By the time we reach the First House again, the celebration in Trilion is already reaching a crescendo. It’s as if the collective breath of villagers has been let out, a burden unshouldered and allowed to crash to the ground. I know this celebration will continue for days, and I’m glad to leave them to it—but there are hours yet of celebrations I still must endure before I can finally break free.
Later that evening, the great hall of the First House buzzes with voices and music, the celebration reaching fever pitch as more and more villagers crowd in to toast their new lord protector. I watch as Fortiss moves through the crowd with practiced grace, accepting condolences for his uncle’s death even as he receives a second round of congratulations for his ascension. The duality of it all makes my head spin—or perhaps that’s the weight of the two crowns still hidden in my satchel, their power humming against my hip like a half-remembered song.
I close my eyes for a moment, letting the noise of the celebration fade as I reach out to Gent with my mind. The connection that was merely a whisper during the ending moments of the attack on the plains and this morning’s funeral procession is stronger now, and I can feel my mighty Divh’s presence with a familiar warmth that belies his monstrous form. It’s all I can do not to leave this crowd of celebrating people—even though my heart fills to nearly overflowing to watch Nazar and Caleb, Syril and Tennet, laughing and talking together. These are my people; these are my friends. But their song is not the one that calls me. Not tonight.
Still, I bide my time, understanding more with every passing hour how right Fortiss is. The Imperial delegation is still here,still watching. And the way of the warrior must be one of strategy as well as joy.
When I finally manage to slip away from the feast, my feet carry me toward the eastern overlook—the highest point of the First House grounds, where the cliffs fall away to reveal the vastness of the Protectorate stretching out below. The night air still carries traces of smoke from Rihad’s pyre, but even that is fading away, replaced by the winds of change. The world has been remade, and I’m still standing, no longer alone.
Never again alone.
I stride out on the overlook as I lift my hand high, reaching to the heavens. I reach for myself and for the Thirteenth House—I reach for Merritt and his irrepressible joy—but most of all, I reach for my glorious, magical, monstrous Divh, who even now is howling far away in the Blessed Plane, shimmering with joy.
“Gent,” I whisper.
Without another moment’s thought I race out, leaping up onto a chair—a table—and then launch myself off the edge of the banister to soar into the sky.
And, of course, he catches me.
Chapter 51
By the time I return to First House and collapse in near exhaustion, everything is quiet and still…so quiet and still that I fall face first into my bed and sink immediately into dreamless sleep.
I awaken in the early morning hours to find that Fortiss has found me. I hear him slip into the door and recognize his energy immediately, as if we’re now forged from the same magic that thrums in our twin crowns. His soft, quick footfalls across the floor of my bedroom echo my own rushing pulse, and he slips in beside me easily, as if, again, we’ve been joined together for years instead of what feels like mere moments. His presence here feels like the most natural thing in the world—as if my body recognizes his before my mind even registers who his is. How swiftly this man has become essential to me, a part of my being as vital as my connection to Gent, yet completely different.
Our words are soft in the darkness as our bodies intertwine, but with each sigh, each brush of our hands, our lips, our bodies, we’re writing a new story for the future.
I don’t know how this story will end, of course…but it’s certainly starting well.
After another full day of impressing the Imperial delegation and vowing our earnest loyalty to the Imperium, Syril, Tennet, Caleb, and I gather the following evening almost by unconscious agreement, warriors drawn together by our common bond. I have no doubt that the others of our small group will join us soon. It’s been a day full of so many plans, declarations, and promises, that it’s good to be with those who need to say very little to be understood.
This high above the open plains, the air carries the sweet, sharp scent of victory and woodsmoke as I lean against the banister of the First House’s eastern overlook. My hands ache from the day’s training, but it’s a good ache, one that reminds me I’m alive and whole, and that the days to come will hold no challenges so heavy that we can’t overcome them. The setting sun paints the wide plains in shades of gold and crimson, while far away in the Blessed Plane, I imagine our mighty Divhs soaring through a twilight sky, their shadows dancing across the waters of a shimmering lake. It’s an image I’ll never tire of seeing, either in my mind or with my own eyes.
“Our newest warriors are managing well—the ones who are back on their feet already, anyway,” Caleb says, sprawled in one of the carved wooden chairs that Fortiss had servants drag out here. His right arm gestures expansively at the vista before us. “They seem sort of stunned, though, and I guess I can’t blame them. An army of newly banded warriors and their Divhs, working together on the ground and in the sky, defeating an ancient evil? Rihad’s—well, Talia’s now—mighty scorpion actually helping us defeat his dark plan to destroy the Protectorate? The Imperial army seeing it all happen and stumbling around wonderstruck a full day later? It’s like something out of a bard’s tale.”
“One that no bard would dare tell,” Tennet puts in from his position near the edge of the overlook. He stands with his feetbraced, thumbs hooked in his belt, but his usual intensity is softened by the presence of Syril beside him—which is saying something, since the leader of the Savasci remains as fierce as ever. Her shoulder barely brushes his arm, yet I can see how the contact grounds them both. The mighty warrior of the Twelfth House has finally met his match, I think, and I can tell he doesn’t quite know what to do with that.
It’s all I can do not to grin.
“Oh, they’ll tell the tale,” Syril says dryly. “They’ll just get all the details wrong. In this case, though, it will be a blessing. Speaking of getting details wrong, however…” She casts a meaningful glance at Caleb, who immediately flushes red enough to match the sunset.
“Don’t start,” he mutters.
“Start what?” I focus more sharply on my friend, only it’s Syril who’s grinning now, her expression turning even more gleeful as Caleb waves her off.
She pays no attention. “Oh, nothing. Just warrior Dara of the Savasci following our young friend around like a love-struck falcon. She’s quite taken with his ‘heroic battlefield prowess.’”
Caleb groans and slumps farther in his chair, which only invites more good-natured laughter. “She just wants to learn more about working with Marsh,” he protests. “She’s fascinated by how we coordinate our attacks.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Tennet drawls, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Syril. The soft grunt he makes at the jab is deeply satisfying to me. Syril has particularly hard elbows.
“Leave him be,” Fortiss says, emerging from the doorway with a flagon of wine and several cups balanced carefully on a tray. His eyes meet mine briefly as he moves to set them down, and the warm pride in his gaze makes my heart skip. The fadingsunlight catches in his hair, turning it to molten gold. “We’ve all found unexpected connections through this conflict.”
“Indeed, we have,” Nazar agrees, following with bread and cheese that fills the air with sharp, homey scents. Miriam completes our party, carrying a stack of leather-bound books that she sets carefully aside before helping to distribute the wine. The leather bindings smell of age and secrets, adding to the air of possibility that weaves around us, drawing us close.
We settle into a comfortable circle, the fellowship of shared battle making formal seating arrangements unnecessary. I find myself between Fortiss and Caleb, their shoulders forming a protective bracket that feels entirely natural. I’d trust either of them with my life and would gladly lay mine down for them—for anyone here, really. The realization fills me with a real and lasting peace. The wine—some of the Twelfth House’s finest—is rich and dark, tasting of berries and summer heat.
“I’ve been reviewing some of the texts we recovered from the Eighth House,” Miriam says after we’ve all taken our first sips. “The accounts of the Western Realms before the Great Conflict are fascinating. There are hints of an entire civilization there, one that worked with both light and shadow. It bears…exploration.”
