City of Wind (Steel and Fire Book 4)

by Jordan Rivet

  A scrape sounded behind her. Zala had returned.

  “Princess, we can go up. I met a few Air Sensors outside the tunnel. All is well.”

  “Have they heard any news of my mother or the Stronghold?”

  “The Sensors believe the fortress still stands,” Zala said, moving to cover the old Fire Lanterns once more. “The messages in the Air are not clear, but the Soolens don’t seem to be advancing around the Rock yet. We should be safe.”

  It hadn’t actually occurred to Selivia that the Soolens might try attacking the far side of the Rock too. They could have walked right into their arms.

  “Why aren’t the messages clear?” she asked.

  “The Air blows where it wills,” Zala said. Then she grinned. “Come. We’re just in time for supper!”

  Zala led the way out of the ancient chamber. Sand thickened on the steps as they climbed out of the depths of the Rock. The air was definitely lighter here, and more markings appeared on the walls in the Far Plains language, directing their path.

  “I haven’t told anyone who you are,” Zala explained as they walked. “Is it all right if I call you Sel while you’re here?”

  “Of course.” Selivia paused as an exciting thought occurred to her. “You haven’t been going by a fake name in Vertigon, have you?”

  “There’s no need,” Zala said. “But my real family name is Tovenarov, not Toven.”

  “You shortened it?”

  “I didn’t want anyone making the connection with my family here. Many of the Tovenarovs are powerful Air Sensors. That makes people nervous outside of Trure.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re still Zala.” Zala Tovenarov. Selivia repeated the name in her head a few times to help remember it.

  “What will you tell your people about us?” Fenn asked.

  “You are mother and daughter, my friends from Stronghold Town,” Zala said. “You wanted to escape the violence. More of the Plainsfolk who live in the shadow of the Stronghold will probably arrive within a few days anyway.”

  “That’s easy to remember,” Selivia said. She squeezed Fenn’s hand. Her bodyguard was still wary, but she was sure they were going to be fine. They had to be.

  At the top of the staircase, they found a sandy corridor with doorways and tunnels leading off in other directions. Footsteps and murmurs whispered along them, people moving through the tunnels like ants. Selivia was eager to investigate, but the natural daylight flooding in ahead of them drew her onward.

  As the end of the tunnel neared, Zala picked up the pace, leading them through a beam of sunlight and out of the Rock at last. Selivia followed her into the bright light of day—and stopped. They stood on a ledge overlooking a sprawling city. Caves and smaller dwellings peeked out from the sloping cliffside, at their level and a little below it, but most of the people lived on the Far Plain itself. The Far Desert might have been a better name for it. The actual plains grass was sparse here, giving way to rocks and rough golden and russet brush. A strong wind blew in from the west, sending dust and sand through the wide streets. In some places, sand piled as thick as snow in a Vertigonian winter.

  “Welcome to Sunset City,” Zala said.

  “It’s beautiful,” Selivia whispered.

  Most of the buildings were a similar size, and Selivia didn’t see anything that looked like a palace or anything official. The houses were single-level dwellings built of sandstone and pale mud bricks. They would have blended in with the landscape if not for the colorful textiles fluttering through the village. Awnings provided shade in front of most of the houses, and colorful curtains kept away the blowing dust.

  Zala led the way down a winding path and into the city. Selivia thought she must be so excited to spend time at home after months on the mountain. And what a home it was!

  The people wore magnificent fabrics, woven from thick fibers in hundreds of colors. Selivia could see in an instant where Zala got her appreciation for color. She could hardly keep from dancing as they walked among the colorful textiles lining the wide, sandy streets. She spotted a pair of animal tracks she couldn’t identify, and only Fenn’s hand on her shoulder stopped her from following the trail to see what sort of magnificent creature she’d find at the other end. The streets had a hushed, busy feeling. Most people seemed to be hurrying home for supper, though the sun still hadn’t reached the horizon.

  Selivia’s stomach rumbled. It had been a while since their last meal of jerky and flatbread. She couldn’t wait to try the Far Plains delicacies Zala had told her about.

  The Far Plains were technically a part of Trure, but their affairs were largely separate from the rest of the kingdom. They had their own language and customs, and the Sunset City wasn’t easy to reach. It was much more common for young Far Plainsfolk to seek their fortune in Rallion City and the towns on the High Road than it was for other Trurens to travel all the way out here. Selivia’s mother hadn’t been here since her childhood, as far as she knew. She must have chosen it for Selivia’s refuge because of the remote location. She felt a twinge of worry for her mother but tried not to dwell on it.

  They approached a larger house near the northern edge of the city. A broad woven awning out front covered a space bigger than the house itself. The awning featured a beautiful pattern of blues and greens that made Selivia think of the sea—or what she imagined the sea must be like. Assorted tables and chairs formed a rough circle beneath it. A dozen people were sitting down to a meal when Selivia and the others walked up.

  “The Air has granted me safe passage,” Zala said in the Far Plains tongue. She bowed formally then waited.

  A dozen faces turned to her as one. The first person to recover from her surprise leapt to her feet and offered a similar bow. “We thank the Air for your safe return.” Then she knocked over her chair as she ran forward and swept Zala into a huge hug. “We didn’t think you’d be back so soon. We would have come to meet you. When did you get here? What was it like in Vertigon? Are you hungry? Let me get you something.”

  The woman didn’t stop talking long enough for Zala to answer any of her questions. Selivia gathered that her name was Ananova, and she was Zala’s aunt and the matriarch of this family. She ushered them toward the tables and waved for a young man to fetch seats for the newcomers.

  The others introduced themselves in a flurry of names and voices that quickly ran together. Selivia understood the Far Plains tongue much better than she had when Zala first came to Vertigon, but her accent needed work. She felt a bit shy about using the language herself. Then someone gave her a plate of pink, rubbery fruit, a cup of tea, and a cold towel to clean her hands. With the first bite of the fruit, which was as sweet as candy, she quickly decided she liked this place and these people and she didn’t care if she made a few mistakes. Soon she was chattering away with what turned out to be Zala’s cousins from several families, who talked faster than she could ever hope to understand. Fenn seemed less certain they were among friends. She didn’t remove her weapons or stray far from Selivia’s side. Selivia was far too excited about meeting the Far Plainsfolk to worry too much about her bodyguard. Their reception was warm, and they were happy to see Zala. That was enough for her.

  Ananova bustled around them, making sure they had everything they needed. Her hair was the same pale brown as Zala’s. She had a warm, motherly quality to her voice—and she talked a lot!

  “You must be so tired. The Air will bless your sleep tonight. Are you warm? Have you had enough feather cactus? Let me get you some. How about more tea? Darling! Fetch Sel another cup of tea.” She bustled off to see to the tea before Selivia could say a word.

  Three of the children in the group belonged to Ananova, including the young man who had fetched their chairs, Ivran. Zala’s cousin was slim, with longish brown hair that fell roguishly over his eyes. He was handsome, and Selivia’s cheeks went as pink as the feather cactus when he pulled up a chair beside hers.

  “I knew she wouldn’t last,” he said.

  Seli
via blinked. “What?”

  “Zala. She’s been gone less than a year. I knew she wouldn’t make it out there.”

  “Make it?”

  “In the Other Lands.” There was a bitter note to his voice. “She thought she was so smart, going off to Rallion City like that.”

  “Zala is smart,” Selivia said. She quickly revised her opinion of Ivran. Something in his sneering smile made him terribly unattractive despite his roguish hair. “What’s your problem anyway?”

  Ivran snorted. “You mean you haven’t figured it out?”

  “Figured what out?” Selivia asked.

  “I bet you think Zala is your friend, don’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Ivran!” Zala waved her cousin over and spoke sharply to him for a few minutes. Selivia couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Ivran rolled his eyes and slumped over to a different seat farther away from Selivia. That was weird.

  Ananova took the chair her son had vacated. Everyone had shifted around and traded seats a dozen times during the meal.

  “You must rest from your journey soon,” Ananova said. “Did you get enough sleep on the way over?”

  “I’m too excited to be tired.” Selivia tried to summon her prior enthusiasm, but she felt wrong footed after speaking with Ivran. “I’ve always wanted to visit the Far Plains.”

  “You’ll love it here,” Ananova said. “If you’re finished eating, we must see the sunset. It’s the best thing about the City of Wind.”

  “The City of—?”

  “You’ll understand why we call it that soon. You’ll have enough of the wind. And all this sand! I daresay it’s the Air’s own tribulation sent to teach us patience.” Ananova reached out to adjust the scarf over Selivia’s hair, the gesture intimate and motherly. “Come. It’s almost time.”

  The older children picked up the plates and cups and took them into the house. Everyone else gathered outside, looking to the west. Families had stepped out of the houses around them too, preparing for the evening ritual.

  Selivia and Fenn stood together at the edge of the group. Some of the Far Plainsfolk looked at them curiously, but most kept their faces turned toward the setting sun.

  And what a sunset! Low clouds hung in the sky, giving the sun a dramatic canvas on which to splash its glorious colors. The edges of the clouds were feathered with gold and pink, not unlike that delicious rubbery fruit. The centers of the clouds were a deep purple, flirting with indigo farther from the sinking sun. As the brilliant disk slipped downward, the colors morphed and curled along the clouds. A deeper purple-blue seeped slowly across the sky, rolling over their heads and chasing the sun down to its resting place.

  Without warning, Selivia burst into tears. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the most beautiful sunset she’d ever seen, or because of Ivran’s unkindness, or if finding herself in a land so strange and far away had finally caught up to her. She missed her family, and she didn’t know when she’d see any of them again. This place was new and beautiful, but she wanted to be back with the people she loved.

  Fenn rested a hand on her shoulder. At first, Selivia thought she was giving comfort, but her bodyguard had tears in her eyes too. They glittered like dark diamonds. Selivia patted Fenn’s hand, sniffling a bit. At least they had each other.

  Zala joined them, perhaps noticing Selivia’s tears and Fenn’s somber mood. She had something furry tucked into her arms.

  “Would you like to hold this little fellow, Sel?”

  Selivia reached for the bundle of fur, blinking away her tears. It was a tiny puppy, its fur a shade of vivid yellow. The little creature was fast asleep, and she’d never seen anything more precious. She wrapped her arms around it and buried her nose in its fur.

  “I love him,” she gasped.

  Zala laughed. “I thought you might. Would you like to take care of him for now?”

  “Do you even have to ask?” Selivia kissed the little creature as it slept soundly in her arms. “But what is he?”

  “A purlendog,” Zala said.

  “I’ve only seen them in books.” Selivia examined the puppy more closely. It looked like an ordinary dog, apart from the color and the fact that it had ears like a bat. Oh, and three tails. It opened its eyes, blinking at her sleepily. “It’s so yellow!”

  “It won’t be so bright when it’s grown up,” Zala said. “They start to look more muted and golden around the age when they learn to sing.”

  “Thank you.” Selivia thought she might cry again. She’d always wanted a purlendog. Their voices were supposed to be more beautiful than the calling of thunderbirds. She held the puppy tighter and pulled Zala into the hug too.

  The breeze picked up, whispering through her hair, and for a moment, she was sure she heard a voice on the wind. She caught sight of Ivran lurking nearby and thought about asking Zala about what he’d said earlier. But as the purlendog licked her cheek with its soft blue tongue, she resolved not to be consumed by worry. She may be far from her family, but she was sure she was going to like this place. And Zala was definitely her friend, wasn’t she?

  9.

  Invitation

  SIV wiped the blood off his blade and strutted across the pentagon to rousing applause. His latest opponent had been as tough as a hungry velgon bear. Siv had leapt onto his back from one of the pen obstacles to pull off the victory. This arena featured a selection of platforms of different heights, some with false floors that could fall at any moment.

  The spectators had enjoyed that leaping move. Siv should add it to his repertoire. He still relied on his fists a bit too much. Most people had abandoned the nickname Kres had assigned him. He was becoming known as Siv the Slugger.

  He raised his fists to the crowds, and they shouted his name. He enjoyed the attention, the rush of admiration, the way the shouts rumbled through his core. A man could get used to this.

  He should probably work on securing cleaner victories, though. Too often, a frantic intensity overtook him when he fought. Sometimes he finished a match and had no idea what had happened. Oh well. Latch would tell him if he made a stupid move. The surly Soolen had taken it upon himself to train with Siv, even though he preferred swords to knives.

  Siv finally exited the pen to make way for the next solo match. Dellario the Darting Death was leaning against the barrier, waiting for him. Siv hadn’t seen him since their first Dance of Steel a few weeks ago.

  “Got another one, eh?” Dellario said.

  “Haven’t been killed yet,” Siv said.

  “So I hear. I’ve heard your name more than once, in fact. You’re making an impression on our fair city.”

  “I’m trying.”

  A trio of broadsword fighters strolled past, slowing to compliment his performance. Siv accepted their attentions graciously. Dellario watched with interest.

  “A friend of mine was asking about you just the other day,” he said when they were alone again. “He saw our first Dance together, and he was impressed. He asked me to invite you to a little gathering he’s having tomorrow evening.”

  “A gathering?”

  “More of a party, really. At his manor house.” Dellario ran a cloth over his rapier with a calculated casualness. “He’d love to meet you.”

  “He’s a lord?” Siv asked.

  “A Waterlord.” Dellario took a parchment from his coat and held it out with his four-fingered hand. It listed an address in the Garment District. “Khrillin, one of the most powerful Watermight practitioners in Pendark.”

  Siv accepted the parchment warily. A prominent Waterworker wanted to meet him? Because of his pen fighting?

  “You’d do well not to take his interest lightly,” Dellario said.

  “Will the others from the team be there?”

  “Don’t worry about the others.”

  Siv narrowed his eyes. “They’re impressive fighters too.”

  “But you are one of Pendark’s most exciting up-and-comers.” Dellario w
inked. “Enjoy it.”

  Siv wondered if this Khrillin fellow knew Wyla. All the Waterworkers seemed to be at odds with each other. Befriending one of Wyla’s enemies could be useful. He didn’t like the power the woman had over Dara.

  “Maybe I can stop by,” he said slowly.

  “Excellent.” Dellario clapped him on the shoulder, apparently taking maybe to mean yes. “See that you dress well. He’ll notice.”

  Siv looked down at his bloodstained coat. He supposed he could spare a bit of his winnings to buy a nicer one, though it would sting. Despite his victories, it was taking longer than Siv expected to put away money. He had to give Kres a portion of his winnings for room and board, and everything in Pendark was expensive. He hadn’t ever had to think about coin back in his princely days. Now that he knew what it was like to be poor, he was beginning to understand why Dara questioned the wisdom of his plan. He needed a faster way to raise funds.

  He glanced at the address on the parchment. Garment District, eh? A powerful friend could prove even more valuable than an extra bit of coin, especially if this Khrillin might be able to help him rescue Dara from Wyla. Speaking of which . . .

  “Any chance I could bring a date?”

  “Of course.” Dellario grinned. Out in the pen, the announcer called his name. “But the company at Khrillin’s parties never disappoints. You wouldn’t be lonely.”

  “Sure. See you there?”

  “Oh, I’m always around,” Dellario said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t mention it to our friend Kres, though.” He tipped an imaginary hat and darted into the pen.

  Siv tucked the parchment into his pocket. He was surprised his fighting had attracted so much attention. He was feeling pretty proud of his knife skills, all things considered. He hadn’t won every solo match, but he always put up a good fight, and he’d only had to pay for Watermight healing for major cuts once. Okay, maybe twice. The other pen fighters liked him too. He almost never had to buy his own drinks, which was good because he was saving every coin.