Fire

by Kristin Cashore

  His entire manner changed instantly, mouth hard, eyes flashing, and Fire was amazed at how fast their reunion had turned to this. She stopped and stared at him in exasperation, spoke over him to stop him. “Archer, stay within your rights. Don’t you dare start accusing me of taking some man to my bed.”

  “A woman, then? It wouldn’t be entirely without precedent, would it?”

  She clenched her fists so hard her nails hurt the palms of her hands; and suddenly she was no longer concerned with holding on to the ends of her fury. “I was so excited for you to come,” she said. “I was so happy to see you. And now already you’ve started in on me, and I wish you would leave. You understand me, Archer? When you get like this I wish you would leave. The love I give you, you take, and you use it against me.”

  She swung away from him, strode away, came back again and stood furious before him, aware that this was the first time she’d ever spoken to him this way. She should have spoken like this more. She’d been too generous with her patience.

  We’re not lovers anymore, she thought at him. This is the thing I needed to tell you. The closer you get to me the harder you pull, and your grip is too tight. You hurt me with it. You love me so much you’ve forgotten how to be my friend. I miss my friend, she thought at him fiercely. I love my friend. We’re through as lovers. Do you understand?

  Archer stood dazed, breathing heavily, eyes stony. Fire could see that he did understand.

  And now Fire saw Hanna, and sensed her at the same time, coming over the hill at the archery range and bolting toward them with all her small speed.

  Fire began a battle for her composure. “There’s a child coming,” she told Archer hoarsely, “and if you take your vile mood out on her I won’t speak to you again.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Brigan’s daughter.”

  Archer stared at Fire very hard.

  And then Hanna reached them, Blotchy careening close behind. Fire knelt to meet the dog. Hanna stopped before them, smiling and gasping, and Fire sensed her sudden confusion as she took in their silence. “What’s wrong, Lady Fire?” Hanna asked.

  “Nothing, Lady Princess. I’m happy to see you and Blotchy.”

  Hanna laughed. “He’s getting your dress muddy.”

  Yes, Blotchy was destroying her dress, and practically bowling her over as he bounced in and out of her lap, for in his mind he was still a puppy, even though his body had grown. “Blotchy is much more important than my dress,” Fire said, taking the wriggling dog in her arms, wanting his muddy joy.

  Hanna came close and whispered in her ear. “Is that angry man Lord Archer?”

  “Yes, and he is not angry with you.”

  “Do you think he would shoot for me?”

  “Shoot for you?”

  “Papa says he’s the best in the kingdom. I want to see.”

  Fire couldn’t have explained why this made her so sad, that Archer should be the best in the kingdom, and Hanna should want to see. She burrowed her face for a moment against Blotchy. “Lord Archer, Princess Hanna would like to see you shoot, for she’s heard you’re the best in all the Dells.”

  Archer was hiding his feelings from her mind, but Fire knew how to read his face. She knew how his eyes looked when he was blinking back tears, and the muted voice he used when he was too miserable for anger. He cleared his throat now, and spoke in that voice. “And what kind of bow do you favor, Lady Princess?”

  “A longbow, like the one you carry, only yours is much bigger. Will you come? I’ll show you.”

  Archer didn’t look at Fire. He turned and followed Hanna up the hill, Blotchy bounding after them. Fire stood, and watched them go.

  Quite unexpectedly, Musa took her arm. Fire placed her hand on Musa’s, grateful to be touched, fiercely glad to think that her guard might be overpaid.

  IT WAS A very hard thing to have crushed the heart, and the hopes, of a friend.

  After dark, unable to sleep, she went to the roofs. Eventually Brigan came wandering by and joined her. Now and then, since their conversation in the stables, he opened a flash of feeling to her. Tonight she could tell he was surprised to see her.

  Fire knew why he was surprised. After her quarrel with Archer, Musa had told her, matter-of-factly, that at Fire’s request Fire actually was permitted to be alone with Archer; that in the very beginning, in his instructions, Brigan had made an exception for Archer, as long as the grounds outside the windows were guarded and guards stood outside every door. She should have informed the lady of this before, Musa said, but she hadn’t expected Lord Archer so soon. And once Fire and Archer had begun to argue, she hadn’t wanted to interrupt.

  Fire’s face had burned at this knowledge. And here was why Brigan had defended Archer in Garan’s bedroom earlier: He’d seen Garan’s jibe as an offense to Fire, believed, even, that Fire was in love with Archer.

  Fire told Musa, “The exception is not necessary.”

  “Yes, I got that sense,” Musa said. Then Mila brought Fire a cup of wine in the timid, comprehending way Mila had. The wine was a comfort. Fire’s head had begun to ache, and she recognized the onset of her prebleeding time.

  Now, on the roof, Fire was silent. She said nothing, not even when Brigan greeted her. He seemed to accept her silence and was rather quiet himself, filling the space occasionally with the gentle patter of his conversation. He told her that Hanna was bedazzled by Archer, that they’d shot so many arrows together she had blisters between her fingers.

  Fire was thinking about Archer’s fear. She thought it was Archer’s fear that made his love so hard to bear. Archer was controlling and imperious, and jealous and suspicious, and Archer always held her too near. Because he was afraid of her dying.

  She broke a long silence with her first words of the night, spoken so quietly he moved closer to hear. “How long do you think you’ll live?”

  His breath was a surprised laugh. “Truly, I don’t know. Many mornings I wake knowing I might die that day.” He paused. “Why? What’s on your mind tonight, Lady?”

  Fire said, “It’s likely one of these days a raptor monster will get me, or some arrow will find its way past my guard. It doesn’t seem to me a morbid thought; only realistic.”

  He listened, leaning against the railing, his head propped on his fist.

  “I only hope it won’t cause my friends too much pain,” she continued. “I hope they’ll understand it was inevitable.”

  She shivered. Summer was well over, and if she’d had half a mind tonight she would have brought a coat. Brigan had remembered his coat, a fine long coat that Fire liked, because Brigan was wearing it, and Brigan was quick and strong, and always seemed comfortable whatever he was wearing. And now his hands reached for the buttons and he shrugged himself out of the coat, for try as she might, Fire couldn’t hide her shivers.

  “No,” Fire said. “It’s my own fault for forgetting the season.”

  He ignored this and helped her into the coat, which was too big; and its warmth and bigness were welcome, and so was its smell, of wool, and campfires, and horses. She whispered it into his mind. Thank you.

  After a moment, he said, “It seems we’re both afflicted with sober thoughts tonight.”

  “What have you been thinking?”

  That unhappy laugh again. “Nothing that will cheer you. I’ve been trying to find a way around this war.”

  “Oh,” Fire said, rising for a moment from her self-absorption.

  “It’s a fruitless line of thought. There’s no way around it, not with two enemies bent on fighting.”

  “It isn’t your fault, you know.”

  He glanced at her. “Reading my mind, Lady?”

  She smiled. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

  He smiled, too, and raised his face to the sky. “I understand you rank dogs above dresses, Lady.”

  Fire’s own laughter was a balm to her heart. “I explained about the monsters, by the way. She already knew a bit about it. I think your housekeepe
r takes good care of her.”

  “Tess,” Brigan said. “She’s taken good care since the day Hanna was born.” He seemed to hesitate then, his voice carefully inscrutable. “Have you met her?”

  “No,” Fire said; for indeed, Brigan’s housekeeper still looked upon Fire with cold eyes whenever she looked upon her at all. As Brigan must know, judging by his manner of asking.

  “I think it’s good for Hanna to have someone old in her life,” Brigan said, “who can talk of all different times, not just the last thirty years. And Hanna loves Tess, and all her stories.” He yawned and rubbed his hair. “When will you start your new line of questioning?”

  “Tomorrow, I suppose.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said, sighing. “Tomorrow I go away.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  FIRE HAD COME to know more about the insignificant habits and tastes of Lord Mydogg, Lord Gentian, Murgda, Gunner, all their households, and all their guests than any person could care to know. She knew Gentian was ambitious but also slightly featherbrained at times and had a delicate stomach, ate no rich foods, and drank only water. She knew his son Gunner was cleverer than his father, a reputable soldier, a bit of an ascetic when it came to wine and women. Mydogg was the opposite, denied himself no pleasure, was lavish with his favorites but stingy with everyone else. Murgda was stingy with everyone including herself, and known to be exceedingly fond of bread pudding.

  This was not helpful information. Clara and the king had better things to do than sit and witness its discovery, and Garan was still confined to his bed. More and more Fire was left alone in the questioning rooms, excepting, of course, Musa, Mila, and Neel. Brigan had ordered these three to attend Fire in any of her confidential court business, and they spent the greater part of every day with her.

  Archer stood sometimes with her guard while she worked. He had asked permission to do so, and Clara had granted it, and so, rather absently, had Fire. She didn’t mind Archer’s presence. She understood that he was curious. She only minded the sense she got that Clara was more likely to join the interrogation if Archer was there.

  Archer was quiet these days, keeping to himself, his thoughts hidden behind a closed door. Confusion obvious, at times, in his manner. Fire was as gentle with him as she could be, for she appreciated what she knew must be a conscious effort on his part, to suppress his own instinct for furious outbursts. “How long will you be able to stay at court?” she asked him, so that he would know she didn’t really want him to leave.

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Now that the harvest is over, Brocker is well able to handle affairs. I could stay for some time, if I were wanted.”

  She made no answer to that, but touched his arm and asked him if he’d like to sit in on the afternoon’s interrogations.

  She learned that Mydogg favored the smuggled wine of an obscure Pikkian vineyard where frost came early and the grapes were left to freeze on the vine. She learned that Murgda and her Pikkian husband, the naval explorer, were thought to be very much in love. Finally and at long last, she learned something useful: the name of a tall, dark-eyed archer with spot-on aim who was old enough by now to have white hair.

  “Jod,” her informant grunted. “Knew him some twenty years ago. We were together in old Nax’s dungeons, ’til Jod got out. He was in for rape. Didn’t know he was sick. Not surprised, the way they piled us on top of each other, the things went on in there. You know what I’m talking about, you monster freak bitch.”

  “Where is he now?”

  It wasn’t easy with this man, or pleasant. At every question he fought against her hold, and then lost the fight and succumbed, ashamed and hateful. “How should I know? I hope he’s hunting monster-eating bitch dogs like you. I’d like to watch him—”

  What followed was a description of a violation so graphic Fire couldn’t help but feel the force of its malice. But the prisoners who spoke to her like this only made her patient, and oddly depressed. It seemed to Fire that they had a right to their words, the only defense they had against her ill use. And of course these were the men who would be dangerous to her if ever released, some of them so dangerous she was compelled to recommend they never be released; and this did not help to soothe her guilt. True, these were not men whose freedom would be a boon to society. Nonetheless, they would not be so inhumanly vile had she not been around to provoke them.

  This man today fared worse than most others, for Archer came forward suddenly and punched him in the face. “Archer!” Fire exclaimed. She called for the dungeon guards to take the man away, which they did, lifting him from the floor, where he lay dizzy and bleeding. Once he was gone Fire gaped at Archer, then glared, too exasperated to trust herself to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” he said sullenly, yanking his collar loose, as if it choked him. “That one got under my skin more than the others.”

  “Archer, I simply can’t—”

  “I said I was sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  Fire crossed her arms and stared him down. After a few moments, Archer actually began to smile. He shook his head, sighing hopelessly. “Perhaps it’s the promise of your angry face that keeps me misbehaving,” he said. “You’re so beautiful when you’re angry.”

  “Oh, Archer,” she snapped, “flirt with someone else.”

  “I will, if you command it,” he quipped, with a goofy grin that caught her off guard, so that she had to stop her own face from twitching into a smile.

  For a moment, it was almost as if they were friends again.

  SHE HAD A serious conversation with Archer a few days later at the archery range, where she had come with her fiddle looking for Krell. She found Krell with Archer, Hanna, and the king, all four of them shooting at targets and Hanna well boosted by advice from all sides. Hanna concentrated hard, her feet planted stubbornly, miniature bow in her hands, miniature arrows on her back, and she was not talking. It was a characteristic Fire had noted: In riding, swordplay, and archery, and any other lesson that interested her, Hanna ceased her chatter, and showed a surprising capacity for focus.

  “Brigan used to focus like that in his lessons too,” Clara had told Fire, “and when he did, it was a great relief to Roen; for otherwise, guaranteed, he was plotting some kind of trouble. I believe he used to provoke Nax on purpose. He knew Nax favored Nash.”

  “Is that true?” Fire asked.

  “Oh yes, Lady. Nash was better-looking. And Brigan was better at everything else, and more like his mother than his father, which I don’t think worked in his favor. Ah well, at least he didn’t start the brawls Hanna starts.”

  Yes, Hanna started brawls, and it could not be because her father favored anyone over her. But today she was not brawling, and once she woke from the daze of her bow and arrows enough to notice the lady and the fiddle, the girl begged a concert, and got one.

  Afterward Fire walked around the archery range with Archer and Nash, her guard trailing behind.

  The simultaneous company of these two men was a funny thing, for they mirrored each other. Each in love with her, gloomy and moping; each resigned to hopelessness and each subdued, but resenting the presence of the other. And neither doing much to hide any of this from her, for as usual Nash’s feelings were open, and Archer’s body language unmistakable.

  But Nash’s manners were better than Archer’s, at least for the moment, and the court had a greater hold on his time. As Archer’s choice of conversation became less inclusive, Nash took his leave.

  Fire considered Archer, so tall and fine-looking beside her, his bow in hand. She spoke quietly. “You drove him away, with your talk of our childhood in the north.”

  “He wants you, and he doesn’t deserve you.”

  “As you deserve me?”

  Archer’s face took on a grim smile. “I’ve always known I don’t deserve you. Every regard you’ve ever shown me has been a gift undeserved.”

  That is not true, she thought to him. You were my loyal friend even before I could walk.


  “You’ve changed,” Archer said. “Do you realize how much? The more time I spend with you here the less I know you. All these new people in your life, and your happiness in this princess child—and her dog, of all things. And the work you do every day—you use your power, every day. I used to have to fight with you to use it even to defend yourself.”

  Fire took a careful breath. “Archer. Sometimes in the courtyards or the hallways, I’ve taken to changing people’s attentions so they don’t notice me. So I can walk by without being hassled, and everyone else can continue their work without distraction.”

  “You’re not ashamed of your abilities anymore,” Archer said. “And the sight of you—you’re glowing. Truly, Fire. I don’t recognize you.”

  “But the ease with which I’ve come to use my power. Can you understand how it frightens me, Archer?”

  Archer stopped for a moment, his gaze fierce, his eyes on three dark dots in the sky. The archery range stood at a high point overlooking the sea. A trio of raptor monsters circled now over some trade boat below, and arrows flew from the bows of its sailors. It was a rough autumn sea and there was a blustery autumn wind, and arrow after arrow failed to hit its mark.

  Archer took one stunning, lazy shot. A bird fell. Then Fire’s guard Edler connected with a shot of his own, and Archer clapped him on the shoulder to congratulate him.

  Fire thought her question forgotten, and so she was surprised when he spoke.

  “You’ve always been far more afraid of yourself than of any of the terrors in the world outside yourself. Were it the other way around, we’d both have peace.”

  He said it kindly, not critically; it was his forlorn wish for peace. Fire hugged her fiddle now with both arms, muting the strings with the fabric of her dress. “Archer, you know me. You recognize me. We must get past this thing between us, you must accept how I’ve changed. I could not bear it if by refusing your bed I should also lose your friendship. We were friends before. We must find the way to be friends again.”