But to her surprise, Lima said, “Fine. Be careful what you say. I will hear of it later.” She gave a pointed look at the many Fireworkers around the hall. None of them looked as if they’d be leaving in a hurry.
“I’ll be home by my bedtime,” Sora said, meeting Lima’s eyes despite the fear worming through her. The other Vertigonians were becoming increasingly wary of the Workers. She should set a better example and not let them intimidate her—at least where anyone could see.
Lima gave a sharp nod. Then she turned to Lieutenant Benzen.
“I want you to report back to me with a list of everyone Queen Sora speaks to this evening. Do not let her out of your sight.”
“Yes, Madame Ruminor.”
Lima swept away, her dark skirts rippling around her like a storm cloud. Sora breathed a little easier as soon as she was gone, and muscles she didn’t know she’d been tensing relaxed. She caught Kel giving her a quizzical look and turned away from him. It was about time for a third helping of salt cakes.
Before long, music trilled through the arena, and the open space that had been cleared between the stalls filled up with dancers. The musicians played livelier tunes than Sora was used to at royal feasts. She’d never actually stayed for the dancing at Winter Market before. The occasion was more popular among the common people. She couldn’t have schemed with the nobility even without Lieutenant Benzen monitoring her every move—and Captain Thrashe, though he was more discreet about it. Most of the nobles left after the market closed and held their own midwinter gatherings in the parlors. Lady Zurren was nowhere in sight. She’d probably left the arena when the cur-dragons made their entrance. She hated inconvenience.
Sora was glad Lima had let her stay. There was a warmth and camaraderie to the festival that had been missing from her life of late. She’d been far too isolated up in the castle. She may have made more political progress by attending one of the parlor gatherings, but this was nicer. And there was less risk of anyone reporting back on exactly whose parlor she might have visited.
The music swelled around her, and soon she was tapping her feet and clapping along as the dancers whirled across the dueling floor. They skirted around the wet patch where the cider hadn’t been completely mopped up, and Firelight glimmered on it like a mirror. Glasses clinked, and laughter mixed with the musical notes. Sora felt almost happy for the first time in weeks.
Telvin Jale strode up to her through the crowd. Sora smoothed her skirt self-consciously as he offered her a deep, formal bow. Telvin wasn’t on duty, and instead of his New Guard uniform, he had opted for the traditional army dress uniform. He’d been enlisted for the standard four years, during which he’d never engaged in so much as a skirmish, but he still managed to look every inch the war hero.
“Would you do me the honor of a dance, my queen?”
Sora accepted his hand, flushing in spite of herself. Telvin was a good five years older than her, and she was sure this was nothing more than politeness. Still, she couldn’t help the butterflies that whirled through her stomach as he led her to the middle of the floor. He was terribly gallant. And he had invited her to dance first.
Sora smiled shyly as Telvin placed one hand firmly on her waist, took her hand with the other, and began the steps. She followed the movements easily, letting him guide her around the floor. He was an adequate dancer, every bit as proper as she had expected. But as colors and lights swirled around them, a blush warmed her cheeks.
Telvin drew her in a little closer, and her heart skipped a beat.
“I spoke with General Pavorran, my queen.”
“Huh? Oh, when?”
“There was a memorial ceremony for veterans this afternoon,” Telvin said. “That is why I’m in uniform.”
“Of course. Good.” Sora focused on the Firegold knot on his shoulder, rapidly realigning her thoughts. Of course he hadn’t gotten dressed up for her. And he was dancing with her to share information. He was her sworn man and ally, not her suitor. She cleared her throat, raising her head regally. “What did the general say?”
“He admires the Lantern Maker,” Telvin said. “He thinks Ruminor is an efficient man who could do great things for Vertigon.”
Sora grimaced. “That wasn’t quite what I wanted to hear.” So much for her hope that they could persuade everyone on Square to form a faction against the Ruminors. “Did he say what kind of great things?”
“No,” Telvin said. “We spoke about Soole. General Pavorran thinks the Soolens are acting above the capabilities of their army. If they try to advance beyond Cindral Forest when spring comes, the general thinks they’ll find more opposition than they bargained for.”
“Interesting.” Sora frowned. She’d once planned to become the Queen of Soole. Much had changed since then, but she agreed with the general’s assessment. There had to be more to Soole’s actions. The campaign must have left their home cities vulnerable. Why had they taken the risk? “The Lantern Maker has been asking questions about Trure’s defenses,” she said. “He may intend to help Soole with their campaign.”
Telvin’s high forehead furrowed, and he fell silent for a moment. They skipped through the dance, trying to keep up with the rapid beat. His movements weren’t quite as crisp while he considered this news, and he missed a few steps. Once, he even stepped on Sora’s toe.
“I apologize, my queen,” he said quickly. “Do you wish to take a break?”
“It’s all right. I haven’t gotten to dance in a while.”
“Allow me to cut in,” came a voice at her shoulder. “Poor Jale here can’t dance and think at the same time.”
Sora turned to find Kel grinning at her. He took her hand and smoothly shouldered Telvin out of the way. The soldier didn’t have a chance to object before they were off, sweeping around the dance floor and hitting every step. Sora grinned in spite of herself.
“There’s that smile we’ve been missing,” Kel said.
Sora looked up at him, startled, and he squeezed her hand. “You should get to enjoy yourself at least some of the time,” he said.
“Thanks. I guess it’s been a tough winter.”
The music changed. Sora didn’t know this dance as well as the previous one, but Kel showed her what to do, his steps as sprightly as they must have been when he dueled. He had an easy smile, and she didn’t mind making a few mistakes as they tried out the moves.
“That’s it,” he said. “Now let’s do a twirl.”
Sora spun, her curly hair flying around her face, and nearly tripped over his feet. Her caught her around the waist and lifted her off her feet before setting her down and spinning out into a twirl of his own.
“You dance like a girl, Kel!” called Oat, who was waltzing with a pretty redhead nearby.
“Why should the ladies get to have all the fun?” Kel said with a wink. Then he spun Sora out and twirled again, throwing out a foot to trip his friend while he was at it. Oat stumbled, his long limbs windmilling. “Oh look!” Kel said. “You dance like a girl too.”
Sora giggled as Oat tried to recover his dignity in front of the redhead. It had been way too long since she’d had any reason to giggle.
She wanted to ask Kel about his life outside of dueling and guard duty. Was there someone special he was hoping to dance with tonight? Kel was a favorite among the female dueling fans of the mountain. He had countless admirers. Some were already edging closer to them, angling for the next dance with the popular duelist.
But none of Kel’s rabid fans would dare cut in while he was dancing with the queen. Sora doubted she was the sort of girl he would be interested in anyway. In her own practical assessment, she was too bookish and plain for someone so handsome and charming. But she didn’t get to enjoy herself very often, and she was free of Lima Ruminor tonight. She moved a little further into his arms and let the dance sweep her away.
By the time the song ended, she was laughing. Her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. She moved to the side of the dance floor to catch her b
reath as Kel’s fans closed in on him. He gave her a wink and a bow before the rustle of curls and skirts enveloped him.
“Sora!” a high voice squealed. Jully Roven burst through the crowd to clasp her hand. “I mean, Queen Soraline. You got to dance with Kelad Korran! He’s soooo dreamy.”
“Hello, Jully.” Sora was surprised—but pleased—to see Lord Roven’s daughter. Jully wore a long-sleeved dress in a brilliant shade of pink.
“I’ve missed you,” Jully said. “Father won’t let me visit anymore.”
“I’m afraid the castle isn’t much fun right now.”
“Yes, I’ve been listening in on Mother and Father,” Jully said. “The Lantern Maker sounds dreadful.”
“Are your parents here?” Sora scanned the throng, but there weren’t many nobles left. “I’m surprised they let you stay this late.”
“Oh no!” Jully burst into a fit of giggles. “They think I’m at Maraina’s greathouse.” She indicated another young woman, who was dancing with a gangly young bridgeworker her noble parents definitely wouldn’t have approved of. “Isn’t it grand?”
“As long as you’re careful,” Sora said.
“You sound as worrisome as Maraina’s parents. They’re afraid the Lantern Maker will eat us or something. They think we’re at my greathouse.”
Sora glanced at Lieutenant Benzen a few yards away, but he didn’t seem interested in her conversation with another young girl. She lowered her voice. “Maraina’s parents don’t like the Lantern Maker either?”
“Of course not!” Jully threw her arms wide. “Lots of folks don’t.”
“Do you know of any others for sure?”
“Well, Lord Farrow of course, but he doesn’t like anyone. The Nannings think the Fireworkers are on the right track, though. I overheard Father arguing with Lord Nanning about it the other day.”
“Hmm.” That was good information. Sora would have assumed that the Nannings were on her side. She moved them from one column to the other on her mental list of allies and enemies, adding Maraina’s parents in their place. “Anyone else?”
Jully shrugged. “I can ask around if you like.”
“That would actually help a lot,” Sora said. Excitement buzzed in her stomach, faint at first but building quickly. There was an opportunity here she never would have anticipated. “But don’t mention it to your father.”
“Sure,” Jully said. “I can ask Maraina and a few of the other girls too.”
Sora remembered when she had asked Lord Roven for help working against the Lantern Maker. He had told her to keep her head down until she was married off. Well, if she couldn’t get the older lords to help her, she’d start with the young ladies. They deserved to live in a peaceful Vertigon as much as everyone else. And even though she had the Guard on her side, she was going to need the nobility too.
“Just don’t let anyone know what you’re doing,” Sora said.
“Of course. I’m great at keeping secrets,” Jully said. “Now, you have to tell me what it was like to dance with the famous Kelad Korran!”
“He’s actually really kind,” Sora said. A feeling of warmth and bravery began to spread through her, something she’d been missing since the first time Lima raised a hand against her. She wasn’t alone. “I’m sure he’d be happy to dance with you too.” She grinned, feeling less like a queen and more like a young princess again. “In fact, let’s go ask him.”
24.
Ridge Road
SIV landed in the dirt with a thud. He scrambled to his feet, barely keeping a grip on his knife. His shoulder ached from hitting the packed ground. It had been a few days since the last rain, so at least he hadn’t been thrown in the mud.
His opponent darted in with a succession of quick jabs. Siv met each one with a rough swipe of his short steel blade, a block with the forearm or elbow, or a duck. Knife fighting was mostly about grappling and movement. There was very little blade contact involved. The rare clang of knife against knife was different from the ringing of swords: muted, but no less dangerous.
He barely caught the last swipe. His muscles strained as he kept the point from touching his skin with a death grip on his opponent’s wrist. Sweat dripping down his face, he forced the knife away bit by bit. Then his opponent punched him in the nose.
The next thing Siv knew, he was on his back, looking up at a cloudless winter sky.
Kres loomed into view. “I told you to watch out for that.”
“I thought this was a knife fight,” Siv grumbled.
“Knife. Fist. Either one will fell you if your guard is down,” Kres said. “Technically, a victory only counts in the pen if you stab your opponent or bring your blade to his throat, but nothing says you can’t knock him unconscious first.”
Siv lurched to his feet and picked up his fallen blade. The knife Kres had given him was twice as long as his hand from hilt to tip and had a wicked edge. It was heavier than it looked, made from quality steel. He’d only been practicing for a few days, but Siv already felt as if the blade were part of him.
He didn’t have time to admire it, though. Kres rushed in for another attack before he even assumed his guard position. Siv avoided the swipe and leapt backward, dropping into a crouch. He circled Kres, watching for weaknesses. The man didn’t have many.
The stance had been the hardest part to get used to as he made the transition from sword to knife. Siv had good reflexes, but it felt strange to crouch as he danced around and around his opponent. Knife fighting could make a man dizzy.
Siv had been with the pen fighters for five days. They traveled the wild Truren countryside, only occasionally passing remote farms and hovels. They trained every day, sometimes with individual weapons, sometimes going two-on-two or two-on-three, sometimes with fists. Whenever they could manage it, they picked a location with trees or ruins to use as obstacles. In Krestian March’s world, there was no such thing as an easy practice session. Dara would love him.
“You almost done over there?” Gull called. “I need my practice dummy.”
“Patience,” Kres said. “We’re still—”
Siv struck, barreling into Kres from his low guard position. He lifted the shorter man right off his feet and dropped him in the dirt. An instant later, he brought his blade to Kres’s throat.
“I think we’re done,” Siv said.
“That was a dirty move,” Kres said, sounding winded from the throw. “I liked it.”
Siv stood and pulled Kres to his feet. The man laughed, brushing off his red baldric.
“That’s the first time you’ve dropped me like that,” Kres said.
“It won’t be the last.”
Kres chuckled. “I knew I picked a winner. I can’t wait to see you in the Steel Pentagon. Now run along and play with Gull.”
Siv grinned, a remarkable feeling of pride spreading through him. It was a long time since he’d actually been good at something.
“Give me a quick breather,” he said, dropping into the dirt beside the swordswoman.
“You’re always taking breathers,” Gull said. “You’d think you never worked a day in your life.”
“Selling wine involves a lot of sitting and drinking,” Siv said.
“Sure it does.” Gull leapt to her feet and pulled Siv up by the arm. She had warmed to him since discovering he was a decent swordsman to practice against. He ached from the workout, but overall he felt in better shape than he had since the battle in the Great Hall. Apart from his impressive collection of scars, it was as though that had happened to another man in another life.
Gull handed him a saber, and Siv assumed his guard position. He shook off the razor-sharp image of Dara, something he had to do every time he faced Gull with a blade in hand. Though ten years older than Dara, Gull had a similar long-and-lean build, and when she put on a mask and raised a sword, he could almost imagine that her hair was long and golden instead of shoulder-length and brown as ale. But her fighting style was nothing like Dara’s, and as soon as the
duel began, the illusion shattered.
The clash of steel on steel filled the air once more, quickly dissipating across the plains. Their camp from the night before was at the edge of a vineyard a stone’s throw from the Ridge Road, which they’d be rejoining at last. They had made good time across the open countryside despite the training breaks. They would arrive in Tollan and stay with Fiz’s mother that very night if all went well.
Siv planned to leave the pen fighters in Tollan. It was directly on the High Road, and it would be a straight shot north to Rallion City. He’d been lulling his companions into complacency as they traveled. There was no sense in running away from them in the wilds. He was unlikely to escape with his life, much less a horse and enough food to make it through the wilderness on his own. They had to accept his story about being a wine merchant by now, though. He was damn convincing. Come to think of it, they never actually let him take watch at night, but he must be making progress. Surely they didn’t still think he was some spy who’d sell them out to—whomever they were so worried about. He still hadn’t figured that part out yet.
The only problem was the more he pretended he was joining them, the more it felt as though he truly had. He couldn’t help picturing himself in a Steel Pentagon, knife whirling, the crowds hollering his name.
He didn’t intend to travel all the way to Pendark, but he found himself wondering what would be so bad if he did. He could do nothing for Vertigon. When he returned, he’d spend the rest of the winter locked inside the palace in Rallion City. What was the point? Everyone there spent the whole time telling him to forget Vertigon and start over anyway. He might as well enjoy being his own man for now.
Siv and Gull managed a few decent matches before Fiz returned from scouting and rounded them up to start the day’s ride. He was eager to visit his home, and Siv had no chance to rest from his bouts before Fiz hurried him onto his horse and led the way onto the Ridge Road.
The morning was bright, with a fresh winter breeze gusting over a scattered patchwork of vineyards. The sun warmed Siv’s face as they rode west. The purple outline of the Linden Mountains rose beside them, the road already beginning its gentle ascent into the foothills. He could make his escape as soon as they reached the High Road, but it would almost be dark by then, and he fancied the idea of a night in Tollan before he turned north once more. Besides, he’d have a better chance of eluding the pen fighters there than if he made a run for it at the fork. He was a good rider but not that good.
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