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In any event, he doesn’t do it well. The wings seem to jut out from his heavy arms less for the art of flying than to help break the speed of the monster’s divine descent.

He hits the ground with a resounding boom, only to turn sharply toward us, his galloping, ungainly run equal parts horrifying and awe inspiring.

No more than six ground-eating strides later, the Divh Marsh is upon us.

Except for the steed of the warrior beside me, the soldiers’ horses nicker with fear and scramble back, scattering as the Divh plants his ungainly feet and leaps up again, just as he chucks his precious cargo to the ground with what even I can see is a practiced flick of his wrist. Then the monster winks out of existence with a bone rattling caw of joy.

Uttering his own howl of delight, the warrior Caleb tucks his body into a tight ball, rips through the sky, and crashes to the marshy plain.

He rolls in several flopping somersaults before stopping barely a dozen strides away from us.

No sooner does he rise to his feet than he draws the fingers of his right hand to his lips and utters a piercing whistle, so loud even Darkwing flinches.

The warrior besides me grunts as he struggles to keep control of his own horse, who had staunchly endured the arrival of my ridiculous beloved friend and his ridiculous beloved Divh but wasn’t expecting this new affront.

A moment later, however, the pounding hooves of a mare I know well fills the space between us, and Caleb’s mount races to be reunited with her new master. The sight fills me with such unfettered joy that I don’t think about what must come next until it’s too late.

“Talia!” Caleb crows, as he deftly swings himself up in the saddle. He may only have one arm, but he’s more deft with it than most warriors are with their full complement of limbs. “Didn’t I tell you Marsh could leap straight out of the coliseum if he wanted to? Didn’t I?”

“Talia? Lady Talia?” The words come out like a crack of thunder, and both Caleb and I wheel around, my short sword half out of my scabbard at the clear rebuke in the warrior’s tone.

“The same,” growls Caleb, rushing to defend me whether I need his help or not. “Champion of the Tournament of Gold, winner of the winged crown, head of the Thirteenth House. Which you should know since you’re clearly riding with her, warrior or not. Who are you and where are you from?”

“Caleb…” I wince, feeling a headache coming on. I slide my short sword back into place and pitch my tone to as placating as possible. “These men weren’t at the tournament. He and his men?—”

“These men buried Lord Orlof two weeks ago, the old man still waiting for a promise to be fulfilled that he had negotiated in good faith,” the warrior snaps. He stares at me fully now, and for the first time since he arrived at the top of the path, when he looks at me, I feel seen.

It’s not an especially good feeling.

“Lady Talia of the Thirteenth House—a house I have never heard of—can I assume you are also Talia of the Tenth? Whose marriage to the heir of the Twelfth House would have united two mountain fortresses and maintained the strength of the borders of the Protectorate against the marauders from the east?”

“I…” I squint at him, fully at a loss. Who was this man? Some agent of the Imperium sent to aid the Twelfth House? And is Lord Orlof really dead?

But the man continues to stare at me, unyielding.

“I—yes,” I finally manage. “Though it’s of no account to you. Lord Orlof and my father arranged my marriage to his fourteen-year-old child and sent me off to fulfill the promise. Then my brother was murdered by an agent of Lord Rihad, and I came here instead.”

“Came to Trilion,” he sneers, his disbelief plain. “To fight in the Tournament of Gold as a woman .”

“Came to find justice for my brother and fighting men for my house the only way I could—because my brother was dead ,” I spit back.

He doesn’t back down. His blue eyes are sparking with fury which I absolutely do not merit. “A fair decision,” he seethes. “But fairer still would have been the one that took you to the Twelfth House, which is now the house you should cleave to by dint of the wedding contract.”

A cold wash of certainty rolls through me, and far away, I hear the questioning trill of Gent, can almost see his massive horned head tilting on his distant plane, as if to better hear my response.

I don’t disappoint. “A contract nullified by the fact that I am banded.” I reach up to the collar of my waistcoat and yank it aside, revealing my reinforced sleeveless vest and the very, very obvious warrior’s band that circles my upper bicep.

“I would not have wished the shame of that truth to sully the standing of the Twelfth House.”

His gaze darts to my arm, then returns, more slowly, to hold mine. His eyes burn with rage, surprise, and something else, something I can’t pin down. “Then maybe you should have asked your betrothed his opinion.”

Oh, please. “I told you, I?—”

“Because I would have supported you.”

My throat closes tight as if gripped by a vice, and breath completely deserts me as the warrior wrenches his cape over one shoulder, betraying the inky midnight blue of the Twelfth House.

“Tennet, son of Orlof, first-blooded and firstborn. Contracted in the Light as your husband, Talia of the Tenth, now and evermore.”

“But…” I stare at the man, barely able to form my words. “You’re supposed to be fourteen!”

He smiles at me, all teeth. “And you’re supposed to have hair down to your feet, laden with enough riches to feed our people for a year. It’s a day full of surprises.”