by Jordan Rivet
“You’re freezing,” Siv said in her ear. He put his arm around her and drew her close. She was struck by the overwhelming sense that it had been too long since they had last touched each other. She shivered, suddenly feeling as if she were lying exposed on a mountainside in the depths of winter. She wished she could pull on a bit of Fire, but with Watermight still coating her bones, she thought she might combust.
“Why did you jump in like that?” she said.
“I need him,” Siv said. “He’s going to fund my campaign to retake Vertigon.”
Dara shivered harder. The fight might have been over quickly if Siln had succeeded in taking control when he had the advantage. But Dara had prevented Siln’s certain triumph in order to protect Siv. She was going to be in trouble if he didn’t win.
“You could have been killed,” she muttered.
Siv pulled her closer against him. “I knew you wouldn’t let him hurt me.”
“What if I wasn’t fast enough?” Dara hissed. “I can’t use the Watermight to stop him if he decides to kill you.”
“I’m alive, aren’t I? It worked.”
Dara resisted the urge to smack Siv with her Watermight-enhanced strength. His still-bleeding lip and swelling eye were the only things stopping her. And the fact that her body was warming in his arms and she suddenly, desperately wanted to kiss him. She pulled him—none too gently—farther toward the edge of the arena until they sat against the wooden barrier. The important thing right now was not to draw attention to themselves. Still, she couldn’t help entwining her fingers with his and pressing against him again while they waited out the fight.
The battle for the vent raged on. The Waterlord could control larger quantities of Watermight than Siln, but Siln was the more skilled combatant. He made up for his lesser strength with swift movements and fine-tuned attacks. His razors of power could have sliced the skin off a soldarberry. He favored forming weapons—such as icicles and razors—out of the power, while Khrillin preferred to bludgeon his opponents with heavy objects.
Dara had no idea how they were going to resolve this contest. Neither fighter could injure or distract the other long enough to take control of the fountain burbling from the island. The prize was priceless: access to a new Watermight vent, a new source of power that would destroy the balance in Pendark once more. By digging into the earth to create a more interesting obstacle for their spectators, the pen-fight organizers had unleashed a new source of turmoil onto the city.
For one wild moment, Dara thought of taking the vent for herself. She could do anything with her very own Watermight source. But she wasn’t skilled enough to hold onto it yet, and she was in Wyla’s thrall for another month. She couldn’t get involved in the Waterworkers’ fight for power.
Siln began to gain the upper hand at last. He forced Khrillin farther from the vent, strengthening his hold on it with each assault. The Waterlord appeared to be tiring. Any moment now, Siln would drive him from the arena. It was almost over.
A silvery flicker of movement caught Dara’s eye beneath a section of the stands that had been destroyed earlier in the fight. Khrillin was only stepping back as a pretext. While he continued to hold off Siln’s attacks, he was gathering a pool of Watermight beneath the mess of jagged wood.
Dara leapt to her feet. Siln was so busy spinning weapons of ice across the arena that he hadn’t seen the threat. Siv needed Khrillin, but she couldn’t let him kill Siln. Wyla would drown her in the whirlpool for that, and probably throw Vine, Siv, and Rid in for good measure.
She ran along one edge of the pentagon. She had to get there before Khrillin sprung his attack. Siv shouted her name and chased after her. But she had enough of a head start.
As she ran, Dara recalled the Work the red-haired woman had performed. She forced the last of the Watermight out of her hands. It hurt as it slid through her skin, but for once, the substance responded to her commands. She formed the Watermight into a rough shield and thrust it in front of Siln—and not a second too soon.
Khrillin’s wave rose beneath the pile of rubble and hurtled forward. Broken wood hammered into Dara’s shield like arrows, the jagged weapons sinking in as if the shield were made of putty. Not a single one reached Siln’s flesh. Khrillin stared at her in surprise. She had halted what could have been a final, decisive attack. Then his eyes widened even further.
“You,” he said slowly. “I’ve met you before. This is an interesting development.”
Dara didn’t respond. It was taking everything she had to hold back the wave with her shield of Watermight. Then Siln sent a hundred Watermight razors shooting around her shield.
Khrillin dove for cover. He took refuge behind the ruined stands, narrowly avoiding being sliced into little pieces. Before Siln could press his advantage, a dozen men charged into the arena, all wearing crisp uniforms in Khrillin’s particular shade of midnight blue. They advanced toward the combatants, gathering Watermight from the vent.
Siln surveyed this new threat with the eyes of a practiced battle strategist.
“We have to go,” he said to Dara as Khrillin’s reinforcements drew nearer.
“But the vent—”
“It’s too late. They won this round.”
Watermight still issued from the island beneath the remnants of the wooden castle. The Waterlord’s men moved to surround it, but they couldn’t contain it all. Silvery power flooded the arena and trickled out to stream through the city in all directions.
“We’ll have another chance,” Siln said. “Wyla won’t let him keep all that power, and neither will the others.”
“What does that mean?”
Siln gave her a grin that was every bit as bloodthirsty as that of the most rabid pen-fighting fan.
“It means war.”
He turned on his heel and ran for safety on the opposite side of the arena. Dara had no choice but to follow. She had shown herself to the Waterlord. She had assisted Siln twice. If Khrillin hadn’t known she was working for Wyla before, he would now. And being a known ally of a specific Waterworker just became a lot more significant.
She vaulted over the barrier to exit the arena. As her boots hit the mud, Siv ran up and caught her by the arm.
“Dara, are you—?”
“I have to get out of here,” she said.
“Come stay with me,” Siv said, tightening his grip on her arm. “I’ll protect you from Wyla.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Dara said.
“Khrillin can help us.” Siv nodded at the men who had come to the Waterworker’s aid. “Maybe he can help you break the bond.”
“I have to finish my time,” Dara said. Siln was already out of sight, but he’d be back if she didn’t follow him soon. She pulled her arm out of Siv’s grip and reached up to touch his battered face. “Stay away from the Waterworkers until things calm down.”
“Dara—”
“I have to go.”
Siv grimaced then pulled her into his arms. The kiss made heat flare through her, as intense as cur-dragon Fire, but it was far too short. She wanted to clutch his coat, pull him closer.
Instead, she disentangled herself from his arms and shoved him toward the exit. As soon as she was sure he was leaving, she turned to flee. She had a sinking feeling that it would be a while before she saw him again. Siv had declared himself to be a Waterworker’s ally today too. He had defended Khrillin for all to see.
A new Watermight contest had begun, and Dara and Siv were on opposite sides.
21.
Aftermath
SIV made his way through the chaos outside the arena. The Waterlord’s men had officially taken over. Spectators and fighters still milled around the grounds—a safe distance from the Waterworkers. The agitated crowds shouted about the Watermight interruption, sounding every bit as excited as they had about the Dance of Steel itself.
Siv reunited with his team, and they dragged him off to get drunk and tell them what had happened.
“You had t
he best seats in the house, lad,” Kres said, pulling him along the canal bank to the nearest alehouse.
“I’ll say. My clothes are still damp from all that water flying around.”
“Wasn’t much actual water,” Gull said. “It’s rare to see pure Watermight flowing free like that.”
“I think I’ve seen enough to last me a lifetime,” Siv said.
Truth be told, he hadn’t known Watermight was that powerful. And Dara had been using it herself. He couldn’t wait to ask her more about what it had been like to wield magic in battle. He hoped he hadn’t put her in danger by forcing her to intervene, but he needed the Waterlord. Stepping in to save his life might inspire Khrillin to help his cause. And it was what Siv’s father would have done. Sevren would have protected his friends.
“Hey, what happened to the Terrerack Terror?” Fiz asked.
“I have no idea, actually,” Siv said. “He must still be in there. He’ll be shiny as a sea snake by the time he swims out of that moat.”
“Might do him some good,” Fiz said. “He looked pretty heated by the end of your fight.”
“Yes, it was well fought,” Kres said. He eyed Siv up and down, his expression guarded. Siv wondered if the boss had seen how involved he’d gotten at the end.
“Where are we drinking tonight anyway?” Fiz said. “Or should I say this afternoon?”
“Anywhere,” Siv said.
“You sure you’re up for it?” Gull asked. “You took quite a beating.”
“I could down a whole barrel of badlands liquor,” Siv said. “Though my head hurts a little.” He touched his lip, and his hand came away bloody. “How’s my eye?”
Fiz thumped him on the shoulder. “That punch improved your appearance, all things considered.”
Siv shoved the larger man back, producing almost no response whatsoever. Fiz Timon was not easily moved. But Siv forgot all about making a clever comeback when a trickle of silver caught his eye. A thin trail of Watermight meandered through the canal beside them, draining slowly away from the battleground they had left behind.
“Is that—?”
Suddenly, a slim figure darted across their path and splashed straight into the canal. The figure—a girl of eleven or twelve—waded toward the thin stream of Watermight. The little girl dipped her fingers in the silver strip, and the power flowed into her. The silver glow in the canal muted as she drank up the Watermight as quickly as she could.
A terrific splash made her look up. A teenage boy crashed into the water from the opposite bank and charged toward the little girl.
“This is my territory now!” he shouted. “Get lost.”
The girl jumped nimbly out of his reach and fled, carrying her measure of Watermight with her. The teenager cursed at her before taking her place and gathering up Watermight for himself. He was blindsided when another boy leapt onto his back from the shallows and whaled away with his fists. Soon, spurts of unnaturally silver water cut through the air as the boys fought inexpertly with the power.
Siv started toward the canal. “Should we break it up?”
“Best leave them to it,” Fiz said.
“They’re just kids.”
“Trust me,” Fiz said. “We don’t want to be here when the real Waterworkers show up.”
“Would they hurt them?”
“Only if they stand in their way.”
Kres and Gull had already gone on ahead, but Siv lingered, feeling conflicted. The boys fought until one of them broke away, holding onto a cut on his arm. The other remained to gather up more Watermight from the canal.
“What are they going to do with the power?” Siv asked when he caught up with the others.
“Sell it for food,” Gull said. “Some urchins with the ability might be lucky enough to get picked up as apprentices, but most will hand over whatever they have to whoever will pay.”
“They’re lucky,” Kres said. “It has been a while since Watermight flowed free in the city. The little vagrants will eat well tonight.”
“I wish this had happened while we were out of town,” Fiz muttered. “We’re in for a nasty couple of months.”
“Why?” Siv asked.
“The Waterworkers will fight over that vent until half the city drowns.”
“I thought Khrillin and his men won it fair and square,” Siv said.
“He has but won the first round,” Kres said. “There will be more. Khrillin is not the only Waterworker with an army of thugs. The others will be along soon enough to try and take it from him. And a lot of power runs free. We’ll see a hundred smaller fights apart from the main contest.”
“Let us dance,” Gull muttered.
“I’ll drink to that.”
Siv frowned. He was worried about Dara. He wasn’t sure how today’s events would affect the remaining month of her sentence. He half hoped Wyla wouldn’t have time for her dangerous research anymore. Dara had seemed different in the brief moments they had together. She’d shown the intensive focus she ordinarily reserved for dueling, apparently treating her “research” with Wyla like training for the biggest tournament of her life. But she’d also lost weight and muscle, as if her body was paying the toll for her increasing power.
He should trust that she knew what she was doing. She had been an athlete and a fighter for far longer than he had. Of course she’d throw herself into her Watermight training with this single-minded intensity that he’d always admired about her. But he worried that the situation was spinning out of control.
He thought about the silent vow he’d sworn on Dara’s sword arm after he learned of her bargain with Wyla. He had vowed to protect her with every movement, every thought, every breath. He’d vowed to do whatever it took to earn the loyalty she’d shown him. He was doing it the only way he knew how, but he feared it wouldn’t be enough.
Siv rolled his shoulders. He was becoming as gloomy as Latch. Speaking of which, where was the surly Soolen? He asked the others about their fifth.
Fiz shrugged. “He took off.”
“When?”
“When the chaos started, I reckon.”
Siv frowned. Why would Latch have disappeared when the Watermight conflict began? It would have been the most exciting thing he’d seen in a while.
“Did he say anything about—?”
“Latch is fine,” Kres interrupted. “You’d best prepare your most dramatic telling of what you saw out there.” He took Siv’s arm and led the way into one of their usual taverns. “You’re getting your drinks free tonight.”
“Now you’re speaking my language,” Siv said.
Latch and his secrets didn’t worry Siv too much. Things could have turned out worse for him, all things considered. He was pleased Dara had seen him fight—and win, though the victory wasn’t as clean as he would have liked. He hoped she’d worry about him less now that she’d seen him hold his own in the pentagon.
He figured Khrillin would come out on top in this conflict. He’d gain more power and riches—riches he could use to help Siv pay his team of mercenaries. Wyla’s man would have seen where Siv’s allegiances lay, but with any luck, Khrillin would make short work of anything Wyla threw his way. Maybe he’d even take her out in the process. Yes, Siv could see this turning out very well for him indeed.
His optimism lasted for a whole two hours. Then Tann Ridon found them surrounded by pen fighters at the second—or was it third?—tavern they’d been to that evening and delivered a message that changed everything.
“It was the scariest thing I ever saw,” Rid said. He dropped into a seat in front of Siv with an extra-large ale, looking as if he’d seen a marrkrat in a cradle. “Siln told Lady Wyla what happened to y’all, and her eyes went all white and shiny. I swear the room got as cold as a mountaintop.”
“What exactly did Siln say happened?”
“It was kinda garbled.” Rid took a long sip of ale. “The important bit was about Dara interrupting him when he almost had that other fellow. Krellfish, is it?”
>
“Khrillin.”
“That’s the one. Anyway, Siln reckons he would have won if Dara hadn’t stopped him.”
Siv’s stomach lurched, and he felt like throwing up all the free ale he’d been drinking. “Is Dara okay?”
“Oh yeah. She faced the witch down like she planned to stab her with her eyeballs. That’s when Wyla said she was extending Dara’s bargain.”
“What?”
“She says Dara betrayed her, and she’ll keep that bond on her arm until she decides otherwise.”
“You mean she’s not letting her go at the end of the three months?”
Rid shrugged one shoulder, the other apparently still giving him trouble. “That’s what she says.”
“Did Dara fight her?”
“Begging your pardon,” Rid said, “but Dara is too smart for that.”
Siv grimaced. So Wyla was angry enough about Dara’s intervention on his behalf that she was extending her term indefinitely? She must want to keep Dara in her service until the end of the Watermight conflict—or longer. He wasn’t going to let her get away with that.
He tapped his empty tankard on the table, considering his options. “You’re sure she wasn’t hurt?”
“No, sir,” Rid said. “She was still standing there like a linden tree when Wyla kicked me out.”
Siv looked up, distracted. “She kicked you out?”
“Practically hurled me out on my ear.” Rid rubbed his freckled nose. “She knows I’ve been carryin’ your correspondence, you see. I reckon she doesn’t like Dara being tied to anyone but her. The messages weren’t doing any harm before, but she changed her mind now.”
Siv’s hand went to his knife hilt, almost unconsciously. So his only link to Dara had been severed, just when things were getting heated in Pendark.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” he asked Rid.
