steel and fire 03 - dance of steel

by rivet, jordan

  The road was broad and dusty, with shops lining it on either side. The wares on display included colorful textiles, unfamiliar foods, and saddles in every style imaginable. Dara spotted a shop advertising Vertigonian Fireworks and metals. Another sold Fire Lanterns. She didn’t look closely enough to see if any of them were Ruminor Lanterns.

  The clang and hiss of furriers competed with the clop of hundreds of hooves and the murmur of strangely accented voices. None of the people milling alongside the main road paid any heed to the five mounted members of their party. With any luck, they would go unnoticed despite the hundreds of eyes sliding over them as they passed.

  It took an hour to ride to the city center. Deep within the sprawl was an inner ring surrounded by high brick walls. The massive gates stood open, allowing people to pass in and out freely. Armed guards patrolled high towers on either side of the entrance, alert and tense despite the open gates. The afternoon sun reflected off their burnished bronze armor.

  Dara tightened her grip on Old Fence’s reins as they approached the gates. She focused on breathing calmly, her hand on her Savven blade. After the events of the past week, she didn’t trust anyone, whether they worked for Siv’s grandfather or not. Siv himself didn’t even glance at the guards, apparently confident that all was well.

  They passed the inner city walls without being challenged. As soon as they were through the gates, Lord Bale bid them farewell.

  “You still owe us another race, Lord Tem,” he said.

  Siv’s uncle grinned, showing off a row of perfect white teeth. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I’ll send a man to pick up Old Fence later, my lady.” Lord Bale bowed in his saddle to Dara. “I hope he has served you well.”

  “Um, I could walk from here if you—”

  “Not at all. One never approaches the royal palace on foot.”

  Dara inclined her head, wishing he would take the horse back already. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “A pleasure,” Lord Bale said. “If you and His Royal Highness wish, do visit my manor. My wife and I would be honored to host you.”

  “Thank you, Lord Bale,” Siv said, guiding his horse closer to Dara. “We’ll have to speak with my grandfather before we accept any social invitations. I must ask you not to mention my presence in the city to anyone.”

  “Of course not, Sire.” Lord Bale studied Siv for a moment, a pensive expression on his face, then he nodded and set off down the street. Lord Firnum grumbled a more-abbreviated farewell and rode in the other direction.

  Dara, Siv, and Tem continued through the city proper, climbing a gentle slope toward the palace. The buildings in the inner circle were larger than in the rest of the city, much like the finest greathouses in Vertigon located on King’s Peak. Dara assumed this was where the nobility lived.

  There were racing grounds here too. They passed a large arena mere blocks from the royal palace. A race had recently ended, and spectators streamed out of the gates and around their horses, chattering and laughing. Siv fell back beside Dara as they rode alongside the racecourse, allowing Lord Tem to ride out of earshot. The babble of the crowds helped to cover his words.

  “I’d like you to stay with me when I speak to my grandfather and mother,” he said.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  He sighed at the honorific and pressed on. “I don’t know how much control I’ll have over what happens here, but we need to emphasize that you’re on my side, not your father’s.”

  “I thought you weren’t sure about that.”

  Siv fiddled with his reins, and his horse danced closer to her.

  “None of this was your fault, Dara,” he said. “I’m just . . . it’s a lot to get my head around.”

  “I know,” Dara said. She resisted the urge to reach out to him. She was his guard, nothing more. Pain tightened in her chest. “It’s hard for me too.”

  “Truce for now?”

  “Always.”

  Siv hesitated for a moment.

  “You really can’t swim?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’d better teach you before our next deadly adventure.”

  He flashed a grin and squeezed his knees to urge his horse forward. Dara started, grabbing Old Fence’s saddle lest he spook. The animal tossed his head and ambled after the two lords.

  Dara forgot all about horses and swimming lessons as they turned a bend in the road and she got her first good look at the royal palace.

  It was a wide building constructed of massive blocks of light-rose stone, with low walls and two identical towers rising on either side of a flat center. Obviously not built for defense, the palace had large windows, many of them standing open to let in the crisp breeze. Beautifully manicured gardens filled the grounds right up to the pink stone of the palace itself. Winter roses bloomed in the gardens, their sweet aromas mingling with the ever-present scent of horses.

  A stone balustrade bordered the flat rooftop space between the two towers. Dara caught a glimpse of leaves trailing over the edge high above them. Perhaps a rooftop garden? The overall effect was of a flower box overflowing with life, even in the depths of winter.

  The gates swung open for them, and the guards greeted Lord Tem. Still on horseback, they approached the steps leading to the palace doors, which were carved from a white wood Dara had never seen before. She had no time to look at the carvings before the doors burst open and a teenage girl flew out of them at top speed.

  Siv dismounted so fast he was almost falling. He only made it to the second step before his youngest sister, Selivia, threw her arms around his neck with a shriek. She had a bright-yellow scarf over her dark, curly hair, and she looked as if she’d grown another inch during the past few weeks.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, laughing through her tears. “I’ve been going crazy here all alone. Uncle Tem sent word you were coming. I haven’t been able to sit still for hours. What took you so long? Have you set a date for your wedding? Where’s Sora?”

  Dara stayed on her horse, hands clutched tight around the reins. Siv didn’t set his sister down, his head still buried in her shoulder as she fired off more questions. Dara found it hard to breathe as she watched her friends, waiting for Siv to deliver the news. She wished Selivia’s babble could continue forever, filling the courtyard with joy and light.

  Finally, Siv set her back on the steps.

  “What happened to your head?” Selivia said, finally taking in his appearance. “You look terrible.”

  “Let’s go inside,” he said. “I need to talk to Mother.”

  “But . . . where’s Sora?” Selivia looked over at Dara and her uncle, still waiting on their horses. “Didn’t she come with you?”

  “Let’s go inside,” Siv repeated, voice breaking. “It’s good to see you, Sel.”

  Lord Tem helped Dara dismount, and stablemen appeared to whisk away their horses. They followed the king and his sister inside. Princess Selivia was about to turn fourteen. When she left the mountain to visit Trure with her mother, she’d had red streaks dyed in the edges of her hair. The streaks were gone now, and she wore a Truren-style dress with wide sleeves and light ruffles, which floated over the wide sandstone floor as they entered the palace.

  A grand space opened directly through the doors, more like a courtyard in the center of the palace than an entrance hall. Potted plants and marble statues were arranged at tasteful intervals around the space. High ceilings stretched far above them, lit by the late-afternoon sun streaming through the large windows. Grand staircases rose on either side of the hall leading to the two towers at either end of the palace.

  Their footsteps echoed in the vast hall, and a breeze swirled through the open windows, carrying the scents of the garden. Dara glanced up and noticed that a massive painting covered the entire expanse of the vaulted ceiling. It depicted a magnificent herd of horses crossing a rolling plain. Some of the horses were rider-less. Others carried godlike figures in flowing robes, with bright flowers woven i
nto their hair. At one edge was an illustration of a flat-topped rock, which Dara knew was located in the Far Plains territory to the west. She turned slowly, unable to see the whole painting at once. On the opposite side of the hall from the rock was the green outline of a forest. To the north and south, mountain ranges stretched out of the boundaries of the painting. One of these represented Vertigon and the Burnt Mountains. Her former home.

  She felt a hand in hers. “Isn’t it pretty?” Princess Selivia said.

  “It’s stunning,” Dara said.

  “You have to lie flat on your back to enjoy it.”

  “Maybe later.” Dara pulled her gaze away from the painting and the vast, foreign land it represented. She felt very small.

  “Why is Siv so sad?” Selivia asked quietly. “And you too. What happened?”

  “I’m sorry, Princess,” Dara said. “I shouldn’t—”

  “Sivarrion! What has happened?” A new voice echoed across the immense hall, and a woman hurried toward them from the grand staircase to their right. She was tall and bright cheeked, with light Truren eyes. She wore a yellow scarf like Selivia’s.

  It took Dara a second to realize that this was Tirra, the woman who had been Queen of Vertigon for Dara’s entire life—and Siv and Selivia’s mother. Here in her home country, Tirra was transformed. Her skin had more color, and her movements had an energy and vitality that had never been there when she drifted through Vertigon like a sad wraith. She wore an elegant gown of sapphire blue and somehow looked more substantial than she ever had before.

  She wrapped her son in a hug, and for a moment Dara felt envious. It had been a long time since her own mother had greeted her with such warmth. But she knew the joy on Tirra’s face wouldn’t last long.

  “Mother,” Siv said, pulling back and taking her hands gently. “I must speak with you and Grandfather immediately. It’s about Sora.”

  “The king is out riding,” Tirra said.

  “Then maybe we should—”

  “Tell me now.”

  Princess Selivia continued to hold onto Dara’s hand as Siv began his tale, clutching her tighter with every word. Servants and attendants passed by every once in a while, and he spoke quietly so his voice wouldn’t carry. This grand hall seemed like a strange place to have this conversation. The sheer size of the room made them look powerless and insignificant—as powerless as they had been against Dara’s father.

  Tirra didn’t move as Siv recounted everything that had happened. Lord Tem listened nearby, the blood draining from his face. When Siv got to the part about the swordsmen leaving Sora’s room, their blades tipped in blood, Lord Tem sent for a chair and a cup of hot lemon tea for his sister. He eased her into the chair while Tirra stared at nothing, her eyes glassy.

  Siv finished his account with their chance meeting with the three lords on the road. He looked deflated, and Dara wished she were near enough to put her hand on his shoulder.

  “But . . . you didn’t see Sora?” Selivia said in a small voice.

  “No, we were unarmed, and there was no way to get into her chambers,” Siv said.

  “So she could still be alive?

  “Sel . . .”

  “If you didn’t see her, she’s not dead.”

  “I don’t think she could have made it,” Siv said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re not the one who should be sorry.” For the second time that day, Dara didn’t recognize Tirra’s voice. It sounded harsh and empty now, like an icy winter wind. “I warned you about the Ruminors. So tell me what she is doing here?”

  Dara blinked when she realized the former queen was pointing directly at her.

  “She wasn’t involved,” Siv said. “The Rollendars were behind the swordsmen, and her father—”

  “Her father!” Tirra shrieked. “I told you to watch out for her father, and you didn’t listen.”

  “She fought against him,” Siv said. “The Lantern Maker would have killed me if not for Dara.”

  “I want her out of my home this instant,” Tirra said raggedly. Then she hurled her delicate celadon teacup across the hall.

  Dara ducked the flying cup, which shattered on the floor in a thousand pieces. Some of the boiling liquid spattered over her face, but the heat didn’t bother her. She knew Tirra was lashing out, looking for someone to blame. She had picked the appropriate target.

  “I’ll wait outside, Your Majesty,” she said, rubbing tea off her face. The scent of lemon rose around her. Tirra was right. She couldn’t stay by Siv’s side after what her parents had done. She and Siv had barely exchanged a friendly word in days. He probably didn’t want her help anyway. The fragments of the cup crunched under her boot as she turned to go.

  “No.” Siv’s voice cut like a blade. “Dara has been trying to protect me all along.”

  “Your father, Sivarrion,” Tirra said. “Your sister.”

  “I—”

  “How dare you bring her here!”

  “I trust Dara with my life, Mother,” Siv said. “If you have a problem with that, we can take rooms elsewhere. You will not tell me whom I can keep by my side. Dara stays.”

  Dara felt rooted to the tile floor. Siv faced his mother, bandaged and unshaven, but there was no mistaking the command in his voice. He was vouching for her. Did he mean it? Did he truly trust her after everything that had happened? Despite the pain and uncertainty of the past few days, warmth like dragon fire filled her heart.

  Tirra stared at her son for a moment, then her face crumpled into tears. Siv’s shoulders relaxed, and he swept his mother and sister into a hug. The sounds of their shared grief were soft and heartbreaking.

  Dara stayed back to give them space, shifting her feet awkwardly. She was grateful that Siv had spoken up for her. She should have known not everyone in his household would welcome her. Lord Tem laid a hand on her arm, making her start.

  “I’ll arrange rooms for you and send word to my father the king,” he said.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Aye. He’s a good lad. He’ll need your help in the days to come.”

  Dara nodded, and Tem strode across the vast expanse of the hall, summoning servants with a snap of his fingers. They would all need help in the days to come.

  7.

  The King

  SIV felt a little better after a hot bath, though perhaps not as hale and hearty as he would have liked. Following the emotional reunion with his mother and sister, he and Dara had gone to rest and clean up before their audience with his grandfather. A healer came to replace the dressings on his many wounds. Some were starting to scab over, but at least one gash looked red and infected. The healer coated it with a salve that smelled like a mixture of mint and death itself.

  When the healer left, Siv lounged on the grand bed in his room—the same one he’d stayed in during visits as a boy—and tried not to fall asleep. He had dreaded delivering the news to Selivia and his mother during the whole journey. Now that it was over, he felt as if a weight the size of a velgon bear had lifted from his chest. He could finally start thinking about their next steps.

  Unfortunately, he had no idea what to do. A cavern of uncertainty yawned before him. His initial inclination was to forget Vertigon ever existed. He could live in Trure as an exile, dueling with Dara and racing horses with his uncle and keeping his surviving family close. It wouldn’t be a bad life. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he could live with the knowledge that the Lantern Maker ruled his mountain. Besides, he still hated Trure.

  Siv rolled off the bed and went to the window to watch the sun sinking low over Rallion City, still wincing with every step. It was cloudy, and shades of amber and purple sailed across the sky as evening descended. From his tower bedroom, he had a good view of Azure Lake, sparkling like a sheet of ice in the distance. Okay, maybe Trure wasn’t so bad. It still smelled like horse manure, though, even with the palace gardeners waging constant war on the odor with their year-round flowers. But the sprawling city had a certain charm,
colorful both inside and outside the high brick walls.

  On the other hand, Siv hadn’t seen any of his simpering cousins yet. That would sour him on Trure soon enough. And it wasn’t his mountain.

  He pulled on his boots and went to fetch Dara for dinner. She had been given a small room beside his, the same one Pool had used during their visits throughout his childhood. A Truren palace guard was stationed outside his door now, the saber at his side appearing more decorative than functional. Siv found himself missing his bodyguard’s comforting presence and dour charm as he knocked on Dara’s door. Pool had died at the hands of Bolden Rollendar. The fact that Siv had killed Bolden did little to assuage his grief. He wished he could put everything that had ever happened in Vertigon behind him. Well, everything except for Dara.

  She emerged from the room promptly, her face shiny and clean. She wore a midnight-blue dress in a Truren style with wide sleeves that opened at the elbows and fell past her knees. She had buckled her sword belt around her waist even here, and it swayed against her hip as she strode beside him. Siv glanced down to admire the sight as they walked, realizing he’d only seen her wear a dress a handful of times before. It looked great on her.

  “Siv,” Dara said as they headed toward the king’s dining chamber. “I wanted to thank you for speaking up for me in front of your mother.”

  Right. They had serious things to discuss. He shouldn’t be looking at her backside.

  He cleared his throat. “I meant what I said. You’ve always been on my side.”

  “I won’t let you down,” Dara said.

  “I know.” Now that he was clean and patched up again, some of the heaviness of their journey lifted. Whatever else happened in the days to come, he would be fine as long as Dara was with him. “Sorry for being grumpy on the road,” he said.

  Dara grinned. “I was going to go with petulant. But it was a tiring journey. You know, if you worked out more, you wouldn’t—”

  “Oh, look! We’re here.” Siv gave her a nudge and darted ahead to the wide double doors leading into his grandfather’s dining chamber. The twinge of pain at his quick movement reminded him it would still be a while before he could exercise without risking bleeding to death. Dara would just have to run laps without him.