by Jordan Rivet
“About Brach?”
“Oh yes. If he means to rule Trure, he still has enemies to face. He cut straight to the capital using the Cindral Forest route, but much of Trure is yet to fall under his control.”
“Why do you think he invaded Trure anyway?” Dara asked.
“I’ve wondered that myself.” Vine twirled a finger through her lustrous dark hair. It spilled over her shoulders, always hanging loose no matter what she was doing, from dueling to dancing to everything in between. “The Brach family doesn’t have prime positioning in the rank of succession in Soole. They are rich and powerful, but Brach would have to murder three-quarters of the nobility to ever become king. Perhaps he decided he’d rather carve out his own kingdom.”
“As long as Selivia is safe, I don’t mind what Brach does, to be honest.”
“You’ve thrown your lot in with a king in the most spectacular way, Dara,” Vine said. “You have to keep yourself informed about what all the kings and kingmakers are up to these days.”
Dara shrugged. “I have you to help me with that.”
Vine smiled, but the expression soon faded, and her eyes took on a thoughtful look.
“What is it?”
“Oh, well, it’s Vex,” Vine said.
Dara started up, automatically reaching for the black hilt of her Savven blade.
“You found out where he’s staying?”
“I have a list of possibilities,” Vine said. “It’s a bit tricky as I don’t want to attract the attention of his informants. The Rollendars are famously well informed, you know. I asked a cobbler about him this afternoon. His eyes went as round as coat buttons, and then he started asking me questions. I got out of there as quickly as I could.”
“Vex already knows we’re in the city,” Dara said. “As long as you didn’t tell him where you’re staying, it probably doesn’t matter.” He’d been gravely injured in his attempt to kill Siv, but it was only a matter of time before the crafty Rollendar lord caught up with them. She gripped her sword, thinking of the Fire supply Wyla had purchased for their research. Vex was an excellent swordsman, but she’d like to see him try to capture her again with Fire in her veins and a Fire Blade in her hands.
“I know,” Vine said. “But it scared me worse than anything. What if I’d gone into that cobbler’s shop and Vex had been there asking for his latest reports?”
“You didn’t,” Dara said. “And now you know to avoid it.”
“Yes, but . . .” Vine hesitated, biting her lip.
“What?”
“I dreamed about that cobbler, Dara,” Vine said. “Last night. I thought it was the Air giving me a hint, so I searched for the shop, and there it was, with the same purple flags and the same shoes for sale and everything. Then the cobbler turned out to be a Rollendar informant. I wouldn’t expect the Air to send me into danger like that.”
“Are you sure it was the Air? You could have walked by that shop before and dreamed of it by chance.”
“Maybe,” Vine said. “But it was very vivid.”
“Have you had dreams from the Air before?”
“Oh, I’ve dreamt the most wonderful things on my Air retreats,” Vine said. “But never with such clarity.”
“Maybe the Air somehow knew today would be a safe time to stop by that shop. Now you know to avoid it in the future.”
“Perhaps.” Vine toyed with the ends of her hair, still looking troubled.
“There’s something else?” Dara asked.
“Well, I’ve been dreaming about Lord Vex too,” she said at last. “Nothing as helpful as his location. Just dreams. We’re riding through the woods together or chatting over tea or—never mind.”
Dara frowned. Vine and Lord Vex had spent a lot of time talking on their journey through Kurn Pass. Perhaps the dreams were vestiges of those days. Hopefully, they didn’t mean anything.
“Do you want to ask Wyla if she knows anything about Air dreams?” Dara asked.
“Of course I’d like to,” Vine said with a huff. “I’d love to ask her all sorts of things.”
“Sorry,” Dara said. “I wish she was more interested in you too.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Vine brushed her hair back over her shoulders as if shaking off Wyla’s indifference. “How was your lesson? I forgot to ask.”
Dara launched into an explanation of everything she had discussed with Wyla over the past few sessions. She held back from revealing that Wyla thought she might be able to use the Watermight herself, focusing on the other insights Wyla had offered about the magical substances, the possible explanations behind her delayed Spark, and their conversation about the physical sensations as she drew in power from the Firebulbs. When she finally stopped for a breath, she realized Vine was chuckling.
“What?”
“That’s all very fascinating, Dara,” Vine said. “But I meant your swimming lesson. With your long-lost love?”
“Oh.” Dara blushed and gave a much more abbreviated account of that afternoon. She didn’t mention all the kissing, but judging by the knowing look Vine gave her, there was no need.
“It’s a shame Wyla keeps you so busy,” Vine said when Dara finished. “It’s high time you two got to enjoy each other for once.”
“It is nice.” Dara blushed. “But I still don’t know if—”
“Stop!” Vine leapt to her feet.
“What?”
“Don’t even say it.”
“Say what?”
“You ‘don’t even know if you’ll get to be together.’ Honestly, Dara, have you seen how that man looks at you? Besides, if he doesn’t make you his queen after all you’ve been through, I’ll kill him myself.” She put her hands on her hips, staring Dara down. “And I’ll go through you to do it.”
“His . . . his queen?”
Vine chuckled. “You know I love you, Dara, but you can be remarkably naïve. What else would you become if you help him take back his throne and you all live happily ever after?”
“I guess it didn’t occur to me,” Dara said faintly. She had pictured them back in the castle together in her most hopeful daydreams, but even then she’d been wearing her old Castle Guard uniform, not a queen’s diadem.
“That is because you are not nearly conniving and political enough, my dear Dara.” Vine patted her on the head. “There is a particular order of things. Women who marry kings become queens. And the other way around, of course. I daresay Tull Denmore thought about it all the time.”
“I’ll worry about that later,” Dara said. “Right now, I want to learn what I can from Wyla and make sure Siv doesn’t get himself killed in the Dance of Steel.”
“There’s the grave, earnest Dara I know,” Vine said. “He’s really competing in that barbaric sport?”
“He thinks he can earn enough money to buy my way out of my bargain with Wyla and hire enough men to retake Vertigon.”
“Hmm, that may be a touch optimistic,” Vine said. “But I suppose it would help to have some gold. I’m pondering how to solve our current financial situation as well. If he can make some money in the Steel Pentagon, that would be most welcome.”
Dara gaped at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why not? It may be the most useful thing he can do while you serve your time. We won’t get far without gold.”
“What if he gets killed?”
“You should really have more faith in him. Didn’t you teach him everything you know about fighting?”
“With a sword,” Dara said. “He fancies himself a knife fighter now.”
“Oh well. Nobody’s perfect.” Vine skipped toward the door. “Let us go collect Rid. We don’t want to be late for supper.”
“But—”
“Our dear king needs to prove himself too, Dara,” Vine said. “You’re not the only one who aims to do that with more steel than sense.”
8.
The Rock
SELIVIA had never walked so much in her entire life. They traveled throug
h the darkness beneath the Rock for three days, the way forward lit only by Zala’s Everlight. Selivia couldn’t wait to reach the mysterious city of the Far Plainsfolk on the sunset side of the Rock. She’d wanted to see it long before she ever met Zala. She wished she could get there without developing quite so many blisters on her feet, though.
They told stories to pass the time. Selivia’s favorites were tales of adventure and romance and exotic lands. For the first time in her life, she was embarking on a real adventure of her own. The first few hours had been terribly exciting, but as the days passed, she wished to see something besides the endless tunnel of rock and the plodding backs of her companions.
She tried to stay positive, but she was worried about her mother. It was especially bad when they stopped to sleep, and the dark hours stretched on with no sound but the stirring of their breath. Selivia didn’t want to believe anyone would hurt her mother. She was a lovely person, if a bit sad and cold of late. Selivia had never known her to be rash. If she had risked sending her youngest daughter into these deep, dark tunnels, the danger must be greater than Selivia knew.
She began to doubt her memories as they continued through the darkness, every footstep making dust bloom beneath their slippers. Had her mother really been afraid of Uncle Valon—her own brother? What if she was just paranoid after the death of her husband and the disappearance of her son? What if the Stronghold really was the safest place, and they were getting farther away from it with each underground mile?
Selivia trailed her fingers on the tunnel walls, the cool sensation calming her runaway thoughts. The attack had been real. She remembered those silver arrows flying over the walls with perfect clarity. This wasn’t a story. Her mother had protected her. And she had to be brave.
The air felt heavy in the tunnel. Selivia missed the sunshine and the spring flowers. She missed the wind blowing sharply over the plains as she watched the soldiers from the Stronghold battlements. She missed the comfort of her pets and the company of her family. It got harder to stay positive the longer she spent beneath the earth. Would this journey never end?
On the third day, Zala stopped at last and ran her fingers over a marking carved on the wall.
“We’re here.” She turned, angling the Everlight down so it wouldn’t shine in their eyes. Her face looked otherworldly in the shadows. “There’s a staircase ahead.”
“Finally!” Selivia exclaimed, then she clapped a hand over her mouth as the sound echoed through the tunnel. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Is it daytime?” Fenn asked. “I’ve lost track.”
“I think so,” Zala said. “Time passes so slowly when you can’t see the sun.”
“Will we have somewhere to sleep up there?” Selivia asked.
“We’ll be fine,” Zala said. “We’re going to stay with my family.”
“But I don’t know your family.” Suddenly the fears that had been brewing within her throughout the long, dark walk bubbled up like a pot of tea. “I feel like I don’t know you at all.”
Zala’s face fell. She shifted the Everlight to straighten her scarf, and in an instant, she was Selivia’s handmaid again, not the mysterious shadow guide she had become as they fled the Stronghold.
“I thought we were friends, Princess.”
“Of course we are,” Selivia said quickly. “I just mean you’ve been keeping important things secret.”
“It was necessary.”
“Are you . . . are you some sort of spy?”
“I’m your handmaid and tutor. If the Peace had endured in Vertigon, that’s all I’d be for as long as you needed me.”
“And now?”
“My duty was to stay by your side and spirit you to safety with the Far Plainsfolk if necessary, nothing more.”
Selivia frowned, trying to quiet the fears bubbling through her. She wanted to trust Zala, but the past few days in the darkness had been so strange.
“Your lady mother hired me for this,” Zala said. “She wanted to keep you from harm.”
Fenn shifted, her feet scraping the stones.
“My apologies, Fenn,” Zala said quickly. “Anyone who sees you knows you can defend the princess. It makes you a target. But people barely glance at me, even though I can protect her too.”
“I’m not offended,” Fenn said. “I was aware of your additional role.”
“You were?” Selivia asked. Even Zala looked surprised at that.
“I knew you didn’t truly grow up in Stronghold Town. I guessed you were from the sunset side of the Rock, and I spoke to Queen Tirra about what you might be hiding. She explained everything to me.”
“You know the Far Plainsfolk that well?” Zala asked.
Fenn shrugged, her cheeks going a bit pink. “I spent several years with a lover in Stronghold Town.”
“A lover?” Selivia gaped at her stoic bodyguard. “Apparently I don’t know either of you as well as I thought.”
“I’m twenty years older than you, Princess,” Fenn said kindly. “I wouldn’t expect you to know everything about me.”
Selivia bit her lip. It was hard to think of Fenn having another life before she and her brother came to work for the Amintelles as bodyguards. She resolved to learn more about her during their stay in the Far Plains. And to get the full story about this Stronghold Town lover.
Selivia turned to Zala. “If my mother trusts you, then so do I. Only . . .”
“What is it?”
“Well, you’re a secret bodyguard. That’s so . . . serious.” She felt embarrassed. Everyone had big, important roles except for her. “You must have been so bored when I spent so much time talking about dresses and boys.”
Zala laughed, the sound echoing around the tunnel like music. “I like dresses and boys. I’m still the same person.”
“Good.” Selivia looked between the two women who had done so much to protect her. The women her mother had entrusted with her safety. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
Zala led the way around a final bend. The air felt less oppressive here. The ground started sloping upward.
“Do any of your people know we’re coming?” Fenn asked.
“That depends on what the Air Sensors have heard. They sometimes receive messages in their meditations.” Zala hesitated. She had been reluctant to talk about Air Sensors when she told Selivia about growing up among the Far Plainsfolk before. “Try to stay clear of them. Talking to Air Sensors can be . . . confusing. And be wary of their riddles.”
“Riddles?”
“You’ll see. Ah, here we are.” Zala pointed her Everlight. The slick rock of the tunnel floor ended in a flight of stone steps climbing up through the darkness. “Be careful. The steps are very old.”
Selivia wanted to run up and burst into the sunshine, but she kept pace with Zala as they climbed. Despite the age, the steps felt as stable as ancient tree stumps. Sand gathered on them in clumps. Their feet scraped and slid on the grit, crunching with every step.
A rough screeching sounded ahead, Zala pulling open a door. It was as dark on the other side as it was in the tunnel, but Selivia immediately got the sense of space opening up. Zala’s silhouette stood sharp against the little Everlight. Selivia and Fenn followed her into the chamber, and the door slammed behind them.
A moment later, light erupted in the space as Zala uncovered an old-fashioned Fire Lantern, adorned with simple golden casings. She moved around the room, pulling covers off ancient Fire Lanterns until six of them illuminated the space.
The chamber felt old. Selivia didn’t know how else to describe it. A heavy stone table with stone benches was the only furniture. The walls were covered with paintings of figures in strange clothing and creatures the likes of which Selivia had only seen in storybooks. She hadn’t been allowed out of the Stronghold to see the famous cliff paintings up close, but she imagined they were done in the same style as these. She wondered how many people knew there were more paintings hidden inside the Rock.
“Wait here,�
�� Zala said. “I’ll make sure it’s safe outside and come back for you.”
She dropped her pack and strode out a door on the opposite side of the chamber. Fenn sat on one of the stone benches, sighing and rubbing her ankle. Selivia was far too excited to sit. She walked slowly around the chamber, kicking through a thick layer of sand, and examined the paintings on the walls. Words in a language she didn’t understand were painted above the images. The figures themselves wore flowing garments, like blankets twisted into dresses that left their shoulders bare. They wore crowns of flowers, and their features were strange. The paintings reminded her of the mural on the ceiling of her grandfather’s palace in Rallion City, though the style was more ancient somehow.
And the creatures! Selivia loved animals more than just about anything. She missed the pets she had left behind in Vertigon almost as much as she missed her family. The paintings depicted creatures more magnificent than any she had ever seen. There were horses, of course, and some figures rode on the backs of giant lizards like wingless dragons. Fanciful birds spread their wings wide across the walls in a hundred colors, encircling the people in sheltering arms. Painted tarbears, an adorable but long-extinct relative of the velgon bear, frolicked in what looked like a much wetter, greener version of the Far Plains.
All of the animals and people in the images appeared to be friends and partners—until she reached the wall with the second door. Here, instead of running and playing together, the ancient people and creatures faced off against one another. An ugly, bald thing with wicked teeth and black fur lurked beside the door. Could that be a cullmoran? A bird with talons like knives and the face of a snake circled above it. And then there were dragons.
True dragons. Selivia recognized them at once. They were gigantic compared to the people and other animals in the paintings. Their shapes weren’t that different from the cur-dragons Selivia had grown up with, but the painter had depicted them with cruel gleams in their eyes and vicious teeth. They spurted flame across the doorframe, and the paint glowed gold in the Firelight. The figure was so lifelike that Selivia wondered if the ancient painter had been alive when true dragons last roamed the earth. They were supposed to be sleeping in the far-off Burnt Mountains. She gave a little shiver. She would love to see a real true dragon. They were supposed to be fierce beasts. Selivia couldn’t help thinking they had been vilified unfairly. After all, everyone hated greckleflushes, but Selivia thought those made delightful pets.
