Page 69 of Court of Talons
When I finish, the marauder at my side, Marta, murmurs something in a language I don’t know. The word is harsh and guttural, a curse.
By the fire, Syril nods. “You’ll be killed if they discover you,” she says, her tone contemplative. “Or if they discover that you’re female, anyway.”
A now familiar fear worms through me, the same sour apprehension I still feel every time I think of Caleb knowing the truth about me. Because the squire had the right of it. Treason of the level I’m committing would be worth a lot of money, to the right person.
And now a friend—an enemy—and more than a score of outcast marauders know my secret.
“I’ll be killed immediately,” I agree. “But my brother’s already dead. My house is broken, though no one knows it yet. If I don’t stand and fight for what is left of my family, my home—who will?”
Something in the woman’s eyes flashes, and she shifts forward, making to stand despite her injury. Another woman steps forward quickly to help her then remains with an arm at her leader’s back, holding her steady.
“Who will indeed,” Syril says quietly, and in that moment, I begin to see why these women follow her. It’s more than simplestrength, it’s conviction…conviction that what she’s doing matters more than anything in the world.
In her, I see what I could become, if I survive this night, this tournament.
What I must become, if I truly want to make my house strong.
“Our territory is along the western border of the Protectorate, and we thrive there most of all. We’re still within reach of the Third House, though not clutched within its tight grasp. Truth to tell, we thrive anywhere money and goods are needed, and where those who need them aren’t picky about who brings such items to their door. We’ve lived our lives in the shadows, many of us for years, doing what we must. As I said, some of our number wished to run from this world the Lord Protector has created, some simply longed for a life they could claim as their own. But all of us are willing to fight for what we love.”
I nod, but she isn’t finished. “Still, it’s not enough. You talk of the whispers of demon possession, stories of creatures in the night. But those tales aren’t solely limited to our small tribe. They bubble up all along the western border. There are…things across those borders that not even the bards dare to speak of. Close enough to howl in the night, chittering with excitement, filling all who hear them with despair. Because there are more of them with each passing season…and more in the past few months than twenty seasons before combined.”
I stare at her. “What are they?”
“No one knows, and the history books have all been wiped of any trace.” She curls her lip. “Or, more likely, rewritten to fit the boundless vanity of people like Lord Rihad and Lord Gamon of the Third. They want to remember nothing but the victory, not the threat that still twists and writhes at our very doorstep. That, no one seems to want to talk about.”
Twists and writhes.I can’t help but think of the creature in Lord Rihad’s fire, the snakes coiling at its feet. What unholy alliances is the Lord Protector forging, even now? And what would happen to the Protectorate because of it?
Syril’s soft words bring me back to the moment.
“You ask why we came from all the way from the western border to Trilion—we came for information. For supplies. Even, of course, for gold. All those things, we’ve found here.” She leans forward, her face harsh and intent in the flickering firelight. “But one thing wedidn’tcome for, was hope. We’d long since given up on that. Yet here you are. A woman who stands and fights in the sunlight, not the shadows. A woman warrior to champion the soul of the land.”
I grimace, lifting my hands. “I’m no champion,” I say quickly. “The Divhs fight. Warriors guide the Divhs. I’m a warrior—but by chance, as much as anything else. By mistake.”
At my side, Marta moves so quickly, I don’t have time to defend myself. She once more grabs hold of my band and squeezes—hard. This time, fire does erupt along my arm, but I don’t flinch away from the heat…she does.
“You’re a banded warrior,” she says, her words absolute. “Call it what you want, but that is no mistake.”
Then Syril lifts her hand to me, and I see my green sash wrapped around her wrist. “Neither is this. You helped us live another day, Talia of the Tenth. For that, we owe you a debt of honor. And the Savasci always repays its debts.”
I swallow, sensing the importance of this moment and wanting to honor it, even as I feel the peril of my immediate predicament clawing at me once again. There’s so much I need to understand about these women, about their challenges and hopes, about what really drew them to Trilion. But I know instinctively that that information won’t be shared on the basis of one meeting. And there’s no time for anything more thanthis meeting. Not now. Not when the night is rushing so quickly toward dawn, and I’m still miles from where I should be.
“Right now I need to get back to the castle,” I finally say. “I’ll be missed. I want to speak with you, all of you, and learn your story and your truths. But if I’m missed and caught outside the gates…none of this will matter.”
“Then you must not be missed,” Syril says, resolutely, but a smile flickers at the corner of her mouth at my obvious worry, the smile of a woman who no longer lives by anyone’s rules but her own. “We’ll get you back.”
Chapter 28
In the end, my return to the First House is far less complicated than I expect it to be. A fast horse’s gallop takes us to the ragged edge of Trilion. From there it only takes a quick exchange of money to get me aboard a bread cart destined for the First House before dawn breaks. For enough money, the driver has no problem hauling along a servant girl whose master’s entourage had stranded her in the city. For even more money, he said, he’d agree to keep his hands off me.
Given that he was negotiating with a member of the Savasci, he’ll likely never know how close he came to dying for his idle joke. Instead, more money crossed his palm. There are battles and then there are wars, as Syril said.
True to his word, the baker keeps silent about my presence all the way through the gates of the First House and up the long and twisting road into the castle itself. I slip away before he even stops his cart, though it’s all I can do not to steal a few loaves of his fragrant wares.
Moving quickly, I dash away from the carts and enter the pedestrian courtyard. At the far edge of the courtyard rises a buzz of voices at the well, servants all. I give them wide berth, angling along the shadowed outer wall until I step into one ofthe enormous archways that leads the-Light-only-knows-where. Still, there’s no one around, so as my eyes adjust to the gloom, I pull back my hood and pat at my hair, amazed at Nazar’s handiwork. I never would’ve believed his wig would have lasted through all the indignities of this night, but it has.
But now I need to sneak back into the barracks as Merritt. If I can just ball up my wig and robe together, shove both of them under my tunic, no one will pay me any mind. Besides, I can’t leave this servant’s robe laying around. I can’t risk it being found and linked to?—
“Hello, Talia.”