37. Rorax
The infamous night of drinking and partying after the Tournament of Houses lived up to all the rumors—that this was the single most exciting night of debauchery in the Realms. It hadn’t disappointed Rorax in the slightest.
She’d never seen ale and wine consumed in such quantities.
Jia had made it all the way to the semi-final round, where she’d narrowly lost to Kaiya Whitethorn.
The man with the ten-pointed star, or Cannon, as Captain Lamonte had called him, had leveled Kaiya, putting her on her back without breaking a sweat. Just like that, he and the House of Death were the new Tournament of Houses champion, taking the title from Volla.
The crowd loved him. Rorax’s chest had thrummed with the vibrations of the excited spectators stomping and screaming his name, but he acted like he didn’t feel it or couldn”t sense that they had been boisterously celebrating his victory and didn’t acknowledge them. Even tonight she hadn’t seen him yet among the revelers.
Because Cannon and Kaiya had led the standings in the tournament, House of Death placed first, then House of Ice. House of Fire took third. House of Alloy had placed fourth, and an angry looking Niels had grabbed the medal for his House and shoved it in a bag.
House of Life had taken dead last, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone.
Jia and Rorax didn’t participate in the Feast, as much as Rorax wanted to. The Wolf had always forbidden her from any kind of sustenance that would impair her performance. She hated to admit it, but it was good practice, especially on a night where so much could be learned.
They circled the grounds all night, looking for any pieces or tidbits of information they could find, watching the Contestars and the Emissaries to see who they talked to, who they watched, and where they went.
Rorax saw Kiniera and her spies out on the grounds, keeping themselves hidden in shadows. Anything she and Jia missed, Kiniera would find.
Jia nodded to a group of Weather guards who appeared to be three sheets to the wind. “That’s the Wind Emissary’s second. I’m going to go see if they know anything about what their emissary is thinking concerning the Selecting.”
She slinked off, and Rorax found a new conversation to listen to.
Unsurprisingly, none of the Highborns stood out to her as someone she would trust with the Realm’s most powerful position.
Isgra had gotten absolutely piss drunk within the first thirty minutes of the Feast. She hadn’t even bothered to socialize with the emissaries or with anyone of any influence who could solidify her position with a Protectorate. She must have thought her showing in the tournament would be enough, which for some Houses it would have been.
After studying the Contestars for days, Rorax concluded there was only one who may be worthy of being Guardian. Enna Mistvalley, the Lowborn from the House of Fauna, was the only Contestar she could reasonably recommend.
Enna was knowledgeable about the Realms, focused, intelligent, polite, funny, and charismatic. After an hour of watching Enna from the roof of a merchant’s temporary stall—endlessly listening to her ramble on about politics with the Air emissary—Rorax knew Enna was the one who she would support and protect to the end of the Choosing.
Enna would be the one she”d champion to become the next Guardian of the North.
Rorax’s chest warmed, and a steely determination filled her. It was still early in the Choosing, and Enna could prove to be a coward or a liar, but so far, she was the only Contestar Rorax believed showed the characteristics of being worthy to be the next Guardian of the Realms.
Enna had been mediocre in the arena, but her skill with a blade was something they could work on, and it was too early to know if she had any skill with the magick she would soon hold.
Rorax continued to watch her from the shadows of the rooftop until she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she knew she was being watched.
She lowered herself flatter against the makeshift roof and looked around before finding two pairs of familiar eyes on her.
Rorax grinned at the befuddled expressions of the House of Death’s prince and its red-headed emissary.
The Death Prince didn’t smile back, but Milla’s face split into a little grin. She motioned Rorax over, so Rorax slipped down from the roof, hitting the ground in a crouch.
She wiped her hands on the back of her leather pants and ignored the startled glances people sent her way as she moved over to them. She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to like you two, but I’ve been up there for hours and you’re the first to have noticed.”
Milla laughed. “Really?” At the same time the prince grumbled, “What the fuck were you doing on the roof?”
Rorax nodded at Milla, addressing her question first before looking up to the prince.
Why were all the men here so gods damned mesmerizing? The prince had the most handsome golden eyes Rorax had ever seen. “I am doing some recon on who I want to help through the Choosing to become the next Guardian.”
The prince crossed his arms over his chest squinting down at her. “What are your opinions of everyone thus far?”
Rorax looked between the two, hesitating. They hadn’t shown any signs of being openly malicious or openly favorable to any of the Contestars. If Rorax couldn’t convince them to be her Protectorate, then she needed to try to guide them into protecting someone worthy of their strength. Good thing she knew just the one.
“I’ve been mostly focused on the Lowborns. The Highborns don’t interest me as much.”
“Why not?” Milla interrupted, waving her hand vaguely at Enna. “Lowborns aren’t as well connected, barely have any magick, and are usually—with the exception of you—not as well trained.”
Rorax shuffled her feet, unsure of just how much information to divulge. “Well, I think connections are part of the Highborn problem. Stella is from the House of Alloy, and Isgra is from a province of Fire that is largely propped up by Alloy’s economy.”
Milla hummed and the prince narrowed his eyes even further. Rorax pushed on. “Lily is from House of Water.” Which was an explanation all on its own. “And Serena is House of Foliage—”
Milla cut Rorax off, raising her hand up. “But Foliage is notorious for their hand-to-hand combat and isn’t influenced by Alloy. Serena is both educated and trained.”
The prince silently nodded in agreement.
Rorax wondered how much information she could tell them, and how much would damn her and the operatives that Kiniera and Sahana had so painstakingly planted.
Rorax looked back and forth between them, indecision rolling around in her stomach uncomfortably as she rubbed her thumb over her bird skull ring. “Right . . .”
“Unless you know something we don’t?” Milla pushed, seeing her discomfort, and raising an eyebrow.
Rorax rubbed her finger over her ring again and took a deep breath. There was a long, awkward pause as Milla waited with her eyebrow still raised, and the prince’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at her.
She exhaled the breath she had been holding. Fuck it. “House of Foliage has been smuggling Alloy Star Diamonds out to Bracian to help them defend their borders from Umber for nearly fifteen years now. Just small ones, ones we aren’t worried about, but if you want a Contestar who comes from a family who most likely has a House of Alloy agenda, Serena would definitely be perfect for you.”
Star Diamonds were used in potions and spells to increase their potency and had been outlawed by the Guardians since the Breach.
The prince uncrossed his arms and his mouth dropped open. Milla also gaped, before her eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know?”
Rorax shrugged a shoulder. “A lot of intense research.”
There were sounds of movement from behind Rorax, and she turned to see the emissary Enna had been speaking to walk away.
“Enna!” Rorax barked out, and Enna’s head snapped over to look at them. “Come here,” Rorax said, waving her over before turning to the prince and Milla. “She’s unaffiliated with any undesirable parties, is extremely educated, and knows at least four types of Guerrilla fighting styles. Most importantly, she’s not an idiot.”
Rorax felt Enna at her elbow, and she turned to give the Contestar a gentle smile. “Enna, you know Milla, Emissary for House of Death, and the Prince of Death.” She waved a hand at the two.
Enna’s intelligent, caramel-colored eyes narrowed at Rorax in suspicion before turning to Milla and the prince and offering her hand. “Nice to see you again.”
Rorax excused herself immediately and turned away when they started discussing the tournament.
Rorax returned to the dark, unseen edges to watch the crowd some more. She moved around the grounds but didn’t see Jia or Kiniera again for the rest of the evening.
When all the major power players—emissaries, Contestars, and prominent Highborns—had long since disappeared back to the castle, Rorax finally emerged from the shadows and sighed.
Rorax started to walk back to the castle. She hadn’t learned anything useful to report back to Kiniera.
The Water Emissary, Dori Wolfmoon, was sleeping with the Water Princess in secret; the House of Air was putting together a fantastic bagpipe band to perform at the capitol parade when the Choosing was over, and the University of Poisons in House of Foliage was getting a new headmaster, were the only useless tidbits she’d gathered during the evening.
The sounds of a scuffle caught her attention and Rorax ducked in an aisle behind a big tent to avoid being seen before she went utterly still.
Four House of Alloy soldiers dragged an obviously very drunk man by his arms down the aisle.
“Narlaroca will be happy to see ya, Lieutenant,” drawled the man who appeared to be the leader of the four soldiers. “We’ve been looking for a way to get the House of Death to fall in line. Maybe the prince will care about your sorry ass enough to give in.”
Rorax took a step closer, trying to see who was being dragged along. She got as close as she dared, creeping past tents to get nearer until the drunk’s head rolled on his shoulders. A torch illuminated the unmistakable, strong lines of a handsome face that was bruised, swelling, and bleeding in spots.
She ducked down between two tents, her eyes wide and her heart pounding in her chest.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Lieutenant Dickbags.
“Mother fucker,” Rorax swore under her breath, leaning her head back to look at the sky.
Rorax had promised herself she would lay low and try to keep herself out of the crosshairs of the House of Alloy, especially after beating Narlaroca in the Tournament of Houses.
But if the House of Alloy had the lieutenant under their control, it was possible the Prince of Death could be coerced by them. It was possible that all the Houses—the whole Realm—would fall in line if Alloy secured even one more vote on the Council of Houses. She couldn’t let that happen.
K??n help me.
Decision made, she stepped out of the doorway, and followed where the men were dragging the lieutenant.
The next aisle had groups of people milling around still and was too crowded to fight the soldiers without possible civilian casualties, so she waited until the next one.
Then the next one.
The next aisle between the tents was deserted, and they were getting closer to the House of Alloy’s center. She couldn”t wait any longer.
Rorax unsheathed her sword and summoned Glimr to her palm.
The men paused, jerking around when they felt her presence behind them.
“Sorry, boys,” Rorax addressed them, gripping her sword in her right hand and Glimr with her left. “The lieutenant is with me.”
The leader looked her over with hungry eyes, turning to face her and taking a step closer. His eyes lit with recognition and his hungry eyes turned violent.
“I know you,” he spat out. “Ya went head-to-head with my commander today in the Tournament of Houses. Humiliated ‘er, you did.”
“Maybe we should teach you a lesson in humiliation then. Heard some women like that,” another man taunted, and they all chuckled. She could smell the whiskey on their breath from fifteen feet away.
Rorax smirked at the cocky invitation but didn’t deign to respond.
Without warning she sprinted towards them, and they took a startled step back. Rorax threw her knife hard at the man on the far left and lunged with her sword at the one on the far right.
They both fell to the earth, dead before impact.
She recalled Glimr, and targeted the third man, but the leader turned to her and stabbed at her with the knife he held in his hand.
She dodged his knife slicing just barely wide of her cheek, and shoved her sword through his chest.
He grunted and gurgled up blood that spewed from his mouth all over her arm and chest. She yanked out her sword, shoving the man’s body away from her, and cursed at the blood dripping down her front.
She had apparently missed her shot with Glimr, because with a backhand to her face, the third man sent Rorax’s head snapping to the side, splitting her bottom lip.
He landed another punch in her abdomen, and with a loud grunt it rocked her back a few steps. He swung another punch aiming for her face again, but she deflected the blow, grabbed onto his wrist, and jerked him towards her until his back was pressed to her front before sliding her sword across his throat.
He also gurgled blood onto her leathers before collapsing to the ground, and Rorax scrunched her nose with disgust.
With a quick look around to confirm she was alone with the lieutenant, Rorax bent down to wipe the blood off her sword on the grass. “Fucking disgusting,” she growled, summoning Glimr to her palm, and cleaning it, too, before sheathing both blades.
Ayres had toppled over, dropping like a rock where the men had let go of him. He now attempted to push himself up on his elbows. He took in the corpses of the men around him with big, confused eyes and swallowed hard. “Did . . . did I do . . . this?” the lieutenant asked, slurring all his words.
Rorax snorted. “No, I did.”
His eyebrows pulled together, and he looked even more confused than before. “Why?”
Rorax ignored Lieutenant Ballsack and looked up and down the aisle of tents for a moment before breathing out a heavy sigh. The aisle was completely empty, everyone here was either thankfully too drunk to care what the fighting had been about, or smart enough not to get involved. She was just going to leave the bodies here. She didn’t have the time or manpower to hide all four.
Where were the lieutenant’s men? Where were his people who were always so annoyingly present with him?
Rorax sighed, straightening up and offering him a hand. “Come on, Lieutenant. Let’s go. We’re going back to your room.”
He looked at Rorax’s palm like she’d stuck her hand in dog shit before offering it to him.
She shook her mostly clean hand impatiently at him. “Come on. I can’t leave you out here for Alloy to kidnap you again, or worse. I hate them more than I dislike you.”
The lieutenant”s mouth pressed down at the corners, but he reached forward and clasped her palm, letting her haul him up. She grunted loudly when his weight hit her.
He was unsteady at best and leaned precariously forward before she could stabilize him. This man was at least six-four—probably six-five—and felt like he weighed as much as a gods-damned horse.
As she struggled to keep him upright, she immediately regretted her decision to save him. “I should have let you die,” she grumbled.
The lieutenant just grunted his agreement.
They made their way slowly back to the castle, his weight pressing down on her and making her sweat and stumble with the effort. “Why . . .” She grunted, breathing hard. “Why are you so drunk?”
“Wanted to forget.” Ayres’s head lolled and he shuffled forward. “Bad . . . bad hunt tonight. Really bad.”
Rorax’s brows pulled together as she panted. “What . . . what do you mean, a bad hunt?”
He didn’t answer.
Rorax”s shoulder sang in agony, and she needed to take a break. She led him over to the side of the castle away from any tents or lingering people and eased him to the ground, propping his back up against the stone wall.
Rorax bent over to put her hands on her knees, sucking in air.
She should just leave him here, or maybe go get Lamonte to pick his ass up again. Saving him from the House of Alloy was more than enough of a good deed for one day.
There were a few people around, most of them too deep in their personal revelry to notice the two of them sitting there next to the castle, but two or three stragglers gave them strange looks that Rorax ignored.
Rorax’s hands were splayed out on her kneecaps, and Ayres reached up and tapped the bird ring that nevercame off her left pointer finger. His head lolled to the side as he looked up at her. “You do remind me of . . . a crow. Smart.”
Rorax snorted at the lieutenant’s slurred words. It was a shame. It might have been the nicest thing he had ever said to her, and he was too shit-faced to remember it.
“I’m going to call you that . . . from now on . . . little crow.”
Rorax huffed another laugh and he looked thoughtful for a moment before a shadow crossed his face.
“I . . . I was drinking tonight . . . because . . .” The lieutenant swallowed hard, and Rorax could have sworn that silver lined his eyes before he looked down to his tattoo-covered hands laying limp in his lap. “I . . . killed a little girl tonight.”
Rorax forgot her exhaustion. She forgot how to breathe.
Her spine straightened. She must have heard him incorrectly. “What did you just say?”
There was no way, no way, this self-righteous asshole was out there killing little girls. Somewhere deep in her soul, it just didn’t feel right.
The lieutenant shuddered, his head lolling to the side a bit. “They were trying to summon Sumavari’s monsters. I felt them pull the magick, when it . . . when they started but when . . . when I got there, I was too late . . .” Ayres’s voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “It’d already possessed her.”
Rorax’s heart thundered in her chest so fast she thought it was going to burst. “Sumavari’s monsters? But . . . I thought you needed Sumavari’s Books to do that. I thought Death had those locked up somewhere.”
“They stole them.” Ayres’s head lolled to one side so violently, he slid down the wall and toppled over. “During the Siege.”
Under normal circumstances, Rorax would have snickered at the lieutenant’s fucking idiocy, but she couldn’t do anything. Horror and shame pumped through her blood like hot lead. The ground underneath her started to sway, so she placed a hand on the stone wall next to her to steady herself.
During the Siege. Fuck. Fuck.
Sumavari’s monsters were a bedtime tale parents told their children at night to keep them in line. She wouldn’t have believed in them herself if it weren’t for the museum of bones in Valitlinn, or the countless history books she’d seen in the library confirming their existence.
That must have been why the lieutenant and his men always left the castle randomly, to prevent Lyondrea from using Sumavari’s Books to summon monsters.
A question she needed to know but didn’t want to ask burned on her lips. “Lieutenant, how exactly did they get the books from Surmalinn?” she whispered hoarsely.
“They stole . . . during the Siege.” the lieutenant answered into the dirt.
“The Siege?” Here it was.
“Mmmhmm. The Siege of Surmalinn.”
Her chest felt tight, and she couldn’t get any oxygen into her lungs.
Anxiety, fear, guilt, shame, and anger boiled through Rorax’s chest so fast she couldn’t latch onto anything. She felt like she was spinning out of control, even as she stood on solid ground.
There was a rumble of male voices laughing from somewhere in the sea of multicolored tents, and her head snapped over to look. When she couldn’t see any movement, she focused back down on the man who was almost passed out drunk in a heap at her feet and realized how truly vulnerable he was right now.
It suddenly felt critical that Rorax get this burly man tucked away into the safety of his room and she forced a breath into her burning lungs.
“Up. You have to get up. Now, Lieutenant,” Rorax snapped.
“Ayres.” The lieutenant raised his head from the ground to squint one eye at her. “My name’s not lieutenant.”
“Get the fuck up. It’s not safe here.” The lieutenant didn’t move, so Rorax bent low next to him and used her legs to lift him up. She moaned with the effort, her legs and back aching in protest at his weight. “K??n fucking help me, you”re heavy.”
They made their way around the castle to the front gates that had been left open for the night and struggled to the tower designated to House of Death. Adrenaline and panic coursed through her veins, spurring them on faster than before. Finally, they came to his room.
Rorax shoved the lieutenant off her in the hallway next to his bedroom, making him use the wall for support. Sweat dripped down her back.
She tried his handle, but it was locked. “Do you have a key?” she snapped at him. He showed Rorax the empty pocket of his damp pants and Rorax dropped her head back, letting out an exasperated sigh as she looked at the stone ceiling of the hallway.
Rorax needed to be alone, and she needed it now. She needed this beast of a man to be in his bed—safely—and then she needed to spend the next twenty years pacing her bedroom as she tried to figure out what to do.
In the only way a giant, deep voiced, beast of a man could drunkenly giggle, he did. “I always . . . always lock it.”
Rorax flipped the lieutenant off without looking back down at him or his gods-damned door.
“Listen,” she said, her voice tight as she finally dropped her head to glare at him again. “I need to go to my room to brood, so we need to get inside.”
He eyed her but nodded. “Fine.”
He lifted a key—that he pulled out of gods knew where—and she snatched it out of his fingers so fast the intoxicated lieutenant blinked at his fingers, confused. She unlocked the door and pushed it open before helping him stagger into his room.
Rorax carefully lowered him onto the bed, and almost as soon as the lieutenant hit the bed he started to snore softly.
She started to pace back and forth in his room, her limbs nearly bursting with nervous energy, her mind racing.
Sumavari’s Books. The Books of Summoning.
The books that could awaken and summon ancient horrors—such as Sumavari’s personal pet beasts that he’d used in the war named after him five hundred years ago. The books had been stolen the night she had laid siege to Surmalinn. If Lyondrea was trying to open the Pits and use Sumavari’s pets, they would have an uncontrollable hoard that no man or nation had the strength to repel.
Rorax looked around his room, not really seeing it, at a complete loss for what to do. She wrung her hands together but stopped when she noticed little flecks of blood on them from the men she’d killed earlier and took a deep breath to calm herself.
She should leave. She needed the lieutenant to be safe, and now he was.
Rorax jerked his comforter out from underneath his unconscious form and tossed it over him. Deciding he was going to be fine for the night in his room, she turned on her heel and walked out.
She clicked the door shut behind her before locking it and sliding the key back under the crack of his door.
Rorax took a step away but came to an abrupt halt when she came face to face with one of his fellow guards, Kaiya Thorn, the Defender of Whitewood. Rorax could see Kaiya’s giant, beautiful goldsteel battle ax slung over her shoulder, and from the way the woman was standing, Rorax knew Kaiya was seconds away from pulling it out and using it on her.
“What are you doing here?” Kaiya snapped, her eyes widened as she looked over Rorax and saw the blood on her leathers. “What happened, where is he?’
Rorax rolled her eyes. “Nice of you to show up after I get Lieutenant Dickbags safe and tucked in.” Rorax wiped the sweat off her forehead, trying not to snap at the guard. “He’s fine, he’s asleep. I just put him to bed.”
Kaiya folded her arms across her chest, her long white braids flowing almost to her waist. Her face morphed into a snarl, and she eyed Rorax’s split lip suspiciously. “Now tell me what happened, and how he got with you.”
Rorax ground her teeth, the wish to be alone becoming an urgent need. “The lieutenant got drunk. Really drunk. And no one from his fucking fan club was there to defend his virtue from a group of Alloy guards but me. They were taking him to Narlaroca to try and ransom him, but I killed them before dragging his sorry ass home.”
Kaiya blinked at her, and her bottom lip dropped open like she was at a loss for words, so Rorax turned her back and waved her fingers over her shoulder. “Have fun with his hangover tomorrow morning.”