Page 10 of Crown of Wings (Fang & Fire #2)
I ’m the last to arrive to Fortiss’s quarters an hour later, partly by design, and partly because weevish goo isn’t as easy to remove as you might think. My father turns as I stride in, his face hardening into a mask of deep resentment.
“Excellent,” he announces, gesturing at me with a curt wave. “It appears I’m to be surrounded by deception and heresy in every direction, except for straight ahead.”
He swings around to glare at Fortiss again as I take in the other members of our unlikely group.
Tennet stands to the left of my father, and Nazar to his right.
Fortiss stands as well, facing us by his large writing desk, while his council of seven men and one woman sit or stand behind him.
It’s not a formal setting; I suspect by careful intention.
Fortiss wants to have a conversation, not to lay down orders.
But the sight of so many open books on his desk fills me with unreasoning dread.
Not just the books, either. The man behind them also unnerves me—his composure, his fire, the way his golden eyes darken as they meet mine. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of…that Fortiss’s interest me is merely a result of the magic he’s been dabbling in, or that it isn’t.
“Why is the so-called priest of the Light here?” my father demands of Fortiss.
He jabs a finger at the nearest of the councilors.
“You all, I understand. You carry the knowledge of this land, and it’s knowledge we need.
But this pretender isn’t a member of the Protectorate.
He’s not even a true follower of the Light.
He has even less right than he had before to take part in such conversations. ”
Well, then . It seems like Fortiss’s spell of utter honesty is already off to a fine start.
I take my place to the right of Nazar, grateful for what little barrier he can provide between me and the man who’s wanted me dead my entire life.
The priest spares me a quick glance, regarding me down a long, slightly hooked nose with eyes that can drown the unwary in his steady gaze, and his lips twitch slightly at my bristling.
He’s a tall man of slender build, with hair that once looked like snow upon the hillside but now is showing irregular patches of gray.
He’s dressed in a long, shimmering robe of gray wool shot with silver; the color will eventually mark him as a Thirteenth House man.
Once there’s a Thirteenth House built, anyway.
“Lord Lemille,” Fortiss begins, his voice heavy with exaggerated patience, but to my surprise, Miriam steps forward.
“With your permission, Lord Protector,” she murmurs, and I can feel Nazar tense beside me. He’s surprised as well, and a warrior who doesn’t know his enemy is never in a good position.
Fortiss, of course, doesn’t flinch. His calm exterior never cracks. But I watch him more closely now—not from distrust, but because I can’t help myself. There’s a part of me that wants to know how deep his steadiness goes. How far I could fall and still be caught.
Focus , I implore myself. I glance quickly to the others, but they seem remarkably…placid. Is that a good thing, given Fortiss’s spell?
The council of the First House has traditionally represented the voice of the Imperium in all Protectorate matters.
This group of eight worthy souls were Rihad’s closest confidants, for all that they claim to have no idea of the darker dealings the lord protector engaged in under their very noses.
Fortiss has questioned them all and been forced to conclude that they are telling the truth.
Which demotes their perfidy to inattention and ignorance, at the very least, or to full-on stupidity.
Or are they craftier than that? The councilors cultivate the air of knowing more than anyone around them, especially Miriam, the lone woman who serves in their ranks.
For all of Rihad’s disdain for women, he had directed her into this role.
In our scant dealings with each other, she’s indicated no particular love for the former lord protector, yet she wouldn’t be here without him. So, can she really be trusted?
Oblivious to my racing thoughts, Miriam offers my father a deferent nod.
“The task has fallen to me to interview the priest Nazar and cross reference his claims with information that we’ve received over many years from the capital city Hakkir in the heart of the Imperium.
In no way has he provided a single piece of false testimony of the events and actions of which we have separate confirmation, nor has he represented himself as an agent of the Imperium, only of the Light. ”
“He is banded —” my father cuts in sharply, but she continues as if he doesn’t speak.
“It is a fact little known in the Protectorate—by Lord Rihad’s decree and the decree of his father before him—that the Imperator, in his great wisdom, decided to break the band between Divh and warrior in all such unions across the Imperium.
At the time of this decree, the priest Nazar was an honored warrior and submitted to the process.
His Divh, however, would not fully release him.
This was not an uncommon experience among tightly banded Divhs and resulted in great damage to his person. ”
On the other side of my father, Tennet grunts. When Miriam shifts her gaze to him, he glances from her to Fortiss. “May I speak?”
She smiles as if she expected this, and I narrow my eyes on her. Despite her white hair and lined face, Miriam is no doddering old woman. She’s both steady and shrewd, her gray eyes unflinching and seeming to see everything at once.
Fortiss gestures Tennet to continue.
“You say this unbanding ceremony is little known, but we knew of it at the Twelfth. It’s ancient history now, but when it happened some fifty years ago, there were many such shattered soldiers who came to the Protectorate.
Some of them were fully unbanded but broken, shells of men who had lost their place in the world.
Some, according to the old accounts, still had pieces of their band embedded in their skin where, as you say, the connection could not fully be severed.
To a one, though, they had lost the ability to summon their Divhs. ”
He turns to Nazar. “Yet you could?”
At Fortiss’s nod, Nazar shifts forward slightly so that he and Tennet can face each other squarely. I decide I can understand the value of a spell of utter honesty after all. I wonder how long it will last.
“I couldn’t, no, despite all my efforts,” Nazar says, his voice quiet but steady.
“And for long years I tried to rekindle the connection—first in desperate sorrow, then in secret, as attitudes of tolerance shifted within the Imperium. I knew of other soldiers who had traveled to the Protectorate, hoping to find what had been lost. But no one, to my knowledge, ever did. I couldn’t make such a journey, not at first, and instead I threw myself into the service of the Light. ”
My father scoffs in derision, but Nazar’s voice doesn’t waver.
“It was one of the few paths available to warriors, as the Imperium remained uneasy about our past association with Divhs despite being assured that we could in no way summon them again. In time, we heard word of past warriors being hunted down, taken to the capital for interrogation. Those of us who turned to the Light were spared such attention.”
“That tracks with our accounts.” Tennet nods.
“Well, it doesn’t track with ours.” My father folds his arms over his chest. “That would have been in my father’s time and his father’s as well, and we have long entertained travelers from the Imperium.
We kept records, too. None of them were skulking vagabonds, and only a handful were priests.
None of those priests offered to stay for longer than a season before you. ”
He narrows his eyes, and his gaze shifts between me and Nazar. “Did you put her up to this?” he asks, his voice taking on new energy.
“Lord Lemille,” Fortiss cuts in. “There is more that councilor Miriam needs to share. If your questions are answered, Lord Tennet?”
Tennet nods, rocking back on his heels a bit and resting his hands on his belt.
He glances at me, and when our gazes meet, a crack of energy zips through me.
His eyes instantly heat, and I force my own away.
There’s only so much honesty I can take at once, and I can sense Fortiss’s sharp eyes on me as well.
Between my father’s loathing, Fortiss’s subtle heat, Tennet’s bold assumptions, and Nazar’s amused scrutiny, I have a choice of staring at the wall or Miriam.
The councilor proves the more interesting option.
More interesting than I expect, of course, given the spell of honesty to thrumming through the room.
Miriam draws in a deep breath, then slowly exhales, as if steadying her nerves for what she has to say next.
“According to our recorded history, we were notified of the Imperial order to unband warriors outside the Protectorate a few months after it happened. We were given the right to continue with our existing unions, tied strictly to the houses, but were explicitly instructed long years ago not to create new warrior-Divh connections at any level.”
“Wait, what?” I blink, my gaze shifting to Fortiss. “How is that possible? There’ve been new Divhs created at every tournament, and Rihad planned dozens more.”
Forget Rihad. I’d been gifted with the ability to band an entire army of Divhs to new warriors. How could that be possible, if?—