City of Wind (Steel and Fire Book 4)

by Jordan Rivet

  “I was hoping to stay with you, to be honest. I can offer my services as a general errand runner.”

  “Can you fight?” Kres asked suddenly. Siv jumped. He had completely forgotten they weren’t alone. Kres had been sitting there in silence throughout Rid’s tale. Now he studied the young man with a look of mild interest.

  “I’m handy with a staff,” Rid said.

  “Ever tried a battle-axe?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You’re in for a treat, then.” Kres grinned, sizing up the young man. Rid was tall and gawky, but he was reasonably thick around the shoulders. “You may stay with us at headquarters until you find other lodgings.”

  “Thank you kindly.” Rid looked back at Siv. “I need to make sure Lady Vine is okay first.”

  “Was she there during all this?”

  “No. She’s very busy with Air stuff lately. She reckons she should be able to talk to people in Rallion City. It’s this witch—I mean—Sensor thing.”

  “Really?” Siv was momentarily distracted. He was desperate for a reliable news source. He hated that he didn’t know what was going on up north while he planned his return.

  “I can bring her to headquarters if you want to ask about it.”

  “I think it’s best if she stays with Dara,” Siv said. “I don’t want her to be alone there.”

  “Fair point, sir, but I don’t think Wyla much cares to hurt Dara. She’s worth a lot to her.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Well, I don’t know about now that she’s not so sure she can trust her. That’s one of the things she said, that Dara ruined her trust by fighting for her enemy.”

  “It was a defensive move,” Siv said. She was defending me. “She didn’t fight for Khrillin.”

  “Still, Wyla has gotten a lot of useful knowledge out of Dara,” Rid said. “She is valuable, but she’s also dangerous. Not sure how much longer the wi—the Waterworker will put up with that. Reminds me of when Farmer Wells’s foreman fired the farrier ’cause he was more popular with the hands than him. Reckon he was worried about his job.”

  Siv fell silent as Rid launched into a drawn-out account of what the farrier had done after being dismissed. He took out a knife and twirled it between his fingers, considering his options.

  Rid’s assessment was actually quite insightful. Dara was dangerous to Wyla. A young, strong, and capable Wielder would always threaten a woman like that. And Dara had shown her willingness to step out of line today. Wyla may claim she valued Dara’s service, but if she ever posed too much of a threat, no amount of useful information would save her.

  Wyla wasn’t going to let Dara walk away. Simple as that. It was time for Siv to take back the woman he loved. He only knew one person capable of helping him do that. Fortunately, Khrillin now owed him a favor.

  Siv went to see the Waterlord the very next day. His head pounded from a combination of the ale and the beating he’d taken yesterday. Every muscle grumbled in protest as he returned to the scene of the incident.

  Khrillin had set up a temporary camp in the Steel Pentagon near the Royal District. His men patrolled the grounds around the new Watermight source, alert for attacks from other Waterworkers. They had dismantled the rest of the castle obstacle and used the timber to build barricades around the arena.

  The Waterlord himself stood before the infamous vent, clad all in black with glittering chips of obsidian woven into his beard. He was carrying on a rousing argument with the owner of this pen-fighting venue. Watermight simmered in the moat beside them, not looking that different from real water beneath the bright morning sun. It still burbled from the rent in the earth, showing no sign of slowing.

  “You must leave before the next match,” the pentagon owner was saying as Siv walked up. “This is my property.” Despite his brave words, the fellow kept a healthy distance from the Waterworker.

  “The vent isn’t going anywhere anytime soon,” Khrillin said. “I have work to do yet before I can contain it.”

  “I shall petition the king!”

  Khrillin smiled. “And what will the king do for you?”

  “He has soldiers,” the man said, his shoulders hunching perceptibly. He knew how ineffectual soldiers would be against the Watermight Wielders.

  “Friend, friend. I shall compensate you for your property,” Khrillin said. “You can purchase another pentagon ground.”

  “I’ve hosted pen fights here for forty years. If you think I’m just going to let you have it—”

  Khrillin named a figure that made even Siv’s eyes bulge.

  “Fine,” the owner said at last. “I’m tired of cleaning up blood anyway.”

  “Of course. My associate will arrange payment. Good day.” He noticed Siv waiting beside him. “Ah, Siv, my friend. So good of you to join me.”

  “Khrillin.”

  The former proprietor gave Siv a curious look before one of Khrillin’s men directed him firmly out of the arena. He clearly recognized Siv from the fights. Make that one more person who knew about his association with Khrillin. Word would spread quickly.

  “I owe you my thanks for yesterday,” Khrillin said. “It was foolish to step between two Waterworkers, though.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Siv said lightly. “I hope I bought you a bit of time.”

  “Indeed, indeed. It was most effective.” Khrillin moved a little closer, studying his face. “You didn’t tell me your lady friend was a Waterworker.”

  “She’s more of an apprentice,” Siv said.

  “For Wyla of the Jewel District.”

  Siv shrugged, hoping Khrillin would say more about Wyla—and their relationship. His men kept busy around him, apparently working to control or contain the flow of Watermight from the vent. Streams occasionally made a break for freedom despite their efforts.

  Khrillin drew Siv away from his men so they couldn’t overhear the conversation.

  “Wyla is a dangerous creature,” he said.

  “But you defeated her man,” Siv said.

  “Temporarily.” Khrillin glanced at his team of Waterworker thugs, his expression wary. He didn’t trust his own men. Very interesting. “How do you know her apprentice?”

  “Dar—lanna?” It took Siv a split-second to remember the false name he had used before. “I’ve known her since before I came to Pendark.”

  “Ah. I thought she had a Vertigonian look about her.”

  “Mmm.”

  “She couldn’t have learned to use Watermight in Vertigon.” Khrillin’s gaze was as sharp as the teeth on a burrlinbat. “The Watermight doesn’t travel well.” He paused. “Unlike Fire.”

  “She must have spent time here when she was younger,” Siv said, his voice carefully neutral. “I met her less than a year ago.”

  “Hmm.” Khrillin fixed him with a shrewd stare. “Intriguing.”

  Siv fought to stay calm. He couldn’t let Khrillin find out that Dara could Work with both Fire and Watermight. That could make her even more valuable to Khrillin than the former King of Vertigon—son of his old friend or not. Siv would not expose Dara’s secret, but Khrillin was still his best chance of getting her out of Wyla’s clutches.

  “She’s why I’m here, actually,” Siv said at last. “She works for Wyla, but I don’t think she enjoys it much. Would you be interested in offering her your . . . friendship?”

  “Someone who is already apprenticed to Wyla herself? I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Please,” Siv said. “I have to help her.”

  “It’s not worth it, son.”

  “But—”

  “Wyla causes me enough trouble already,” Khrillin said. “I have no wish to poach her people unnecessarily.”

  He started to turn away, but Siv seized his arm. “Will you do it for my father’s sake?”

  Khrillin raised an eyebrow. “This Darlanna must be more than just a pretty companion to you.”

  “She is.”

  “I don’t se
e that you need me,” Khrillin said. “Can’t she resign her apprenticeship?”

  Siv hesitated, still not sure how much he could reveal. “She would, but there’s a problem.”

  “Go on.”

  “She made a bargain with Wyla. I don’t know all the details, but Wyla put some sort of Watermight curse on her arm. If she goes beyond the boundaries of Pendark, her arm will freeze.” He watched Khrillin for any sign that he recognized what had been done to Dara. His face gave nothing away. “It was supposed to be for three months, but after she distracted Wyla’s man to help me yesterday, Wyla extended her term indefinitely.”

  Khrillin fiddled with the obsidian in his beard, studying Siv pensively. “I begin to understand why you need me.”

  “Can this Watermight thing Wyla did to her arm be reversed? Now?” Siv wasn’t willing to sit around waiting for Wyla to tire of Dara. With the eruption of the new Watermight vent, Pendark had become significantly more dangerous. The sooner they were out of the city, the better.

  “What you ask won’t be easy,” Khrillin said. “I will need time.”

  “But my friend—”

  “I understand your concern.” The Waterlord laid a hand on Siv’s shoulder. “This kind of bond is delicate. I need to study it before trying to break it. Will you bring your charming lady friend to see me?”

  “Not unless you’re sure it will work,” Siv said at once. “If anyone sees her with you before the bond is broken, freezing her arm will be the least painful thing Wyla will do to her.”

  “Unfortunately, this is not a simple matter,” Khrillin said. “Wyla is not the strongest Waterworker in this city, but she is the most innovative. Most of us can place bonds on people, but hers are a good deal more intricate and powerful. She may have included a few surprises. I don’t take your friend’s safety lightly, especially because she is apparently so valuable to Wyla.” He stroked his beard, giving Siv a piercing look. “She doesn’t chain every apprentice in this manner, you know.”

  Siv kept his face expressionless. Let Khrillin fish for information. He didn’t like putting Dara at his mercy, but it was better than leaving her with Wyla. And he wouldn’t give away any more of her secrets than necessary.

  “I can see she is important to you,” Khrillin said when Siv didn’t respond. “And you did stand up for me yesterday. However, I have a lot going on at the moment.” He waved at the vent burbling erratically beside them.

  “We have to help her now.” Siv’s hand strayed to his knife, even though it would be worse than useless next to Khrillin’s power.

  The Waterlord saw where Siv was reaching and shook his head. “You must think this through,” he said. “If Wyla bonded your friend, do you think she’ll let her go easily?”

  “I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Khrillin sighed heavily. “I will see what I can discover and get back to you.” He raised a hand when Siv began to protest. “That’s all I can offer right now. It may be impossible for me to break a bond placed by another. You must be prepared for that.”

  Siv contemplated hitting Khrillin over the head and dragging him to help Dara. Could he do it before the army of Wielders turned him into silver jelly? He would not accept failure. But one thing was certain: he would only have one chance to get this right. Dara had exhausted any mercy Wyla might have shown her otherwise. They had to break the bond on the first try. He hated that he couldn’t help her right away, but he couldn’t take risks with her life either. Khrillin was still his only hope.

  At last, even though it made his teeth ache, he said, “Thank you, sir. Please let me know when it is convenient for you to help.”

  Khrillin smiled, already turning back to his work with the vent.

  “Wait,” Siv said. “When can we set out for Vertigon?”

  “I can’t spare the resources until things settle down here.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “Have no fear, my friend,” Khrillin said. “I won’t forget about you.”

  Siv walked away, anger stiffening his muscles. Why couldn’t that Watermight have stayed in the ground? He didn’t need this complication. But he needed Khrillin’s power to save Dara, and he needed his money to save Sora. He had no choice but to trust him. Hopefully, both Dara and his sister could hold on a little while longer.

  22.

  The Queen’s Speech

  SORA strode solemnly across Thunderbird Square. Men packed it from end to end, shouldering closer together to open a channel for the queen. She nodded at people as she passed and occasionally paused to pat an arm or squeeze an outstretched hand. The journey across the square felt longer and larger than the whole of Vertigon Mountain.

  She knew the men lining her path. Young nobles she’d danced with at royal feasts. Duelists who’d entertained the city with their competitions and rivalries for years. Bridge workers. Miners. Traders. Servants. Beyond the rows of able-bodied men waited the very old and the very young. Women and children. Her friends and subjects.

  The Ruminors waited for her across the square, standing in the shadow of House Zurren with General Pavorran. They hadn’t bothered to greet the men, perhaps knowing that those gathered here today were more interested in Sora’s approval anyway.

  She met the eyes of yet another young man. He couldn’t be any older than her—eighteen—and he looked as if he should be preparing for his first big Vertigon Cup. He stood straight and saluted, the buttons glinting on his uniform. Every man in the square was similarly attired. Every man a soldier. The newly expanded army had gathered to receive the blessing of the queen before marching to war.

  Things had gotten terribly out of hand. Sora was supposed to be looking out for her people. She was supposed to be working against the Ruminors. But they had moved too quickly, and their ambitions were about to be realized. General Pavorran and the army were about to march down the mountain to invade the Lands Below.

  Every eye followed Sora’s stately progress across the square. She wore a royal-purple gown and an ash-gray cloak, which she’d pushed back out of her way. She hardly needed it. Spring had finally reached Vertigon. Her curly hair fell loose around her shoulders like a second cloak. The Amintelle crown sat atop her head, heavy and cold, Firejewels glittering in the band. She clenched her hands in her skirts as she neared House Zurren.

  Rafe nodded approvingly when she reached the end of her slow procession. Lima’s approval came in the form of slightly less pursed lips. Sora walked past the Ruminors without acknowledging them, a sinking sensation in her stomach. She was doing exactly as they wanted. She had made their jobs easier. True, she had kept all-out civil war from breaking loose after the Fire surge the night of her birthday, but now she was about to exhort her people to begin a far worse war in foreign lands.

  The terrible part was that Sora was almost glad to send the soldiers on this mission. The Vertigonian army might be the only thing that could stop the marauding Soolen horde. And her mother and sister were imprisoned in the Lands Below. Sora wanted to choose peace over war, but she couldn’t help the sneaking feeling of vindication that rose within her as she marched among her men. Her people were about to show the Soolens what happened to anyone who attacked her family’s lands.

  At the door to House Zurren, Sora motioned for her escorts, Oat and Yuri, to wait below with the Ruminors and General Pavorran. Telvin Jale stood at the craggy old general’s side. Telvin, her bodyguard and friend, had reenlisted in the army, not wanting his former comrades in arms to march to war without him. She wasn’t the only one who was being seduced by this perilous campaign.

  Sora entered the greathouse alone. She ignored Lord Zurren’s obsequious bow and Lady Zurren’s insincere greeting and climbed the grand staircase to the rooftop. A spring wind blew sharply across the flat roof, a space designed for drinking and dining in a peaceful kingdom that no longer existed.

  She crossed to the railing and looked out over the assembly of fighting men. She had insisted on doing this alone
. She was about to exhort her people to descend and conquer in her name. She would do it without allowing her enemies or the allies who had given up so much to stand at her side.

  A curved terrerack bullhorn was waiting for her on the balcony railing. It was hollowed out and polished smooth, ready to amplify her voice. The crowd looked up at her expectantly. She wondered for a brief, reckless moment if she should call on them to rise up against the Fireworkers once and for all. They would do it for her. But they wouldn’t succeed, even with this huge army. Vertigon was about to see why the triumph of the Fireworkers was inevitable. Rafe Ruminor had one more mijen tile to play, and today, everyone would see the truth.

  Sora raised the horn to her lips.

  “Good afternoon,” she called. “I am honored to stand before so fine a company today. My family has served the people of Vertigon for a century. We have been proud to call ourselves kings and queens of this great land.” She tried to make eye contact with as many soldiers as possible, noticing the way their faces brightened when she met their eyes. Noting the grave pride.

  “After today,” she said, “the entire continent will know your worth. Men of Vertigon, it is time for you to depart our mountain and spread our dominion across the Lands Below. Today, you will make history.” She stopped and swallowed. She had always wished she could witness the great deeds of the kings and queens of old. She wondered if those ancient queens had felt so conflicted when sending their people to war.

  “I ask that you carry our banner with pride,” she continued. “I ask that you fight with bravery. Show the world what it means to be from Vertigon. I know you will make your country proud.”

  Applause thundered across the square. The people filling the rooftops and terraces of the surrounding greathouses cheered almost as loudly as the soldiers themselves. Feet drummed the earth, and Sora wondered if they could let loose another Fire surge with the pure force of their enthusiasm. The scars of the last one were still visible: burn marks on the stone, withered trees, half-healed injuries.

  They were going to see something more dangerous than a surge today. Sora raised her hands, waiting for the crowds to fall silent. How many of the cheers were faked? Did her people truly want to see Vertigon reigning over the continent? Surely she wasn’t the only one who objected to the Ruminors’ plans. But too many of them had decided to appease the Ruminors out of fear—including her. And now it was too late to stop them.