Page 4 of Court of Talons

“Oh no, no, no. Not you too,” Merritt groans, waving at the stream that froths around the nearest rocky promontory. “Do what you want. I’mpracticing.” He dismounts with a light hop then unbuckles his sword and lets it fall to the ground.

I wince; beside me, Nazar also whispers a soft rebuke.

I should say something about the man in the forest, dressed richly in gold and black. Even if he’s no threat whatsoever, I should speak. But I only stare as Merritt bounds toward the small hill, scrambling up it to gain a better view of the devastation beyond. Meanwhile, one of our retainers picks up my brother’s sword and clutches it close, every inch the dutiful squire.

We have a pitifully small retinue of soldiers with us—only five, and not the strongest five of our house. But our father, above all else, wishes to draw no attention to our company until they are well and truly free of me. Until we reach the Twelfth House, we’re supposed to be ghosts.

Nazar and I dismount as well, but the priest makes no move toward the cheerfully babbling stream. Instead, he watches Merritt.

Since he first came to our house ten years ago, Nazar’s role has been to lead us in the rites and ceremonies of the Lighted Path, including the sacred transfer of our family’s Divh from Father to Merritt when Merritt turned twelve. The priest offered to oversee Merritt’s training as well, but Father told him he was far too old. He allowed Nazar only to speak aloud from the sacred book of war, while Father wielded both sword and stave.

Meanwhile, I watched them both. Whatever I heard, I memorized. Whatever I saw, I practiced silently and secretly inthe shadows. My father isn’t that great of a warrior, but he could teach well enough, and I suspect he simply didn’t want to give up his influence over Merritt—his only son.

Four children died in my mother’s womb before I was born; after Merritt’s birth, she could bear no more. Two years ago, she passed into the Light, which means that now, only my marriage contract keeps me breathing. Yet another reason we should keep moving on the road to the Twelfth House.

Alas.

The priest squints as Merritt reaches the top of the hill. “This is self-indulgent folly,” he mutters. “He has no intention of genuine practice.”

Like so many other things, it’s forbidden for any woman to speak of Divhs and training and battles. Despite my better sense, though, I can’t hold my tongue.

“Even if he did, what’s the point?” I grouse. “Merritt’s not allowed to enter the tournament, and he shouldn’t. I know Divhs aren’t supposed to get truly injured anymore when they fight in the tournament games. But this—” I wave at the destruction around us. “Whatever destroyed this valley must be five times the height of our manor house. Merritt’s nowhere near ready to face a creature so powerful, and our Divh is far too small to be of any use in that kind of battle.”

I shiver. Was the man I saw in the forest a banded warrior after all? Was it his Divh who caused the destruction here?

I should tell Nazar about him—but the priest turns sharply to me, his scowl dripping ice.

“Are you saying a first-blooded warrior knight shouldn’t enter the Tournament of Gold?”

“Well, I…no,” I stammer. Is Nazar testing me? I’m not sure. Nevertheless, I must tread lightly. There’s no need to irritate him further.

And what’s the harm, really, of what I found? The man I met was no villain, he was a nobleman of the First House—that much was abundantly clear. There are rules among the houses to keep all nobility safe, but I’ll be robbed of all my freedom for the rest of this trek if I reveal I was talking to some stranger like an idiot child.

I clear my throat. “I’m saying Father’s already made the decision. Merritt isn’t going to the tournament to compete, not this year. He’s going to purchase soldiers. That’s all. Light knows we need them.”

That shuts up Nazar for a breath, and for good reason. With every season, more marauders seem to be weaving through the forests at night, more criminals and refugees streaming across the borders from the east. This marriage alliance we’re forging with the Twelfth House will help strengthen our two border holdings, but not as much as a garrison full of able-bodied men will.

And to get those men, we need to go to the Tournament of Gold.

“Talia,” Nazar murmurs, and I realize he’s not looking at me anymore.

I quickly return my attention to the embankment and can’t help the surge of excitement that overrides my dismay. Every time Merritt summons the Tenth House Divh, it’s as if the very air carries a song of pure possibility. My breath catches, my pulse jumps.We’re in the mountains. No one will see—well, except a fellow nobleman to whom we are no threat.

In fact, maybe it’s a good thing if that man sees Merritt and his Divh. Maybe he’ll decide we are of no interest to Lord Rihad and his Court of Talons. Merritt’s too young to fight, our Divh too small. He’ll see that and ride away, and we will be safe in the mountains. Safe.

Besides all that, Merritt issummoninghis Divh!And this time, I’ll be allowed to see it, up close and in the light!

“Secure the horses,” I bark as my brother thrusts his left fist into the sky.

The men comply, more out of fear than any loyalty to me. It takes a trained battle mount to accept a Divh, and even Merritt’s warhorse swings his head as I race by him, his wild eyes also staring at the summit, his nostrils flaring.

Atop the ridge, Merritt claps his right hand to the thick leathery band that wraps tightly around his left bicep beneath his tunic.

“Gent!” he yells with delirious joy.

It’s his Divh’s name, a name I’ve never dared speak, not even in whispered imaginings as I’ve played at being a warrior knight. Certain indiscretions can be overlooked—but not that one. Though women can speak of Divhs in general terms, the name of a Divh is death to any female who utters it, no matter her blood or standing.

Merritt shouts it again.

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