“Siv, it was necessary to—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said quickly. “We shouldn’t make too much noise.”
Dara didn’t press the issue, but the reminder dampened some of the warmth Siv had felt toward her the night before. Even if she and Zage had been honest with him, it might not have changed the outcome in the end, but that didn’t lessen the sting. And now Zage was dead too. He had been Siv’s teacher and friend for many years. He wished he could remember him without the sour feeling of betrayal.
They trudged on in silence. Rumy ambled along beside them, occasionally flying ahead to explore their path. The trek was slow and tiring. They didn’t stop to rest, both well aware they were exposed against the bright-white side of the slope after they left the orchard. At least the blizzard hadn’t started up again.
The snow-covered path before them remained smooth and free of footprints. If their pursuers had passed them while they slept, they must be far ahead by now. Hopefully they weren’t lying in wait somewhere farther down the road. There had been at least three men after them. Maybe more. Siv didn’t think he—or Dara, for that matter—would survive another encounter with the Lantern Maker anytime soon. They couldn’t afford to slow down.
By the time they reached the top of the Final Stair, evening had fallen. They hadn’t seen another living thing—human or otherwise—all day. They stopped to rest and eat more jerky. Siv scooped snow into a metal canteen and had Rumy melt it for them to drink, hiding the little jet of dragon fire with his cloak.
“Thanks,” Dara said when he handed it to her. “How are your wounds?”
“Starting to itch,” Siv said. “Think that’s a good sign?”
“You’ll need to have them cleaned the minute we arrive in Trure.”
“A hot bath is at the top of my list,” Siv said. “After a strong drink.”
Dara gave the canteen back to him, smiling tentatively. Siv was relieved to see the expression. They hadn’t spoken in hours. The journey to Trure would feel very long if they couldn’t talk. Siv may feel hurt, but he and Dara needed each other more than ever—and the fact that she had been so quiet was starting to worry him. Ordinarily she’d be lecturing him about not being serious or not working hard enough or something.
“Have you ever been to Trure?” he asked as he refilled the canteen with snow.
“I’ve never left Vertigon before.” Dara looked up at the bridges crisscrossing the sky above them. Vertigon was its own little world at the top of the mountain. Siv wasn’t surprised to hear she had never left. Most Vertigonians never descended as far as the Final Stair.
“You’ll like it,” Siv said. “Dueling isn’t as popular there, but the food is great. And they have horse races. The Trurens raise the finest horses on the continent. And we can swim in the Azure Lake come spring.”
“I thought you hated Trure.”
“That’s only because of my vapid relations.” Siv waved the canteen at Rumy and lifted his cloak again to hide the flame as he melted the batch of snow. “I had to attend too many boring dinners during my childhood. They’re always angling for favor in Trure. But I should be off the hook now that I’m a king without a crown.”
“You don’t think there’s any chance of winning it back?”
“I don’t know if I should even try.” Siv looked up at Dara and asked a question that had been at the back of his mind for hours. No point in putting it off any longer. “Do you . . . do you think your father will treat the people well?”
Dara frowned and drew her Savven blade. She traced the intricate hilt with her fingers, the black metal shining in the light from the setting sun.
“I wish I knew. I never thought he was an evil man, but he’s done terrible things over the past few months. I . . . I think he would have killed me if Zage hadn’t stepped in. He craves power. Being able to Wield that much Fire . . . It’s intoxicating. I’d never felt power on that level before yesterday. It was terrifying, but I can also see why he wanted more. He obviously doesn’t care who he destroys along the way. And my mother is worse than he is.”
“That’s not very reassuring.” Siv jumped as the canteen in his hand heated to boiling. “Ouch! That’s enough, boy.” He hadn’t been paying attention as Rumy wheezed fire beneath his hands. He set the canteen in the snow and cooled his hands while Rumy gave him an innocent stare. A bit of smoke drifted over his head.
Smoke. Like smoke from a fire.
“Dara?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever tried dragon fire?”
“Excuse me?”
“This Working or Wielding thing. It means you can touch the Fire without being burned. You can control it. Do you think it works with dragon fire too?”
“Fire is a name for a specific substance,” Dara said. “It’s like liquid magic. It’s not the same as the flame that burns wood or paper in lands without Fireworks.”
“Does the other kind hurt you, though?”
Dara opened her mouth and closed it again, frowning. “I don’t actually know,” she said. “There’s not much need for flame when we have the Fire.”
“If you could somehow draw the flames or Fire or whatever from Rumy, do you think you could melt the ice from the stairs? It would make the final stretch of our journey a lot easier without drawing too much attention. Besides, it would be good to have access to your power in a pinch.”
“I can try,” Dara said. Her eyes had brightened, regaining some of their usual intensity. Siv recognized the determined expression she often wore when she was learning a new dueling move.
“Come here, Rumy,” Siv said. “Be good for Dara.”
He held up his cloak to hide as much of the flame as possible. Dara reached out and scratched Rumy’s head. He snorted into her hand, leathery wings creaking. She breathed deeply.
“What’s happening?” Siv asked.
“Don’t distract me.”
“Are you trying it now? I can’t see anything.”
“Shh. I’m sensing for Fire.”
“Do you feel—?”
“Do you want me to do this or not?” Dara snapped.
“Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”
Siv waited, eager to see what she could do. Rumy relaxed under Dara’s hands, but nothing happened. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers along his neck and down to the underside of his belly.
The warm glow of the sunset colored the snow surrounding the pair. Dara’s cloak spread around her, her golden braid falling loose over it, and Rumy’s tail lashed back and forth contentedly. Siv wished he could tell what she was feeling. His arms began to grow tired from holding up his cloak, the right one throbbing painfully from his wounds.
Then Dara opened her eyes.
“Now,” she said.
Rumy reared up and let loose a jet of flame. Dara stuck her hand directly into the fire.
Siv started forward in surprise, but Dara’s hand didn’t burn. She held it in the spout of Rumy’s flame, turning it back and forth. For an instant her hand shone like it was made of gold. Then Rumy’s flame died away and he snapped his jaws, looking rather smug.
“Did it work?” Siv asked.
Dara sat back on her heels, studying her palm.
“I don’t know. I feel something inside my skin, but it’s different. It doesn’t feel like the Fire normally does.”
“Can you Work with it?”
“I’m not sure. My senses are still rattled. The heat is kind of jumping around, but I can’t tell if that’s because dragon fire is different or because I’m still recovering.”
Dara laid her hand on the ground. The snow sizzled and melted around it, leaving a perfect Dara-sized imprint on the path.
“Incredible,” Siv said. “Does that mean you can Work as long as you have a friendly cur-dragon around?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Dara frowned and withdrew her hand from the snow. “The heat is already draining away. Besides, Fireworkers and cur-dragons have lived on the mountain
together for centuries. I think someone would have noticed if they wielded the same Fire.”
“But what if—”
Siv stopped abruptly at the sound of something whistling through the air. He realized what it was at the last instant and dove to the ground, pulling Dara with him. An arrow struck the spot where he had been standing a second earlier.
3.
The Final Stair
ARROWS rained down around Dara and Siv. They must not have hidden the dragon flame well enough. They’d alerted their pursuers to their exact location. Fear spiked through Dara as another arrow zipped into the snow right beside her.
“Never mind about stealth,” Siv said. “Rumy, blast us a path down the stairs!”
Rumy screeched and took flight. He streaked away from them, flames already shooting from his throat. Dara and Siv followed, hurling themselves down the treacherous steps of the Final Stair as Rumy melted the ice before them.
Dara clutched at the residual heat as they ran. She had been surprised that she could draw a bit of power from Rumy as he breathed fire over her hand. Trace amounts of true Fire laced his flame. Dara had never heard of something like that before, but she didn’t have time to question it as they fled for their lives. She pulled at the hints of Fire and spun them behind her in threads as she had seen Zage do. The threads were tiny, but she managed to burn one arrow out of the air and nudge another off course as they fled the assault.
The arrows ceased after a few minutes, and shouts followed them as their attackers gave chase.
The Final Stair was narrow and steep. Dara had lived in the mountain heights for her entire life, but even she felt a sense of vertigo as they raced down the steps. Cliffs edged the stairs on either side, a final plunge before they reached the bottom of the Fissure. Nowhere to go but down.
Rumy’s jets of flame became erratic. He was running out of energy, and they weren’t to the bottom yet. The footsteps behind them grew louder. Dara and Siv were both weary from their journey and their injuries. They fought through the exhaustion. They couldn’t let their pursuers overtake them.
Dara cast about for a plan. They had to delay the men behind them. Rumy would be too tired to cause another distraction, and they’d been seen with him now anyway.
She gathered more Fire from the vestiges of Rumy’s flame, a miniscule amount compared to what she normally Worked with above the Fire Warden’s Well. What could she do with a tiny amount of Fire?
Siv’s long legs churned. He was beginning to outpace her. He had his blade in hand already. They weren’t going to make it to the bottom without a fight.
Dara scrutinized the steep drop beside the Final Stair. It was too far to jump. A fall from this height would be deadly.
She knew what she had to do.
“Canteen!” she gasped.
Siv didn’t question. He tossed her the metal canteen. It was cheap, flimsy steel, but it would be good enough for her needs. Dara held it with both hands and forced the Fire she’d gathered into the metal, noticing it had already warped when Siv used it to melt snow. The water evaporated in a flash of steam, and the canteen began to melt. Dara kneaded the metal as she ran. She didn’t have time to do it with her mind alone. She stretched the steel of the canteen into a long thin bar, its silvery length nearly invisible against the wet stone steps. The Fire helped it keep its shape, though she didn’t have time to solidify it properly.
She glanced back to make sure their pursuers weren’t in view yet, then she skidded to a halt and bent the edges of the steel bar, thrusting them into the stone on either side of the stairs with the last of the Fire. It wasn’t pretty, but the thin metal rod crossed the path exactly at ankle height. With any luck, it’d catch one of their pursuers unaware and slow the others.
Dara hurtled after Siv as fast as she could. A stitch burned in her side, and her breath came in gasps. This was it. The final point. The championship bout. She would not give up in the final stretch. Dara ran faster.
Moments later, a brutal scream echoed across the Fissure.
Then came the whistle of air and the thud. Dara winced. Her trap had worked. A string of curses thundered from above, farther away now. The others would tread more carefully after what had happened to their comrade.
“Nice one,” Siv wheezed. “Almost there.”
Rumy had stopped producing flame. He flapped ahead of them, his flight labored. The sun sank below the peak, and darkness closed in around them. They took the final steps at a dead run, heedless of the remaining ice. Feet skidding dangerously, they reached the bottom of the Fissure, where a wide avenue bordered with trees led into the darkness.
“Hide?” Dara gasped as she leapt off the final step.
“Here.” Siv led the way into the trees on the opposite side of the cobblestone road. Rumy landed and shuffled along beside them with a dull whine. The grove was sheltered, the branches thick enough to keep the ground free of snow. They’d leave no tracks.
As they pushed through the trees, a rushing sound filled Dara’s ears. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Her exhaustion nearly blinded her. Branches whipped against her face, and brambles tugged at her cloak. She followed Siv’s tall shape through the darkness, trusting that he had a plan. Shouts rang out behind them, still too close. They slid down a gentle incline, picking up speed as they scrambled onward. Seconds later, they burst through the trees on the banks of a vast, icy river.
Dara had forgotten about the Oakwind River running through the Fissure. Starlight glittered on the water rushing by. Used to mountain springs and streams, she’d never seen a river this wide and wild up close before. She had no time to stop and admire it, though. Siv hurried along the riverbank to a simple wooden dock. A dozen boats bobbed beside it.
“Get in,” he said, rapidly untying one of the boats. Rumy snorted and dug his claws into the dock. Shouts filtered through the trees. They didn’t have time for delay. Their remaining pursuers must have reached the bottom of the Final Stair and entered the grove by now. Dara grabbed Rumy around the middle and hauled him into the boat with her. They both toppled to the bottom as Siv pushed away from the dock, paddling fiercely.
“Shouldn’t we get rid of the other boats so they can’t follow?” Dara said.
“No time,” Siv said. “Let’s hope they search the woods before they check the river. We’ll be long gone by then.”
The current buffeted them about as they pulled into the center of the river. Chunks of ice scraped their hull, invisible in the darkness. The boat was too small for the three of them. Dara and Rumy crowded forward in the bow to give Siv room to row. Black water rushed beneath them, and Dara’s stomach lurched at the sight. She had never been in a boat before.
She avoided looking at the inky depths and churning, white-tipped peaks. She scanned the shore for any sign of pursuit. Whoever had been sent after them wouldn’t give up. But they were moving fast on the water. They had to be getting farther away—unless their pursuers had horses waiting for them in the Fissure.
The Oakwind carried them through the night, swift and sure. Dara became more certain that they weren’t in danger of being overtaken with each passing minute. Gradually, her heart rate returned to normal. Their hunters were no matches for the river. It was a good thing Siv knew about these boats. He’d taken the journey through the Fissure to Trure many times and must have gone by boat or visited the dock on one of his previous trips. If she had been alone, she would have run straight down the road and hoped she was faster than the men her father had sent to retake her.
Retake her or kill her, Dara amended. Those arrows had been flying with impunity. Her father may have ordered his men to kill Siv and take Dara alive, but there were no guarantees. She shied away from thinking of her mother. She feared Lima Ruminor cared even less whether Dara lived or died than her husband did.
Her father may feel differently now that he knew she could Work. But whether the revelation would produce a lethal desire to punish Dara or inspire him to draw her b
ack into the family, she couldn’t say. She could never join him, not after what he’d done. She grimaced. The break between them hurt worse than any physical injury.
The moon rose over the river as they sped along the bottom of the Fissure. They passed the shadowy indent where Orchard Gorge sloped down into the deeper canyon. Then Village Peak rose on their right, where Dara had lived for her whole life until she moved into the castle a few months ago. Mists floated above the river, obscuring her view of the peak, but she could picture its uneven edges. She imagined the two levels of Stone Market, which must be directly uphill from where they were now. She pictured the uneven pathways, busy with villagers and mountain goats, and the porch in front of her parents’ home lined with Fire Lanterns. She thought of the breeze and the mists in her face as she crossed the Fissure a thousand times on bridges now invisible in the darkness. She was truly leaving her home behind. She had no idea what she’d find in the Lands Below.
The creaking of the oars ceased. Dara turned in time to see Siv hunching over them, breathing heavily.
“Let me do it for a while,” she said.
“It’s just my stitches,” he said. “No worse than a couple of zur-wasp stings.” But his face was white, and his limbs shook from pain and fatigue.
“Move over,” Dara said. “We’ll take turns.”
Siv didn’t argue. He pushed himself up, and they shuffled awkwardly around each other to change places. Rumy had fallen asleep in the bottom of the boat. He gave an annoyed grunt when Dara accidentally stepped on his tail.
“Sorry,” she said, shifting her feet, unable to see much in the darkness. Her foot struck the oarsman’s bench, and she lurched sideways. Siv caught her just before she tumbled over the side.
“Easy.” He held her still for a moment, both hands on her upper arms. She regained her balance, but he didn’t let go.
“I’m okay,” Dara said.
“I know.” Siv didn’t remove his hands.
Dara looked up at him. Moonlight glinted on his dark hair and made his bandage glow. There was weariness and desperation in his eyes. It was as if he’d intended to steady her and then let her go, but he got caught, trapped in a single moment. Dara felt tethered, as if Siv were a lifeline holding her up, holding her together. Exhaustion had left her raw. She clutched his sleeves, feeling exposed and vulnerable after everything they’d been through. So much loss. So much peril. And he looked at her as if she were the only thing holding him together, the only thing he’d ever wanted. He tightened his grip, drawing her nearer, and for one silver second she felt a little less lost in his arms.
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