Chapter the Sixteenth


When daylight broke upon the ancient Keep,
Lilitu found the patterns she had known,
to which bite by bite she had accustomed,
Were the only familiar things left here.

Her silent knight knelt softly by the bed:
her bright face was masked in her fierce blue paint;
she held her shoulders straight and mouth with scorn.

Lilitu sat up straight, then pulled back,
as Tawi slid a tray upon her lap
with meats and fruits and teas, a rich display
of casual wealth the Eighth House could not dream,
a feast that whispered of a life denied.

"Hark," she ought say, "this is a heresy,
And you do tend towards your godliness."

But silent was her chev, so still was she.
When breakfast ended and the tray was gone,
She let her servant dress her for the day,
Then went to join the crowd in common space.

The girl from Second spied her first, though not,
for Second was the name that she held fast.
She moved towards Lilitu directly,
and was outpaced by the dragonrider

who, sensing kindred spirit, shared with her
a cup of tea and news of sparring chevs:
that they would clash within the court below
this very morning in this very morning's light.

"That was Ezust's idea," said Second. "And he could not be deterred from it."

"He seems very quite determined," said Sixth, "to see first blood before first dusk."

With such a sweet voice and a graceful mien,
Sixth's words were strange, and felt incongruous.
Not knowing what more she could do, Lilitu
stood close to Sixth, with Second by her side,
until they felt that time had come to drift
down to the court and join the bloody show -

where Tawi, in silence locked with Naoise Sixth,
with Maddoc Second, was twisted mirror
of the scion so dearly she loathed.

(Lilitu wondered if the seed from last
night's meet had forced them now to strange twinhood,
conscious that she stood now a shadow near
Nimue, an afterthought of Sepideh)

They seemed quite friendly, though she knew too well
of what poisons a pretty face could hide.
Although the sparring had not yet begun,
Tawi clutched an axe, and Maddoc his sword.

At length, Ezust did mount the marble stairs
that led adown into the courtyard wide,
and troubled that no blade had yet been drawn.

To Tawi's side went Lilitu to hold
her chev fast by the elbow, whispering low
cautions into her ear that went unheard,
for she remained aloof and heedless still.

"Let's have it, then. "

Ezust, with little pomp or ceremony,
spoke cold, his fervor reaching to the bone –

First came their name, and then their place. Indeed,
it seemed to Lilitu as natural
that Santora would move upon the kill-
-ing floor, adjusting cuffs with calmest care.

Unease like lightning struck the room, then stayed,
and settled deep within the heart of Lilitu.
She grasped at Tawi's sleeve, but knew full well
the chev was loath to rise and claim the fight.

"Perhaps my fair cousin will oblige me. I know Santora was sorry to miss her chevalier in the mountains."

Sepideh was fixed in her neglect of
her chevalier's gaze, a sorry wretch,
with long dark hair and weary, tired eyes;
he bore a sword as black as the night
yet he did not make any move to draw.

Scion Second shunned her natural role and strained
as if her collar chafed against her neck,
wondering so fiercely on the fight ahead,
while Third engaged his knight with wheedling words.

At last, a word most unexpected came
from one most strange, as Fourth and Fifth spoke out;
yet it was Seventh's voice that did rise above.

"If it is to be a friendly match, then Innadhor-Dynin would, I am sure, be honoured to meet your chevalier."

Innadhor nodded, gave his swift ascent,
And went to stand within the courtyard's heart,
where Santora met him with a smile.
He grasped his sword and shield like knights of old,
though young was he, much younger than the rest.
He had the boon of his dread scion's gaze,
who seemed much less a fiend in morning light,
beneath the shadow of his ash-brown hair,
BLACKENED HANDS AND BROKEN NAILS
when Lilitu could see the green of his eyes.

Wakí gave no counsel to Innadhor,
who asked for none, but moved with Santora.
They granted space to each for maneuver,
and circled round with care and caution keen,
until Ezust's bark broke the quiet impasse.

"For god's sake, get it over with!"

"To first touch?"

"To death."

"I consented to a friendly match."

Ezust's black eyes bored deeply into Wakí's. "And we shall remain friends."

Wakí shrugged, and with a nod gave sign
for what would come, a scene extraordinary,
as Seventh's knight attacked with lightning speed,
that made it seem as though Santora moved
through treacle thick. He raised his sword on high,
and swung it down with clean and crisp delight,
while Santora scrambled back in slow surprise.

He chased her fiercely back across the court,
with quick, bright moves that sang through the cool air.
Santora's daggers flashed in weak defense;
she met his strikes, yet offered none in turn.

She turned each strike aside with weak grace, batt-
ing at his thrusts like a trembling kitten.
But when she stumbled near the cobbled stones,
Lilitu saw a look of deep grievance.

She knew so well what a performance was,
and now she saw a spectacle unfold.

When Santora feinted left, her weight did shift,
preceding her with steps too clear to miss.
A move too easily read, and thus,
Innadhor's sword did meet her where she stood.
Her dagger flicked, her gaze had turned to seek
a gap in Seventh's guard—but none was found.
A move too easily read, and thus,
Innadhor's sword did meet her there again.
She almost smiled, a shadow of defeat.

And here her sure defeat rose to meet her.

Innadhor's sword came crashing, heavy, down.
It struck her head—an ugly, brutal sight.
His blade did not cut clean, but with its weight,
it crushed her skull with force beyond her will.

And Lilitu then heard a distant scream,
that soon did join the cry that left her lips.

Santora had no time, nor voice, to scream—

her nose was broken by the sword's cruel edge.
When Innadhor, in terror, wrenched it back,
she fell upon her knees, and trembling, bent,
with clean hands pressed upon the cobbled stone,
to crawl across the court to where her lord
in silent watch awaited her return,
while Innadhor, wide-eyed, beheld her plight.

In this, the First showed not his cruel intent.
He met her on the field of death and knelt
to place her gently in his waiting arms.

She could not speak, and he would not reply.

He pulled her dagger from her trembling hand,
though she did cling to it with all her strength,
and drew it cleanly across her exposed throat.
Red bloomed along its path like peonies.

So here was First, locked in his contemplation.

Second held tight to her knight, unsure still
if she should hold him, or herself, from action.

Third's scion smiled wide, his gaze unfocused,
and Lilitu thought he could not comprehend
the morning's strange and somber proceedings.

Fourth was the bravest, crossed the courtyard quick,
to search for pulse in the dead chev,
his own close at his heels, her skirt trailing.

Fifth might have been the one to cry aloud:
she had buried deep her face within the
robes of her chev, and now looked chastened there.

Sixth's stony face was hard to read or know,
yet hands were tightened firm upon her knife.

And Seventh –

"Dhori. Look at me. Are you alright? Sit down. Give me your sword. It's okay."

Mikula glanced up at those assembled there,
and shook his head in silence, lost in thought.
His chevalier then knelt to close her eyes,
the eyes of that poor woman, cold and still.
Lilitu watched and could not help but think
of how the two compared: first, gold like dawn,
her skin a honeyed glow, her hair like wheat.
But Nedola shone in crimson and white,
a banner bold, fierce as a warlike sign.

Ezust then stood and stepped a pace aside.
He rubbed his crimson hands upon his trousers,
as if lost deep in himself, mind adrift.

At last, he said, "well, then. Who is next?"

"Santora is dead."

The words fell from the lips of Sixth with scorn.
Lilitu had not been sure of her ties—
in truth, she thought Ezust and Sepideh
LEAVES IN HER HAIR, BLOODIED
were closely bound in strong and lasting pact—
but Sixth spoke now with a mouth full of spite.

"What on earth are you playing at?"

"Good," said Ezust. "A volunteer."

He pointed Santora's dagger, stained with blood,
toward the handsome knight of fairest Sixth.
The malice aimed at Naoise had fled,
as if vanished with Santora's demise.
Ezust faced the scene with unfeeling calm.

"Very well," said Naoise.

"No," said Sepideh, barely audible, reflexively, and then, more loudly, through teeth, "if the Selection demands it."

A warrior feels no sentiment for arms.
A craftsman does not grow attached to tools.
This was the manner in which Sepideh
was surely meant to act, as thus ordained,
and thus she betrayed both herself and him
with such an uncharacteristic cry.

Ezust pretended not to hear a word.
His eyes roamed through the gathered selection,
then settled, at the last, on little Tawi.

"There. He can contend with his mountain friend."

Lilitu had known that Tawi would heed,
for she had no issue with understanding,
despite the silent oath she seemed to keep.
Yet still it surprised her that Tawi paused,
awaiting confirmation of First's words.
All eyes were turned upon the girls of Eighth.
Lilitu consented, feeling like a hand
was tightly wrapped around her throat. And then
as soon as Tawi stepped forth, Naoise moved,
as if reluctant to let her wait alone
upon the drying blood of Santora.

Lilitu could not name what stayed Sepideh
from crying out again or calling back
Naoise, yet something held her still and mute.
She watched, returned to her impassive state.

Sixth chevalier turned to Eighth chevalier
and whispered words inaudible to all,
in dialect of mountains far away.

Beneath her war paint, hard it was to read
the thoughts and feelings coursing through Tawi.
She hefted high her axe with steady grip,
while Naoise drew his dark, forbidding sword,
and seemed to smile at such an uneven fight.

Tawi moved first, as was her custom true.
She spun her axe to strike at Naoise's ankles,
The blunt end aimed to force him back away,
And made him step from range of that long sword.
Then clipped her axe aloft, in tribute to
what Seventh had done unto First's skull.

Her blade cut past his face, a miss so clear,
intentional, as if to mock his guard.

Naoise would not be beaten in the fray.
He turned his sword upon his hand with skill,
and with the butt struck Tawi in the face,
her head knocked sideways, nearly forcing laughs
from the silent girl hidden 'neath the paint.
Lilitu could see the smile she concealed.
She mouthed words to Naoise or herself,
then held her axe horizontally, and
thrust its belly hard against Naoise's chest,
so that he stumbled back across the court.
He whispered something more unto the girl;
she shook her head, a firm and silent no.

"There," said Nimue, breathlessly, "that is first touch. Call it."

"To death," said Ezust. "I thought we agreed?"

"You have had your death already," snapped Sepideh. "For the sake of anything you hold holy – Syýa isn't even here."

"Indeed," said Ezust. "And so I can compel you for nothing – ah, but they volunteered."

A gasp arose from those who stood aside,
for Tawi stumbled as Naoise pursued,
She gasped for breath—Lilitu leaned ahead
to catch a hint of voice amid the fray—
then rallied, rolled aside to miss his strike,
which clanged upon the cobbles, shedding sparks.

"They can volunteer for nothing," said Vahakn. "They are chevaliers. Bid them cease."

Sepideh glanced askew at Lilitu,
who saw in her the same great doubt she felt.
A cruel thought, yet this contest was built
upon that very same unyielding sting.
Lilitu was not sure that Tawi'd heed
her call, though earlier she'd shown respect.
The worst of all would be a chevalier
who would not lend an ear to her distress,
while all would know she could not rely
upon her sole protector for defense.
For one dread moment, it seemed preferable
to see if Tawi could prove here true, than
to test by calling, unheard, for restraint.

But how could Sepideh, so true to Sixth,
feel in her heart the same uncertain roil?

Naoise swept aside Tawi's next strike and
seized her by the throat. He had the strength to
lift her from the ground; her boots scraped the grass.

"They're both stubborn," said Bahram, "but they're dawdling."

Did he refer to Sixth and Eighth, or speak
of weapons lying on the courtyard floor?

Sepideh stared blackly at Ezust. Her lips contorted around the words. "Is this the first challenge?"

"It is," he said.

Lilitu knew a lie when she heard one,
Yet in his words, she found no trace of such.

"This rote butchery?" Wakí grimaced. "It does little credit to your House, sweet hound."

"Then where," said Mikula, with as much authority as he could muster, "is your sister?"

"She observes what she must," Ezust said. "She will see what she should."

"And this is the first challenge," said Nimue, disbelieving.

Ezust shrugged.

Tawi had grown quite pale as Naoise's grip
did tighten round her throat with chilling force.

Sepideh turned her gaze back to the fray,
and gave him no command to cease the fight,
though he looked toward her as if to plead.

Tawi beheld the exchange and did per-
ceive they had crossed a line, quite against their
wills, beyond ordinary, brutal fun.

She twisted 'gainst his grip and kicked with force.
She reached to dig her fingers in his eyes.

For the first time, she saw the peril near.
For the first time, she gave it its name.

"Naoise," she gasped, and

as though the breath from
her lungs bore great weight,
it was as if she
spoke a physical blow—
the vowels struck him first,
caved in his cheek,
and shattered deep with-
in his eye's dark edge.
the consonants did
slice, laid open wounds,
long, thin gashes on
his throat, his temple too.
where her quiet word found
him, bruises bloomed
along each inch of
bare and brown skin.
the sound of his own
name broke naoise's teeth.
tawi fell down up-
on the cobbled floor,
and wasted not a
moment, crawling near
to seize her weapon,
silent once again.
naoise slumped down,
oozing blood and spittle
from new wounds gaping
wide upon his face,
once handsome, now ruined.

Lilitu perceived what Tawi meant to do
before the rest awoke to her intent.
A creeping horror crawled beneath her skin.

"Don't do it. Tawi, don't - "

The axe swung high, and came down with great force.
In the moment, it might have seemed mercy.
Tawi embedded the blade in Naoise's head.


"I told you, I warned you, I begged you not to do it...!"

"Oh, gods."

"No."

"Another death."

"Oh, gods."

"And that should suffice, should it?"

"Naoise?"

"Listen to me! Why would you do that?"

"Help me with him. Help me get him up. Help -"

"He's gone, Sep."

"Are you pleased with yourself? Is this what you wanted?"

"Sep. Sepideh. Come with me. Come here."

"Tawi. Tawi. Look at me, Tawi!"