by Jordan Rivet
But a powerful friend could prove more useful than a small pile of gold. He’d have to see what this Khrillin was all about.
He was excited to take Dara to a party in any case. He didn’t get to see her nearly often enough. He’d been turned away on his last attempt to visit her. Wyla kept her busy—no doubt working on dangerous magical experiments. The sooner he could free her, the better.
Siv’s hopes that Dara would be able to sneak out for a drink and a dance were soundly dashed a few hours later when he was turned away at the gates yet again.
“Miss Dara is occupied,” the door guard said. “Come back later.”
“You say that every time,” Siv said.
“They are doing important work. I won’t interrupt Lady Wyla, especially not for some grimy vagabond.”
“Grimy vagabond?” Siv shifted his arms to hide the worst of the bloodstains on his coat. Okay, maybe it had been a while since he bought new clothes. But he didn’t need to take this from one of Wyla’s lackeys. “I’ll have you know I’m one of the city’s most exciting up-and-coming pen fighters.”
The guard snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Gutter trash.”
“Excuse me?” Siv said.
“Get lost,” the guard said. “Lady Wyla won’t have the likes of you getting filth on her floorboards.”
“This is the muddiest city on the damn continent,” Siv said. “I can hardly help a bit of dirt on my boots.”
The guard dismissed him with a final sniff. This was an entirely new experience for Siv. He didn’t think he was spoiled, exactly, but he’d never had anyone look at him as if he were scum while he’d been royalty. Plus, he thought he was popular here. He had his own nickname and everything!
He retreated a few paces and circled the manor, looking for another way in. He hadn’t seen Dara in days, and he was tired of waiting for the Waterworker to let her out. Guards clad in green uniforms patrolled the wall around the house. The manor was close enough to trafficked areas that they didn’t even glance at the young man in moderately grimy clothing striding alongside it.
The walls were constructed of rough stones, leaving lots of irregular dents and handholds. Siv spotted a promising section with a few larger ledges. He should be able to climb that. It was far enough away from the guards that he had a chance of getting all the way up before anyone spotted him. The only trouble was that this part of the wall rose directly from a canal. The waters of the channel lapped against the rough stone. No wonder the guards weren’t watching this section too closely.
Well, nothing for it. Siv waded out to his knees, then his waist, keeping watch lest the guards glance his way. His boots made a too-loud sucking sound with every step. A few people strolled by, but no one looked twice as he eased into the canal. It was deeper than he’d thought. The water level rose above his belt. He’d have to clean and dry his knife as soon as possible. Fortunately, he’d left his sword back at headquarters.
The ledge he’d spotted from farther away was higher above his head than he’d anticipated thanks to the depth of the canal. He jumped a few times and managed to grab it without making too much noise. He pulled himself up, bracing his boots against the slick wall below the waterline. His feet slipped into a gap where water flowed into the manor house grounds through the wall. A heavy grate blocked the entrance. A Waterworker like Wyla would never leave a large opening in her wall unprotected. Siv used the grate to push himself up.
Climbing the wall was tricky, but he scrambled halfway up before running into serious difficulty. Then a rock he planned to use as a handhold broke off at his touch and plunged into the canal with a terrific splash. He reached frantically for another handhold, managing to wedge his fingers into the gap where the rock had been just before losing his balance.
He froze, spread like a burrlinbat against the wall, hoping none of the guards would come to investigate the sound. Slowly, he eased his right boot up to a new position. His arms trembled as he struggled to support his weight on his fingertips, and his breathing grew heavy. He swung his left hand up to another ledge and prepared to move his left leg further up the wall.
“What on earth are you doing?”
Siv flailed, barely managing to put his foot down before he lost his grip entirely.
“Mother of a cullmoran,” he swore.
“There’s no need to talk like that, Your Majesty. I’m merely curious.”
Siv glanced over his shoulder. Vine Silltine stood on the canal bank, looking prim and clean in a Pendarkan dress. Her friend Rid, who had appointed himself her dedicated lackey, stood behind her, gaping at Siv’s inelegant position halfway up the wall.
“I’m visiting Dara.”
“The manor has a door, you know,” Vine said.
“The guards won’t let me in,” Siv said, trying to keep the strain from his voice. “Is Dara really that busy?”
“Wyla does seem to enjoy her company,” Vine said. “They are usually finished by this time of day, though. Dara has been wondering why you haven’t come to see her lately.”
“I’ve tried! They won’t let me—”
Siv’s foot slipped on the wall. This probably wasn’t the best time for this conversation.
“Can you get the door guard to let me in?”
“If they’ve turned you away before, I’m not sure I can sway them,” Vine said. “I have very little influence amongst Wyla’s people.” Vine sounded genuinely confused by that. She was usually great at getting people to do her bidding.
“Climbing it is, then,” Siv said. Now that he knew his attempts to visit hadn’t been communicated to Dara, he was more determined than ever to get inside. Wyla had no right to keep them apart.
“I’ll see to it that the guards don’t look this way,” Vine said. “The Air is quite limited here, but I ought to be able to coax it to draw their attention elsewhere. If not with the Air, I will find other ways to occupy them.”
“Much appreciated,” Siv grunted. He resumed his climb, knowing his tenuous grip wouldn’t hold him much longer.
Vine and Rid disappeared around the corner, and Siv focused on the wall. Whatever Vine did must have worked, because when he finally heaved himself over the wall, he didn’t see any guards on the narrow catwalk at the top. He stopped to catch his breath, surveying the manor house grounds. A stream issued from the wall directly beneath him, fed by the canal outside. It flowed gently through a wild garden of exotic vines and trees. A few buds peeking through the greenery suggested there would be plenty of flowers when spring began in earnest.
A large tree grew beside the wall a few paces on. He quickly scrambled into its branches, afraid Vine wouldn’t keep the wall guards occupied for long. A snap split the quiet of the garden. Uh-oh. The branches weren’t as strong as he’d thought. He plummeted into a thorny hedge.
When he could tell which way was up again, he lurched out of the brambles, muttering curses far worse than the one Vine had overheard. But he was in.
He crouched low and approached the black stone manor house, which rose like a castle in the center of the garden courtyard. Grotesque statues of ancient sea creatures decorated the eaves. For a moment, Siv swore their eyes glowed silver. He shuddered. This place was damn creepy.
He remembered Dara saying her room looked toward the gulf, so he snuck around to the southern side of the large manor. Unfortunately, Dara’s Waterworker was quite wealthy, and dozens of windows filled this side of the building. After a moment’s consideration, he collected a pocketful of rocks and began systematically tossing them at the windows on the top floor and immediately diving out of view. No one responded at the first window. At the second, a serving woman appeared at the glass. Siv hid behind a tree until she left the window. No one came to the third window. At the fourth, his rock struck true, and Dara’s face appeared a second later.
Siv stepped out from his hiding place and waved, hoping no one else was looking out of the windows on this side of the house. It had been fa
r too long since he’d seen Dara. The sheer angle of the wall was the only thing that kept him from trying to scale it to reach her at once.
A huge smile split Dara’s face the instant she noticed him. It made the whole climb up the wall worth it. Disapproval and maybe exasperation followed the smile, but he didn’t care. She was happy to see him.
Dara waved for him to stay where he was and disappeared from the window. Siv settled down behind a wild hedge filled with tiny green buds to wait. A few minutes later, the crunch of gravel announced her arrival. She hurried over to the hedge and sat down so she couldn’t be seen from the house.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Hello to you too.”
“I met Vine on my way down the stairs,” Dara said. “She saw you climbing the wall. Why didn’t you come through the front door?”
“And forgo such a grand romantic gesture? Not a chance. Besides, the door guard wouldn’t let me in.”
“Did it have anything to do with the fact that you’re covered in mud?”
Siv blinked and realized for the first time that water and canal slime coated him from his ribs to his toes. Right. At least some of the bloodstains from his fight earlier in the day had been washed away. Dara had definitely seen him in worse states than this.
“Not only did I scale a wall, but I waded through a canal to see you,” Siv said. “I reckon your Waterworker doesn’t want to share you.”
Dara grimaced. “She has been keeping me busy.”
“Well, I want to steal you away for a little while tomorrow night. There’s a party at another Waterworker’s manor house, and we’re invited. What do you say?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Which Waterworker?”
“Khrillin. I don’t know anything about him. A pen fighter invited me. Here’s the address.” He handed her the dampened parchment, relieved that the ink had only run a little.
“The Waterworkers aren’t exactly friendly with each other,” Dara said. “I’m not sure Wyla would let me go to another one’s house.”
“So don’t tell her.”
Dara shot him a look, but he could tell she was tempted. It must bother her that the Waterworker was dictating who she visited after hours.
“What could it hurt?” Siv said. “It’s just like a parlor gathering. We probably won’t even talk to the Waterworker himself.”
Dara frowned down at the parchment. “Why did he invite you?”
“Apparently, he’s impressed with my fighting. I’m quite impressive these days, you know.”
“Yes, Vine told me.”
“She’s heard of me?” Siv grinned. “I must be more famous than I thought.”
“I’m not so sure that’s good news,” Dara said. “Isn’t it only a matter of time before someone recognizes you?”
Siv shrugged. “Vertigon is a long way from Pendark. And my presence here is highly improbable. I doubt anyone would make the connection, especially because I’m fighting in the pen.”
“Maybe,” Dara said. Concern furrowed her brow. Siv reached up and rubbed a thumb across her forehead as if he could wipe away her worries. She looked up at him. Damn, she was cute.
“So how about it?” Siv asked. “The Garment District is within the city boundaries. You deserve a night off.”
“All right,” Dara said at last. She grinned. “I just won’t tell her I’m going out with a pen fighter. Apparently, they’re disreputable.”
“Yes, we can be a terrible influence on respectable young sorceresses such as yourself.” He brushed his hand down her cheek, enjoying the way she leaned into his touch. He accidentally left a smudge of mud on her face, but he didn’t think she’d mind.
“How is your work with Wyla going anyway?”
“Not as well as I’d hoped,” Dara said. “She says I might be able to use the Watermight, but I haven’t made much progress. The most I can do is cup it in my palms for a few seconds longer than a normal person can. She’s not pleased.”
“Maybe she’ll get bored of you and release you from your bargain early.”
“I doubt it,” Dara said. “I feel more . . . aware of the Watermight every day. I think the potential is there. It’s just a matter of figuring out how to actually access it.”
“You’re getting as eager as Wyla.”
“I don’t know about that,” Dara said. “This is her life’s work. Still, the possibilities are intriguing. I wish I were doing better.” Her attention drifted away from him, and Siv tugged on her chin to draw her eyes back.
“Just be careful,” he said. “I reckon Wyla’s more dangerous than all the pen fighters in this city combined.”
“You’re probably right,” Dara said. “Not that you should be taking pen fighting lightly. I’m glad to see you still have both eyes and all your limbs.”
“I’m as healthy as a velgon bear on the first day of spring.” Siv leaned in for a kiss, deciding to demonstrate what else was still in good working condition. She responded with enthusiasm, arms wrapping around his neck, body pressing close. Kissing Dara was a rush far better than any pen fight. He’d never touch another knife or hear another crowd roar his name if it meant he could kiss her every day.
She pulled away after a little while. “I’d better get back inside.” He was pleased to hear that she sounded a bit hazy.
He brushed his lips along her jaw, still not relinquishing his hold on her. “Pick you up tomorrow night?”
“I’ll meet you at the nearest bridge at sundown.”
“Mmm,” he muttered, leaning in again. Her heartbeat quickened beneath his hands. It was impossible not to touch her when they were this close. He couldn’t get enough of her.
“Don’t wait too long,” Dara said the next time her mouth was free. “I might not be able to slip away.”
“I’d wait for you all night.” He went in for one last kiss. A long one.
Dara finally wriggled out of his arms, standing to brush the dirt and leaves off her skirt at last. She was wearing a poison-green dress in the Pendarkan style. He so rarely got to see her in dresses, and she looked adorable. He almost pulled her down for another kiss.
“You’d better get out of here before you get caught,” she said, playfully pushing his hand away.
“One more,” he said, feeling a bit hazy himself.
“I’d rather not have to explain this to her.”
He sighed. “As you wish.” He wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss, but their position hidden behind a hedge in a powerful Waterworker’s back garden wasn’t ideal. Plus, he was covered in muddy canal water, and he might not smell that great after a day of trying not to get skewered in the pen.
“See you tomorrow at sundown.”
10.
The Party
DARA got to the bridge later than planned the following evening. Wyla had kept her longer than usual, and Vine had insisted on fixing her hair. Then she’d had to stop and chat with Rid in the entryway. He’d been doing odd jobs for Vine, but he often seemed lost in this large, foreign city. Fortunately, he didn’t comment on Dara’s festive attire.
Vine had procured the dress. She’d heard about the fanciful parties at Khrillin’s manor in the Garment District, and she knew Dara’s ordinary outfits wouldn’t be appropriate. She traded two of the uniform-like dresses Wyla had given them to pay for Dara’s party dress.
“I’m going to trade it back in the morning, so do try not to spill anything on it,” she said when she handed over the gown.
“As long as no one tries to stab me, it should be fine.”
Vine sighed. “Don’t jinx yourself, Dara, especially given the winter we’ve had.”
“I’ll do my best to remain safely anonymous and unstabbed.”
She really would hate to mess up the dress. She’d never seen its like. The bloodred dress ended just below the knee in the Pendarkan fashion. It had a deeper neckline than Dara ordinarily wore, and multiple petticoats made the skirt flare out from her waist and swish around
her legs when she walked. Her golden hair flowed loose over her shoulders in waves, with a single section braided across her head. It all felt incredibly decadent. Dara feared the red gown would draw too much attention, but Vine assured her she’d fit right in.
Vine herself was positively bubbling with envy over the occasion to dress up, but when Dara had suggested she come along, Vine waved her off.
“I have a new lead on Lord Vex. I plan to do some reconnaissance tonight.”
She had found no link between the mysterious Waterworker and Lord Vex. Dara wouldn’t like to run into a sword-wielding Rollendar tonight, especially in a dress she couldn’t afford to stain with blood.
“Are you sure you’ll be safe?”
“I’ll have Rid with me,” Vine said. “Besides, I don’t want to get in the way of your alone time with a certain handsome young man.”
Dara finally escaped the manor and strode toward the bridge alone. She’d made the difficult decision to leave her Savven blade behind lest it draw unwanted attention. She had concealed several small Firebulbs in a pouch attached to her belt in case she needed to defend herself or Siv. In truth, she was hoping for a night off from magic and weapons and intrigue.
Siv was leaning against the railing when she reached the bridge at last, wearing a fine gray coat trimmed with black thread. He carried a sword, but then he had been invited because he was a popular pen fighter. He’d be expected to sport a bit of steel. His companion for the night wouldn’t have the same excuse.
Siv noticed her striding toward him when she was about ten paces away. He stood bolt upright, and the blood drained from his face. Dara whirled around, her hand going to the Fire at her waist. She couldn’t see any threats coming up behind her. What had made him react like that? When she turned back, Siv wore a strange grin.
