steel and fire 03 - dance of steel

by rivet, jordan

  A knock sounded, and a doorman poked his head in.

  “My king, your daughter Lady Vila and her noble husband have arrived for the princess’s birth—”

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?” King Atrin shouted. “Vila knows where her room is. I will see her later.”

  “Yes, my king.” The doorman disappeared as if he was afraid the king would throw something at him.

  “Do you have any clues for where Siv went?” Selivia asked. She sat at the huge table, looking small and subdued as her grandfather raged.

  “He went into a gem shop,” Dara said. “He bought this but then dropped it right outside. That’s where I think he was taken.” Dara laid the muddy cloth containing the brooch and the necklace on the table.

  “He bought these?” Selivia asked.

  “The shopkeeper saw him,” Tem said. “Or at least she saw a young man who matched his description.”

  “I don’t know why he would have been buying jewelry, though,” Dara said.

  Selivia opened the packet and gave a little squeal as she took out the yellow brooch. “Oh! For my birthday, of course. This is my favorite color.”

  The gem sparkled in the Firelight. Tears stood out in Selivia’s eyes. “He’s a good brother.” She reached back into the muddy packet. “This one must be for you, Dara.”

  “What?”

  “Look, it’s not my style at all. He must have bought you a present too.” She held out the necklace, the pendant swinging from a simple chain.

  Dara took it, suddenly unable to speak. Siv had bought her a gift? She examined the metal twining around the stone. It looked like two dragons back to back, sharing a single filigree spine. A team united against all odds.

  Dara clutched the pendant in her fist. She would find him.

  Another knock came at the door, and a different doorman poked his head into the dining chamber.

  “My king, your royal heir Lord Valon has arrived with his children and his lady—”

  “Not right now!” King Atrin snapped. “Unless those useless children of his intend to join the search, they can wait until I’m not busy.”

  “Of course, Your Highness. I’m sorry.” The doorman disappeared.

  “Father, perhaps we should ask for help from Valon’s retainers,” Tirra said, drumming her fingers anxiously on the table. “If more men help search for Siv, we may find him faster.”

  “I don’t want word to get out that the exiled King of Vertigon was here and we lost him,” the king said. “He’s still supposed to be dead. We’ll lose our advantage if we decide to move on the mountain.”

  “But he’s in danger.”

  “We’ll sweep the city for him, but I won’t have my careless offspring revealing any hint of weakness. Valon and Vila are the worst gossips I’ve ever met.”

  “We ought to be looking at who has the most to gain by taking him,” Lord Tem said.

  “The Lantern Maker is the obvious choice,” Tirra said. She rose and turned to Dara, not looking remotely fragile now. “You will tell me where my son is, or I will have you flogged.”

  “Mother!” Selivia gasped.

  “Now, Tirra, don’t talk like that,” Tem said.

  “You may be on to something,” King Atrin said. He glared at Dara. “You’re a Ruminor, eh? Thought you’d wait until no one suspected you before you acted against my grandson, did you? You treacherous little—”

  “Come now, Father,” Tem interrupted. “Miss Ruminor has been distraught ever since Siv disappeared.”

  “A likely story. It’s an act!”

  “Why would she be here if she had arranged Siv’s kidnapping?” Tem said. “Wouldn’t she be dragging him back to Vertigon by now? Be reasonable.”

  But the king didn’t listen. He nodded to two of his guards waiting in the shadowy corners of the room. They strode forward and grabbed Dara’s arms before she could do more than place a hand on her blade.

  “Take her to the dungeon,” the king ordered.

  “Grandfather!” Selivia cried. “Dara is on our side. She would never hurt Siv. Tell him, Dara.”

  “I pledged to give my life for him,” Dara said. The guards tightened their grips on her arms, as if they sensed her desire to rip away from them and run out in search of her missing friend. She didn’t feel afraid for herself, but they were wasting time. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “You failed,” Tirra said. Tears filled her eyes, and the anger drained out of her. “I thought it would be good for Siv to keep you by his side, but you failed to protect him. And now he’s gone, just like my daughter.”

  “I know,” Dara said. “But I’ll get him back somehow. I swear it. You have to let me go.”

  Tirra met her eyes, looking like she might relent, but she wasn’t in charge here.

  “I won’t have you interfering with the search,” King Atrin said. “I want my grandson found, and then we’ll discuss your loyalties, young Ruminor.”

  A knock sounded on the door for the third time.

  “My king—”

  “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?” This time the king picked up a goblet and hurled it against the door. Wine spattered the wood like blood. “Tell whichever of my dung-eating children has arrived to show themselves and their progeny to their rooms. I will receive them when I’m not busy dealing with a blasted life-or-death crisis!”

  “I’m sorry, King Atrin,” the doorman squeaked. “It’s not one of your children. A messenger has arrived from Vertigon. It is most urgent.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? Quit sniveling, and bring me the messenger!”

  “She’s right here, Your Majesty.” The fellow clutched the door, tentatively as if he expected the king to throw something else at him. Then he pushed it open the rest of the way.

  And Vine Silltine swept into the room.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy? I do so love Truren architecture.”

  Dara gaped as Vine glided around the dining room, admiring the decorative sconces along the walls. She wore a dress of vibrant green, the fabric fine but practical. Embroidery twisted around the sleeves and simple collar. Her gorgeous black hair hung loose over her shoulders as usual. What was Vine Silltine of all people doing in Rallion City?

  Vine paused to clasp Siv’s mother’s hands. “Hello, my dear Queen Tirra. It has been too long. King Atrin! It is a great honor to make your acquaintance. I am Lady Vine Silltine of Vertigon.”

  Vine dropped into a majestic curtsy, flinging back her lustrous dark hair. The king stared, mouth slightly ajar. For once he seemed at a loss for words. It was as if Vine had waltzed out of a storybook. She gazed around the room with a beatific expression. Her eyes slid over Dara, arms still firmly in the grasp of the palace guards, but she didn’t let on that they knew each other. She turned her attention to the young princess.

  “Princess Selivia, I noticed preparations for what is sure to be a delightful party on my way up. I hope you have a lovely birthday.”

  Selivia gawked at her, as surprised as everyone else.

  “Uh, thank you,” she said.

  “Well, what’s the message?” King Atrin said gruffly, apparently wrong-footed by Vine’s breezy demeanor.

  “Your Majesty, I bring news of Vertigon and our good Queen Sora,” Vine said. “I’ve been looked at with some suspicion since the disappearance of King Siv, and I decided it was time I took a holiday in Trure. I wish to inquire about your plans to assist our queen.”

  Utter silence filled the room for a moment. Then Selivia leapt from her chair, knocking over her goblet.

  “Queen Sora! See! I told you she isn’t dead!”

  “Goodness no,” Vine said. “I admit that the skies have been watched closely of late, and she may not have been able to get a message to you, but Sora lives and reigns as the Good Queen of Vertigon.”

  “I knew it!” Selivia said.

  “My girl,” Tirra whispered.

  Dara felt only shock. They’d been wrong. They’d l
eft the poor girl behind.

  “We have to go back for her!” Selivia said, crying and laughing at the same time.

  “I forbid it,” Tirra said, looking shaky and ethereal once more. “You will never set foot in Vertigon again.”

  Selivia didn’t listen. She danced over to Vine and gave her a hug, then she did the same with Dara. The soldiers holding her captive grumbled disapprovingly.

  “This changes things,” King Atrin said. “I cannot march against my own granddaughter.”

  “No, I doubt Vertigon would like being invaded either.” Vine looked around the dining room, enjoying the effect her news had had. “If you didn’t know Sora was even alive, what do you know?”

  “We got a letter from the Lantern Maker saying my grandson was assassinated by men from Soole,” King Atrin said. Incredibly, he sounded eager to please Vine. Dara didn’t know how she did it.

  “That’s inaccurate unless a good deal has changed during my journey,” Vine said. “House Rollendar worked with the Fireworkers to arrange a coup. The Rollendars didn’t make it through the night, though. I wonder why the Lantern Maker blamed Soole for everything?”

  “He wants to provoke a war,” King Atrin growled. “If I ever meet the man, I’ll rip him apart with my bare hands.”

  “We must avoid a war,” Vine said. “I’m sure King Siv would agree with that.” She glanced around the dining room, her eyes sliding over Dara again. “I’m surprised he’s not here now.”

  “He was kidnapped,” Selivia said breathlessly. “Just this afternoon.”

  “Oh dear! That is poor timing. I’d hoped to entreat him to return to the city. Sora is very brave, but she needs her family.”

  “We’ll get him back,” Dara said fiercely. “What is my father doing now?”

  “Silence,” the king barked at her. “You’re not a part of this discussion.”

  “I have no doubt you will find the good king,” Vine said. Something like amusement touched her voice as she eyed Dara’s guards. “Do let me know if I can be of any assistance.”

  “Do you have any of those spies of yours in Rallion City?” Dara asked, remembering how Vine always seemed so well informed. King Atrin glared at her for speaking again, but he didn’t scare her. Siv was too important.

  Vine gave a tinkling chuckle that sounded nothing like her usual laugh. “Why on earth would I have spies in Trure, my dear Dara? I’d better go freshen up from my journey.”

  She offered the king another deep curtsy and glided toward the door.

  “Lock this one up until I decide what to do with her,” the king said to Dara’s guards. He gestured to the mug-eared soldier. “And send me the captain of the city guard. I want my grandson found.”

  “At once, Your Highness.”

  The palace guards ushered Dara toward the door. She tried to catch Lord Tem’s eye, but he simply shrugged. As the king’s youngest son, there was nothing he could do against his father. Selivia was powerless too. Dara looked desperately to Tirra, but she avoided her gaze. She couldn’t be thrown in the dungeon. She had to find Siv, and they were wasting time!

  Tirra joined Vine outside the dining chamber and accompanied her down the corridor, asking for more details about Sora’s health. The last thing Dara saw before the guards dragged her away in the opposite direction was Vine looking back at her and winking.

  14.

  Captivity

  SIV shifted on the floor of the cellar, trying to ease the pressure on his bound wrists. Was it morning yet? He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but the hours since he’d woken had been among the more miserable of his life.

  As far as he could tell, he was in the cellar of a tavern. Footsteps danced and pounded overhead, and the smell of ale and stale wine assaulted his nose. Once a pair of feet had marched through the cellar, but their owner hadn’t spoken to him. The person had disappeared before he could roll over and see their face.

  A foul gag was stuffed in his mouth, and he was so thirsty he might not have been able to shout for help even if his mouth were free. That was probably the worst part of all. The thirst. Or the rope cutting into his wrists. Hadn’t his captors ever heard of tying people up with silk cords? They’d hold him just as effectively.

  The good news—as far as he could tell—was that he most likely hadn’t been taken out of Rallion City. He’d caught a whiff of the unmistakable horse manure scent that pervaded the capital when the door had opened briefly. The better news was that if his captors had taken the trouble to tie him up and hide him in a cellar, they probably didn’t plan to kill him. Someone would find him eventually, or he would escape. His grandfather’s men were probably scouring the streets for him already, with Dara driving them on like a sheepdog.

  He was glad she hadn’t been with him when he was attacked. She’d have fought to protect him, and she might have been killed. Whoever wanted him alive may not feel the same about her. Unless he’d been captured by the Lantern Maker. He’d rather not entertain that possibility.

  Footsteps creaked overhead. It had been a raucous night in the tavern, but it sounded as if the patrons were slowly returning to their homes. He’d held out some hope that a drunken tavern-goer would discover him accidentally and set him free, but he was out of luck for one night.

  Siv shifted around, trying to find a more-comfortable position. All he needed was a sharp object, and he’d be able to saw through his bonds. That or a nice soft pillow where he could lay his head for the rest of the night. Being tied up was exhausting work.

  Steps thudded on the stairs. Someone was coming. Siv rolled over to more or less face the cellar entrance, banging his head against a barrel in the process. He shook the stars from his eyes as a wide shape darkened the doorway.

  “Here he is. Just like I promised.”

  “Can you prove it is him?”

  Two more figures followed the wide man into the cellar. One crouched down, grabbed Siv by the hair, and shone an Everlight directly in his eyes. Siv blinked, unable to see past the glare.

  “Sure as my own name,” said a familiar voice. “And he was sitting with his uncle in the royal box at the racing grounds.”

  “If you are cheating us—”

  “Look at him. He’s an Amintelle through and through.”

  “We’re wasting time, Charn,” said the third man. “Master Choven has met him before. He’ll know if we’re being deceived.”

  “Very well,” said the man with the Everlight—Charn. He released his grip on Siv’s hair and turned back to the wide man. Siv caught a glimpse of a green coat. “You will have half your payment now and the rest when we confirm his identity.”

  “I told you I don’t want to see any of you again after this,” said the man in green. Siv definitely recognized his voice now. Lord Bale. That bastard!

  “Your decision,” Charn said. “Half the gold until we know it’s him.”

  “They are already searching the city,” Lord Bale said. “Just give it to me. I can’t be seen with you.”

  Charn snorted. “We’d rather not be seen at all.”

  There was a sudden rasping sound and a glint of steel above Siv’s head. Then came a wet thrust and a wheezing grunt. Lord Bale dropped to the ground beside Siv, eyes already glazing over in death.

  Siv bit back a curse. He tried to scramble backward, but the two strangers hurried forward and hauled him up between them. He struggled against his captors, noting that one was swift, with dark hair in a sleek ponytail, and the other carried a sword dripping red. Siv was a little too preoccupied by the blade to notice what that man looked like.

  He caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. An instant later the world went dark again.

  Dara paced across her cell like a cat in a cage. This was ridiculous! She wasn’t afraid for her life. King Atrin would no doubt get over his latest rage and let her out eventually. But he was wasting precious time. Siv needed her. She should be out with the city guard, searching the streets.

 
; Instead, she was locked behind bars in a dungeon cell. A palace guard rested on a low stool on the other side of the bars. The only way out was through a wooden door blocking access to the flight of steps she’d been dragged down a few hours ago.

  Dara dropped into a lunge, forcing herself to breathe steadily and remain calm. She still wore her mud-spattered blue dress, and she felt chilled from the rain. They had to come to their senses and let her out soon. She could be helping!

  She ran her thumb over the pendant necklace Siv had apparently bought for her. The guards hadn’t taken it from her—unlike her sword—when they tossed her into the cell. It comforted her to hold the object, slowly growing warm in her palm. It was natural human warmth. The pattern twining the stone was not made of Firegold—unfortunate in these circumstances. If she could get even a tiny bit of Fire from it, she might be able to do something about the lock on her door. Although then she’d have to deal with the jailer sitting on a stool outside her cell. He was wider than Berg Doban, and she wasn’t sure she could get past him without a weapon.

  She shouldn’t have returned to the palace at all. She should have kept searching through the night. But some news might have arrived, a ransom note or a threat or a clue. She’d taken a risk going into that room with Tirra and King Atrin, and now she was trapped. She scowled, picking up the pace of her footwork.

  “Will you stop that?” her jailer grunted. “I’m trying to nap here.”

  “Aren’t you on duty?” Dara said.

  “This isn’t the dung-eating army.” The guard shifted on his stool and folded his huge arms over his chest.

  Dara continued with her footwork. She should really be resting up for when she was released, but she couldn’t sit still. Siv was out there somewhere, injured or dead or captured. She tightened her grip on the pendant.

  It may not be Firegold, but it gave her an idea. What if she could draw Fire from elsewhere in the palace? There was none at all in the rock around her cell. It was strange to feel no heat in the earth. It reminded her just how far away from Vertigon she truly was. But she’d spotted a few Fire Lanterns here and there, and there had to be other Works in the palace. Could she reach far enough to pull the Fire all the way through the stones to her cell?