by Jordan Rivet
“I was in the right place at the right time, Your Majesty.”
“Nevertheless, I don’t know what I’d do without my boy.” King Sevren clapped his son on the back. Siv went a bit pink, but he was grinning. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I need my son for an important matter of state involving a toast with some exceptionally good wine.”
“I’ll talk to you about that thing later, Dara.”
“Make sure you try the orchard pies,” King Sevren said. “I’ve sampled them, and we’re in for a treat.”
Dara curtsied again, the king and prince already moving off through the crowd of nobles. She wondered what Siv had been about to say. They were a good team. Was it possible he wanted to be something more? For an instant, she felt the warmth of his hands on her face again. Had he been about to kiss her? Did he want to suggest that they’d make a good team in ways that had nothing to do with dueling? The idea was silly, but Dara couldn’t help indulging it. Despite the fact that he was a prince, she felt on an equal footing with Siv. They complemented each other, at least in the duels. And he made her feel like running and flying and wielding Fire all at the same time. Was it possible he felt the same way?
25.
First Dance
DARA took her seat halfway along the hall from the high table. Each place was marked with a polished stone with the name of the guest written in infused Firegold. Dara’s simply read “Nightfall.” She touched the smooth stone. A tiny drop of Fire leapt from the Firegold word into the tip of her finger. She pulled back, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of the Savven. She’d have to be more careful about that. Her connection to the Fire was advancing at a more rapid pace than it was supposed to based on what she’d seen of Fireworker apprentices. She might not be able to hide her newfound ability for much longer.
When young Lady Jully joined her, she chattered non-stop about Dara and Vine’s duel. It was certainly having the effect they had hoped it would. People who hadn’t even seen it could describe the whole thing move for move.
When Vine Silltine flounced to a seat directly across the hall from them, Jully gasped loud enough to make people five seats away turn to look at her. Vine was dressed in her signature green and Firegold, and the neckline of her dress plunged almost to her belly. Unlike the other women with their elaborate up-dos, her dark hair was loose about her shoulders and woven with flashing threads of gold. She raised an appreciative eyebrow when she saw Dara then immediately scowled. The people around her noticed, and soon everyone was darting eager glances back and forth between the two rival duelists.
Dara chose not to react. She simply stared across the hall at Vine. She thought about their upcoming duel, about how she would cut through Vine’s defenses and put her prancing to an end. She allowed as much of that focus and determination to show on her face as she could manage. Berg said the first person to break eye contact always lost the duel. Dara’s eyes never wavered until the serving men and women brought out the food.
The feast was magnificent: juicy roasted hunks of mountain bear, blue pigeon eggs stewed in Fireroot, orchard pies and bird’s nest soup and sweetened spice cakes. Wine flowed freely. Dara took a few sips from her goblet, but she still didn’t like the taste. The clink of silver on stone filled the hall.
Siv and his sisters sat at the high table with their parents and a handful of honored guests. Dara got her first good look at the queen in a long while. She was dressed in a pale-green dress that was almost white, like her light Truren eyes. She looked unhappy, despite the warmth and frivolity around her. She only smiled when she looked at King Sevren, and even then it was a shadow of an expression.
The others sitting at the high table with the royal family were mostly the heads of important noble houses. The beautiful Lady Tull Denmore sat between Soraline and Siv. He spoke animatedly to her, making her smile. But Dara was sure the prince’s gaze drifted across the hall to her a few times throughout the meal.
Zage Lorrid sat at the end of the table nearest to the dais. He was deep in conversation with Bolden Rollendar’s father, whom she recognized by his sandy hair and sharp nose. Zage glanced up and met Dara’s eyes once, a frown twisting his thin lips. She looked back at her plate quickly, wondering if Siv had shared her suspicions with him. Siv wouldn’t do that, would he?
No. She trusted him. She could hardly wait to find out what he had been about to say to her before the king whisked him away.
As they finished the orchard pies and started in on the sweetened spice cakes, Lady Jully explained the importance of the First Dance.
“Each nobleman will ask one lady to join him for the opening dance.” Jully took the last cake and broke it in half, offering a portion to Dara. “It’s a mark of honor, and who they choose at each feast is important. Most are married, but they’ll offer First Dances to the wives of men they’re trying to make trade alliances with or whose daughters they’re hoping to marry off to their sons. It’s not usually romantic, but it’s delightfully juicy. My father is going for Lady Nanning this year. He and Lord Nanning are thinking of sponsoring a new dueling school next year.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Oh, it would be magnificent if you decided to train there!”
“I’m pretty happy with my own coach,” Dara said. She looked up at the high table as the servants dressed in crisp white uniforms emerged to clear away the dishes. “Will the royal family choose partners?”
“King Sevren chooses Queen Tirra whenever she’s here for a royal feast. He’s the only one who always picks his own wife for the First Dance. But we’ve all been talking about who Prince Sivarrion will choose. He selects a different lady at every feast. He’s quite diplomatic actually. I’m too young for him.” Jully sighed deeply. “I’ll probably end up dancing with my cousin again.”
“Has he ever asked Lady Tull?” Siv was deep in conversation with the comely widow. He only stopped chatting with her to take long sips from his wine goblet.
“Yes, while she was married to poor Lord Denmore,” Jully said. “He looks like he might ask her again, doesn’t he? Oh, they’d have the most adorable babies.”
Dara coughed and reached for a stone water pitcher to refill her goblet. The prince was leaning quite close to Lady Tull. It made sense. The king was hale and hearty, so Siv couldn’t be under immediate pressure to choose a wife, but he’d need one eventually. And House Denmore was prominent. It would be the right move for Siv to ask her to dance. To dance, and maybe more. Dara gulped down her water, fighting desperately against the urge to keep watching him.
King Sevren rose, and the Great Hall fell into an expectant silence. He lifted his goblet and thanked everyone for attending the feast.
“I believe we will have one of our most exciting Vertigon Cups yet,” he said after acknowledging each of the visiting dignitaries by name. “May the athletes show their quality and make their lands proud. Now, if my lovely wife will join me, let us dance!”
Applause thundered through the assembly, making the glass baubles shudder, as King Sevren guided his ethereal queen to the center of the dance floor. As the first notes rose from the musicians in the corner, men began to stand and offer their hands to the other ladies around the hall.
Dara couldn’t help it. Her eyes snapped back to Siv. He was downing the last of his wine, a look of grim determination on his face. He had set down his goblet and put his hands on the arms of his chair to rise when another man strode up to the high table so fast he was almost running. Lord Bolden Rollendar extended a hand to Lady Tull. Dara couldn’t be sure, but she thought he was smirking at the prince as he invited the wealthy young widow to dance. Lady Tull accepted. Siv stopped halfway out of his chair and watched them walk to the dance floor with a slight frown on his lips.
“Ooh,” Jully squealed beside Dara. “Can you believe that? Lord Samanar is dancing with Vine Silltine!”
She hadn’t noticed the exchange between Siv and Bolden. Siv poured himself another goblet of wine, swallowed it in a single gu
lp, and slammed it back onto the table. Most of the other noblemen had claimed their dance partners by now. Vine twirled across the center of the floor with a distinguished older man, hair and skirts swirling. Princess Soraline danced with a light-eyed Truren. The king and queen cut a regal figure, their elegant shapes standing out in the crowd.
Siv strode around the now-vacant head table. He made a sharp, deliberate turn at the corner and headed directly toward Dara and Jully. The latter finally noticed him with a gasp. Siv stopped in front of them and offered his hand.
“May I have this dance, Dara Ruminor?”
Ignoring the borderline apoplectic look on Jully’s face, Dara accepted. Siv led her around to the other side of the table, steering her faster and more firmly than before. His face was flush with wine and abandon. Dara felt suddenly shy.
“I don’t dance very often,” she said.
“It’s easy. Keep distance with me, like we’re dueling.” Siv put his arm around her waist and took her other hand in his.
They turned slowly around the dance floor. Dara’s black cloak swept behind them like a dream. The Savven blade creaked at her waist. Dara kept her eyes on Siv’s chin as she concentrated on not stumbling or getting tangled in her skirt.
“You’re very focused,” Siv said.
“Don’t want to fall.”
“You’ll be fine.” He squeezed her hand, warmth growing between their palms. “No one will notice.”
But heads were turning to look at them all across the Great Hall. It was one thing for them to be seen together at a parlor, but the First Dance was something else. If anyone hadn’t been talking about Dara before, they would be now.
As the churn of the dance floor brought Vine closer for a moment, she met Dara’s eyes with her lips pursed. Then she mouthed something that might have been “nice move.”
Lord Bolden and Lady Tull swayed into view. Bolden was whispering in her ear. Although Siv wasn’t looking around for his dinner partner, Dara couldn’t help wondering if he was disappointed about the outcome of the dance. But he would have plenty more dances with Lady Tull. He was kinder and funnier and more handsome than Bolden. Even if he hadn’t been a prince, Lady Tull was sure to choose Siv. The more she thought about it, the more Dara was convinced such a match would serve her friend well.
“Loosen up, Dara. You’re going to break my hand,” Siv said.
“Sorry.” Dara relaxed her grip, surprised, and finally looked up into Siv’s eyes.
“It’s just a dance.” Siv grinned and whirled her a bit faster. A hundred eyes followed them as they swept across the floor.
Dara wanted to say something, but Siv was pulling her closer, holding her. His breath was on her face, sweet with wine and sugar. Heat filled her body like the heat in a Fire Lantern. Their steps quickened. Across the hall, Vine executed some sort of dramatic twist to draw attention back to her, but Siv and Dara were in their own little swirl of movement and energy and heat.
Unbidden, hope bloomed in her chest like lightning. He did look at her differently. He was holding her closer, arms around her as though he could block out the world. Castles and Fireworkers and kingdoms and royal matches couldn’t touch them. It was just her and Siv and the magic of the dance.
The music faded away like morning mist, and they twirled to a stop. Siv was breathing harder than he should have been, his eyes bright. He didn’t release her. Time seemed to stop, captured in glass.
The music started up again, livelier this time. Vine spun a new dance partner out onto the floor, a young man who was almost as sprightly as Vine herself. People gathered to watch them. They had stopped paying attention to the duelist and the prince.
“Walk with me,” Siv whispered against Dara’s ear.
She followed. Maybe she had been wrong about Lady Tull. Maybe there was something more to her friendship with Siv than dueling. There was no mistaking the spark between them now. She could barely think straight as the implications of what he might be feeling, what she was feeling, rose within her like molten gold.
Siv marched her toward an alcove set with low stone seats at the edge of the Great Hall. The curve of the wall lessened the noise of the music. At the back of the alcove, a window looked out over the lights of Vertigon.
“Right.” Siv took a deep breath. “I have something to ask, as I mentioned. Now I’m not so sure . . . We’ve been at this training thing for a while. You have goals, and I have . . .” Siv grimaced. “Actually, it doesn’t matter what my father wants me to do. It’s my choice. I’d like to make our partnership more permanent. That is to say, I know you’ve been looking for a patron, but—”
“Wait. Please don’t.” Dara felt reality thudding down on her. He was going to offer her a patronage. She was so stupid. Of course the prince didn’t want her. What had she expected? That’s what this was about, not . . . anything else. She tore her hand out of his grasp, feeling embarrassed and foolish. “I don’t want gold from you.”
“Can I finish?”
“You can’t be my patron.” She choked down a lump in her throat. “That’ll ruin everything.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Look at how Kel and Bolden are. They act like friends, but Kel can’t say no to anything because Bolden pays for his living. I don’t want to be in debt like that. Not to you.”
“Dara—”
“I’d better go. I need a decent night’s sleep before the tourney.”
Siv raised his hand to touch her face, but Dara dodged it as though she were avoiding a hit from a dueling sword. “Dara—”
“Thank you for the dance. I’ll see you at practice.”
She fled before Siv could say another word, feeling like she’d been stabbed. Her pride hurt the most. She thought they had something special, something more than a hired duelist and a potential patron. She never wanted it to be like that. Not with him.
Dara hurried along the wall, staying in the shadows. Couples were tucked into other alcoves, their giggles piercing her like arrows. Dara didn’t speak to anyone. Her early departure could add to the mystery of Dara Nightfall. Selivia broke through the crowd and tried to wave her over, a question on her lips, but Dara didn’t slow. She slipped out of the hall and disappeared into the night.
26.
Nightfall
SIV watched Dara walk away from him. He couldn’t stop looking, but he didn’t follow her either. In fact, he had felt nearly incapable of rational decision-making and coherent thought from the moment he first laid eyes on her tonight.
He had spent all damn day getting himself ready to propose to Tull Denmore. It was the right thing to do. It was what his father wanted and his mountain needed. He had been planning to do it, he really had. Sure, he’d needed a few drinks to help warm up to it. Maybe he could have asked the necessary question during the hour they’d spent sitting beside each other at the feast, but he hadn’t been quite ready. He figured there’d be plenty of time that evening.
But then there was Dara. Stunning, intense Dara. She spun his brain like a tornado on the blasted plains of Soole. By rights, they should have nothing more between them than a friendly camaraderie. She had helped him out. He had masterminded a brilliant public relations strategy for her. That should have been the end.
But Firelord knew there was more to it.
When Bolden had swept in like a vulture to whisk away Lady Tull, something had cracked in Siv. He didn’t want to dance with Tull anyway. He’d already let his father down by not asking her for the First Dance. What did it matter if he threw the whole damn plan out the window?
And so he had chosen Dara. He had taken her in his arms and danced as though they had no titles, no families, no limits. He was barely conscious of what he said to her, but he remembered every flash in her eyes and every brush of her skin against his.
He’d pulled her into the alcove to declare . . . something. His love, his undying loyalty, his wish that he could throw himself onto a blade for her if she’d only look at him the w
ay he looked at her. He wanted to lay the whole kingdom of Vertigon at her feet for a smile. He desperately wanted to kiss her proud, intense mouth.
And then he’d gone and blown it. He was supposed to be educated and damn eloquent. He was supposed to be charming. He should have taken her into that alcove and offered her his soul in the palm of his burning hand.
Instead he’d babbled until she was offended, and then he’d let her walk away. Of course she didn’t want him, didn’t need him the way he needed her. She was becoming something wonderful and strong. She had worked her whole life to get exactly where she was. He had no right to ask her to be anything but Dara Ruminor, champion duelist.
He had no right, but he was going to burning try anyway.
Siv ran for the exit.
He made it almost to the double doors before Pool leapt into his path. Siv pulled up at the sight of his bodyguard.
“You are retiring already, my prince?”
“I have to talk to Dara.”
“My prince, I cannot allow you to depart this fair fortress. You must not wander about in the hours of darkness.” Pool dipped his head apologetically then wrapped his hands around Siv’s arm in an iron grip.
“Let me go, Pool.” Siv tried to pull his arm away, but Pool dug in his heels and didn’t budge. “That’s an order.”
“My deepest apologies, my prince, but your regal father has given me strict instructions never to allow you to stray into peril again.”
“So come with me,” Siv said through gritted teeth. People were looking up at the rather unprincely tug-of-war they were having with Siv’s arm.
“Oh. Perhaps the king would approve of such an arrangement.”
“Let’s go, then.” Siv shrugged Pool off and continued toward the door.
They made it three strides into the entrance hall before Zage Lorrid intercepted them. Siv slowed at the sight of his teacher, wondering if there was a way to get past him extra quickly without being rude.
