Dara abandoned her footwork and sat on the floor. The guard grumbled his approval. She ignored him. She had to focus.
She breathed, calming her mind and reaching for the Fireworks that she knew had to be there somewhere. Tiny pinpricks of power emerged at the very edge of her senses.
There! The nearest Fire was above her and to the left, possibly in the ground-floor library. She wasn’t sure what kind of Work it was, but she pictured a Fire Lantern. She held the image of a burning core in her mind and drew on it, willing the Fire to pass through the Work and into the wall, then the floor.
She was out of practice. She should have been exercising her Fire ability as much as her footwork over the past weeks. A few attempts with Rumy’s flame did not amount to real training. She had shied away from her power, hoping to leave it behind just as she’d left her parents. But she needed it now. She concentrated harder on that burning core and pulled.
It was working! The Fire flowed excruciatingly slowly, but it was drawing nearer. Dara concentrated, not allowing her grip on the power to falter.
Her guard began to snore. She had no idea how much time was passing. Pulling the Fire from such a distance was a strenuous task, but she couldn’t ease up. She breathed steadily, sweat breaking out on her forehead.
At last a glowing teardrop of Fire dripped through the ceiling of her cell.
Dara caught the Fire and pulled it into her veins before her guard noticed anything. His snores continued, and his eyes remained closed.
It was less Fire than Dara had expected. She’d lost some as it made the slow journey through the palace. She needed more. She reached out with her senses, located another Work, and called on the Fire once more.
The hum of the power in her blood made it easier the second time. She focused on the slow journey of Fire through stone. It inched toward her, finding its path through the vast palace. This was going to take a while.
When Siv woke up again, it was pitch dark. He was still gagged, still bound, and now he had a sack over his head. Great.
He was also in motion. He had apparently been stuffed in the back of a wagon. They moved with a slow, steady gait, but he felt every rumble of the wheels over the uneven ground. Above the creak of the wood, the occasional whinny and snort indicated more horses were traveling alongside the wagon. But the sounds of the city were notably absent. Had they left it behind already, or was it simply the middle of the night?
Siv tried to change his position and banged his already-aching head against something. He cursed into his gag and tried to feel his way around instead. Escaping was going to be a real challenge if he couldn’t see. He tried scooting toward the back of the wagon and banged his head again.
Siv gave up on moving and attempted to collect his scrambled thoughts. He had been kidnapped. Lord Bale had sold him out, and he’d been murdered for his troubles. Even if Uncle Tem suspected him, they’d get no word out of him about where Siv was being taken.
Where was he being taken? His captors had used the names Charn and Master Choven. Soolen names if ever he’d heard them. If Siv had to bet his life on it—and he probably did—he’d say he’d been sold off to Soole as leverage of some kind. Well, this was just grand.
The wagon lurched to a halt. Siv’s captors murmured to each other, too quietly for him to make out the words. He twisted his head and tried to find the edge of the sack with his chin. It’d be easier to use his teeth, but then if he weren’t gagged he’d be shouting himself hoarse right about now. He was in deep trouble if they had left the city.
Suddenly the sack was ripped off with enough force to make his ears sting. The back of his head thudded against the bottom of the wagon. It wasn’t quite as dark as he’d thought. Was that a hint of dawn in the sky above him?
“Is it him?” said a voice that Siv was pretty sure belonged to Charn.
A familiar face blotted out his view of the sky.
“It’s him. Commander Brach is going to be pleased.”
Siv mumbled a curse through his gag. It was burning Chala Choven, a Soolen trade alliance representative who used to drink and play mijen with him. He’d seen this same Chala Choven with the secret duelists training in the cavern on Square Peak a few months ago.
“Hello, Siv,” Chala said. “No hard feelings, I hope. This is just business.”
Siv growled at him.
“We’re far enough away from the city,” Chala said, pulling back out of Siv’s sight. “Remove his gag, and give the poor man a drink.”
“Yes, Master Choven.” Charn climbed onto the wagon with Siv, his movements quick and catlike, and yanked off the gag.
Siv thought of an even more creative curse and hurled it at Chala Choven as he walked away. The Soolen man chuckled.
“Good to see you still have a little fight in you,” he said over his shoulder.
Charn dumped some water in Siv’s mouth, preventing him from responding. He sputtered and choked, trying to swallow as much as possible. He was still lying in the wagon, unable to see anything but the lightening sky and Charn’s humorless face. So they had left Rallion City. He sure hoped someone came after him soon. Otherwise, it would be a long journey to Soole in the back of this wagon.
Dara quivered with Fire and fatigue. She had pulled as much power as she could reach from the Works scattered around the royal palace. The task required unrelenting focus. She hoped it would be enough.
Her jailer hadn’t said anything in a while. Pretending she wasn’t up to anything took concentration too. She leaned back against the wall of her cell, hoping he wouldn’t notice the heat that had begun to radiate from her as she collected more and more power. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she would do what it took to get Siv back.
When she held as much power as she could possibly retrieve, Dara crawled forward and clutched the metal bars of her cell. Her jailer slept on. Dara sent the Fire into the bars, the steel warming and melting in her hands. The scent of hot metal filled the cell. The guard shifted, grumbling in his sleep. Dara concentrated, willing the steel to melt faster.
The bars in each hand softened at last, and she pulled them loose from their anchoring with faint scraping sounds. She molded and solidified them into two rough spears, barely more than sticks. She didn’t have time for anything else, and she hadn’t gotten far enough in her training to do much with metal anyway.
She hefted the spears and climbed out of her cell, keeping her attention on her snoozing jailer. She was close enough to smell his sweat and his rank breath. She crept to the door, her still-wet boots squelching with each step.
The guard shifted in his sleep.
Dara held her breath. Almost there.
Suddenly the door crashed open, and Vine Silltine swept into the dungeon.
“Dara! I’ve come to visit—”
“Shh!” Dara waved frantically, but it was too late.
“What’s going on?” The guard lurched to his feet.
Dara spun around, the cooling metal swinging in her hands. She cracked the guard in the head before he could take two steps, and he fell with a thud.
“Oh! I’m so sorry to interrupt your escape attempt, Dara,” Vine said. “That was a lovely move. I’m so pleased I was here to see it. I came to say hello and talk to you about—”
“I have to get out of here,” Dara said quickly. “Is there anyone in the corridor?”
“No. I’ve already given a sleeping potion to the guard at the top of the stairs.”
“You what?”
“I came to free you, Dara, not only to catch up.” Vine wore fitted trousers instead of her usual flowing gown, and she had a pair of saddlebags over her arm. “I’m happy to see we were of a similar mind about your need to escape.”
“Let’s go, then,” Dara said.
“I brought you some clothes,” Vine said. “And your sword was leaning against the wall beside the other guard. That’s really no way to treat a Savven blade.”
Dara dropped her makeshift spears and took the
Savven from Vine’s outstretched hand, relieved to feel the unnatural warmth in the hilt. She slung the sword belt around her hips, glancing back to make sure her jailer was still unconscious.
“Do you have a way out?”
“I doubt we’ll be seen if we walk quietly out the door,” Vine said. “Most of the inhabitants of the palace are at Princess Selivia’s birthday luncheon. Our dear king has the loveliest relations. And the sky cleared beautifully. It’s a perfect day for a picnic on the rooftop.”
“Luncheon?” Dara asked. “Already?”
“Why yes. You’ve been imprisoned since late last night. I do hope you got some rest.”
“Not really.” Had she been trying to draw on the Fire all night? She didn’t realize it had taken that long. She was surprised there hadn’t been a guard change, but maybe it had been later than she thought when she was first imprisoned. Unless Vine had something to do with that too. As promised, the palace guard at the top of the steps was snoozing peacefully. The rest of the corridor was deserted.
“I have a friend who keeps a manor nearby,” Vine said. “We can plan our next steps there.”
Dara followed Vine through the palace. They moved stealthily, keeping to the shadows, but they didn’t encounter anyone after passing the guard Vine had put to sleep. They crept out a back door not far from the stables. The gates in the outer wall near the stables were closed. Dara prayed they could be unlocked from the inside. Normally palace gates were designed to keep people out, not in.
Dara and Vine hurried across the grounds, hiding behind rose bushes whenever they could. A babble of voices drifted on the air, no doubt from the rooftop garden. The entire palace must be at Selivia’s birthday party. They couldn’t take any chances, though.
They drew nearer to the walls. The sound of horses and carriages passing by outside reached them. Almost there.
Then a familiar squawk cut through the air. Rumy soared over their heads, chattering angrily.
“Rumy!” Dara said. “Please be quiet!”
The creature squawked louder, his tone reproachful.
“We have to help Siv,” Dara hissed. “Don’t give us away.”
“He does draw the eye, doesn’t he?” Vine said, sounding anxious for the first time.
The cur-dragon landed beside them, continuing to grumble and scold. Voices rose nearby, far closer than the rooftop garden. A pair of stablemen was coming toward them.
“Rumy!”
“I rather suspect he’d like to join us,” Vine said.
“We can’t sneak with—”
Rumy gave an almighty squawk and fixed Dara with an intelligent stare.
“Okay, fine,” Dara said. “But only if you don’t get us caught.”
Rumy snorted and took off. He soared straight for the approaching stablemen and stole the hat off one’s head. The man shouted angrily and lunged after him. Rumy tossed the hat in the air and flapped his wings, staying just out of reach. The stableman leapt up and down, his face going purple. His companion doubled over laughing.
“Now’s our chance. Go!”
Dara and Vine sprinted for the sally port beside the main gates. They shoved it open and hurried away from the palace, dodging the horse traffic on the road outside. Shouts came from behind them. Had they been seen, or were the men still distracted by Rumy?
They made it to the nearest side street, and Vine darted down it, weaving amongst the people strolling along. Dara looked back as Rumy soared over the low palace wall. Someone hurled a rock at him as he retreated, just missing his wings. Rumy chirped indignantly and dropped the hat in the dirt outside the gates.
He circled once more around the palace gardens, scolding and squalling, and then flew over the street toward Dara. Once she was sure he was following, she turned and sprinted after Vine.
She caught up as Vine rounded a corner into a smaller, less-crowded street. They slowed to a fast walk to avoid attracting further attention, keeping their heads down.
“Where are we going?” Dara asked.
“To see my friends,” Vine said.
“Are you sure they won’t give us away?”
“Nothing is ever sure, Dara. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Vine stopped before an unassuming manor house halfway down the quiet street. Dara took in pale mud walls and a red-tiled roof as Vine tapped out a signal on the door. Before Dara could ask about these mysterious friends, the door opened and quick hands pulled them inside.
15.
Air Sensors
THEY found themselves in an open-air courtyard. Rumy soared over the high mud walls and landed next to them. The house on the other side of the courtyard was low and wide, with a breezy colonnade in front of large windows. A shallow pool filled most of the courtyard, its surface rippling gently. Dara stopped to catch her breath and stared in wonder.
At regular intervals around the pool, people sat cross-legged on the ground, gazing calmly at the water. Their clothes indicated that they came from a mixture of social stations: some noblemen, some traders, some servants. None of them even glanced up as the door slammed shut behind Dara and Vine. In fact, though they stared at the water, they didn’t look as if they really saw it. They merely sat, light Truren eyes open and placid. Dara almost wondered if they were statues, but the shoulders of the man nearest to them rose and fell gently. He was breathing at least.
“Welcome, Vine,” said the woman who had pulled them into the courtyard, her voice a low musical hum. She wore a scarf embroidered with roses over her hair and a white gown with the characteristic Truren ruffles. “You give us a gift through your return.”
“Thank you,” Vine said. “You give me a gift through your welcome.”
“Will you entrust me with the name of your friend?”
“I will. This is Dara and Rumy. Dara, I entrust you with the name of Meza, who has spent the last several years gifting me with her wisdom.”
“Thank you for the gift of your name, Dara.” Meza placed her hands on Dara’s shoulders and kissed her on each cheek. Meza was a head shorter than Dara and had to stand on her tiptoes to reach. She wasn’t wearing shoes despite the winter chill.
“Uh . . . hi.”
“Come. You must be weary. Allow me to give you the gift of hospitality.”
Meza turned and glided around the pool toward a door on the far side of the courtyard. She moved like a dancer, but Dara got the sense that she was older than she looked. Vine followed, her calm smile giving no indication that they’d been running for their lives moments ago.
As Dara stomped after them, her boots still squelching, a glimmer of movement caught her eye. She froze. The cross-legged people sitting around the pool hadn’t stirred, but water was rising from the center of the pool like a fountain. Dara watched, transfixed, as the water began to morph and curl through the air. Its movement was rhythmic, pulsing. The seated people swayed in time with the water. The noonday sun flashed on the droplets, making it look as if the fountain were full of sparks. A sound like gentle rain pattered through the courtyard.
“Is that Watermight?” Dara whispered. “I didn’t think that was possible this far from Pendark.”
“Not Watermight,” Vine said. “Air.”
“What?”
“They are coaxing the Air, sensing its movement, guiding it.”
Dara gestured to the fountain. “But the water—”
“When enough Air Sensors collaborate,” Meza said over her shoulder, “they can move mountains.”
She pushed open the door to the manor house and beckoned Dara and Vine into its shadowed depths.
“You’d better wait outside, Rumy,” Dara said, resting a hand on the cur-dragon’s scaly head.
“Nonsense,” Meza said. “We always welcome our animal friends.”
Rumy snorted happily and pushed past Dara to follow Meza inside. The front room was large, bare, and lit only by sunlight. The floor was paved with a multitude of painted tiles forming an intricate pattern of rose, cream, and robin
-egg blue. It was wide enough to hold two dueling strips. A sense of serene cool filled the space.
“Come. Sit,” Meza said. They crossed the painted tile floor to a nook with low couches beneath another wide window. Trurens did love their windows. The hair stood up on the back of Dara’s neck as a breeze drifted around her.
“I will give you the gift of food and refreshment,” Meza said. She disappeared through an arched doorway across from the nook.
Dara turned to Vine. “What is this place?”
Vine was already settling on one of the couches. She spread her dark hair out over her shoulders and arranged her saddlebags at her feet. She looked fresh-faced and placid, not at all as though she had just helped Dara escape from the palace dungeon. Dara herself still wore muddy boots, and her dress was stiff and itchy after drying overnight. She hoped she wouldn’t get dirt on the pale-rose fabric of the seat.
“This is the Sensors Manor where I take my Air retreats,” Vine said.
“Your what?”
“I’ve told you about my meditations and my training with Air energy before. Weren’t you listening?”
“Uhh . . .”
“It has helped my dueling immensely,” Vine said. “You really ought to pay more attention to new strategies, Dara. I thought you wanted to be a contender.”
Dara dropped onto the couch—forgetting about the dirt on her clothes—and tried to cover her surprise. She wasn’t a contender? She had never taken Vine’s meditations seriously. The idea had always seemed so insubstantial. But she had seen the way the water moved above that pool. That was all done with Air?
“I come here at least once a year to renew my mind and reconnect with the energy of the Air,” Vine explained. “Meza has been my energy coach on each of my visits.”
“Wait a minute, you actually use the Air in your duels?”
“It’s not cheating,” Vine said primly. “I don’t directly coax the Air. I simply sense the vibrations around my opponent and use it to guide my steps. It’s as legitimate as using my eyes.”
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