“There’s more, Fortiss,” I say, straightening, and his focus trains on me, sharp and earnest. He trusts me, I suddenly realize, maybe more than anyone he’s ever trusted in his life. “Those talonstones that Daggar mentioned. They’re a real thing. Each of the warriors had them, and each buried them in the bedrock of their new houses, from the First all the way to the Twelfth—in the villages, too. We never use them this way, but in the beginning, they were sort of homing points for the Divhs, separate of their warriors. And there’s alotof them—or there were, anyway?—”
“From talonstone to grounding stone,” he murmurs. “They’re the same thing. One you carry, one you bury in the ground or in a building. Rihad didn’t have to put them anywhere to direct the skrill—they already exist in each of the great houses—and probably the cornerstones of the villages surrounding them as well. All the skrill needed was for him to summon them…which he did, it seems, though they took their time in answering.”
“Or maybe they stole some of the talonstones from Daggar’s vault,” I point out.
Fortiss winces. “Or that. But for them to come to the First House, to attack the lords of the other houses…Rihad had to have been behind that somehow. Even if he never woke to do it.”
“You really think Rihad is that far ahead of us?” Tennet protests. “That he knows this much about what’s buried here at the Eighth?”
“Not all of it,” says Fortiss. “Not the Divhs’ part in all this, I don’t think. Rihad never considered the Divhs to be any sort of partner in his path to glory, only an army of beasts to lead gloriously into battle. This link between the talonstones, Divhs, and the crown—that’s true partnership. It’s connection and communication, not domination. Rihad may have figured out the piece with the talonstones as a directional tool for the skrill, but how Mirador originally used the crown to summon the Divhs? I don’t think so. And if he doesn’t know that, there’s probably more about the crown he doesn’t know.”
“The crown that doesn’t exist anymore,” I say, a little bitterly.
Fortiss’s gaze swings to me. “The Divhs would never have told us this if we didn’t ask. That rule seems inviolate. Yet nobody thought to ask. Nobody thought to rise up and challenge everything we thought we knew, not realizing that there was so much more out there than we could even grasp.”
“Some tried,” I counter, thinking of the Savasci. “But they couldn’t get far. We’re the ones with the army of giant Divhs. That would tend to shut down a lot of conversation.”
Fortiss nods. “Tennet—go wake up Nazar and Caleb. If we can find some of these talonstones and use them to help us travel, those two will be the ones make the attempt. Talia, come with me. Lord Daggar was pretty remarkably clear on where the vault was that houses those stones and some of the ancient books. We need to go there, now.”
I squint at him. “You really think he’s going to allow us to go roam around his house unaccompanied in broad daylight? Even if they don’t know exactly what they have?”
Fortiss blows out a heavy breath. “Well…fair. But we need to act soon. Tonight, I think. Something’s felt off since the moment we hit the plains in front of this house. And if it’s simply this supply of talonstones and maybe the actual crown of wings sitting buried in a chamber somewhere, waiting for its rightful owner to claim it…”
He meets our gazes steadily—first Tennet’s and then, for a longer beat, mine. “Then tonight, we begin a new dawn for the Protectorate.”
Chapter 28
Dinner with Lord Daggar is nothing like what I expect. Then again, little has been what I expected in the Eighth House.
First off, we dine in a room that’s only slightly bigger than the bedchamber that Miriam and I have been assigned. Secondly, our dining party is conspicuously small. I’m told by Caleb that Lord Daggar is married and has grown children who serve as magistrates and functionaries in the mountain villages that spread out from the Eighth House, ensuring the protection of the border remains constant and fierce.
Caleb also learned that The Eighth House has its own set of priests of the Light, a true luxury this far away from the heart of the Imperium but another sign that the house hues to old ways. Nazar was keenly excited to meet these worthy men, the first true priests that he’s encountered in the Protectorate, and throughout the long walk to this inner sanctum, he practically buzzed with inquisitive energy, rivaling only Caleb in his interest in everything around him.
But none of those priests are here tonight. Neither is Lord Daggar’s family. No one is here tonight but Daggar and a coupleof the same stone-faced guards whom we’d met out on the open plain.
A faint scuffling noise sounds beneath Miriam’s feet as she seats herself, and I give her a sharp look, wincing inwardly at her grimace. At least we’re not completely alone. Though I’m not sure if hummerlets are considered decent dinner company.
I don’t mind having Divhs on hand, though, even very small ones. Because this private dining room of the Eighth House is buried so deep inside the keep, it almost feels like we’re celebrating inside a tomb. The walls are paneled with a deep, dark wood, intricately inlaid with stone in a swirling, sinuous pattern that evokes snakes so powerfully it feels as if they’re going to crawl right off the walls.
Lord Daggar waits until we’re all served wine, then he stares around at us, flagon in hand. “Tonight, we welcome the return of the lord protector and his interest in preserving the safety of the Protectorate—a visit we’ve waited patiently for these past twenty years,” he says, raising his cup high. “It’s been far too long since I’ve told the story of this house and our place in it. Such stories were meant to be celebrated by those who hand them down directly, not buried in books or twisted on the lips of dilettante bards. We are a proud house, the first to rise up after the Great Conflict.”
“We honor you, your house, your family, and your priests,” Fortiss says, lifting his cup as well. “I apologize that our unexpected arrival is happening while so many of your people are away. Light willing, we’ll have the opportunity to break bread with them in the coming days.”
“Light willing,” Daggar agrees. He lifts his cup, then drinks deeply. I glance over at Fortiss, accepting his slight nod as all the approval I need to drink as well. If Daggar wanted us dead, he could easily accomplish it in this room where none could reach us. Yet the same could have been true of any room in this keep,built as it is against the mountain. It’s the perfect stronghold for a defensive lord.
Is that why Rihad never returned here? Did he sense that this was a place built for war, not for peace—a war that perhaps never truly ended?
I set down my cup, and my next words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Lord Daggar, your holding is as far west as the Tenth is east in the Protectorate, yet they couldn’t be more different. Ours was built to sustain a small set of families, giving them support and protection as we watched over the pass that joined our land with the Imperium. But your house is not only larger, it’s far more fierce. If the former lord protector didn’t visit more often, perhaps it’s simply because he knew he had nothing to fear with you standing at the ready with sword and shield.”
Daggar eyes me with cool disinterest, as if my observation had been offered up by a passing scullery maid. Then his lips twitch into a condescending smile. “Lady Talia.” His nod is perfunctory. “By ‘ours’ I assume you mean the house of your father, Lord Lemille or perhaps your betrothed, Lord Tennet, as both of those holdings cleave to the far eastern border. In either case, you’re right. The Eighth House rose up out of the ashes of the Great Conflict, sustaining itself on a steady need to defend our great land. Lord Protector Rihad saw that with his own eyes. Why he never chose to return is someone else’s story to tell, not mine.”
He swings his gaze to Nazar as I clench my hands into fists, twin daggers of embarrassment and fury piercing me to the quick. Both my anger and my shame are heightened by the simple fact that he’s right. I have no house of my own. It will take years, if not decades, to build a house that is anything like this one, along with men and supplies I have no way of paying for. Talia of the Thirteenth house, bearer of the winged crown—that all has a nice ring to it, but it’s no more accurate than the romances spun by the traveling bards that Daggar so clearly disdains.
He’s not wrong about them. Is he wrong about me?
“Priest Nazar, you honor both your party and this holding by your presence. It’s been some years since I have spoken to a priest trained in the heart of the Imperium. It’s rare that they travel so deeply into the Protectorate. But ours is a story all should know, from the humblest stableboy to the Imperator himself. To allow it to fall into obscurity is to invite disaster.”
