Fire

by Kristin Cashore

  “What is it?” Fire whispered as the soldier named Ander lit a candle for them and left. “Does Mydogg always send letters in the middle of the night?”

  “This is the first,” Brigan said, searching for his clothes. “I expect I know the occasion.”

  Fire reached for her own clothing and pulled it under the blankets so she could dress without exposing her skin to freezing air. “What’s the occasion?”

  He stood and fastened his trousers. “Love, you don’t have to get up for this. I can come back and tell you what it’s about.”

  “Do you think Mydogg’s asking for some kind of meeting?”

  In the glow of the candle he glanced at her keenly, mouth tight. “I do.”

  “Then I should be involved.”

  He sighed shortly. He slapped his sword belt around his waist and reached for his shirt. “Yes, you should.”

  A MEETING WAS, indeed, what Mydogg wanted; a meeting to discuss terms of compromise with Brigan and Nash, so that all might avoid a battle that promised to be the most devastating the war had yet seen. Or at least, this was what it said in his letter.

  Their breath turned to fog in the cold air of Brigan’s office. “It’s a trick,” Brigan said, “or a trap. I don’t believe Mydogg would ever agree to a compromise. Nor do I believe he cares how many people die.”

  “He knows that we match him in numbers now,” Nash said. “And far exceed him in horses, which finally matters, now that it’s water on the rocks instead of ice and snow.”

  One of the captains, small and terse and trying not to shiver, crossed his arms. “And he knows the mental advantage our soldiers will have with their commander and their king leading them into battle together.”

  Brigan rubbed his hair frustratedly. “For the first time, he sees that he’s going to lose. So he’s setting some sort of trap, and calling it compromise.”

  “Yes,” Nash said. “The meeting is a trap. But what are we to do, Brigan? You know what the cost of this battle will be, and our enemy claims to put forth an alternative. Are we to refuse to consider it?”

  THE MEETING TOOK place on the plain of rock that stretched between both camps. The sun rose on Lord Mydogg, Lady Murgda’s Pikkian husband, Brigan, and Nash, making long shadows that shifted in a gloss of water. Some distance behind Mydogg and his brother-in-law a small guard of bowmen stood at attention, arrows drawn and notched. Behind Brigan and Nash a guard of bowmen did the same, the symmetry disturbed by Fire’s presence, with six of her own guard, in a group behind Brigan’s. Mydogg, the brother-in-law, Brigan, and Nash stood close together. This was intentional. Each was protected from his enemy’s bowmen by his enemy.

  Fire reached an arm to Musa on one side and Neel on the other, for she was concentrating so fiercely that she didn’t trust the balance of her feet. She didn’t know what Mydogg was planning; she couldn’t find it in Mydogg or any of his men. But she could feel, as certain as fingers wound tight around her throat, that things on this plain of rock were not as they should be.

  She was too far back to hear Brigan’s quiet voice, but Brigan sent her every word. “All right,” he said. “You’ve gotten us out here. What do you want?”

  Behind Fire, too far for Mydogg to see but not too far for Fire to feel, the King’s Army stood mounted in position, ready to strike at the slightest message from Fire. The horses of the commander and the king were with them.

  “I’d like to make a deal,” Mydogg said, his voice high and clear. His mind tough and impenetrable. He shifted slightly, intentionally, catching sight of Fire through the barrier of guards. His eyes narrowed on her shrewdly. Impressed and unimpressed together, and in those hard eyes, Fire could read nothing of why they were here.

  Behind Lord Mydogg, too distant for Brigan to see, but definitely not too distant for Fire to feel and communicate to Brigan, Mydogg’s army also stood ready. Lady Murgda at the head of it, which was to Fire’s quiet astonishment. Fire didn’t know how pregnant Murgda had been on the day of the January gala, but assuredly she was three more months pregnant now.

  “Well then,” Brigan said, “what deal? Out with it.”

  Mydogg’s steel eyes cut again to Fire. “Give us the monster,” he said, “and we’ll surrender our position.”

  It’s a lie, Fire thought to Brigan. He’s made it up this moment. He wants me—certainly he’d take me if you offered—but it’s not why we’re here.

  Then why are we here? Can you sense anything unusual in the position of his army? What about the guard standing behind him?

  Fire gripped Musa harder with her half-dead hand and leaned more heavily on Neel. I don’t know. His army seems prepared for a straightforward attack. But I can’t get into Murgda’s head, so I can’t know for sure. His guard has no intention to strike unless you or Nash make a move. I can’t find what’s wrong here, Brigan, but, oh, something is wrong. I feel it. Put an end to this before we learn what it is.

  “No deal,” Brigan said. “The lady is not a bargaining piece. Tell your archers to stand down. This meeting is over.”

  Mydogg raised his eyebrows sleekly and nodded. “Stand down,” he called to his guard of archers, and as Mydogg’s archers disengaged, Fire’s body clamored with panic to find all of them so accommodating. Something was so terribly wrong here. Brigan put his hand out sideways, the signal for his own archers to disengage; and suddenly, Fire screamed with an anguish that tore through her but that she didn’t know the reason for. Her cry rang out, eerie and solitary, and one of Brigan’s archers shot an arrow into Nash’s back.

  Pandemonium. The traitorous archer was struck down by his companions, and his second arrow, surely meant for Brigan, flew wide, striking one of Mydogg’s guards. Brigan spun fiercely between Mydogg and the brother-in-law, the blade of his sword on fire with morning light. Arrows soared in all directions. Mydogg and his brother-in-law lay dead on the ground. And then the King’s Army came roaring onto the scene, for without meaning to, Fire had called them.

  In the bedlam everything finally became clear, focused on a single pinprick of purpose. Fire dropped and crawled across rock to the place where Nash lay on his side, dying, it seemed, for the arrow was lodged deep and true. She lay next to him. She touched his face with her broken hand. Nash. You will not die. I won’t allow it. Do you hear me? Do you see me?

  His black eyes stared, conscious, but barely, and only barely did he see her. Brigan tumbled down beside them, clutching Nash’s hair, kissing Nash’s forehead, gasping with tears. Healers in green appeared and knelt at Nash’s back.

  Fire grasped Brigan’s shoulder and looked into his face, his eyes blank with shock and grief. She shook him, until he saw her. Go now and fight this battle. Brigan. Go now. We need to win the war.

  He surged up wildly. She heard him yelling for Big. Horses thundered on all sides of the sad little tableau, parting around Fire, Nash, and the healers like a river around a rise of rock. The sound was deafening and Fire was soaked, drowning in hoofbeats and water and blood, gripping Nash’s face and clinging harder to his mind than she had ever clung to anything before. Look at me, Nash. Look at me. Nash, I love you. I love you so much.

  He blinked, staring into her face, a string of blood growing at the corner of his mouth. His shoulders and neck convulsed in pain.

  Living is too hard right now, he whispered into her mind. Dying is easy. Let me die.

  She felt the very moment when the two armies met, an explosion taking place within her own being. So much fear and pain, and so many minds fading away.

  No, Nash. I won’t let you. My brother, don’t die. Hold on. My brother, hold on to me.

  PART FOUR

  The Dells

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  THE RIVER HAD risen so high with the spring melt that finally one of the bridges, with great shrieks and moans, had broken loose and plunged down into the sea. Hanna said she saw it happen from the palace roof. Tess had watched it with her. Tess had said that the river was liable to wash the palace
and the city and the whole kingdom off the rocks, and then there would finally be peace in the world.

  “Peace in the world,” Brigan repeated musingly when Fire told him. “I suppose she’s right. That would bring peace to the world. But it’s not likely to happen, so I suppose we’ll have to keep blundering on and making a mess of it.”

  “Oh,” Fire said, “well put. We’ll have to pass that on to the governor so he can use it in his speech when they dedicate the new bridge.”

  He smiled quietly at her teasing. They stood side by side on the palace roof, a full moon and a sky of stars illuminating the city’s expanse of wood, stone, and water. “I suppose I’m a bit frightened by this new beginning we’re supposed to be having,” he said. “Everyone in the palace is so fresh and bright and confident, but it’s only weeks since we were hacking each other to death. Thousands of my soldiers will never see this new world.”

  Fire thought of the raptor monster that had taken her by surprise this very morning, diving upon her and her guard as she exercised Small on the road, coming so close and fast that Small had panicked and kicked at the creature, almost losing his rider. Musa had been furious with herself, furious even with Fire, or at least with Fire’s headscarf, which had loosened and released part of its property and been the reason for the attack in the first place. “It’s true we’ve a great deal more to do than erect a new bridge,” Fire said now, “and rebuild the parts of the palace that went up in the fire. But, Brigan, I do believe the worst is behind us.”

  “Nash was sitting up when I went to the infirmary to see him today,” Brigan said, “and shaving himself. Mila was there, laughing at his mistakes.”

  Fire reached a hand to the roughness of Brigan’s jaw, because he had reminded her of one of her favorite places to touch. They came together then, and forgot about the suffering kingdom for a number of minutes, while Fire’s guard tried to blend even more discreetly into the background.

  “My guard is another matter we need to discuss,” Fire murmured. “I must have solitude, Brigan, and it must be when I choose it, not when you do.”

  Distracted, Brigan took a moment to respond. “You’ve borne your guard patiently.”

  “Yes, well, I agree I do need them much of the time, especially if I’m to stand so close to the crown. And I trust them, Brigan—I’d go so far as to say I have love for some of them. But—”

  “You need to be alone sometimes.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’ve also promised you not to wander alone.”

  “We must both promise each other,” Fire said, “that we’ll be thoughtful on the question, and answer it for ourselves on a case by case basis, and try not to take undue risks.”

  “Yes, all right,” Brigan said. “I’ll concede this point.”

  It was a piece in the structure of the ongoing conversation they had been having since the end of the war, about what it meant for them to be together.

  “Could the kingdom ever bear me as its queen, Brigan?”

  “Love, I’m not king. Nash is well out of danger.”

  “But it could happen someday.”

  He sighed. “Yes. Well, then. We must consider it seriously.”

  In the starlight she could just make out the towers of the bridge that men were building over the rush of the Winged River. In the daylight she watched them now and then, hanging from their ropes, balancing on scaffolding that barely seemed strong enough to withstand the current. She lost her breath every time one of them leapt over empty space.

  THE ARRANGEMENTS AT the green house had become slightly peculiar, for Roen had decided to take the house back from Brigan and give it to Fire.

  “I can understand you taking it from Brigan, if that’s your pleasure,” Fire said, standing in the small green kitchen, having this argument with Roen for the third or fourth time. “You’re the queen, and it’s the queen’s house, and whatever Brigan may accomplish, he’s highly unlikely ever to be queen. But Nash will have a queen someday, Roen, and the house by rights should be hers.”

  “We’ll build her something else,” Roen said with a careless sweep of her arm.

  “This is the queen’s house,” Fire repeated.

  “It’s my house,” Roen said. “I built it, and I can give it to whomever I want, and I don’t know anyone who needs a peaceful retreat from the court more than you do, Fire—”

  “I have a retreat. I have a house of my own in the north.”

  “Three weeks away,” Roen snorted, “and miserable half the year. Fire. If you’re to stay at court then I want you to have this house, for your own daily retreat. Take Brigandell and Hannadell in if you like, or send them out on their ears.”

  “Whatever woman Nash marries is already going to resent me enough—”

  Roen spoke over her. “You are queenly, Fire, whether you see it or not. And you’d be spending most of your time here anyway if I left the house to Brigan; and I’m through with arguing. Besides, it matches your eyes.”

  This last was preposterous enough to render Fire speechless, and it didn’t help that Tess, kneading dough at the table, nodded her head smartly and added, “And the flowers are all in reds and golds and pinks, Lady Granddaughter, in case you hadn’t noticed, and you’ve seen the big tree go all red in autumn.”

  “Naxdell tried to steal that tree, twice,” Roen said, careening happily off topic. “He wanted it in his own courtyard. He set the gardeners to digging it up, but where the limbs touch the ground they take root, and it was an impossible job. And mad. How did he think he was ever going to get it into the palace—through the roofs? Nax and Cansrel could never lay eyes on a beautiful thing without needing to possess it.”

  Fire gave up. The arrangement was not orderly, but the truth was that she loved the little green house, its garden, and its tree, and she wanted to live there, and she didn’t want anyone who already lived there to leave. It didn’t matter who owned it and who had taken in whom. It was a bit like the dappled gray horse, who, being led through the palace and shown the grounds of the green house, and being made to understand that this was Fire’s home, chose it for her home, too. She grazed behind the house on the cliff above Cellar Harbor and slept under the tree, and went for rides with Fire sometimes, and Small. She belonged to herself, though it was Fire who brought her in and out, and though Hanna had named her Horse, and though Brigan sat sometimes on a bench in the garden, radiating deliberate mildness, pretending not to notice the way she edged toward him, extending her nostrils almost to his very shoulder, cautiously sniffing.

  At night Fire rubbed Tess’s feet and brushed out the silver-white hair that reached almost to her knees. Her grandmother insisted on being her servant, and Fire understood that. When she could, she insisted on the same thing back.

  ONE PERSON FIRE spent time with had nothing to give. Lady Murgda, traitor and attempted murderer, had been kept in the dungeons since the final battle of the war. Her husband was dead. So was her brother. She was well into her pregnancy, which was the only reason she had been left alive. She lashed at Fire with bitter and hateful words when Fire visited, but still Fire continued to visit, not always certain why she did. Sympathy for a strong person who’d been brought low? Respect for a pregnant woman? At any rate, she was not afraid of Murgda’s vitriol.

  One day as she stepped out of Murgda’s cell she met Nash being helped in by Welkley and one of the healers. Grasping his hand, looking at the message in his eyes, she understood that she was not the only person with sympathy for Murgda’s miserable situation.

  They didn’t have a lot of words for each other these days, Fire and Nash. Something unbreakable had formed between them. A bond of memory and experience, and a desperate fondness that seemed not to require words.

  How wonderful to see him on his feet.

  “I’LL ALWAYS BE leaving,” Brigan said.

  “Yes,” Fire said. “I know.”

  Early morning, and they were tangled together in her bed in the green house. Fire was
memorizing every scar on his face and his body. She was memorizing the pale clear gray of his eyes, because he was leaving today with the First to the north, escorting his mother and father to their respective homes. “Brigan,” she said, so that he would talk, and she could hear his voice and memorize it.

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me again where you’re going.”

  “HANNA HAS ACCEPTED you completely,” he said a few minutes later. “She’s not jealous, or confused.”

  “She has accepted me,” Fire said. “But she is a little jealous.”

  “Is she?” he said, startled. “Should I talk to her?”

  “It’s a small thing,” Fire said. “She does allow for you loving me.”

  “She loves you too.”

  “She does love me. Really, I don’t think any child could see her father beginning to love someone else and not feel jealousy. At least, that’s what I imagine. It never happened to me.” She lost her voice. She continued in thoughts. I was, wholly and truly, the only person I ever knew my father to love.

  “Fire,” he whispered, kissing her face. “You did the thing you had to do.”

  He never tried to own me, Brigan. Roen said that Cansrel could never see a beautiful thing without wanting to possess it. But he did not try to possess me. He let me be my own.

  ON THE DAY the surgeons removed Fire’s fingers, Brigan was in the north. In the infirmary Hanna held Fire’s good hand tightly, chattering her almost to dizziness, and Nash held Hanna’s hand, and reached his other hand, a bit cheekily, out to Mila, who gave him a look like acid. Mila, big-eyed, big-bellied, and glowing like a person with a wonderful secret, seemed to have a curious talent for attracting the fondness of men who far outranked her. But she had learned something from the last one. She had learned propriety, which was the same as saying she had learned to trust only herself. So much so that she was not afraid to be rude to the king, when he asked for it.