City of Wind (Steel and Fire Book 4)

by Jordan Rivet

  “Women die in wars same as men, even if it’s not on the battlefield.”

  Siv shoved him hard. “Damn it, Latch, will you give me a straight answer? My mother and sister are in danger.”

  Latch’s shoulders slumped, and he kicked a training weight at the edge of the pentagon.

  “I think he’s more likely to use them than kill them.”

  “Selivia is fourteen, for Firelord’s sake.”

  “Not like that,” Latch said. “I mean arranging marriages or trading them for strategic locations. He’s not a complete monster.”

  “I was starting to wonder.”

  “Okay.” Latch sighed and sat down again. “He’s not a terrible person.” Every word as he spoke was like pulling teeth from a povvercat. “I thought he was noble and good until recently. Everyone did. But he got it into his head that he deserved more.”

  “I see.” Siv was starting to get a clearer picture of Latch’s issues with his father. Siv’s own father had been a good man. He could understand why Latch was angered and confused to find that his hero wasn’t as noble as he’d thought. Still, Siv was heartened by the portrayal. His mother and sister should be safe if they ended up in Commander Brach’s hands, but he needed something more in order to secure their safety. Commander Brach wouldn’t be swayed by a bit of gold from the pen, and even if he hired mercenaries, they wouldn’t make it into his camp. He said as much to Latch.

  “Can you think of something valuable enough to your father that he’d be willing to trade for my family?”

  Latch’s eyebrows drew low, and his hand crept to his sword hilt. “Kres will stop you,” he hissed.

  “Huh?”

  “If you try it, you won’t get out of Pendark alive.”

  “Try what?”

  “You’ve seen Kres risk his life,” Latch said. “You’ve seen him risk losing this season’s Dances, which mean more than his own skin. You won’t get away with it!”

  “Hold your hell irons, Latch. What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Latch glanced furtively around the house, but no one else was home at the moment. “You think I don’t know what you’re getting at?”

  “I’m seriously asking you for help,” Siv said. “As a friend. I just want information about what your father would want enough to trade . . . Oh. Right.”

  It actually hadn’t occurred to Siv to try selling Latch himself back to his father in exchange for the release of Siv’s family. Latch may be a grump, but he and Siv had fought back to back on more than one occasion when men came after them. He wouldn’t risk his life to save Latch’s skin only to sell him out a month later. A friend had betrayed Siv before. He had no intention to become like Bolden Rollendar.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “Seriously, I’m not going to sell you out to your father.”

  “Even to save your little sister?”

  Siv hesitated. Having the perfect ransom within reach was tempting. But it was no use. He intended to be a man his sisters could look up to. “I’ll find another way to help them.”

  Latch studied him for a moment. Then he nodded.

  “I’d love to know how he captured the Stronghold, though,” Siv said. “That place is locked up tighter than a bullshell.”

  “There’s something . . . that is . . . I have some information about him that could help.” Latch paused and then seemed to come to a decision. “There’s a reason his conquests have been so successful.”

  Siv didn’t move, afraid he’d spook the fellow. He knew there had to be some reason Brach had been able to defeat the Truren army so soundly. Was Latch finally ready to tell him the secret?

  Latch opened his mouth.

  Then the door flew open with a squeal loud enough to wake the dead. Siv and Latch jumped. Kres sauntered inside, bringing a strong whiff of smoked fish with him.

  “Well, if it isn’t my two favorite protégés,” Kres crowed. He strolled over to the large wooden table and tossed a battle-axe and an assortment of knives onto it.

  “Hey, Kres,” Siv said, fervently wishing he could shoo the man back outside for a few more minutes. “Good fight?”

  “The Rockeater made me sweat,” Kres said. “But I came out on top in the end.”

  “You always do.”

  “Indeed. I’m growing tired of the battle-axe, though. Perhaps it’s time I switch weapons again.” Kres was an all-purpose fighter. He had been alternating between the battle-axe and rapier place in the Dances depending on what substitute fighters were available. Kres eyed the two of them standing in the training pentagon. “And we need a permanent fifth soon.”

  Latch started to speak, but Kres forestalled him with a raised hand. “I’ve a bone to pick with you, Siv lad.” He sat and stretched his boots out underneath the table. “Join me.”

  “We’ll talk some other time,” Latch said. He went out to sulk on the porch—one of his favorite activities. Siv made to follow, muttering some excuse about fresh air. Latch had been about to tell him something important. He was sure of it.

  Kres called out before he made it three paces. “I understand Khrillin the Waterlord has taken an interest in you.”

  Siv froze. “You know him?”

  “He’s a very powerful man in this city.”

  “He certainly seemed rich.”

  “Indeed.” Kres’s posture was relaxed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t about to attack. “I wouldn’t take his interest lightly if I were you.”

  Siv still couldn’t tell if Kres was mad or not. He sat down across from him slowly, shoulders tense.

  “Does Khrillin adopt pen fighters often?”

  “Only very special ones,” Kres said. “You should be flattered.”

  “Maybe.” Siv reached for a whetstone and one of Kres’s knives. He watched warily for signs of anger as he cleaned and sharpened the weapon. Kres hadn’t been pleased when Dellario offered to introduce Siv to powerful figures in the city. What had changed? “Do you know much about any other Waterworkers?”

  “Interest from one isn’t enough for you?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “I’ll warn you to curb your curiosity, lad,” Kres said. “Khrillin came out better than most in the last Watermight conflict. Now that he has shown an interest in you, it wouldn’t be wise to appear too friendly with any other Workers. They are as territorial over their friends as they are over their districts.”

  “When was the last Watermight conflict?” Siv asked.

  “Over three years ago,” Kres said. “It has gotten quite boring around here lately.”

  “Who else came out on top?”

  “Brendle of the Border District and Wyla of the Jewel District. The port lords held steady, as they usually do.”

  “So Brendle, Khrillin, and Wyla are the ones to watch out for?” Siv didn’t need complications, but the Waterlord could end up being the only person capable of helping Dara escape Wyla’s clutches.

  “You should watch out for all of them,” Kres said. “Just because one is ahead now doesn’t mean it won’t be another next time.”

  “Well, if I’m lucky, maybe it’ll be my new friend.”

  “Indeed.” Kres stood to retrieve a drink from a cupboard. “You seem blessed with an unusual amount of luck, Sivren Amen.” He thumped a bottle of ale down on the table. “Don’t waste it.”

  The door screeched open, and Latch returned. Tann Ridon loped in after him. Rid was a lanky young man a few years older than Siv, with brown hair and tanned skin. He carried a long staff over his shoulder and accidentally thumped it against the doorframe as he entered.

  “Found this guy wandering around the stilt houses,” Latch said.

  “I couldn’t remember which one belonged to y’all,” Rid said. “I wasn’t in good shape last time I was here.”

  “What is it?” Siv leapt to his feet. “Is Dara all right?”

  “Sure. She’s as busy as ever. I’m here with a message from Lady Vine.�
� Rid looked questioningly at Latch and Kres. The latter looked him up and down, paying special attention to the way he carried his staff. Despite his slightly clumsy mannerisms, Rid clearly knew how to use the weapon.

  “Hello there,” Kres began.

  Siv recognized the calculating look in Kres’s eyes. “Let’s talk on the porch, Rid,” he said hurriedly. He didn’t think Vine would appreciate it if Kres got his claws in her devotee.

  He grabbed an extra bottle of ale, and they went outside to lean on the porch rail. The breeze carried the cloying odors of the Smokery District, along with the lush smell of new growth. Spring was beginning in earnest.

  Siv opened the second ale for Rid, and they clinked bottles.

  “Thank you, Your Highness—Majesty—Sire,” Rid said.

  “Siv is fine, really.” He glanced back at the door. So far, only Latch knew that he used to be a Highness. Kres suspected enough about his true identity. He didn’t need to confirm it.

  “Lady Vine wanted me to tell you she found out where Lord Vex is staying.”

  “She saw him?”

  “With her own eyes.”

  “Where?”

  “That’s the tricky part.” Rid took a long swig from his ale. “Lord Vex is living with the king.”

  “The King of Pendark?”

  “Yes, Sire—I mean Siv.”

  Siv scratched at his beard. “How did he manage that?”

  “Don’t know,” Rid said. “He’s awful resourceful.”

  “Yeah, he is.” Vex Rollendar certainly wasn’t wasting any time. He’d already gotten an invitation to Khrillin’s party and an in with the king? Come to think of it, that information could prove useful. Siv had been trying to think of a way to get Khrillin to prove his trustworthiness. “He’s staying in the King’s Tower itself?”

  “Yes. He was real injured after our fight.” Rid rolled his shoulder, which must still be sore even though Wyla had used her Watermight to seal his wound and help him heal more quickly. “I reckon he has to heal up before he makes his next move.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll be on our way before then.”

  “We still got two more months here,” Rid said.

  “Maybe,” Siv said.

  “You’re not thinking of leaving Dara, are you?” Rid whirled toward him, fists clenched. He looked as if he might slug Siv in the face, injured shoulder or not. “After all she’s been through for—”

  “I’m not leaving her,” Siv said. “I want to get her away from Wyla sooner if I can.”

  “I don’t know if that’ll work,” Rid said. “Lady Wyla is one mean broad.” He took another swig of his ale. “All right. Count me in.”

  “Sorry?”

  “We gotta get our ladies out of here,” Rid said. “And we don’t want Lord Vex getting wind of where they are either. It’s up to you and me, Sire—Siv.”

  “All right, then,” Siv said. “I’m working on a possible ally. See what you can find out about Wyla from her servants and guards. She must have some weaknesses.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Good. We won’t let them down.” He thought about the news from the Stronghold, of his mother and sisters in captivity. “But two months might be too long.”

  15.

  Port District

  RID’S news about Lord Vex was fresh in Siv’s mind when he crossed the final bridge to the Port District to meet the Waterlord. Trusting Khrillin was a risk, but thanks to Rid, he could administer a simple test before taking their “friendship” any further. And if there was a chance Khrillin could help him get Dara out of the city, he’d take any risk.

  He traveled along one of the main waterways leading inland from the Black Gulf to reach the Port District. A strong breeze blew in from the coast, sweeping away the stench of the city. Well-to-do citizens and foreigners strolled along a wooden boardwalk where the river met the gulf, enjoying the cleansing sea breeze.

  Siv met Khrillin in a restaurant beside the boardwalk. Built on stilts, it nestled between two larger shops with iron bars protecting their wares. The restaurant specialized in a Pendarkan delicacy: grilled eel and brindleweed. At least the Waterlord would probably pay. Siv was getting tired of eating smoked fish, stew, and brown bread.

  He almost didn’t recognize Khrillin without his all-white ensemble from the party. The older man lounged at a large table in the corner, looking distinguished and elegant in all black today. Siv wore the gray coat he’d purchased for the party, and he had taken extra care to shine his boots, strap a rapier to his hip, and hide a handful of knives about his person.

  Khrillin remained seated when Siv approached. “So glad you could join me.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, and a glint at his chin hinted at a jewel woven into the dark mass of his full beard. “Do have a seat, Your Majesty.”

  Somehow, the man made the honorific sound like a warning. Siv plastered on a grin and sat. “Good evening, my lord.”

  “Have you been to this restaurant before? It was the talk of Pendark a few years back.”

  “This is my first time in the Port District.”

  Khrillin waved for a second glass of wine. “You’re going to love it, my friend.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  Siv sipped his drink carefully, remembering with vivid clarity how it had felt to have a goblet full of Firetears drawn out of his stomach. But there would be no poisonings tonight, not while the Waterlord considered him a valuable asset.

  They exchanged pleasantries about the weather, the wine, and a few of Siv’s recent Steel Pentagon matches.

  “What can you tell me about the King of Pendark?” Siv asked when he felt they’d made enough small talk.

  Khrillin took a sip of wine, watching him over the rim of his goblet. “What do you want to know?”

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “Dangerous. Dangerous. It’s a complicated word, isn’t it?” Khrillin swirled the wine in his glass like a whirlpool. “You are dangerous, as long as you have steel in hand. I am dangerous primarily because of my power, but there’s also my good looks and charm.”

  Siv chuckled obligingly.

  “Yes, the king is dangerous, though not as much as he would like to think.”

  “He’s not a Waterworker, right?”

  “That’s correct. I’m afraid many Waterworkers consider him of no consequence whatsoever.”

  “And what about you?”

  Khrillin smiled. “He performs an important civic function. He could damage some of my investments if he had a mind. But he is a foolish man. He would have to figure out how.”

  “What if he had a cunning advisor?”

  The Waterlord shot him a sharp look. “Such as?”

  Siv wiped a sweaty palm on his trousers and played his mijen tile.

  “I’ve heard there’s a man staying with him,” Siv said. “An old enemy of mine from back home. He’s cunning and a lot more dangerous than I realized at first.”

  Khrillin tugged at the jewel in his beard. “Do you have any evidence that he’s advising the king?”

  “No. I think it’s more likely that this enemy wants the king’s help capturing me.”

  Khrillin studied him for a moment. Then he smiled. “You are referring to Lord Vex Rollendar, the man who trained the swordsmen who assisted in the coup against you this winter?”

  Siv bit the inside of his cheek to hold in a choice curse or two. Vex had been the one training the secret duelists? How on earth did Khrillin know that? The man seemed to love shocking people with his revelations.

  Khrillin’s grin widened. “Would you like me to get rid of him for you?”

  “I don’t want anything,” Siv said. “I figured you’d want to know about him given our potential alliance.”

  “I appreciate the disclosure,” Khrillin said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve met this Lord Rollendar. He attended the very party where I made your acquaintance.”

  “Is that right.”

  “Lucky the two of you d
idn’t cross paths,” Khrillin said. “He was invited because I’d learned a Vertigonian nobleman was staying with the king, and I wanted to get the measure of him.”

  “And?”

  “We only spoke briefly. When I learned about your little run-in on the day you arrived in Pendark, I made additional enquiries.”

  Siv sipped his wine. Khrillin sure loved telling people their own secrets. And he was well informed. Siv thought he spoke the truth in this case, though. Khrillin could easily have hidden the fact that Vex had been at his house. That he hadn’t kept that detail to himself made Siv suspect he was being honest.

  “I will see what else I can find out about Lord Rollendar’s plans,” Khrillin said. “In honor of our new friendship. I have men positioned in the King’s Tower already.”

  “I thought you might,” Siv said.

  Khrillin smiled. “Ah. Here comes the food. Let’s leave off this business chatter for the moment.”

  A procession of waiters brought huge platters of food to their table. The spread made Siv’s stomach stand up and cheer. He had missed his fine foods. The simple meals had been one of the definite drawbacks of being poor and exiled. Grilled eel and brindleweed were just the beginning. Other platters featured purple prawns, bell melons, fried toadfish, and sugar mushrooms the size of his face.

  As they filled their plates, Khrillin answered his questions about the exotic foods and their origins. Siv was surprised to find that he liked the man. He shared Siv’s deep affection for good wine, and he had read many of the same books—including Brelling’s rare travel journals. He had also traveled across the Bell Sea himself in his youth.

  “A more magnificent experience I can’t describe,” Khrillin said. “I’d never have returned if I didn’t miss having access to my power.”

  “Would you ever go back?”

  “I have worked too hard to carve out my domain. It’s never guaranteed here.”

  “One of the other Waterworkers would come in and take your lunch, eh?”

  “Something like that.”

  Siv chewed on a tough piece of fried toadfish, considering the Waterlord’s words. He suspected Khrillin didn’t make any revelations without good reason. Perhaps he was thinking about where else he might “carve out a domain.”