Page 45

“ I s he mad?”

Tennet’s question is a reasonable one, and a distinct possibility given Fortiss’s terse accounting of his just-completed conversation with Lord Daggar.

I stare stonily at Fortiss as if I, too, am wondering about the sanity of this house lord stuck all the way at the end of forever, defending the Protectorate’s borders against utter evil.

In truth, my thoughts are a jumbled mass of conflicting sensations, pinging back and forth between Fortiss and Tennet like weevishes about to molt.

What in the blighted path had I been thinking ?

Yes, I’m exhausted—maybe even damaged by our sojourn in the Blessed Plane.

Yes, this House has seemed to twist me around and turn me inside out since the moment we dropped onto the wide, grassy plains before it.

But what madness consumed me to think kissing Tennet was a good idea?

Tennet! I’m no more promised to Fortiss than I am to the Light—there’s no real agreement between us—but I don’t want to give the Twelfth House lord the wrong idea, either.

He’s not my future—he’s not even my past. And while he’s been more than clear that he’d happily be my present, that’s a madness any warrior of worth would run far away from.

I am an idiot—a fool.

The more so for how my heart still is galloping madly, standing between these two men who are so different from each other—yet who both distract me nearly to madness.

I draw in an unsteady breath and try to focus as Fortiss dismisses Tennet’s assessment about Lord Daggar’s state of mind.

“I don’t think so. I simply think he’s been the lord of this holding for a long time, and that he suffered great losses in the tournament.

None of the Eighth House warriors have returned from the Tournament of Gold—their injuries have forced them to tide over in middle plains for now, and Daggar’s concerned they may die there.

He’s bitter, and he has every right to be.

If he chooses to place his belief in artifacts over me, I can’t blame him. ”

We’re back in the main sitting room, standing close together, the doors to the outside shut fast. A fire roars in the hearth though the day isn’t cold.

Fortiss looks cold, though, his cloak still hanging heavily over his shoulders, his arms folded tightly across his torso.

He looks like a man who’s seen some things he would rather forget—done some things he probably now regrets.

Does he know he’s not alone in that feeling?

I firmly don’t look at Tennet lounging beside me.

“You can’t seriously believe he has an actual chamber of prophecies somewhere in this manor house,” Tennet protests, giving me another few moments to collect my skittering, chittering thoughts. “Seems to me, he would’ve attained a higher profile if he held that sort of arcane power.”

“Not if he’s only held it for a few weeks,” I counter, finally finding my voice. “He said he’s only gotten visions in that chamber—what, in the last month?”

“Since the melee, yes.” Fortiss makes a face. “Apparently, that shook something loose in the Eighth House, some dark, buried power that’s existed for maybe as long as this house has stood.”

“Well, you never want to leave dark, buried power lying around,” Tennet mutters, and Fortiss gives him a wry smile.

“Honestly…I don’t know what to think. All these years that Rihad’s led the Protectorate, I paid very little attention to his movements outside the First House unless I was with him—which often wasn’t the case.

He’d give some order that I was to be nominally in control while he was traveling, and I took it with all the puffed-up importance of a total puppet.

But the councilors were there, and his guards were deferent to me.

I could practice the art of warcraft, eat his food, and resolve the various troubles of the village as they were brought before me, giving me the illusion of normalcy, of an eventual path to the real responsibility I craved.

I wasn’t only a fool, but worse—I was blind to what was going on around me. ”

“You think Rihad was building a coalition?” Tennet prompts when Fortiss’s gaze flickers toward the fire.

Fortiss shakes his head, surprising me. “Not in the way you’re thinking.

I know you find it impossible to believe that Rihad didn’t have his supporters, and I’d agree with you.

I think there are still truths we have yet to uncover in all this, truths that will implicate even those who remain close.

Not Miriam,” he answers my unspoken question with a wave.

“She’s a woman, and Rihad wouldn’t trust her with his most intimate confidences. ”

Tennet humphs in agreement beside me, while I tighten my lips with annoyance. Tennet may be beautiful, but he’s still, well…Tennet.

“So, the other councilors, you think,” I say to cool my own reaction.

“At least one of them, yes, but even still, I don’t think they know anything more than what Rihad was willing to dole out just to keep them on the hook.

I think he shared deeper confidences with some of the other lords, but notably not here at the Eighth House.

From here, he simply took what he needed.

Lord Daggar shared with him all the information about this holding that’s due to the lord protector, much as he’s shared it with me.

Then Rihad left with assurances that he would return soon to deepen his understanding and knowledge of all that the Eighth House held.

He never once returned, though, not officially. ”

“In twenty years,” Tennet scoffs. “He never once made it back here.”

“No. I suspect quite sincerely, though Miriam will disagree with this, that there were traveling parties that set out for the Eighth over the years. But wherever Rihad went on those journeys, it wasn’t to visit Lord Daggar in this mountain keep.

It wasn’t to explore the mysteries that were held here. ”

“But you think he did explore them,” I challenge. “Just in a way that Daggar wouldn’t suspect?”

“Yes, and here’s why—that creature you saw in Rihad’s fireplace, the man covered in snakes? Daggar described it today to me, calling it the fabled leader of the skrill—the Sahktar.”

I stiffen, remembering that word. First from Tennet’s ravings after the skrill had chewed on him during the attack over the coliseum, then when Fortiss whispered it to Rihad, back in the caverns of the First House. “So that’s a real creature.”

“It’s real, and it’s stirring. He’s seen visions of it in his prophecy chamber—which he says he’ll show me at dawn tomorrow. Apparently, the visions are most powerful in the morning.”

“Or, you know, he’s insane,” counters Tennet.

Fortiss doesn’t honor that with a response.

“There are a few references to the Sahktar in some of the archived books here as well, he says, but remarkably few. All those books are now held in Daggar’s personal chambers for his private use, however, because some of them had gone missing over the years. ”

“Missing,” humphs Tennet. “Stolen, you mean.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Daggar gave Rihad some books—those they’d already made many copies of—but not the ones most precious to the Eighth House.

Through the books he could get his hands on, Rihad must have figured out how to communicate with the dark powers on the other side of these mountains, and they told him what the other books contained.

Most likely, Rihad commissioned others over the years to collect the ones he decided he couldn’t access magically.

The chamber where those most precious books were originally kept was visited by no one other than Lord Daggar—only him, and only to perform the rituals of cleansing at the appointed times four times a year.

It’s a ritual that falls to the house lord and has since the dawn of the Protectorate.

According to Daggar, the vault where all these books were originally held has been disturbed a handful of times over the decades, books misplaced or disturbed, so eventually, he moved the most important ones.

But there are other things he left in that chamber, too—talonstones.

So many of them that if one or two went missing, he wouldn’t know or care. ”

At the word talonstones, I go still. “What are they?” I ask sharply.

Fortiss’s lips twist. “I thought you’d be interested in that term.”

“The what?” Tennet looks at both of us blankly, and Fortiss leans toward him, balancing an elbow on one knee.

“You really don’t remember anything you said to Talia that night after the skrill attack, do you?”

Tennet scowls. “I?—”

“Don’t worry—it’s probably better that you don’t.

In your delirium, you mentioned talonstones, specifically the phrase ‘from talonstone to grounding stone’, indicating a path could be formed between the two.

And apparently, in the bowels of this castle—in a chamber Daggar practically gave me a map to, so vivid was his description—there’s an entire crate of these talonstone things. ”

“But what are they, specifically?” I press. “Where did they come from?”

“He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.” He shoots me a wry grin.

“But you can bet I want to find out. Still, that’s when my conversation with Daggar turned…

more fraught. Apparently, about a month ago, at a time that seems to coincide with the closing days of the tournament, a storm broke over the Meridians, blocking the Unlit Pass from sight.

Pressure built, so strong it drove the weak and the sick into deeper illness and caused powerful headaches in the warriors.

That lasted for days, and then it was abruptly gone, as if a dam had finally broken or a door burst open from a constant assault.

And that’s when they started hearing about attacks along the mountain road. ”

“Attacks,” Tennet echoes, rubbing his jaw. “Snake attacks? You’re saying the skrill got loose?”