Tennet, however, doesn’t respond at first, and I turn to see him peering hard at the thick knot of forest punching down from the mountains, scrambling along the rocky terrain about a quarter hour’s ride from the Eighth House. “What’s over there?” he gestures. “Who do you have watching us?”
The guard turns, scowls. “We’ve positioned no one there, Lord Tennet. Doesn’t mean there aren’t hunters or worse in the forest, though, and if any saw your brace of Divhs the way we did from the Eighth, they’d be curious.”
“Hunters,” I murmur, and I squint as well, wondering if we’re being watched by the Savasci. Syril and her band made no secret to me about their unsanctioned home near the grand Eighth House, but how exactly did that work in practice? Lord Daggar clearly isn’t a fool, and the Eighth House looks well-fortified. It wouldn’t be all that hard to assemble a troop of soldiers whose only job was to rout out the marauders from their nest and either return them to the Eighth or disperse them.
But disperse them to where? Unlike the First House, there’s no village here at the base of the mountains that I can locate, just the walled fortress. I peer along the mountain range, but the terrain is too jagged for me to see far.
Tennet seems to be tracking my thoughts. “You’ve a village nearby, then, outside the walls of the Eighth?” he asks, gesturing to the fortress. “If there are hunters not affiliated with your house, they have to get their supplies from somewhere.”
“There is.” The guard gives up the information easier than the mountain will. “The village of Merrivale is a hard day’s ride along the Meridians to there, where the range bumps out.” He gestures to the north, where I can easily see the bulging curve of the range—dark green in the afternoon sunlight. “The forest along the path hides a wealth of natural caves. It makes for easy lodging for those not looking for the protection of the Eighth or the rule of the village magistrate. But as long as you ride farther away from the forest, out into the plains, it’s a safe enough journey. The hunters, for the most part, are simply that—men looking for game to feed their family or to sell in the village. But for anyone willing to get their food honorably, there are others happy to steal it. Lord Daggar keeps his own safe, but if you choose to roam the forest, you take what chances you must.”
Tennet grunts a short laugh. “Then things aren’t so different here as they are anywhere in the Protectorate.”
He nods to the guard who turns and shouts orders to his men, while the four of us fall into line behind him. The men form a loose net around us, not close enough to keep any of us from breaking away if we chose, but an official protective escort. I glance back to the mountains. If the Savasci are out there watching, how much did they see? I hadn’t thought about the message the arrival of so many Divhs might send. Would they guess I was here, marking Fortiss and his bold colors as a party of the First House? Would they know why we’re here?
The forest isn’t willing to give up its secrets yet, so we strike out across the open plains toward the Eighth House. As we near it, the guards angle to the right, closer to the heavy canopy of trees, until we reach an established road with low stone walls to either side, deep troughs flanking it. The road rises gradually toward the Eighth House, which I realize as we approach is elevated higher against the mountainous cliffs than I first though. It’s an impressive fortress, about half the size of the First House, but easily three times as big as the modest manor house of the Tenth.
How does it compare to the Twelfth? I frown as the errant thought skates through my mind. Tennet’s home is buried even deeper in the mountains than mine is, hemmed in by thick forest and rocky terrain. Does he yearn for a larger holding—more power? Or is he content to serve as sentinel for the Protectorate, casting a wary eye in all directions?
“Lady Talia.” Nazar’s quiet voice, little more than a sigh, draws my attention, and he nods almost casually to the right. I squint up into the trees, not seeing what he’s clearly trying to point out…and then I do, as a fluttering shift of movement against the darker branches draws my eye.
Three of the hummerlets are perched there, squinting down at me with an inquisitive tilt to their heads. They all appear fartoo satisfied with themselves—and one of them is displaying a belly that’s full-onglowingin the shadows of the branches.
“But…” I glance back at Nazar, startled, and his grimace tells me everything I need to know.
“It appears Kreya is concerned for our safety and has left her sentinels behind. And it appears these particular sentinels offer more than just eyes to help us see. A warrior takes the gifts he is given, and fashions them for war.”
Chapter 25
It takes us another easy quarter hour to reach the gates of the Eighth House, which stand open to welcome us, flanked on either side with more guards. Once we’re inside the gates, I blink to make sense of the place. It’s bustling with as much activity as the village leading up to the First House, just in miniature.
“Everyone lives inside the walls?” Caleb asks, craning around to peer at the two-story shops. “Like, they just live above their storefronts and stables?”
The guard continues to prove a willing guide. “If they work here, they live here. Either above their shops or within the caverns below the castle, deep in the mountain.”
We all pin our gazes to the man. “Caverns?” Tennet prompts, and the man nods, gesturing to where the Eighth House rises up like a bulky fist from the stone of the mountain, thrusting out of a sheer rock base.
“It looks solid—and it is, solid enough. But there’s a reason the ancients chose to build here. The rainy season is mild enough now, but long before we ever arrived on the doorstep of the Meridians, violent storms pounded this area, filling up every natural crevice with driving rivers. Gouges became corridors,small depressions grew, shallow caves deepened. What nature wouldn’t extend or connect, the settlers at the dawn of the Protectorate did—building on whatever they found. There’s water below, and minerals to mine, and great open spaces lit from fissures high above. It’s a protected space for those who live within the walls, and Merrivale isn’t so far away that anyone with an itch to leave can do so. Lord Daggar’s rule extends to Merrivale officially, though its magistrate runs the village as he sees fit, for the most part.”
I frown at the soldier. His explanation seems perfectly reasonable and provides far more information than I would expect from a house guard—which ordinarily should simply please me. Instead, it doesn’t feel quite right. I’d expect this level of detail from a councilor, not a fighting man.
Perhaps the soldiers of the Eighth receive more history training because they were stuck out here so far from anyone? Or maybe we just got lucky with a well-educated man at arms? Either way, I find myself growing uneasy as we stop before the steps leading up to the doors of the main manor building.
The primary structure of the Eighth is far less ornate than the First House. It’s a building built for protection, not show, but it still displays fine stonework in its carved grand stairway and bannisters. The bedrock is the same flat red I see everywhere, but the stairway is lined with sturdy, squat statues carved from every color of stone imaginable.
I peer closer and see that the statues are all manner of Divhs, some of them carved out of granite and quartz, some poured in ash-colored cement. They’re beautiful in their miniaturized form, and clearly old—maybe as old as the first few generations of the Protectorate? It wouldn’t surprise me.
Then I stiffen. One of the statues moves—then another. Two of the hummerlets have lined up in the empty spaces between the stone statues, puffing out their downy chests, their beaksarching up in cocky salute as we ride by. I clamp my mouth shut tight to keep from laughing and pray that Kreya’s other representatives are more discreet.
The ground level of the Eighth House boasts doors that extend the height of two men cut into its walls, and these stand open to reveal a large stable. As we approach, several workers rush out to assist, once again stopping short of touching us. They grab our horses’ bridles once we’re on the ground and lead them away, and within only a few moments the talkative guard directs us up the wide steps of the Eighth House. With each new stair, I’m weighed down with a fatigue that nearly takes my breath away.
“You’ll want to rest after your journey,” the guard announces, and I peer at him again. Maybe he is a seneschal of some sort, just one who’s…very well armed. Or maybe every member of the Eighth House needs to be ready to protect the fortress at a moment’s notice. This far out on the western border, there’d be no help coming in a hurry in the event of an unexpected attack. “Dinner will be served in Lord Daggar’s inner chambers; you’ll be summoned. For now, we’ve rooms for you as delegates to the Eighth.”
He turns us down a long corridor, and I note the uncanny darkness inside the Eighth House. The way is lit by occasional torches set into the walls, but not too many of them. This is a people used to the shadows, I think, their fortress set into the mountain itself. Similar to the First House, but more deeply entrenched.
That changes when we reach the delegates’ section, at least. The guard steers us into a wide, airy chamber that boasts a sitting area lined with doors leading to multiple sleeping rooms. It’s such a relief after the unrelenting gloom of the inner corridors of the Eighth House that it catches me up short. What would it be like living in this fortress day in and day out? Ifrown as I retrace our steps mentally through the Eighth House, trying to recall any of the household staff that we passed along the way, but I can’t. No doubt, Lord Daggar ordered them to stay out of our way, but the guard is helpful enough, pointing out the rooms and inviting us to take our ease. Within moments of his departure, Miriam retires into one of the sleeping rooms. Nazar and Caleb disappear into two others while Tennet eyes me critically.
“You should sleep,” he announces. “You’re more tired than you’re willing to let the others know.”
