The stands around the racing grounds were only half full today. It had rained earlier that morning, keeping many people indoors. The horses raced so often that the stands rarely filled up anyway. The liveliest cheers came from the betting arena sheltered beneath a vast green tent beside the racetrack. The races could be a full-time job for those with high risk tolerance. Siv was tempted to meander over and place a bet, but he hadn’t felt particularly lucky lately.
While he’d been confined to his bed, he’d had plenty of time to mull over the options for returning to Vertigon. His best plan was still to sneak into the city with a small group of swordsmen—not unlike the one Bolden had engaged—to conduct the operation. He hoped that would be enough to overcome the guards in the castle. Siv wasn’t sure how they’d deal with the Fireworkers themselves, but he felt confident that Dara would come up with something—as soon as she admitted he was right, of course. He had never known her to back down from a challenge.
But King Atrin still resisted the idea of moving against the throne of Vertigon, no matter who held it. He may be offended by the Lantern Maker’s efforts to provoke further conflict, but with Soole threatening his eastern border, the king didn’t want to risk his alliance with the northern mountain.
Dara didn’t think they should go back either. She insisted mere men couldn’t defeat the Fireworkers, and the effort would be futile. She may be right that swords were no match for a Fireworker like Rafe Ruminor, but there had to be some way to counter his power.
Siv frowned and picked at a splinter in the railing around the royal box. He had shouted at Dara that morning, truly shouted. They had both been on edge lately, but he had never done something like that before. He’d felt horrible about it immediately. He didn’t want to become the kind of man to fly into rages, like his grandfather. But fury had been bubbling within him since he left Vertigon behind. He was angry with the Lantern Maker, with the Rollendar traitors, with his grandfather for refusing to help. More than anything, he was angry with himself for losing in the first place. He couldn’t seem to keep from lashing out. He had cursed at the tapestries and tossed cushions across the room a few times in private after his grandfather continued to refuse his petitions, but that morning he had yelled at Dara herself.
She had been trying to convince him not to return to Vertigon. To give it up and start anew.
“I can’t believe you want to leave the mountain to him,” Siv had said. “You’re supposed to be brave.”
“He’s too powerful,” Dara said.
“There has to be a way.”
“Look what happened last time.” Dara brushed a finger over one of his new scars. He tried to ignore the jolt of heat that went through him at her touch. Being near her spun his brain in the worst way.
“You won’t last a day if you go back,” she said.
“I have to try.”
Siv had pulled away from her to pace in front of the window. The glittering expanse of Azure Lake mocked him in the distance. It would be all too easy to abandon his responsibility to the mountain and stay there forever. Stay there with Dara. He realized a huge part of him wanted to do it too. That was when he’d slammed his fist against the wall.
“You are just going to let him win!” Siv wasn’t even sure if by “you” he meant Dara or himself. Maybe both.
Dara had folded her arms, skewered him with one of those level stares of hers, and let him rage. When he ran out of energy, she poured him a goblet of wine and left the room. It was worse than if she had smacked him upside the head.
Siv shifted uncomfortably in his seat, watching the next round of horses trot to the starting line. Dara’s respect was important to him. She probably understood that he was struggling to come to terms with what had happened—most of all the death of his sister—but that didn’t make it acceptable for him to lose his composure like that. He grimaced. His father would have been disappointed. Sevren had treated people with unfailing patience and kindness, no matter how frustrated he became.
The fact that Siv was supposed to be dead had only aggravated his frustration. He’d been restricted to the royal palace ever since he got to Rallion City. He disliked the place in the best of times, and the confinement was driving him crazy. Today, he’d reached his breaking point.
When Uncle Tem had dropped by for a visit on the way to the races, Siv had decided to assemble a disguise and accompany him. He’d only be out for a few hours. He looked enough like some of his cousins that—with the help of some Truren clothes and a strategically positioned hat—he didn’t think anyone would recognize him.
Now he slouched beside Uncle Tem as the man droned on about the merits and weaknesses of each horse lining up for the race in exhaustive detail. Siv nodded politely, wondering what would happen if he accidentally spilled a goblet of wine on the man. He would probably go right on talking. Siv was a decent rider, but hearing about horses in literally every conversation got tiring fast. Firelord take the Trurens and their races. They were nowhere near as exciting as a good duel.
A horn sounded, and the horses took off around the track, their hooves thundering, dust blooming around their feet. Siv wished he could run like that, faster than any man. He’d race straight back to Vertigon and find a way to make up for fleeing. Even if the Lantern Maker burned him to a crisp, at least he’d have tried.
“Go, go, go, go, go!” shouted Uncle Tem, far too close to Siv’s ear. “Go Princess Suki! You can do it!”
Tem leaned forward, as if he could urge his horse to run faster through sheer will. His gray hair was combed back from his temples in a handsome sweep. All he seemed to do was race and watch the races. Siv wondered if he ever even bothered to visit his manor house on the Eastern Plains.
He supposed that if he stayed in Trure, his life could be like Uncle Tem’s: free of responsibility and expectation. Siv frowned, stealing another glance at his uncle out of the corner of his eye. That used to be all he ever wanted.
The crowds roared as the racehorses streaked around the track. Princess Suki was in the middle of the pack. Uncle Tem hollered her name, urging her onward. She eased past two more horses, a yellow crest flying from her rider’s helmet. Tem whooped. Princess Suki stretched out her long neck as the pack rounded the bend.
Despite himself, Siv leaned forward in his seat.
Suddenly, the lead horse slipped in the mud. The rider pitched off, barely managing to roll out of the way as the rest of the horses thundered past. He lay still. The crowd gasped and murmured, more excited than worried. Then the rider scrambled to his feet, apparently unharmed, and the spectators shouted louder than a blizzard in the Burnt Mountains.
The rest of the pack charged around the track. Their muscles churned, and sweat lathered their sides like soap. The ground rumbled as they rounded the final bend. Siv clutched the wooden railing.
Princess Suki was in second now. Uncle Tem rose to his feet, abandoning lordly decorum to jump up and down. Princess Suki barreled down the final stretch. The leader sped up, putting more distance between them. She wasn’t going to make it.
“Go Princess Suki!” Siv hollered, leaping to his feet.
With a final surge of effort, she pulled ahead seconds before crossing the finish line.
“Yes!” Uncle Tem thrust his fist into the air.
“Woohoo!” Siv thumped his uncle on the back. “Wow, she almost didn’t make it. Great finish!” Okay, maybe the races are a little exciting.
“That’s how it’s done,” Uncle Tem said, dropping back into his seat with a satisfied smile. He poured himself another goblet of wine. “I’ll make a racing fan of you yet. You ought to get yourself a horse or two if you’re going to stay in Trure.”
“I don’t think I’ll be here much longer,” Siv said. “I just need some men and—”
Uncle Tem raised a hand to silence him. “Siv, my boy. I don’t believe my father will change his mind. Don’t let your hopes get too high.”
“I have to help my people.”
&nb
sp; “I doubt they’re being tortured.” Uncle Tem tipped his head back, emptying his goblet. He reached for the pitcher again. “This Lantern Maker may have control over Vertigon, but that doesn’t mean the people will suffer. They may hardly notice.”
Siv narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you should let it go,” Uncle Tem said. “Vertigon will survive without you.”
“But—”
“You can talk about rescuing your people, but the only reason to go back is if you want to retake the throne for yourself.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Siv said slowly. “I don’t even like being king.”
“Then don’t be king.” Tem gripped his shoulder. “You’re off free. Enjoy yourself. Race, drink, and marry that pretty guard of yours.”
Siv stared at his uncle, not sure what to say. As Uncle Tem released his shoulder and refilled his wine goblet, Siv was reminded suddenly and forcibly of his father. It was as if they were having a weird, flipped version of all those conversations with his father about duty and responsibility. As King Atrin’s youngest son, Tem had been spared such lectures, and he lived a life that was freewheeling, even indolent. Siv had long thought that was all he wanted too: to be free of the responsibilities of kingship. To be able to marry whomever he wanted. What if his uncle was right, and Vertigon really was going to be fine? The Lantern Maker couldn’t be such a monster that he’d endanger the people, could he? His men had killed a seventeen-year-old girl, it was true, but now that he had control, what more could he do?
The thought of Sora made his gut twist as if he’d been stabbed. He’d failed her as a brother in addition to failing as a king. Maybe Vertigon wouldn’t even want him back.
Siv frowned into his wine, pondering the glint of light on the burgundy liquid. His wounds were almost healed. He should be well enough to resume his dueling training soon. Maybe he could teach Dara how to ride, and they could take a manor out on the Horseplains somewhere—if she’d have him. Maybe he could walk away and start a new life.
Siv wished he hadn’t yelled at Dara that morning. He should go back to the palace at once and apologize. Maybe he could buy her a gift along the way. He’d have to explain that he’d gone out without her, of course. Dara didn’t know Uncle Tem had turned up with an invitation to the races. She thought he was spending the afternoon moping in his room and had gone to visit Selivia, who was preparing for her birthday party the following day.
Yes, he would go straight to Dara and explain before she had a chance to get mad. He owed her an apology. And if he smiled wide enough, maybe she wouldn’t lecture him about the dangers of venturing out without her. He’d need to finish off the last of his wine first, though. For courage.
And while he was at it maybe he’d finally get the courage to tell Dara exactly how he felt about her. He assumed she knew how she ensnared his thoughts and drove him crazy with her smile. She had to know he wanted her by his side no matter where they ended up in the future—and not just as his guard. But he had never explicitly told her he loved her. Maybe it was time.
Attendants ran out onto the track, smoothing out the mud to prepare for the next race. Riders were already moving fresh horses toward the start line. The animals pranced and snorted, eager to get moving.
“Hello, my lords!” A familiar man with a wide girth and a green coat approached their box. It was Lord Bale, his uncle’s racing companion. “Great race. So close at the end! She was one of yours, wasn’t she, Tem?”
“Indeed! She’s having a mighty strong season.”
“Aye.” Lord Bale leaned against the box. He wore tall black boots spattered to the calves in mud. “How are you enjoying the races, Sire?”
“They’re great,” Siv said. “This isn’t my first visit to Trure, my lord.”
“Of course not. Nice to see you out and about.”
“I’m technically in disguise,” Siv said. “I guess the hat wasn’t enough.”
“Well, I knew to expect you,” Lord Bale said with a chuckle. “I don’t imagine anyone else realizes the deceased King of Vertigon is sitting there beside old Tem.”
Siv cleared his throat, wishing the man had a quieter voice.
“Did you have a horse in the race, Lord Bale?”
“I know better than to run against Princess Suki. My Justina is in the next one. She’s a long shot, but I think she’ll surprise us.”
“In that case, I’ll put some coins on her,” Siv said.
“Thank you, Sire. It is a pleasure to see you again. Where is that fine-looking bodyguard of yours?”
“Dara’s back at the palace,” Siv said.
“Is she now?” Lord Bale’s eyes swept over the royal box with a sudden sharpness that was at odds with his genial demeanor. “It’s a shame for her to miss the races.”
“She’s not a horse person,” Siv said. “I’m going to go place that wager. Excuse me, my lords.”
Lord Bale inclined his head and walked off in the opposite direction. Uncle Tem was busy scribbling calculations on parchment after Princess Suki’s race. He didn’t even notice when Siv left the royal box, tugging the brim of his hat lower over his eyes.
Instead of placing a bet, Siv made his way out of the racing stadium and meandered through the shops outside the entrance. Something about Lord Bale didn’t sit right with him. He figured it would be wise to depart before he brought on any unwanted attention. Besides, Dara might have realized he’d gone out by now. He really should buy her a gift to apologize.
The racing grounds were the primary hubs for commerce throughout Trure. Merchants liked to catch the spectators the moment they left the arena, flush with their winnings. The only places where people were more eager to spend their gold were the horse markets. Somehow Siv didn’t think Dara would appreciate it if he bought her a horse. He ambled slowly through the shops, keeping his head down and his hat pulled low. It started to rain again, and the crowds thinned as people retreated indoors to escape the drizzle.
Which shop to choose? He’d already given Dara the finest sword he’d ever owned, and he wasn’t sure what else she would like. She was such a practical person most of the time. She never wore jewelry, and she didn’t seem to have much patience for books. He’d convinced her to read a little bit while they’d been confined to his grandfather’s palace, but she still approached books cautiously, suspicious of anything that required zero physical exertion to enjoy. The other day he’d caught her doing footwork with a book in one hand, advancing and retreating while she turned the pages.
Selivia’s birthday was the following day, and she was much easier to buy gifts for. She loved pretty things: dresses and scarves and jewels. She also loved pets, but Siv’s grandfather probably wouldn’t be too happy if he bought her a crundlebird or something. Those were damn noisy. Still, he might get her one anyway. After losing Sora, he found himself wanting to spoil his remaining sister rotten.
A glint caught Siv’s eye. A gem shop sat at the corner where the road turned back toward the palace. That was as good a place to start as any. He ducked into the little shop, nodded at the voluptuous shopkeeper, and shook the rain from his hat. The door flew shut behind him in a gust of wind.
Jewels glimmered in the light from a single Vertigonian Fire Lantern hanging from the ceiling. Siv perused the cases of jewelry, brushing his fingers over the glass as he admired the stones. Refractions of color and light swept the walls as the lantern still swayed from the slamming of the door.
Selivia’s gift was easy. He spotted a bright-yellow brooch that would go with one of the headscarves she’d taken to wearing in Trure. Dara was more difficult. He wasn’t even sure if she liked jewels. His mother would say he shouldn’t be buying gifts for his guardswoman anyway, but he cared less about that with each passing day. He wanted to see her smile, to see her intense eyes soften when she looked at him. That was worth any price.
He circled all the way around the shop and started on another pass when the shine
of a necklace caught his attention. He bent over the glass case beneath the window. Fuzzy shapes moved through the rain outside it.
The necklace in the case featured a simple stone pendant. Vines of dull gold curled around the stone, looking a little like a pair of dragons rearing back to back. That was the one. It wasn’t too fancy, but it reminded him of Dara.
Siv gave the shopkeeper his most-charming smile and complimented her wide, pale-green eyes. She knocked a few marks off the prices for the two pieces of jewelry. Works every time. She wrapped the two gifts in cloth and handed them back to him.
It was raining harder than ever outside the shop, but Siv didn’t care. He was excited to deliver the gift to Dara. She would be so surprised! And she would definitely smile at him. He did love to see Dara smile.
Siv wore a little grin of his own as he left the shop and strode into the rain. Or at least, he tried to stride. That was made more difficult when a dark shape emerged from the shadows beside the shop door and clobbered him over the head. Siv dropped into the mud as the world went black.
12.
Gone
DARA sat on the wide, corn-yellow rug and stretched as Selivia chattered about her birthday party the following day. The princess danced around the room, unable to sit still in her excitement. She was turning fourteen, and her cousins were traveling from all across the Truren countryside for a luncheon on the rooftop garden. The royal palace had been caught up in a frenzy of activity, not helped by the fact that Selivia darted around asking questions about every last detail, making it impossible for the workers to get anything done.
“Do you think the rain will stop, Dara? Oh, I hope it does. It would be so sad to move the party indoors.”
“The Grand Hall almost feels like it’s outside,” Dara said.
“That’s true. But it’s so lovely to have sunshine! That’s the problem with having a birthday in the wintertime.” She paused to peer out at the rain for half a second then continued prancing around the room. “I’m excited for you to meet my cousins. They’ll be so impressed to hear about your dueling! We mustn’t tell them your name, naturally, but do you think you could do a demonstration? There’s plenty of room on the rooftop.”
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