Page 14

T he banquet is a disaster.

The food is, as always, exceptional—I’ve grown spoiled so quickly by the First House’s largesse.

I confine myself to eating only that which I can reach without effort—my glass of wine and the portion of my plate closest to me.

I can barely breathe in this gown—I certainly can’t eat in it.

So, it’s no hardship to do little more than sip at odd turns and smile serenely as Fortiss tells Tennet the tale of the tournament once more, while my father pointedly ignores me and corrects Fortiss at every possible turn when the subject turns to history before Fortiss’s time.

Eventually, Fortiss invites the warriors in the hall to join us at the main table, and another hour goes by with the warriors taking turns discussing their role in the melee, as well as picking apart any word received back from the houses who lost so many fighting men.

It’s heartening, in its way—it seems that more fighting men are coming to the First House to band with new Divhs.

For all the families who have lost great warriors, they seem ready enough to send sons or brothers.

No one sends a female, of course. Young women who hear of the unrest will have to bring themselves—and news of my own participation in the tournament has been relegated to whispers and the occasional accusation of a bald-faced lie.

Not even the bards, as eager to stir up trouble as any group in the Protectorate, are trying to push the narrative of a woman commanding a Divh and meriting her own house. It’s dangerous talk, apparently.

My mood grows fouler by the moment.

“And where’s the former lord protector now?

” Tennet asks abruptly, drawing my attention back to him, though I take care not to look at him directly.

That takes some work, because Fortiss positioned me directly opposite the man.

Intentional? Does he want me to see Tennet…

or Tennet to see me? Or—Light help me—does he want to see what I’ll do, caught between them both like this?

Carefully setting that question aside, I take another sip of my wine and scan the group before us as all eyes turn to Fortiss—none more so than my father’s.

The new lord protector has been busy, too.

For an event assembled in less than a few hours since the arrival of the Twelfth and Tenth House riders, we nearly have a quorum of representation of Protectorate might.

Fully six houses are represented at the table.

The First, of course, and the Second, whose stronghold is so close they might as well be an adjunct of the First, but also the Fifth and Ninth, and of course the Tenth and Twelfth.

I could argue that I represent the Thirteenth as well, but on this night and at this table, I’m here for my fighting skill.

In a gown that would send me sprawling in a battle before I took three steps.

“Lord Rihad is safely confined to a suite of rooms first fashioned for high-level prisoners sent here from the Imperium in the first century of the Protectorate’s rule over these lands,” Fortiss says smoothly.

“The lord protector is a hereditary role, conferred from the Imperium at the founding of our state. It’s always flowed through this house or been conferred by the decision of the lord protector himself, should he not have the family to sustain the role.

The actions this past month are right and true, but uncharted territory. The Imperium must weigh in.”

“The Imperium hasn’t seen a sunrise in the Protectorate for over two hundred years,” grouses warrior Berryl, a junior warrior of the Fifth who is now one of their few banded warriors.

He’s junior in name only—he’s served long and well beneath the first-blooded knights of his house, and he’s nearly twice my age.

“We aren’t beholden to their laws, or their decisions.

Lord Protector Rihad declared battle against his own houses.

The man is clearly mad. You were right to lock him up, but you would have been even more right to drop him on the battlefield. ”

A murmuring of agreement rolls around the table, then stops abruptly at my father’s seat, as well as the dinner plates of the gray-cassocked duo who are positioned between me and Fortiss. Councilors Miriam and Dolor, of course, know better than to agree to anything—or disagree, for that matter.

Apparently unconcerned about the line of conversation, however, Miriam lifts her voice to be heard above the murmurings.

“The actions of our new lord protector are right and true. You’re not wrong, warrior Berryl.

We haven’t been honored by a visit from the Imperium for too long.

I assure you; it’s not for lack of trying.

We send out riders at the turning of each season, seeking counsel of course, but above all advocating for the return of an Imperial envoy for which we would gladly give safe passage.

In all the years I’ve served, we have never been taken up on that offer.

We are left only with the approval of the Imperium to continue conducting matters as we see fit and reporting on the safety of the Protectorate and the strength of our borders. ”

Berryl scowls at this. “But surely now they would show interest. They must. Lord Rihad created a tournament that destroyed everything it celebrated. And if the rumors are to be believed, rumors culled from your own house, councilor Miriam, Lord Rihad was engaged in dark matters, matters that go beyond treason to the other destruction of us all. What say you to these claims?”

The man to Miriam’s right fields this question.

Councilor Dolor is aptly named, his pale face receding into his cowl, his skin a muddy gray that gives him the appearance of a man who has not seen the sun in decades.

But he’s a calm man, a cautious one, and his words flow over the table like an unctuous balm.

“I am one of the longest-tenured members of the council,” he informs us gravely.

“I’ve served since before Rihad took power some twenty years ago, himself barely more than a boy, ushered into the roll by the untimely death of his father.

Rihad was always impetuous and headstrong, but he served the Protectorate.

He observed all the dictates of the Light and the Imperium.

The accusations you level are profound, warrior Berryl, and not for idle conversation around the table where anyone can hear you without the full context of what we speak. ”

“Then we move back to Fortiss’s council chambers.

” Tennet’s unexpected directive startles me, and my glance cuts toward him.

He’s waiting for me, and our gazes clash like warriors entwined in battle.

It’s only for a second, then I turn toward Lord Fortiss, who’s also staring at me.

It appears I’m of great interest in this conversation.

“There will be a time for that discussion, but I agree it’s hard upon us,” Fortiss says evenly.

“All warriors present will gather after the banquet in my chambers. It may a conversation best suited to house lords, but they were called back to ensure the strength of their own houses. They have given me proxy authority to direct their warriors in battle.”

Another ripple of interest circles the table, and it’s one I share. Proxy authority?

My father voices the question on everyone’s mind. “And if I hadn’t returned, Lord Protector Fortiss, would you be directing any men from the Tenth as well? Because I certainly haven’t given you authority.”

“You have in the case of anything to do with preserving the Protectorate,” Fortiss counters, his tone hard as granite. “In that, I have the right of rule.”

“And all houses have the right to disagree, do they not?” Tennet argues, and Fortiss turns to him.

“A worthy stand for a warrior knight of the Twelfth House,” he retorts, pitching his words to be deliberately but lightly mocking, with just enough emphasis that you can’t say for sure that is his intention unless you know him. But of course, I do know him, at least that well.

He continues as Tennet’s brows draw together. It seems Tennet is no idiot either.

“Fortunately, while some conversations are better suited for behind closed doors, this one isn’t.

We are pleased to welcome you to our table, Warrior Tennet, and more pleased still to hear your story.

We have no record of your birth or upbringing, and we are saddened for the loss of Lord Orlof, which we still need to confirm.

Is there, in fact, a younger brother in your household, a boy of fourteen?

Do you have other brothers and sisters? Help us understand how you came to be the lord of a royal house without having ever visited the First House or, by all accounts, having left your holding at all? ”

If Tennet is surprised by Fortiss’s direct attack, he doesn’t show it.

He had to know that there would be an accounting, and one like this over a meal, in friendly conversation, is surely preferable to a grilling that no one views and from which there is no escape.

If he had made these allegations during Lord Rihad’s time, he might well have been wrestled to the floor and imprisoned until his story was proven out, even if it would take a full two weeks for riders to reach the remote mountain stronghold of the Twelfth House and then return.

And of course, Tennet is still compelled by Fortiss’s spell of authenticity, even if that spell is now waning. So, this…well, this should be interesting.

I glance at him and once again realize he’s staring at me. I hope my thoughts aren’t so plainly written on my face as I fear, but the quirk of his mouth into a quick smile tells me different.