Page 57

“ T hey’ll work out their conflict over you before nightfall, if you’re wondering. I’ve watched this particular battle worked out too many times not to know the signs.”

“What?” I look up to see Syril at the top of the path. She’s looking between me and the far edge of the encampment. A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth, but she doesn’t seem particularly happy. I roll to my feet, suddenly alert. “What are you talking about?”

“The two men circling around you like dogs before the hunt.” She gives a short, curt wave to still my objection as I draw up alongside her.

She shifts to the side just enough to give me an eyeful of Fortiss and Tennet squaring off near the sleeping cave, their manners tense.

She’s right—they do look like they’re about to fight.

“They’ve tried to play it civil enough, but that can only work for so long, and Fortiss is no fool.

He can’t guide a lion in battle if he thinks it might chew off his foot. ”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. Just what I need before a battle—two powerful men deciding who gets to bleed for me first. But on this, I think Syril is wrong. “They’re not going to fight over me, if that’s what you’re getting at. They’ve both made it clear that it’s my choice.”

I wave off Syril’s scoff. “Well, Fortiss has, anyway. And he’s who matters.”

“Is he?” Syril’s question is soft, oddly neutral, but I keep going.

“And they’re certainly not going to hurt each other. Their swords are more valuable than that and so are their Divhs. They won’t do anything to jeopardize their ability to ride into battle against a real enemy.”

“Mmm.” She eyes me with new interest. “You won’t ride alongside one of them?”

“Well, I won’t be in the air, if that’s what you mean.

Gent doesn’t fly, but he’s half again as big as either one of their Divhs.

He can do plenty of damage from the ground.

Together, we can take on whatever the skrill want to throw at us, and attack or defend, depending on what our best strategy is.

Probably a little bit of both. The Divhs with wings will go on the offensive while Gent and I will protect the mounted warriors from below—as well as the healers who remain in camp. ”

“So who will protect you?”

I curl my lip, watching as Tennet drops his hands to his belt, his stance wide as he rocks back on his heels. “Well, not them. I don’t need their protection.”

She huffs a derisive cough. “Spoken like a woman who’s been protected all her life.”

“I didn’t have a choice in that,” I shoot back, unreasonably annoyed. “It’s not like the Savasci had an encampment outside the Tenth House, welcoming in women tired of being crushed under their father’s bootheels.”

“We don’t do that at the Eighth House either.

” Her words are low, even, but her gaze remains on the quarreling men.

“No woman joins the Savasci because they want to—and certainly not because they seek it out. They do it because they have no other choice. We’re known in the Eighth—well, we were known in that house—the way we have to be known.

As marauders and outlaws, living off the land and the hard work of other people.

And among those who would do us harm, we’re also known as being a band of both men and women. ”

“Really?” That surprises me enough to take my attention off Fortiss and Tennet. “You cultivate that belief? Why? And why even draw attention to yourselves at all?”

“The belief would be there whether we cultivated it or not. It’s to our advantage to control it, so that we understand our enemy.

Or our ally, which Daggar was on occasion.

But men fear what they don’t understand, Talia.

Everyone does. It’s a challenging thing to accept the idea of a band of women working together happily and successfully all on their own without the existence of men among them, especially when we also have the reputation of being thieves and cutthroats.

” She smiles, the expression darkly satisfied.

“Never mind that the throats we cut richly deserved it, or that I can count on the fingers of one hand those unfortunates who actually fell beneath our blade, never mind the tales. Daggar knew that truth, at least.”

“That you fought to protect your own,” I clarify. “But you really think he didn’t know that there were no men among the Savasci?”

“I know for a fact he didn’t, because we still exist. A troop of self-sufficient marauders who can be used to further your own ends on occasion is one thing.

A troop of women successfully living outside the walls of any keep is a threat to established society.

If he knew about it, he would have to do something about it. ”

“You mean dismantle you.” I stare at her, baffled. “But somehow the mere idea of you having men among your number afforded you protection from that?”

She gestures to the arguing men. “Wouldn’t you worry less if you knew that men like these were among the women, ensuring their safety?”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “I’d worry more.” I glance down the path as the first of Tennet’s words reach me. “—Not your decision to make . It’s mine.”

“Blood and stone,” I groan, glancing back at Syril.

What I see in her face stops me short. She’s watching the men not with derision, or even smug condescension, but with the open curiosity of a woman unused to anyone bristling for the honor to defend her.

For a moment, I think about what it must be like to be her—working for the safety of her women, teaching them, nurturing them, protecting them.

And yes, the Savasci have been very successful at it for many years, but Syril won’t be young forever, and there will always be more women to protect.

She seems to realize that I’m watching her, and her face blanks of all expression as Fortiss lifts his voice. “—and you will respect that.”

“Blighted path I will,” Tennet shoots back, and I know I can’t watch this any longer. Never mind that as I turn to strike down the path, I catch the renewed flare of interest in Syril’s eyes.

I don’t have time to wonder about what she’s thinking as I swing away, moving fast. I’m almost to the clearing when I hear the hiss of metal clearing scabbards—Tennet and Fortiss have drawn their swords.

“Blood and stone !” I scramble the last of the distance to where they’re fighting, then draw up short, just out of view but with a clear vantage point allowing me to see them.

In truth, I don’t know the meaning of their fight, or if it’s actually about me, only that they’re fighting.

And while I know I should rush in and somehow put a stop to it before either one of them is injured, I… well, I don’t.

Because now that I’m up close like this, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful then these two warriors slashing at each other.

I stare with open surprise as I watch Fortiss fend off the bigger, bulkier Tennet with a series of slashing thrusts that drive the taller warrior back, clearly catching him off guard.

I realize I’ve never seen Fortiss fight, not up close.

Though he directed Rihad’s mighty Divh in battle during the Tournament of Gold, and I’ve seen him performing aerobatics on the back of his mighty dragon, simple swordplay was never part it.

He moves with a ferocity I wouldn’t have predicted, every cut, every slash timed perfectly—not simply for defense but for pressing the advantage, for harrying and driving and keeping Tennet on his heels.

Tennet is even more of a revelation. Once he overcomes his initial surprise at Fortiss’s attack, he regroups and moves forward efficiently, strategically.

His strength is impressive, and Fortiss clearly respects it.

Fortiss works hard to ensure that Tennet never lands more than a glancing blow, shifting to the left or the right to go with the force of his sword and then coming around again with his own blade to prevent Tennet’s advance.

The men are no longer shouting at each other, wholly absorbed in their swordplay, but they’re evenly matched.

Where Fortiss wins on exposing more opportunities to bloody Tennet, Tennet dominates in moving as if driven from within, spurred on by the heat of passion.

Fortiss is like water, but Tennet is like fire.

They battle back and forth across the open space thirty, forty times, showing no sign of fatigue until at last, Tennet takes a wild, uneven stroke at Fortiss’s shoulder, and Fortiss ducks away, barely avoiding the blade.

The two fall away from each other to regroup, and I take my opportunity to redirect them.

“Lord Protector Fortiss! Lord Tennet!” I deliberately pitch my voice low and keep my manner brisk as I stride into the clearing, as if I’ve only just now come upon them.

Warriors in the midst of battle might as well be wild animals, focused so intently that startling them is unwise except from a distance.

They both wheel around and stare at me as if I’m a sandworm suddenly erupted in their midst. I stand and place my legs wide, dropping my hands to my belt.

“Syril reports that the healers have assembled additional provisions against tonight’s battle, though we don’t know exactly what to expect.

She awaits further orders for spreading word down to the villages of Merrivale and Kirk. ”

“Syril?” Tennet asks, and he turns and searches the rocky outcroppings above the cave, as if he might find an audience there.

Fortiss, meanwhile, stares at me. The force of that stare is like a punch to the gut, his energy leaping across the open field like a roar of triumph.

I hold his gaze, return it glare for glare, and he grins wide and sure.

A breeze suddenly whips up around me, strong enough to lift my hair and dance across my lips, and I blink at Fortiss, shocked anew.

Was that real? Did he just stir the very wind?