City of Wind (Steel and Fire Book 4)

by Jordan Rivet

  “You’d better answer me this instant.”

  “This isn’t about you,” Ivran said.

  “She is my charge,” Zala said. “And, more importantly, she’s my friend. When your mother hears what you did—”

  “She won’t care, not now that you’re back.” Ivran kicked the dirt. The true dragon raised its head at the noise, perking up like a hunting hound. “Perfect Zala and her little princess,” Ivran muttered. “She never listens to what I have to say.”

  “Will you two please explain what’s going on?” Selivia said. “Why did you bring me out here, Ivran? And why didn’t you tell me there’s a true dragon, Zala?”

  Zala grimaced. “It’s complicated.”

  Ivran opened his mouth, but Zala shot him a death glare, and he closed it again.

  “Changes are happening all over the continent,” Zala said. “We have to protect the Far Plainsfolk.”

  “From what? Soole?”

  “The Other Lands,” Zala said. “All of them. The Sensors hear whispers of threats to our people on the Air. Soole’s invasion is just the beginning.”

  Selivia still didn’t understand. The Far Plains were part of Trure. Trure had a long-standing alliance with Vertigon. So why were the Plainsfolk worried about all the Other Lands and not just Soole?

  “Let me get this straight,” Selivia said. “You think the Other Lands are a threat to the Far Plains, so the Sensors called the true dragon here for protection?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Can they fight with it?”

  Zala shook her head. “The true dragon hasn’t been as easy to control as the Sensors hoped.”

  “So you just left him chained up down there?” The true dragon ruffled his wings as if in response to Selivia’s query. Poor thing. And he’d been here a year?

  A crunch of footsteps sounded as Ivran walked closer. The shadows from the dispersing dragon fire made him look ghoulish.

  “I had a better idea.”

  Zala tensed. “Ivran, don’t—”

  “You.”

  Selivia blinked. “Me?”

  “You’re a princess of the royal families of both Trure and Vertigon,” Ivran said. “If anyone can control it, it’s you. I told them, but no one believed me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s wrong,” Zala cut in. “The Sensors have discussed it. They’ve already agreed the song has nothing to do with you, Sel.”

  “What song?”

  “Some of the Sensors aren’t so sure,” Ivran said. “Fodorov listened to my theory. He thinks the Air has a plan for her.”

  Zala rounded on him. “Did you tell Fodorov you were bringing her out here?”

  “No,” Ivran mumbled. “I wanted to prove it first.”

  “Prove what?” Selivia stamped her foot, even though it wasn’t especially princess-like. “What song?”

  “There’s an old rhyme about true dragons,” Zala said. “It’s etched in a chamber deep in the Rock—the one we came through when we left the tunnels, actually. The Sensors thought the true dragon could save us, but now they think it was the wrong choice to call it here. If more of them wake and the Other Lands think we did it . . .” She shuddered. “No one can know.”

  Selivia felt queasy, as if the stars hanging above the vast plains had begun to spin.

  “How does the song go?”

  Zala took a deep breath, and her voice rose, sure and sweet.

  In burning range, let not the wild Spring break

  Lest Fire spread across the land

  And bid true dragons wake.

  In drowning land, let not the dark Earth quake

  Lest Water bind us in its hand

  And bid true dragons wake.

  In sighing rock, let not the harsh Wind take

  Lest swift Air catch us in its band

  And bid true dragons wake.

  Listen for the child of fire and rain,

  Betwixt the mountain and the plain.

  Gold will crown her and blood will claim.

  Listen, for the child of fire and rain

  Will bind the dragon to save the land

  And all will fear to speak her name.

  Zala’s voice faded away, leaving only the rustle of the wind on the plains and the low, heavy snort of the true dragon’s breath.

  “You think it means I can control the dragon?” Selivia said at last. She met Ivran’s eyes for an instant and quickly looked away, worried he’d see the hope in them.

  “‘Child of Fire and rain, betwixt the mountain and the plain.’ That stuff about a crown. You’re a half-Vertigonian, half-Truren princess. And no one will say your real name around here.” Ivran shot a triumphant look at his cousin. “Some of the Sensors think the Air led you here to save us from the Other Lands.”

  “No, you think that,” Zala snapped. “No one else does. Not even Fodorov. And you weren’t supposed to show her the dragon. Wait until your mother finds out.”

  “I had to try,” Ivran said. “You don’t scare me.”

  Selivia frowned. The crown part made sense, but the rest? Trure could be a rainy place, but it was a stretch to say someone from Trure was a “child of rain.” And what was all that about spring breaking and the earth quaking? The song could be interpreted any number of ways. It didn’t mean she was destined to befriend this particular dragon, did it? It looked as if the Sensors had taken the binding part literally. Those chains on the poor creature’s hind legs made her so mad.

  She shook her head and focused on Zala. “Do you really think your people will end up fighting mine?”

  The light from the lingering Fire in the pit revealed Zala biting her lip. “The Air has been suggesting it for some time now.”

  “What about your secret plans with my mother?” Selivia said. “She hired you to look out for me, right?”

  “You weren’t supposed to know our lands might end up on opposite sides,” Zala said.

  Selivia went cold. “You were going to betray me?”

  Zala sighed. “I care about you, Sel. But if it comes to a question of you or the Plainsfolk, I’ll choose them. I didn’t want you to have to worry about it at all. We could be wrong.”

  “But if our countries go to war, you’ll use me as a hostage anyway, won’t you?”

  “Sel—”

  “At least Ivran thinks I could actually do something to help. You just want to use me. So much for friendship.”

  “It’s for everyone’s safety.”

  Selivia snorted. “You have your dragon. Your chained, enslaved true dragon. You can’t have me too.”

  She set off walking across the plains. She didn’t have to accept this. She wouldn’t be used as a hostage in a conflict against her own people. She may not understand the song or the Air, but she understood betrayal.

  Zala and Ivran accompanied her back toward the glowing city lights in silence. Selivia wanted to walk the other way, to set off into the desert where no one could use her for their own ends. But she needed to gather supplies and make a plan for her escape. When she left, she intended to take that poor true dragon with her—whether the song was about her or not.

  18.

  The Pool

  “SKIN!” Wyla crowed.

  “What?” Dara dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, still not quite awake. She had lost count of how many early-morning research sessions Wyla had demanded of her since discovering she could control Watermight if she swallowed it first. Instead of meeting in the bright, Fire Lantern-filled study, she descended deep into the dank cavern to Work above the whirlpool each morning.

  “I have a theory that may help you with both powers.”

  “My skin?”

  “It’s preventing you from easily drawing in the Watermight,” Wyla said. She waved a piece of parchment covered in notes. She didn’t seem to have gone to bed since their last practice session. “I believe your skin may already be too attuned to the sensations of the Fire to draw it in. But you absorb the Waterm
ight easily enough through your stomach.”

  “I wouldn’t call it easy,” Dara grumbled. She had quickly grown tired of swallowing gulps of liquid magic in an attempt to replicate her most recent breakthrough.

  “Skin and righteous indignation.” Wyla cackled like an ancient witch. “You are always defending yourself when you manage to take in the Watermight, and you usually feel some sense that you are being treated unfairly. You describe it differently at times, but I believe that’s the crux of it.”

  “So my skin can work the Fire, but my gut can work the Watermight?” Dara rubbed her temples. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No need to describe it in such a crass fashion,” Wyla said. “I believe your skin responds so well to the Fire that it tries to fight against the Watermight unless something else occupies your attention, such as anger.”

  “So if I get it past my skin, I can control it?”

  “That is my working theory.” Wyla pulled out a knife that was almost as long as her forearm. The light from the Watermight pool glowed on the curved blade. “Care to test it?”

  “Wait.” Dara stumbled back a few paces. “I’d rather stick with drinking the stuff for now.”

  “I’m curious about how your blood responds to direct contact with the Watermight,” Wyla said. “You’ve described how the Fire runs through you like blood, so I hadn’t thought the Watermight would behave the same way.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Dara said. “No blood.” Her hand strayed to her Savven blade. The warmth reminded her with a jolt that it had been days since she last practiced with it or even did footwork. The Work was consuming more of her time and energy every day.

  “But if we are wrong, the potential—”

  “Forget the potential!” Dara said. “You’re not cutting me up until we know more about this whole blood and skin and gut connection.”

  “Perhaps I’m being unfair,” Wyla said. A truly evil smile split her face. “Quickly! Drink this!”

  She dipped a stone goblet into the whirlpool and shoved it into Dara’s hands.

  Dara scowled at her over the rim. Wyla had played her. Threatening to cut her without a good enough reason just to get her riled up. Well, it had worked. Dara drained the goblet in one gulp.

  For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Dara glared at Wyla and wiped a silvery droplet from her lips. Then she felt it.

  The magic surged in her stomach. Ice filled her, spreading outward. The cold power crept along her bones, making her strong. She balled her hands into fists, and a bit of silver appeared at the edge of her fingernails. It was working! She concentrated on the way the magic moved within her. She might be able to draw the power out, give it form.

  Then her stomach tightened as if she’d been punched, and she hurled. The Watermight splattered at Wyla’s feet, some of it splashing over her steel-toed boots.

  “Drink more,” Wyla said.

  “Give me a minute to—”

  “No time to waste!” Wyla shoved another goblet of Watermight into Dara’s hands.

  She choked it down. This time, the Watermight came up immediately. She spit out curses alongside the liquid power.

  Wyla was waiting with another goblet.

  They did it over and over again. Dara gulped down Watermight, Wyla urging her on. She wanted to slow down, to be more careful. Wyla shouldn’t be making her do it like this. She was going to be overwhelmed.

  Her stomach and throat felt raw. Tears streamed down her face, mixed with shimmering bits of silver.

  Still Wyla served her more.

  “That’s enough!” Dara tossed back one final goblet of Watermight. The power surged within her. Her bones creaked with cold power. Instead of throwing up, she threw the goblet against the wall, and the stone shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Dara turned on Wyla. The woman didn’t even step back. She watched eagerly, pen poised, as Dara advanced on her.

  Not sure what else to do, Dara Wielded exactly as she would have with Fire. She spooled threads of Watermight out of her fingers, wincing at the pain, and shot them toward Wyla. The cords wrapped around her wrists and ankles like shackles. Almost before Dara knew what she was doing, she used the Watermight to yank Wyla off her feet and lift her into the air.

  Wyla hovered, suspended above the stones for one heartbeat. Two. A mixture of surprise and glee flashed across her face. And fear. The moment Dara saw the fear, her control collapsed. She just managed to lower Wyla down again before she keeled over and expelled the last of the power out of her body.

  She knelt on the stones, breathing heavily, attempting to regain control.

  Wyla stepped up beside her, already chatting in a brusque, scholarly fashion. As usual, she asked about Dara’s feelings and probed her for details to add to her notes, but it was too late. Dara had seen it. For a brief moment, Wyla had been terrified of her.

  Dara heaved again, wanting to get the last of the foreign substance out of her body. At last, she straightened and met Wyla’s eyes. A touch of silver edged her lashes. Wyla was holding onto Watermight herself.

  “Are we done?” Dara asked.

  Wyla smiled, and for an instant, Dara saw that flash of fear once more. Wyla didn’t release any of the power she held. “We are just getting started.”

  Dara’s whole body was shaking when the session ended at last. She didn’t even attempt to follow when Wyla climbed the stairs, leaving her lying on the cold stone. She could die right there. She was a little surprised she hadn’t died already. Wyla was getting useful information out of her, but Dara knew with utter certainty that the Waterworker wouldn’t even blink if she drowned, or froze to death, or was swept into oblivion by an overwhelming torrent of power.

  She forced herself to stand and climb the stairs, still shivering. She had to clutch the wall as she eased out of the underground chamber. She was tempted to try swallowing a bit more Watermight to give her the strength to make it to her room, but her body couldn’t handle it right now.

  She leaned against the heavy wooden door at the top of the staircase to open it, almost falling into the entryway. Wyla’s bodyguard, Siln, approached from deeper in the house.

  “She asked me to make sure you made it out of there,” he said.

  “Could have used help getting up the stairs,” Dara said.

  “She’s a tough instructor.” Siln made no move to help Dara as she shuffled carefully toward the kitchen. “You’ll be stronger for it.”

  “I’ve had strict teachers before,” Dara said. “But she’s just experimenting with me. I don’t know if she even considers herself my teacher.”

  “Learn from her in any case,” Siln said. “I wouldn’t be the Wielder I am today if not for her.”

  “The what?”

  Siln chuckled. “You didn’t know I’m also a Watermight practitioner?”

  “I . . . no.” Dara had gotten along well with Siln on the journey through the Darkwood, but they had mostly talked about dueling. It was rare to find a fan of the sport in the city of the Dance of Steel.

  “That’s why it was just the two of us when we picked you up in Fork Town,” Siln said, falling in beside her as they entered the large kitchen. It was empty of servants. Wyla only required a handful to keep her manor running, and she hated having potential loose mouths running around. “She’d never travel with only one powerless bodyguard for protection. Wyla has too many enemies.”

  He pulled a loaf of bread out of a cupboard and set it on the rough wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. A dark shape moved beneath the table. Rumy the cur-dragon was snoozing beneath it. No wonder the servants had cleared out.

  “Who are Wyla’s enemies?” Dara asked, dropping into a chair by the table and reaching for the bread.

  Siln gave her a warning look. “Anyone outside this household is an enemy, no matter how friendly they seem.”

  “It’s not like she lets me outside of the household much anyway,” Dara said.

  “That’s true.” Siln set a
kettle on the cast-iron stove and tossed some logs through the door, sending up sparks from the glowing coals at the bottom. “She finds you fascinating. You should be proud.”

  The clang of the kettle on the stovetop caused Rumy to start up from his sleep. He shuffled over to Dara and laid his head in her lap. It was warm and heavy, and she stroked his nose as he snuffled contentedly. She did like that she was making progress, but she wasn’t sure if Wyla’s admiration was something to be proud of.

  “What’s your Watermight specialty?” she asked Siln.

  “Combat.”

  “Yeah? Are you good?”

  Siln grinned, flexing the muscles beneath his tattoos. “I owe Wyla too much to branch out on my own, but even the most powerful Waterworkers are wary of me.”

  “And here I thought you just liked sport dueling.”

  Siln rummaged in the cupboards for a pair of mismatched tea mugs. “I think you’ll find that your fencing skills will help if Wyla decides to teach you to fight.”

  “Could you teach me?” Dara asked.

  Immediately, Siln’s friendly demeanor disappeared. “I will do nothing unless she wishes it,” he said. “You would do well to remember that.”

  “I didn’t mean behind her back,” Dara said quickly, though that was exactly what she had meant. “But if you’re that skilled, I just wondered if she might assign you to coach me.”

  Siln studied her for a moment, an earthenware mug in each muscular hand. She stroked Rumy’s nose, trying not to appear tense. At last Siln relaxed.

  “Perhaps she will,” he said. “And you can show me your dueling moves. If you weren’t so valuable to Wyla, I’d like to see how you’d do in the Steel Pentagon.”

  “Do you watch pentagon matches often?” Dara asked.

  “When I can.” The kettle on the stove shrieked as the water reached a boil. Siln picked it up to silence the screaming. “Black or green tea?”

  “Black. Thank you.”

  Dara was still shivering. She thought about drawing on Rumy’s Fire to warm herself, but it might not be wise in this state. Tea would help, and Rumy’s head on her lap warmed her plenty. She had spent far too much time Working of late. As any good athlete knew, downtime was necessary to allow her muscles—not to mention her mind—to recover between practice sessions. She needed a break.