’s too far—too far! He cannot catch me; he won’t catch me.

I burst out onto the wide veranda and the empty dark sky glares down at me, neither moon nor star evident in the inky blackness. Chairs and tables attest to the veranda’s use as an observation point, and in another three strides, I am almost at its edge.

Without thinking, without even breathing, I leap up onto one of the chairs, then onto a large table, gaining speed as I hurtle toward the brink of the overlook, my left arm outstretched, my hand reaching, straining, so much like Merritt had done for so many years that I once again see his face, hear his laughing cry.

I catapult over the edge and then I’m completely flailing, my legs suddenly churning though there’s nowhere else for me to run but onto the air itself. The word on my lips is torn from me in a ragged gasp as I plummet toward the marshy ground far, far below.

Gent!