“There were blessings, herbs, and tinctures involved, and there was also cold strategy,” I tell him with a grim smile. “There were many babies born that month to the Tenth House women, a spike of fertility that would have made it into the tales of many a passing bard if any were allowed close.”
“She’d made plans to…adopt someone else’s baby?” he asks, aghast. Caleb may have been schooled in the art of combat and war, but clearly, he has no idea what it takes to be a woman in the Protectorate.
I shrug. “She did what she felt she needed to, in order to spare my life and the life of whatever child she gave birth to, boy or girl. And it worked. Merritt was born—legitimately, by all accounts—and my father never raised a hand against me after that unless he was drinking. I learned quickly enough to avoid him during those times. Except for when he sliced my neck when my brother was maybe a year old, I never faltered in my vigilance. As you can imagine, I was far more careful after that event.”
“Blood and stone,” he mutters. Then glances back over his shoulder. “Lord Tennet doesn’t have a case though, does he? I mean, he can bluster all he wants about the marriage contract, but it’s not binding…right?”
“It’s not,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. Still, I push on, as if by a sheer volume of words I can convince the Light that it’s so. “Orlof contracted for the second-born daughter of the Tenth House, not the firstborn, first-blooded daughter with a warriorband on her arm. He wanted Talia of the Tenth, not Talia of the Thirteenth.”
“Still…” Caleb holds up both hands as I slant a glare at him. “I’m just saying, maybe you should talk to Nazar about this, before Tennet puts his question to Fortiss or the councilors.”
“The councilors.” My lips twist in disgust, but the clutch in my chest isn’t going away, and I know Caleb is right. “They’re as close to useless as anyone I’ve ever met. They stood by for the last decade and more, letting Rihad nearly destroy the Protectorate. They threw Rihad in prison and then moved him to a nicer cell not a day later.”
“I mean, he hasn’t woken up since he fell on the battlefield,” Caleb points out. “It’s been four weeks, and he hasn’t so much as twitched.”
“But he hasn’t died yet,” I insist stubbornly, my voice dropping even more. There’s magic happening here that’s not of the Light, swirling and whirling around the First House. Fortiss has changed, I know he has, while Rihad…“He hasn’t changed, Caleb. Fortiss took me to him two days ago. For a man who hasn’t visibly consumed water or food for the last four weeks, he hasn’t shrunken an ounce. His face is full, his skin warm, his sleep is easy. He might as well be taking a nap. How is he managing that?”
“Not from walking the Lighted path, that’s for sure,” Caleb mutters, and I make a swift, impatient gesture.
“Definitely not. I think he’s in the plane of the Divhs, getting his sustenance there.”
He blinks. “But you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t I? I mean, I haven’t asked Marsh, but that never even occurred to me.”
I shake my head. “Gent says Rihad’s not there—or his Divh. He says that Rihad’s scorpion died in that final attack in the melee, but that’s all wrong too, from what I’m gathering fromhim. Rihad’s Divh shouldn’t have died, since Rihad didn’t. But I can’t quite understand everything he’s trying to tell me. It’s not like he talks in linear sentences.”
Caleb snorts. “At least he talks. Marsh mostly communicates by pointing at things impatiently, trilling, and expecting me to understand. That said…I didn’t realize Rihad’s Divh was so broken in the melee. I mean, it disappeared, sure, but?—”
“But a Divh doesn’t automatically die when their warrior dies,” I finish for him. By now we’ve reached the stalls where our horses have been stabled since the close of the tournament. I glance back to see that Tennet and his men have gone, leaving their horses in the capable hands of the First House workers. “Not unless they’re mortally wounded. And Rihad’s flying scorpion wasn’t. Gent is sure about that. Only he’s gone—absolutely vanished. And apparently, that means he’s dead.”
“And Gent has no idea why?”
“Oh, he has plenty of ideas, but they’re all words I’ve never heard of. Like I said, it’s tied to some kind of magic that Rihad played out before the melee even started, magic that’s all bound up in the books and scrolls that Fortiss is poring over.”
We turn back toward the First House, though my strides are shorter now, slower.
Caleb frowns my way. “You heard that resonance in Fortiss’s voice, didn’t you? I didn’t make that up in my own mind. He sounded like Rihad when he wanted to get all lord protector on people. I thought it was just an affectation that he turned on and off like a bard would—a vocal trick to make his voice carry. But when Fortiss spoke just now, he had the exact same trick.”
“Mhmm.” I sigh, my head officially starting to hurt. “So you’re thinking, maybe it’s not a trick?”
“I mean…what if it is something tied to his lord protector status, and nothing more than that? He was officially blessedinto the role, and we didn’t see any of what went into that. Could he have been given special…I don’t know, powers?”
I rub my brow, as if I can scrub all these thoughts away. “I have no idea. He’s not supposed to have any. The power of the Protectorate is wrapped up in the might of its leaders and their Divhs. That’s the way it’s been since time immemorial.”
“So says the woman who shouldn’t even have a Divh,” Caleb points out cheerfully. He claps me on the back. “But hey! If nothing else comes of Tennet’s arrival, at least we’re going to get a good meal of it. And since he’s your betrothed and all—maybe you should put on a dress.”
I shove him back—then stop short when there’s another commotion at the front gates.
“Seriously, this is the most activity that’s happened here in a month,” Caleb says, slowing down to peer that way as well. “Are these more of Tennet’s men? Maybe an entire troupe of bards to sing at your wedding?”
He laughs as he ducks away from my punch to his right arm, but we both watch the initial brace of horses that trot through the gates, our vantage point keeping us from seeing much more than the scramble of people getting out of their way until Caleb and I realize the truth at the same time?—
“They’re wearing Tenth House green,” Caleb blurts. “It’s yourfather.”
Chapter 5
“What are theydoinghere?” Caleb practically chokes on his own words as I pull him back behind a farmer’s cart, which is piled high with enough fruits and vegetables to tide anyone from the First House over until the next full market day.
“I don’t know, but what do I do now?” I glance quickly from the oncoming men to Caleb’s face. “Should I go out and greet him? I have no standing in this house. I’m not part of?—”
