Page 54

I stare out at the sky as it lightens over the distant eastern horizon—dawn breaking across the wide plains.

It’s even more beautiful than I expected it to be.

I munch on thick bread and shift under my bandages, willing myself to spontaneously heal from Kreya’s talon punctures.

I don’t have time to feel this bad. I certainly don’t have time to have bled so much.

The smell of cooking meat wafts toward me, reminding me of how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. I glance over to where Tennet lies collapsed beside me, his face clean, his shoulder bandaged, his long dark lashes soft against his sunburned face, a warrior in repose.

He’s totally awake, of course. He has been for a while. But awake and stretched out under heavy blankets is better than awake and functional, and I’ve let him “sleep’ for another quarter hour past what he should have. If I have to be upright and suffering, he should be too.

“Yo.” I reach out to poke him, wincing at the stretchy ache in my shoulders. “What happened to you? Did the skrill decide to return for a second course of tasty lord?”

He cocks one eye open, then serves up a self-satisfied grin, which is effective even from his reclined position. “Could you blame them?”

“Only if they were starving. And had seriously low standards.”

His chuckle dissolves into a groan as he hauls himself up to a seated position.

“They were only part of the issue. I also nearly got my own arm dislocated hauling that Savasci woman, Syril, up onto Ayne. It seems she’s the type to punch first and ask questions later. I can see why you two get along.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t knock you right off your dragon.”

“At least I didn’t drop so fast that only a long-beaked death monster with pincers of doom could catch me. I’m surprised you still have any blood in your body. It took three Savasci healers to patch you up—I think one of them may have sacrificed a goat.”

Fortiss’s loud command from the front of the cave draws our attention, and my eyes widen as I focus on him.

He’s gotten cleaned up since the night before and changed his clothes.

But there’s no great stock of lord protector black and gold silks sitting amongst the storehouses of the Eighth House, of course, especially since the Eighth House is now apparently overrun with death.

Instead, Fortiss is wearing head-to-toe leathers, suitable for fast horse rides over harsh territory. He looks like the male equivalent of a Savasci.

It’s…a good look. Good enough that my mouth goes a little dry. Blight him for looking like that right when I’m trying to regain my sense of equilibrium.

“Try not to drool.” Tennet smirks at me. “Speaking of low standards.”

“Everyone, look sharp,” Fortiss begins, saving me from a response. “We don’t have much time, and we all need to understand what’s happening here in case one or more of us fall to the wayside. The plan has to continue. Who can fight?”

Every one of the Savasci stands tall and pounds her fist to her chest. Tennet grunts his way off our makeshift bed and pulls me to my feet as well, then we echo the move.

Nazar, Caleb and Miriam are all present and accounted for at the far end of the gathering, though I don’t see any of the hummerlets.

Hopefully, they all made it back to the Blessed Plane when the skrill first attacked.

There are some male guards as well, all of them dressed as Savasci. None of them look like any of the men who accompanied us to the Eighth House, though. My head is swimming with questions, but for once I hold my tongue as Fortiss continues.

“Nazar, Caleb and Miriam, you’ll take the talonstones I recovered from Daggar’s vault and travel to all houses along the western border, as well as those along the southern border that allied with us during the melee in the Tournament of Gold.

Speak to the house lords, recruit any soldiers they can spare with Divhs, and return.

Horses won’t help us here, and we’ve got more than enough along with skilled riders already.

If the men are willing to fight on their feet and there’s a Divh that can carry them, we welcome them.

Otherwise, no. They should stay behind and prepare to defend their own houses. ”

He turns to Syril. “If you can spare a delegate, it would be good to have a first-hand account of what they need to expect should we fail. Plus, they can describe the locations to Nazar, so he can ask our Divhs to travel there.”

“I’ll give you two,” she says. “One of our own and one of the guards of the Eighth House. Where a woman’s words may fail, a man’s won’t, and these guards have lost good men. They’ve also lost their leader.”

I jolt, Syril’s revelations from last night flooding back to me. Was it all true? Could we seriously have walked into a nest of skrill without realizing it?

Fortiss just nods, then looks to Nazar.

“I can carry two additional riders on Wrath, and Marsh can harness a second in,” Nazar says. “Miriam’s hummerbill would love nothing more than to pinion any traveler who needs a lift, but as we’ve already seen, she’s not so careful with her claws.”

He nods to the Savasci hunter, a slender woman with sharp features and hard eyes. “If you can stomach a rougher ride, you ride with Caleb and Marsh.”

She swings her gaze to Caleb, and if she notices the fact that he has only one arm, you can’t see it in her face. “I fought in the melee,” she says instead. “I have seen his Divh and understand its movements. I will keep my seat.”

Fortiss nods again. “Then it’s done. Everyone, summon your Divhs.”

The five travelers turn toward the open sky, and Caleb, Nazar, and a slightly less certain Miriam curl their right fists to their chest. Shoulders straighten, and all three lift their chins and murmur the names of their Divhs.

The sky pulls tight, as if the very wind holds its breath, and a moment later the three great Divhs burst into view, Wrath taking the lead.

They charge toward the earth, then pull up at the last second, landing on the grassy plains with remarkable grace—except Marsh, who tumbles end over end in three cartwheels before leaping to his feet, his arms flinging out along with his wings in pure, unfettered celebration.

I can practically feel Caleb’s pride radiating out, and even the Savasci woman smiles.

Fortiss steps forward and gives each of the traveling party a small, curved stone.

“I have blessed these with the Light and limned them with the darkness,” he says, his voice resonating with a strange timbre.

“They’ll guide you to each new house at Nazar’s lead.

Nazar then has a supply for any who would come to our aid.

We have no time for negotiations or discussion, only action.

Whoever’s here by nightfall will stand ready to fight for the Protectorate. Even if we die, we cannot fail.”

The warriors, the Eighth House guards, and Savasci all tap their fists to their heart, then they turn toward the Divhs in the wide plain. Hurriedly I scan the mountains and the distant Eighth House to see if any other ghost warriors might be riding out to meet us, but there are none.

“Syril told me a little when she wasn’t railing at me,” Tennet says quietly beside me.

“The illusion magic of the skrill is strong enough to fool man or beast, she says. It has both weight and heft in the very narrow corridor of its focus, which in this case, includes the Eighth House and the plain before it. If you’re not the target of the skrill’s focus, you can’t see the illusions.

You don’t see any actual snakes, either, until darkness falls. By then, of course, it’s far too late.”

“It wasn’t too late for us,” I point out.

Tennet grins at me. “Well, we’re more stubborn than most.”

We watch the five travelers reach the Divhs.

Caleb and the Savasci warrior climb into their harness supervised by a thoroughly delighted Marsh, while Miriam and the Eighth House guard take their places between Wrath’s mighty wings, and Nazar tucks in behind his neck.

Then Fortiss extends his arm, murmurs something else, and drops it.

The Divhs leap up into the sky, the wind snapping tight—and they’re gone.

I stagger back slightly, and Tennet’s hand shoots out to grasp my elbow. Fortiss turns, his gaze sweeping over the small company, then it rests on me and Tennet. And my elbow.

“Good, you’re up,” he says to us both. “You can fight? We can’t count on anyone returning.”

I open my mouth to speak, then shut it.

“We can fight,” Tennet answers for us both. “But what exactly are we fighting if we can’t believe what we see?”

“We’re getting to that. We have exactly twelve hours to prepare,” he says gruffly, his wave encompassing our entire thirty-odd company. “Everyone—get food, water, whatever you need, and draw close. Then Syril will tell us what we’re looking for…and explain the dangers we face.”

The small company becomes a hive of activity, and Fortiss strides toward Tennet and me, singling us out for private conversation. I pull my elbow out of Tennet’s grasp as discreetly as possible, but not discreetly enough. His snicker grates along my nerves as Fortiss skewers me with a look.

“How much do you remember of the Western Realms?” Fortiss asks. “Szonja was connected to you, but she shut that connection down hard and fast at whatever Gent saw. She was pretty disturbed.”

This immediately draws the attention of Tennet. Any hope that I harbor of him sidling off to find food is dashed as he squares himself up. His gaze goes from Fortiss’s scowl to my set jaw, and his eyes alight with interest. “What did I miss? I clearly missed something. And here I was thinking it?—”