Night of Flame (Steel and Fire Book 5)

by Jordan Rivet

  “He’s neither,” Dara said—though she had called him both arrogant and foolish on numerous occasions. “He wants to make things right in the continent.” Despite her words, she couldn’t help feeling that her real battle was far away from here—perhaps much farther than she thought.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that if this Khrillin kills you, it will all be over,” Gidon said. “He came quite close already.”

  “Will you help us then?” Siv said. “You could lend us the dragons and—”

  “I don’t wish death on you.” Gidon shook his head disbelievingly. “This is foolhardy.”

  “What if—”

  “My answer is no.” Gidon stood, sweeping up his oiled fur mantle. “I am sorry, but we will not get involved in this fight, especially to assist the very people who invaded our land. You may take refuge here out of respect for Berg, but that is all the help you will get from Cindral Forest.”

  Gidon marched toward the adjoining room, ignoring Siv’s attempts to slow him down. The door closed behind him with a thud. Belna stayed behind long enough to set out more rugs for them to sleep on, then she too retired with an apologetic gaze.

  “That went well,” Siv said.

  Latch snorted. “I don’t suppose you have some master plan?”

  “Still working on that.” Siv rubbed a hand over the grooves in his cheek for a moment. “I’ll try to talk to Gidon again in the morning. Maybe I can persuade him to change his mind.” He gulped down the last of his bark tea and set about arranging his blankets. “Look, we’ve had a rough couple of days. I don’t know about you all, but I intend to sleep like a winter kitten no matter what Gidon says.”

  The others could offer no better alternatives, so they settled onto their own rugs, hoping they’d have more luck with the Cindral Folk leader in the morning. Rid had already slumped to the floor, snoring over his half-empty plate of sweet biscuits.

  The rain pattered gently on the rooftop as Dara set up her blankets next to Siv’s. When the slow breathing of sleep filled the hut, she tapped his shoulder. His eyes popped open instantly, and he turned to face her.

  “Gidon’s right, you know,” Dara whispered. “About fighting on too many fronts. Who knows what kind of damage my father has done while we thought he was heading to Soole? He won’t wait around for us to work things out down here.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I need to go to him.” She scooted a little closer, breathing in Siv’s familiar scent in the warm darkness. “It’ll come down to him and me, anyway. I can’t delay anymore.”

  “I don’t want you to face him alone.”

  “I have to,” Dara said. “It’s the only choice.” She thought of what Berg had said earlier that day. “It has always been the only choice. A few dozen fighting men won’t make it any easier.”

  Siv didn’t speak for a long time. Dara studied the strong curve of his cheekbones, wanting to reach out and touch him but also knowing how important it was to remain clearheaded. It had been too long since they had been this close in such relative comfort.

  “What are you thinking?” she prompted when he didn’t respond.

  “Believe or not, Dara, I’m weighing your suggestion,” Siv said. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight again.” He reached out to touch a strand of her hair lying on the blanket. “But the bigger problem is that we don’t have any Watermight to send with you.”

  “Maybe with just the Fire—”

  “You can face down every Fireworker in his army with just the Fire?”

  Dara opened her mouth then closed it again. “No, I guess you’re right,” she said after a minute. She’d felt a flash of resentment that Siv doubted her—even though he had been her biggest cheerleader all along. She had been the one telling him she couldn’t triumph over all comers. But every time she wielded an ever more furious torrent of power, she became more convinced that she was indestructible. Or maybe she was afraid that it was her resolve, not her Wielding that he doubted.

  “Dara.”

  She blinked and focused on Siv again. He had moved closer while she was caught in the turmoil of her thoughts. Firelord, he smelled good. Heat buzzed beneath her skin as his eyes roved over her face, drinking her in. She still felt brittle from her recent battle, but his gaze made her feel as if her flesh had been laid bare and her body could combust at any moment.

  He tugged gently on her long, loose hair, drawing her face closer to his. As her skin tingled in anticipation, she pictured for an instant the moment when that wave of power burst from her, when she’d braided the Fire and Watermight together and sent it exploding out of her body like a physical thing. The power had spun at the outer edges, the way her head spun as her body drew nearer to Siv in the darkness.

  She sat up abruptly. Siv gaped at her as she disappeared from the spot his lips had been about to kiss. She remembered it clearly now. She held on to the tendril of thought as if it were her final wisp of Watermight, memorizing how it had felt, how the power had spun like a Fireblossom around the burning, blazing center.

  “Dar—”

  “Shh. I need to concentrate.”

  Would it work? She went over and over the memory, every sense heightened. She tried to capture the intensity, the desperation, the passion she’d been feeling as she produced that wave of power and bent it to her will.

  And in that moment, as heat churned through her body in the darkness, she was certain she could do it again.

  Siv didn’t interrupt her, apparently sensing that she was processing something important. He sat beside her, utterly still. The blankets had fallen to his waist, and she was aware of every rise and fall of his chest, aware of the way his scent lingered around her and his warmth lured her in. She couldn’t begin to explain why, but she was sure he had unlocked something in her head, some connection she hadn’t made consciously yet. She could hardly wait to try it out the moment she got Watermight and Fire into her system again.

  “I think I can do it,” she breathed. “Control the wave. I figured it out.”

  “I always knew you would,” Siv said. He touched Dara’s hand, and her body responded as if she were a flood waiting to break free of a dam. The instant his fingers made contact with her skin, she twisted to mash her lips against his.

  That was all the encouragement he needed. Then his hands were tangling in her hair, and he was pulling her closer, closer. She wrapped one arm around his neck, the other exploring the planes of his chest, the laces of his shirt. He made a faint sound in his throat, holding her fiercely and gently at the same time. Dara opened her mouth beneath his, and the kiss deepened. Her skin was burning and shivering at his touch, and she couldn’t believe she wasn’t actually holding all the Fire and Watermight in the world.

  “Psst.” A hiss broke through the darkness, and both of them jumped. They broke apart, breathing heavily.

  “If you’re going to do something, get on with it,” growled Latch, who had been sleeping on a pile of rugs nearby. Or not sleeping. Dara had completely forgotten there were other people in the room. And in the world. “Otherwise, let the rest of us sleep.”

  “Want me to bash him over the head?” Siv said huskily in her ear.

  “Might create problems with our allies,” she said.

  “The Brachs can feed themselves to the bullshells for all I care.”

  “I can still hear you,” Latch muttered.

  Dara stifled a giggle as Siv planted a row of kisses on her neck. Then he released her and settled onto his back beside her. She followed his lead reluctantly, still barely able to think for the sensations roaring through her.

  Siv’s breathing took a long time to slow beside her.

  “It won’t always be like this,” he whispered when stillness reigned once more. “Wandering through unknown lands, running from magic wielders, stealing kisses when we can. That doesn’t happen nearly often enough, by the way. One day it’ll just be you and me in a castle on a hill.”

  “Only
if we win,” Dara said. “Let me deal with my father. You can trust me.”

  Siv was quiet for a minute, and Dara heard all the doubt she needed in that silence. “Let’s see if we can talk Gidon into introducing us to some dragons before we decide anything,” he said.

  “We can’t wait too long.” Dara settled down beneath her covers, listening to the gentle tap of rain on the roof. “We have no idea where my father and his army will turn up next.”

  17.

  Stronghold

  SELIVIA rode with Commander Brach near the head of the column of soldiers, fanning herself with the end of her scarf, which was the dusty green of summer plains grass. The delicate palomino mare the commander had given her for the journey to Soole trotted beside his black stallion, flanks already damp with sweat. They would arrive at the Far Plains Stronghold in a few hours. Selivia couldn’t wait to relax within the cool sandstone walls of the fortress. She was eager to see her mother too. Commander Brach insisted Tirra Amintelle was being treated well, but Selivia wanted to see for herself.

  Shading her eyes against the sun, she searched the broad blue sky for a hint of green scales and black wings. The expanse was as clear as a mountain lake. Mav the true dragon didn’t like getting too close to the strange Cindral dragons that traveled with the Soolen army. He’d been keeping his distance as they made their way around the northern tip of the Rock, occasionally swooping in to make sure Selivia was okay.

  At least they were finally moving. The commander had delayed their departure from Sunset City until Vine Silltine sent word that Siv was two days’ ride from Fort Brach. He wouldn’t give up his prize until Siv’s mission had succeeded. It had been a few days since they last heard from Vine, but Selivia wasn’t worried. Siv, Dara, and Lord Latch wouldn’t let her down. At least, she hoped Latch wouldn’t. She was still trying to get used to the idea of the commander’s son as her future husband.

  Sweat trickled in her hair, and she dabbed at her face with her scarf. She missed the cool mountain breezes of Vertigon and even the stiff winds of Sunset City. But they were riding in the lee of the Rock, where there was no relief from the harsh climate. The heat didn’t seem to bother Commander Brach at all, despite his thick leather vest and the various weapons strapped to his stocky body.

  The commander rarely let Selivia out of his sight. As the guarantor of his treaty with Vertigon, he couldn’t have her getting lost—or riding off on dragonsback. She traipsed after him through the camp before dawn each morning and rode through the sunlit desert beside him during the day. She watched him closely to get an idea of what his son was like. The commander was handsome for an old man, and he had a certain quiet stubbornness, but she feared the similarities ended there. Latch had run away from his father, after all, and they didn’t seem to get along very well. Everyone else loved Commander Brach, though. He evoked genuine smiles from his soldiers whenever he made the rounds. He worked alongside them, showing that he didn’t think of himself as better than them. She’d heard more than one man swear that the commander would die for them without hesitation. He reminded Selivia of her own father. King Sevren had not been a military man, but his people had loved him too.

  It was difficult to reconcile this impression with what Commander Brach had actually done over the past year. He had marshaled his forces to invade Cindral Forest, steal the dragons, and conquer a huge swatch of Trure. He’d tried to set up a new dominion in her grandfather’s land, and he would have succeeded if the Lantern Maker hadn’t taken it all from him. His devotion to his own men didn’t translate to respect for non-Soolen human lives.

  He knew a lot about true dragons, though. When he could spare the time from his duties, he told her all about the magical creatures—or at least the Cindral Forest species. She was surprised to learn that Cindral dragons could not breathe fire—or Fire—at all.

  “Our dragons have lived deep in Cindral Forest since before the Fire dragons went to sleep in the Burnt Mountains,” he had explained the evening after they left Sunset City while they visited the three feathered dragons in their camp. The huge creatures moved laboriously with their bellies full of Watermight, and they had dropped into the dirt to sleep as soon as the march halted.

  Commander Brach laid a hand on the arched neck of the gold-and-blue dragon Selivia and Mav had met on top of the Rock. “I used to visit the hidden villages in the woods with my father to learn how to commune with them and coax them to carry Watermight for me.”

  “But then you stole them,” Selivia said.

  “Dragons have minds of their own,” Commander Brach said. “The Cindral Folk believed the creatures were content to live at peace in the depths of the forest, as the Cindral people themselves have always done. But it is dangerous to assign motives to dragons that fit better on a man.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Dragons are creatures of destruction.” Commander Brach stroked the tuft of feathers on top of the sleeping dragon’s head. With its eyes—and jaws—shut, it could have been a sweet, house-trained cur-dragon. But Selivia had seen it go into battle. She remembered the vicious shrieks and the raw, muscular power all too well.

  “They range free, burning where they will, drinking up power where they find it,” Commander Brach continued. “They are better partners for a conqueror than for a quiet group of villagers. The Cindral folk sought to control them. I set them free.”

  “How do you know you’re not assigning a man’s motives to them?” Selivia asked. “Just because you wanted to be a conqueror doesn’t mean they do.”

  “You’re a clever girl, Princess, but I believe history is on my side. Dragons have always destroyed. The Fire dragons scorch the land every few hundred years, and then it is renewed. Your friend Mav didn’t emerge from the Burnt Mountains just so he could carry you around the plains.”

  “Of course not,” Selivia said. “He came because the Sensors disturbed him. People are always bothering animals, acting like they know best.” She looked at the other two dragons, whose feathers fluttered gently in the breeze. The white one had a faint rim of silver at its jaws, as if some of its Watermight store had burbled up while it slept. But it was still a creature of mystery and legend. It shouldn’t be forced to serve as a pack animal for these soldiers. She glared at Commander Brach. “They should have left the dragons alone, and so should you.”

  “Perhaps,” Commander Brach said heavily. “Perhaps all this was for naught.” His expression grew melancholy. Selivia knew he still felt conflicted about the end of his great campaign. His conscience seemed to be catching up with him now that it had failed. She wondered if that ever would have happened if he were the victor.

  A yawn cracked her jaws, and she wondered if she could sneak off to bed early. They’d had a hard day of riding, and she was tempted to lie down in the dirt beside the dragons to sleep. She opened her mouth to ask permission to retire, when Commander Brach spoke again.

  “Your true dragon was a harbinger of a great change. A vanguard.” He stepped back from the sleeping Cindral dragons slowly, reverently. “The dragons respond to the call of the land itself. We meddle with its deepest and most mysterious powers. Watermight. Fire. Air. We use these substances as if they belong to us. It is only a matter of time before the dragons rise up and respond.”

  Selivia hadn’t been sure what Commander Brach was talking about. As someone with no magical ability, she would never be able to force Mav to do what she wanted. She preferred being friends with him anyway. As long as he didn’t turn out to be as destructive as Commander Brach claimed. Still, his words lingered in her mind as they continued their journey. What kind of change could Mav’s awakening portend?

  The journey around the Rock had taken three days, but now they were drawing near to the Far Plains Stronghold at last. The hazy afternoon sun cast a mirage, making it difficult to see the tower in the distance. It was all Selivia could do not to break free from the army and ride across the plain to the gates. Her mother was inside those
tall sandstone walls! Commander Brach’s men would have to let her go now that they were allies. Soon, they’d be family.

  Selivia wiggled in her saddle, eager to reach their destination. But before she could ride ahead, Commander Brach raised his hand sharply, halting the column.

  “Something is wrong.”

  “What?”

  “Look at Stronghold Town.”

  “Where?” Selivia studied the shimmering area around the fortress. The townhouses were tiny compared to the tower, and she had difficulty making out the details from afar. What did Commander Brach want her to see?

  Then the pieces fell into place. Stronghold Town was not difficult to see because it was obscured in haze. The whole thing had been razed to the ground.

  “Did you—?”

  “No.”

  Fear zipped through Selivia’s belly, and she clutched at her scarf. Commander Brach jumped into action, shouting instructions and sending men to summon their dragons from the back of the column. A garrison of Soolen soldiers had been stationed in Stronghold Town, but there was no sign of them—or of any of the townsfolk—now. Had they moved everyone into the fortress? Why hadn’t they sent word to their commander?

  As the soldiers bustled around her, Selivia studied the Stronghold, noticing dark smudges on the walls and gaps in the battlements like missing teeth. She followed the line up to the tallest tower, where she used to stare out at the plains with the wind in her hair. She imagined she saw a black scarf like the one her mother wore flying from the ramparts.

  Then the top of the tower exploded. A flash of golden light burst like a Fireblossom, and blocks of sandstone thundered down on the ruins of Stronghold Town.

  Selivia’s scream was lost in the shouts of her companions. Commander Brach bellowed orders beside her. Steel flashed in the sun as weapons were drawn. Watermight streamed toward Brach and his fighters, curling through the other soldiers to reach the Workers. Selivia clutched her reins, the palomino mare dancing amidst the chaos.