A Whisper in the Walls

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For Kristin Nelson.

My champion from the very start.

PART ONE

The Game

1

REN MONROE

It was hard to feel like an honored guest when no one would speak to her.

Ren Monroe found herself at yet another party in the Heights. Tonight she was a guest of the Grand Emissary of Kathor. His handwritten invitation had possessed more warmth than all the conversations she’d attempted thus far. She’d arrived an hour ago. Theo had been stolen away to a private room for an arranged meeting with the viceroy himself. The other Broods sought out their own comfortable circles, leaving her completely alone.

Ren tried not to feel bitter about Theo’s absence. She knew tonight was important. The warden had announced his retirement. There were one hundred livestone statues scattered around the city, eagerly awaiting the command of a new master. It was possible the viceroy would even go as far as assigning Theo the post tonight. She remembered sitting by a fire, when they were lost in the mountains, and listening to Theo talk about this dream of his. He’d secretly been working toward it for years. And then she remembered who else had been sitting around that fire. Cora had been asleep. Timmons had been sitting close enough to Ren that their knees had been touching.

Before I let both of them die…

Ren shoved that thought back into a shadowed cage in the corner of her mind. She took a deep breath and tried once more to join the nearest conversation. Music danced in and out of their words. As she approached, however, the group fell silent. She received a polite nod, a quiet compliment on her dress, and then suddenly they had somewhere else to be. It was hard not to feel like this was an echo of the past. A year ago Timmons had forced Ren to attend another party in the Heights. A slightly wilder one. That night, Theo had been their host. Ren remembered sitting alone on a couch, sipping her drink and watching all the other students who’d already secured their bright futures. That version of her felt a world away. She’d gone through so much. Surviving in the wilderness. Escaping from a revenant. Bonding to a scion of a great house.

And yet here she was—alone once more.

As she watched the group depart, Ren spotted Landwin Brood. He was seated near the fireplace in the study across the hall. He caught her eye, raised his glass, and offered a satisfied smirk. Her social status was undoubtedly his doing. Similar obstacles had risen time and time again over the last few months. As she finished classes at Balmerick, she’d quietly probed for potential alliances. Classmates, teachers, anyone. But even the Broods’ staunchest rivals—the Shiverians—refused her offers to meet. It wasn’t exactly a problem that she could bring to Theo, either. After all, how would she explain the why behind her desire to make those new connections?

Well, I need someone powerful, who hates your family, to help me destroy your house. Any ideas?

It was already difficult enough for Ren to veil her feelings from him. Their bond offered emotional insight into each other. Brief slashes of raw feeling. Ren had gotten quite skillful at summoning new explanations whenever he sensed that slumbering rage that lived inside her.

Almost on cue, Theo came thundering up the steps. He nodded once to his father before turning to Ren, concern written on his face. Everything all right?

He can feel my frustration. Yes, of course. I just got the wrong name for one of the Jamison sisters. It’s nothing. I was just embarrassed. What about you? How was your meeting?

Confidential, he replied, then winced at how haughty that sounded. For now. I’m sorry. It was just a preemptive conversation. He wanted to know about… what happened to us.

In the mountains?

It was a foolish question. That was all anyone wanted to know about her and Theo. The rumors surrounding their time in the mountains were many, a culmination of stories that were starting to edge into myth.

Yes. More out of curiosity than anything. I… I think he might have been vetting my handling of Vega. Making sure I’d demonstrated clear skill… He shook his head. I don’t know.

Theo was biting his lip. She did her best to focus—ignoring his father looming in the background—and set her eyes on the uncertain boy she’d bonded with. The boy to whom her entire future was now tethered. Who else would they consider for the role?

Theo’s eyes darted nervously about the room. The retiring warden has a nephew serving in the guard. He’s not from a major house, but he’s got plenty of actual experience. The Carrowynd family has a daughter—Zell—who has livestone training like me, but I’m not sure if they had the same intentions that I had when we commissioned Vega. Traditionally, the crown wants someone young who can fill the post for several decades. But what if they ignore tradition? There are generals from the War of Neighbors who would be very sensible choices.…

But you’re the best fit?

He blushed slightly. Yes, I am the best fit.

That was good. Theo was already powerful, but she’d learned about the structure of his family over the past few months. He was a generation away from proper influence. If Ren wanted to destroy House Brood, she still had a lot of careful planning and waiting ahead of her. Being engaged to the new warden, however, would usher in a measure of influence that was not directly tied to House Brood. That might provide opportunities for Ren as well. She found herself nodding.

Worrying won’t help, she said. Why don’t you refill my drink instead?

That earned an unceremonious snort from him. But Theo accepted the invitation, leading her into the next room, where an open bar was waiting. Ren caught a final glimpse of Landwin Brood. He was deep in conversation, but that didn’t stop his eyes from flicking up as they passed. It was good to know that he at least thought she was worthy of his attention.

Theo procured a new drink for her. The weight of that cold glass in her hand brought on another echo of memory. Last year, she’d set down a glass just like it as Timmons drew her out to dance on the balcony. The revelry had paused when Theo took the stage. He’d performed his fateful party trick, which sent a massive instrument crashing recklessly down into the city. His worst hour had been an opportunity for Ren. A door opening in the dark. She had been brave enough to walk through it—and now she felt there was no turning back. She could only press on deeper into the shadows and hope there was some light waiting for her in the distance.

A dinner bell rang before they could take their first sips. Theo led them through the crowd, heading for the sprawling banquet table in the far corner. Ren paused at the threshold, eyeing the available seats, and was surprised when Theo tugged her on toward the staircase.

… what are you doing? she asked.

We were asked to sit up here tonight.

She raised a curious eyebrow. Theo grinned at her reaction. Clearly, he knew something was afoot. Ren felt a pulse of adrenaline. The upper floor was always reserved for the lords and ladies that ruled their city. At these obnoxious dinner parties, the heirs normally sat at a separate table, almost always a floor below. Ren and Theo had found themselves positioned that way at any number of parties this summer, fraternizing with the other young men and women who would one day be handed empires.

Now she allowed herself to be drawn up the stairs into the presence of true power. She had to remind herself that there was nothing special about the people in the room. No blood or magic that ran through their veins that made them any different—any better—than her father and mother. Still, it was hard not to feel the weight of their collective meaning to the city. Like entries from a history book that were stepping out of the pages, taking on flesh and bone before her.

There was Able Ockley, the most dangerous duelist in the city. He was lost in conversation with Ethel Shiverian—she and her sister had practically invented the levitation magic that was keeping them all afloat right now in the Heights. Not to mention a hundred other spells. Balmerick’s headmaster—Priory Woods—looked red-faced and drunk, though that did not stop the grand emissary from sweeping over to pour more wine in her cup. Other members of the ruling houses were present: the Graylantians, the Proctors, and the Winterses. At the head of the table, the viceroy sat like a golden seal confirming their power. All of them chatted amicably as servants glided ghostlike in the background.

Theo guided Ren to where the other Broods were sitting. Landwin sat in gilded silence. His wife—Marquette—always seemed positioned slightly behind him, even when seated next to each other at the table. She kept her hair short, beautifully shaved on one side, and appeared to be uninterested in the conversations around them.

Ren’s attention was drawn by obnoxious laughter to the eldest son and heir to their house: Thugar Brood. She’d learned that his great vice was the flesh, which meant he rarely took notice of Ren. He kept himself in prime physical condition, nothing wasted, and his wife looked like she’d walked right out of a drunk’s fantasy. Ren thought if a single thread of her dress unraveled, she might come pouring out onto the table.

Beside them sat Tessa Brood. The girl waited, straight-backed with her hands folded neatly in front of her. Ren thought she was the most dangerous of the group. Quiet and intelligent. Tessa was a famous singer who had earned a permanent role in the city’s finest acting troupe. Ren had initially believed it the result of nepotism. Most of their positions were the result of nepotism. But then she’d heard Tessa sing. Her voice was threaded through with gold. It might have been more moving if she hadn’t heard Tessa use that same voice to skewer servants for even the slightest errors. She was tilted ever so slightly toward her mother, quietly commenting on something.

Theo and Ren took the two remaining seats. She felt a blush creep down her neck as their movement became some unspoken, final piece to the puzzle. As they sat—completing the table—the other conversations in the room fell quiet. Servants tucked away neatly into the corners of the room, nearly blending in with the wallpaper behind them.

The viceroy stood, tapping his glass with a spoon.

Delvean fairy tales were full of bumbling kings. They failed to do their duties and any number of wizards would arrive to save the day. The viceroy didn’t fit into those old stories. His ability with magic had been unrivaled at Balmerick—Ren knew some of his records there had endured the test of time. That felt like an important foundation for the man who existed as the primary check on the influence and power of the five major houses. His gray hair was thick and long, brushed back artfully. He had high cheekbones and a narrow jaw, covered over by a neat gray beard. He’d risen through the government—a second son from one of the minor houses—and Ren marveled at his calm as he addressed the wealthiest members of their society.

Good evening, he began. I have several announcements that deserve your undivided attention—and then we will get back to the business of growing fat and happy. First, we’ve negotiated a new position with Ravinia. The recent sanctions against the freeport have been lifted. All of you may resume whatever trading you pretended to cease over the past three months. Everything can be out in the open again. Business as usual.

There were a few nods, a few raised glasses.

Next, I would ask Theo Brood to stand.

A shiver ran down Ren’s spine. It felt like her name had been called too. She watched as her bond-mate took his feet. There was a lesson for her there, written in his posture. Power in the way he lifted his chin, set his shoulders, and stood before the closest thing they had to a king.

"As many of you know, the defense of our city—and its interests—is paramount. For all the petty rivalries that exist between the great houses, we have always been unified by that common interest. If war knocks on our door, we all answer. If a plague comes, we all share the antidote. It has always been this way between us. In peace, the best are allowed to thrive and survive. But in times of trial, the city’s livelihood is our greatest priority. Kathor comes first.

"As such, we take any appointment to the city’s defenses very seriously. It is no small task to be one of the shields that stands between Kathor and its enemies. After all, there are many who would take joy in seeing us fall. Any person appointed to such a role walks out into the world bearing our seal on behalf of our people. Theo Brood, do you think yourself worthy of such a calling?"

Ren could sense the emotions that question stirred in him. This was a moment that he’d patiently approached for many years. Now that it was here, he showed no signs of nervousness.

I am ready and willing. My worth will be proven in time, Viceroy.

She saw the viceroy’s eyes flick briefly to the right. When Ren followed his gaze, she caught the most subtle of nods from Landwin Brood. A silent confirmation between them. Then the viceroy’s attention swung back to Theo.

Well spoken, the viceroy said. It is my honor then, on behalf of House Brood, to approve you as the next watcher of the valley. I am sure you’re familiar with this position. After all, a Brood has held the post—or a version of it—for nearly a century.…

Ren might have missed what had happened if she didn’t feel pain sear a path across their bond. Her stomach turned and it took all her self-control to not react to that sudden rush of emotion. Theo’s pain dripped into her. His disappointment flooded her mind. She finally saw the error. He was not being named warden. The viceroy had used some other term.

… the watcher might be a family title—and the mountain castle might belong to the Broods—but it also acts as a functional piece in the armor that Kathor wears. Thus, it falls to me to give final approval for the man or woman who should claim one of the most time-honored posts in our city’s long history.…

She noted the others’ reactions just as Theo’s emotions honed into a fine-pointed shame. All around the table, smiles like daggers. The worst were offered by his own family. Thugar looked like he was barely keeping himself from laughing. His sister wore a condemning smirk. His mother’s eyes were downcast. Landwin Brood did not bother with the effort it took to smile. He simply watched his son take in the weight of what was happening. Ren could not help admiring the way Theo kept his face neutral. Even as the entire table enjoyed some joke at his expense, he stood his ground and pretended indifference. Ren felt a fierce sense of loyalty to him at that moment. Completely separate from their bond. Her fingers itched to reach for her wand and wipe the smiles off their faces. She’d never heard of that specific title, but the expressions around the table made it clear: this was no desirable fate.

… you will take a few days, gather your possessions, and make your way to Nostra. You go with the full commendation of this city, the full support of your house, as well as the faith of your people. Everyone, raise a glass to Kathor’s newest watcher of the valley.

A raucous cheer rang out, followed by the clinking of glasses. Those sounds could not fully hide the curious whispers around the room. Theo didn’t react the way Ren might have. He simply bowed his head, rather than thundering angrily out of the room. She felt that pitted dread in his stomach begin to roil. It was burning a path toward something Ren found far more useful: anger.

Theo took his seat and refused to look at any of his other family members. She waited to ask him until the servants hustled out the first course, distracting those seated nearby.

What just happened, Theo? Where is Nostra?

She had a vague inkling of an idea. A memory from some corner of a map.

Exile, he whispered back. My father has exiled me.

As a plate appeared in front of her, Ren heard the unspoken words at the end of that sentence. Words Theo would never say aloud, because he cared too much for her, even if they were true.

My father has exiled me… because of you.

Ren didn’t understand all the implications. She lacked context. Was it a true exile? Something else? For a while, the two of them sat there in silence, hating Landwin Brood in equal measure. They ate their food without a word, chewing like it was their only duty left in the world.

Topics that normally would have fascinated Ren made their way around the table. Magical theory and state secrets, all of it tangled with the light tinkling of silverware and glasses and laughter. Landwin Brood caught Ren’s eye as the entrées were served. He raised his glass, ever so slightly. A clear taunt. She’d imagined her bond with Theo would open an entirely new world. A rush of resources and power and influence. Her chance to begin setting an empire on fire.

But now Theo was leaving. Would Ren be expected to go with him? Or would she be abandoned here—as she was earlier tonight—in this glittering circle of wolves? She could only imagine the strain of being separated in that way from someone she was bonded to. Maybe that was the point: to break them. Rather than show weakness, Ren met Landwin Brood’s appraising stare. She lifted her own glass and offered a lifeless smile.

It turned out to be one of the best meals she’d ever eaten.

2

DAHVID TIN’VORI

He had blood on his boots and a hood over his head.

There was nowhere to look but down. The hood hung loose enough to allow him to breathe, and that looseness created a sliver of visibility. He saw the scarlet spatter on his shoes as they traversed the dunes. He could see dead reeds and choked grass and gray sand. Up one hill and down another. The biggest pity of the whole thing was being trapped with his own stench inside the hood. He’d not been afforded a trip to the baths after his victory in the gladiator pit.

The crowd noise still drummed in his head. There had been a roar when he let the other man spin unconscious to the ground. He’d fought the man straight up. Not using any of his tattoos. His opponent had been a classic brute. Strong as a bull elephant and with about the same level of footwork. Dahvid had danced in and out of the blows with ease.

Apparently, too much ease.

He’d recognized his mistake as soon as he looked at the hourglass on the judge’s table. Less than thirteen seconds had passed since the fight began. Afterward, in the training room, Dahvid had been unwinding his hand wraps when two men ghosted through the entrance. Both wore the emblem of Ravinia’s most famous warlord. The taller of them had tossed a hood onto Dahvid’s lap.

Put that on and come with us, or else leave the city tonight.

An introduction to Darling was a part of the plan. The only problem was timing. He’d been hoping to make first contact a few months from now. He wasn’t ready. Needed more time.

Dahvid felt the pressure at the back of his neck vanish. There was a tinkling rattle of chains, and then the hood was removed. Daylight blinded him. He blinked until there were shapes. He saw two figures in front of him, framed by a wine-dark sea. Distant waves gnawed on the shoreline, filling the silence. There was a sprawling villa on his right. As his eyes adjusted, he knew it was one of the finest houses he’d ever set eyes on. Far finer than the Tin’Vori estate had ever been, though there were many in Kathor who’d envied their family. Once upon a time.

Dahvid straightened, carefully pinning his gaze on the first man. His sister had prepared him for this moment. Darling was not one person, but two. The man standing in the forefront was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Eyes like slashes of river. A proud chin. Muscle rippled just beneath the surface of his clothing, though he was shaped more like a dancer than a fighter. The grand effect was marred only by black manacles attached to each wrist. Twin chains lagged across the sandy earth, connecting the first man to a second. Hidden in the background. Dahvid didn’t look directly at that second figure, but when Darling spoke, he heard both voices.

Do you know who I am?

One voice was angelic, bright as a church bell. The other was hidden until the very last syllable. It sounded like stone scraping against stone. Dahvid nodded.

They call you Darling.

There was another rattle of chains as the front figure started to pace. When the angle changed, he could have looked at the second man, who was seated, but he didn’t.

And you know what I do?

You run the gladiator pits.

"I run the city, Darling corrected. I am the lifeblood that pumps through Ravinia."

Dahvid glanced at the villa on his right. Pays well.

That dragged out a genuine laugh. He heard the deeper voice laugh first, followed by the tinkling laughter of the main speaker. It does pay well. I run seven gladiator pits. We host ten thousand people a night. Our prizefighters make more money than tenured generals. Every detail is arranged. The fights are balanced. There is a system, because the system is what creates the demand. If I paraded out my best fighter every night, eventually no one would care to watch him. These are basic laws of commerce. And you? You produced an imbalance in that system. People attended that fight to see the Bearling. He’s a crowd favorite.

Dahvid pictured the man he’d fought less than an hour ago. He recalled the broken nose, the eyes rolling before his body crashed to the arena floor. Dahvid replied, Not anymore.

Another laugh, but this time only from the more musical voice.

Surprises are good, Darling admitted. But short fights? Those can be a nuisance. I’m sure you surprised them. No doubt they roared with delight. Expectations create a sort of magic all on their own. But then the crowd realized there’d be no more rounds, no more bloodshed, no more bouts. Their night was over, just like that. If I’d known you were that good, I’d have made other arrangements.

Dahvid nodded. No one asked for my thoughts.

Neither Darling laughed this time. Dahvid’s insides crawled as the silence stretched. The front man stood with his hands on his slender hips. Through the crook of one elbow, Dahvid caught a glimpse of the other face. A colorless circle. Not just pale but drained to a dying gray. His lips were chapped and broken. His eyebrows knitted together in a look of chronic pain. It was a spell that the rest of the city pretended not to notice. Those chains running between them were conduits for the passage of a soul. One man was slowly conquering the physical being of another. Such magic was forbidden. The Tusk people would view it as an abomination. Even Kathor, which prized innovation, would have condemned such a practice. Dahvid knew his people had always preferred more legal conquests.

Would you submit to contractual fighting? Darling probed. Under my banner.

Eagerly.

Good. It can be arranged. If you satisfy one query.

You want to know about House Brood.

Darling looked surprised by his frankness. Yes. My associates have identified you as Dahvid Tin’Vori of the fallen House of Tin’Vori. You were one of the only image-bearers in all of Kathor. It’s a rare trait, even for someone with as much Tusk lineage as you. According to a great number of witnesses, you died seven years ago. Yet… here you are. Standing outside my villa.

What is it that you want to know?

Is House Brood going to come sniffing around for you?

I think that would be likely, yes.

And? Will they cause me trouble?

Less likely. When their spies come, they’ll see a brawler. A man who makes his living day to day in the arena. Sure, one day I might make decent coin in your service, but they’re coming to make sure I have no followers, no contacts, no possible incentive to return to Kathor and take my revenge. And I will make sure that’s what they see. You’ve nothing to fear from them.

Dahvid could tell that last line annoyed the warlord, as he’d intended.

I have nothing to fear from anyone, Darling answered. Ravinia is mine. The Broods could sail their entire army north, and they’d be lucky to make it up the beach without getting slaughtered. I do not fear them, but I will not suffer lapses in efficiency. A house as powerful as theirs could inconvenience my business. You will put on a good show. Content their spies you’ve forgotten all about their precious city. Do that and you can make a name for yourself here.

Dahvid knew he could never truly forget Kathor. Not the way the sun struck the water outside the back windows of their estate. Nor the smell of cocoa and cinnamon as he walked through the streets in the Merchant Quarter. Bright memories came to him, waking or sleeping, of the only place he’d ever truly thought of as home. Nor could he forget that dark night all those years ago. Waiting like a coward in the escape tunnel. Hearing the swords scraping overhead as guards died to save them. Knowing his brother was already dead and his parents were already burning. He saw all this in quick, painful slashes of memory. But when he answered, his voice did not tremble.

Consider it done.

The contracts are on the table behind you, Darling said. Sign them and go. My agents will be in touch. We’ll have to figure out a good name for you. Build your reputation. People do not buy tickets to watch sacks of meat run into each other. They swarm through the gates to see men and women that we’ve convinced them are their dearest friends. We will do the same with you.

The warlord’s eyes roamed Dahvid’s body more openly, now that he imagined him as a possession. He’d grown accustomed to such appraisals as a boy. All his outfits were tailored—once by his mother and now by his sister—with his famous battle tattoos in mind. There were clever slits in the fabric where normal people would never bare their skin. Each displayed one of his tattoos, or at least made them accessible. It was especially necessary in a fight, as he needed physical contact in order to activate their magic.

I’ve read that Tusk image-bearers can combine their tattoos.…

Dahvid nodded. They’re called berserkers. I’m not one of those.

Curious, Darling pointed to the marking at Dahvid’s throat.

What’s that one do? The flower?

Dahvid couldn’t see the image, but every time he’d ever looked in a mirror over the last decade, that flower had stared back at him like a third eye. He’d memorized the design over the years. Thirty-seven scarlet petals circled a golden center. Sunlight graced the right half of the tattoo, as if an unseen sun floated above Dahvid’s left shoulder, casting its light across. It was the first one that his brother—Ware—had drawn. Before the Broods executed him.

The flower is a scarlet traveler.

I know what it is. I was asking what it does.

Each tattoo housed a powerful magic. Dahvid currently wore nine. The scarlet traveler was undoubtedly his most powerful one. It allows me to exist outside the laws of nature.

Darling smiled at the vagueness of the answer. Both chains were drawn taut, forcing the pretty figure to backpedal toward the other. Toward the master, Dahvid saw. The one who is conquering.

All magic is an abomination. Some spells are just prettier than others. Darling sighed. I look forward to watching you fight. Sign the contracts. I’ll see you in the pits. And then to his two attendants. Pay the man.

Dahvid turned his attention to the contracts. Both of Darling’s escorts came forward, making a lot of noise, guiding him through the details of the arrangement. One filled the sack they’d used to blind him earlier with a tantalizing amount of coins. A down payment for his services. He knew this was by design. They were enticing him, drawing his attention to hide their master’s retreat. Against his better judgment, Dahvid risked a glance back. The dancer had picked up the smaller man. The man that he knew was the original Darling. He ferried his master across the dunes, carrying him like a child. The dark chains trailed them, kicking up dust. Before the escorts could scold him, Dahvid turned around and signed his name.

This was a beginning. Even if it was coming sooner than anticipated.

He smiled at the idea of blood.

When’s my first fight?

3

REN MONROE

Dinner concluded.

Ren watched the others around the table rise, drinks in hand, conversations filling the air around them. She knew they were about to be subjected to even more mingling. Theo would be congratulated on his new post. Each repetition would be performed with the slightest hint of mockery. She caught his eye as they stood. It was startling to see the effect the news had on him. It reminded her of the way he’d looked right after he’d been gutted by the blade-sharp claws of a wyvern. After Cora’s surgery had stitched him back up. Nearly all of the life drained from him.

It made sense. His confidence had always been rooted in his name. He was a Brood. An heir to one of the great houses. It was only logical that his father was the one person who could steal that from him