“Go and fight, warrior Selena,” I command her. The scream of the phoenix fills the air as Selena turns toward the open plain.She breaks into a run, arms pumping, legs churning, and her phoenix sees her as of course only she can, the beacon of her warrior partner lit up like the sun. She swoops down with her talons bared, and moments later, the two of them vanish into the Blessed Plane to complete their bonding.
I turn to the next soldier nearest me, a guard whose face is a mass of scars and long-ago broken bones. His Divh appears in my mind’s eye, a mountain of a landed creature that looks like a fall of boulders taken physical form. We grasp left hands, the warrior’s massive paw dwarfing mine, and he proves himself to be a quick study. “I am Rud,” he shouts—and he still has to shout, as the screaming all around us has only gotten worse. Rud’s grip nearly crushes my bones as the band leaps from my arm to his, but his eyes glitter with ferocity and pride as his rock-boulder Divh roars ebulliently and pounds its way to him, running with both hands and feet connecting with the earth.
Rud turns and, as Selena did before him, shouts in pure, unfettered joy at the breathtakingly ungainly creature galloping our way. In that moment, he doesn’t look like a guard of nearly five decades in age. He may as well have been my own brother, seventeen years old, wild and free, racing toward his Divh and hurling himself forward, knowing that he would be caught.
The two practically collide before they vanish to the Blessed Plane.
The banding goes quickly after that. In less than a few hours, the full company of warriors has disappeared, and the wide plains before the Savasci’s camp have fallen quiet. Both Tennet and Syril search the heavens, him with something approaching shock on his face, her with pure wonder.
“What a gift you have given them, helping them become warriors, Lady Talia,” she murmurs.
To my surprise, Tennet turns on me, his eyes gone hard and fierce.
“She should be banded as well. You know that. If you’re going to band all these…”
I shake my head even as Syril scoffs at him. “You’ll all be as blind as newborn babes without my eyes to show you how the skrill play you for fools. Banding with the Divhs is not a prize to be awarded to the best at playing warrior games, not here, not now. We may as well be thrust back into that first Great Conflict, thirty horsemen facing a mountain spilling over with evil, seeking the aid of the most unlikely allies. We will fight in the way that we must.”
“Thenafterwards,” he stresses, not willing to cede the point.
In this at least, I fully agree with him. “Afterward you will have a Divh so fierce, it will give Tennet’s dragon pause,” I promise her.
She barks a laugh. “Done.”
We turn our attention to the far horizon. “Will they be ready to fight?” Syril asks quietly, though there’s no one left to hear but the healers standing at the ready for when the warriors return.
I shrug. “Most of them will. Some may be overcome with sickness and need to be tended, but they’ll join as soon as they can stand. Their bond with their Divhs will demand it. And if the Light blesses us with any luck at all, we’ll have the warriors from the other houses up and down the borders to aid us as well. We’ve seen only a little of what the skrill have to offer. We’ll need all the help we can get.”
Tennet glances around. “Where’s Fortiss?”
Syril sighs. “He’s gone back to the Eighth House to find what he may. Lord protector or not, he’s like every man in that regard. They’re never content to leave well enough alone, but the Eighth House holds on to its secrets tightly. If he’s not careful, it may hold on to him too.”
I look at her sharply. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing in the Eighth House anymore but illusions.”
“But what are illusions but shadows of what we expect to see?” Syril grimaces. “If there’s anything that can haunt the lord protector, he’ll find it. And when he finds it, he’ll learn truths he may not wish to know.”
“Blightedpath,” I mutter. “Tennet?—”
“I’ll take care of the warriors,” he booms, as I take off toward the horses. “You go bring our leader home.”
Chapter 35
Approaching the Eighth House feels exactly like riding into a graveyard—for all that I know this one is technically empty of the souls the skrill have claimed. I’m slightly surprised that my horse doesn’t balk as we approach, the mare’s strides long and sure as we gallop up the slow-rising grade to the main gate, which remains open, and into the grand courtyard. The horse that Fortiss commandeered is standing at the ready, though her bit has been loosened enough to allow her to enjoy the open bag of grain he’s left for her.
Dismounting quickly, I scan the courtyard. Is this the last place he stood? Is the warmth in the air still his? What if he’s already dead and ash in this house of horrors, lost to me?
No. That’s not an outcome I’ll ever allow.
I tie off my horse next to his and choke down my fear long enough to run up the stairs and into the front doors of the Eighth House, which has been opened wide. Now I see the foyer more clearly—the leaves scattered through it not the result of a sudden gust upon our arrival, but the first signs of a house falling into decay without the constant upkeep from an army of servants. I smell the staleness of the air that I simply didn’t notice yesterday and wonder how I could have missed it.
“Fortiss?” I call out. I have to make a second effort when my first attempt is little more than a whisper. “Fortiss!”
When there’s no response, I weather a wave of panic that roots my feet to the stone floor and force myself not to just tear off running through the keep. Yesterday, this place was filled with illusions—perhaps it still is. If this house is hiding Fortiss from me, no matter how many rooms I storm through…
I blow out a hard breath and reach out to Gent, imagining Fortiss lost in some shadowy chamber in this place. “How am I going to find him?” I whisper and receive his hooting reassurance in return.
Still, Gent can’t help in this, not really—unless I want him to pummel the Eighth House with his mighty fists until he shakes Fortiss loose. And if I don’t find Fortiss before too long, that’s exactly what I’ll ask him to do.
I’m halfway down the main corridor by the time I receive Gent’s full response. With an earsplitting cacophony of coos and chirps, a gaggle of hummerlets explodes through the front door and sweep toward me down the hall. I gape, then force myself to imagine Fortiss while shouting his name aloud. The fluttering, twittering creatures look at me questioningly as if I’m a fool, then dart off through the castle, their bellies lighting up as the way darkens.
