The last of Vex’s men dragged their wounded onto horses, leaving the dead behind, and galloped back toward the rocky causeway. Only a handful had survived. That was what they got for attacking the best damn pen fighters in Pendark!
Siv didn’t wait to see if all the enemies actually left the island. He whirled around, searching for Dara. Vine was on her knees beside the young man with the staff, who groaned feebly. Latch had taken a stab or two, but blood marked his blade, and he looked triumphant. Bodies littered the ground around him. Gull and Fiz were unharmed except for the thin cut on Gull’s shoulder. They worked quickly to silence the injured and screaming horses.
But where was Dara? She couldn’t have fallen. Not now. Siv searched the muddied and bloodied bodies for a hint of her golden hair, panic seizing his heart like a fist. The last of the horses went quiet, leaving only the groaning of the injured man. Where was she? She couldn’t have been hurt protecting him—not again. Siv swore if anything had happened to her, he’d—
There was a tap on his shoulder.
Siv turned, coming face to face with his Dara.
She looked at him, her intense eyes bright with the rush of battle.
“There you are,” she said.
“Dar—” Siv couldn’t speak. He tried to clear his throat, still hoarse from the exertion, no doubt.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said softly. “I was starting to think you didn’t want to be found.” Her eyes softened with a thin film of tears.
Siv hadn’t realized exactly how much he missed Dara until that moment. The whole Fireblessed world didn’t matter now that she was standing before him, covered in mud and blood and looking more beautiful than a thousand lightning bolts. He had failed as a king. He had gotten himself kidnapped. And yes, he’d run away, joining the pen fighters rather than fighting through a hundred Kres Marches to get back where he belonged. But now he knew for certain: he belonged with Dara. She might never forgive him for his failings, but he would follow her across the world to make it up to her. He would do whatever it took to earn back her trust. He wouldn’t lose her as Latch had lost Shreya. Not now that she was back within reach.
“Are you hurt?” Dara asked nervously. “You’re not usually this quiet after you win a duel. Usually you at least gloat or—”
Siv dropped his knife and sword in the mud and closed the gap between them. He took Dara’s face in his hands and kissed her as he should have done every single day they’d known each other. He kissed her as he’d dreamed of doing every single night they’d been apart. He kissed her, knowing they couldn’t completely make up for lost time, but damn determined to try.
Dara clutched his coat as if she was afraid he’d pull away and kissed him back.
Siv had no idea how long they kissed. All he could think about was her lips, her teeth, her tongue. Her eyelashes fluttering closed over her beautiful eyes. His fingers in her hair. Her hands around his neck. Really, he couldn’t think much at all.
Someone cleared their throat theatrically nearby, but Siv didn’t care. He had Dara in his arms, and the whole world could cease to exist for a little longer. He drank her in, living for every second with her. Wanting her to clutch him tighter. Wanting her.
“Ahem,” came a familiar singsong voice. “I do so love reunions, but our friend needs medical attention. I don’t suppose you two could help? You’ll have plenty of time for that later.”
With a great deal of effort, Siv released Dara, stopping for a moment to run his hand down her cheek.
“I love you,” he said hoarsely.
“Me too.”
“Anytime,” Vine sang.
Finally, Siv turned to look at the others. Vine had her hands pressed over a wound in her lanky friend’s shoulder, and Gull was ordering Latch to stop complaining while she patched up his injuries. Fiz was watching them with a broad grin on his face.
Siv took Dara’s hand and went over to help Vine cut a strip of fabric from her friend’s shirt and bind up his arm.
“You the fellow we been looking for?” the young man asked woozily.
“I guess I am,” Siv said.
“Name’s Rid. You got some true friends in these ladies.” Rid dropped his head back in the mud and moaned, earning more fussing from Vine.
“Have you been following me all this time?” Siv asked Dara.
“Yes. We thought you’d been kidnapped.” Dara glanced at the pen fighters, who’d helped to defend him, and her brow furrowed.
“I was. These folks rescued me—and then sort of threatened to kill me if I left. It’s a long story. Meet Fiz, Gull, and Latch.”
Gull gave a short nod, her usual mistrust of strangers plain on her face.
“How’d you get here?” she demanded. “And why did those men attack?” She eyed Dara and her friends as if she suspected they’d brought Vex and the others down on their home.
“Wasn’t me this time,” Latch said. For the first time—probably in his entire life—a huge smile split his face. “Guess I’m not the only one with mercenaries after him.”
“I think we all have a lot of explaining to do,” Siv said, stealing another look at Dara. Guilt nudged at him again. She must have been through a lot to track him down—even after he was out of his kidnappers’ clutches. He would find a way to make it up to her. “Shall we get the wounded inside first?” He also kind of hoped they could get through the stories and go back to kissing soon.
“Clean him up in the water trough over there,” Fiz said. “Kres’ll have a fit if we get blood in the house.”
Half an hour later, they all gathered around the wooden table once more. A rival pen-fighting squad lived nearby, and they agreed to keep watch in case Vex returned with more men. They hadn’t joined the fight lest they injure themselves before the big Dance tomorrow, but they didn’t mind posting a lookout.
The sun began to set, casting shadows and colors over the city. Gull found a few grimy bottles of ale and shared them around the table. Vine had put Rid to bed in Siv and Latch’s room, but the others’ injuries were minor. Latch seemed pleased at the prospect of having real battle scars.
As they drank the ale and rested from the fight, Siv explained how he’d been kidnapped in Rallion City, dragged through the Truren wilderness by the Soolens, and eventually fallen in with the pen fighters. He didn’t state his true identity. Fiz, Gull, and Latch knew too much by now.
“So I came to Pendark,” he finished. “I almost turned back at Kurn Pass, but these folks dissuaded me.” He nodded at the pen fighters, remembering the way they closed in around him in the darkened streets of Tollan when he tried to return to Rallion City. He could trust them, couldn’t he?
“We thought he was going to betray us on account of Latch,” Fiz said with a shrug. “No hard feelings.”
“Latch?” Vine said.
“Oh, the other member of our squad with a price on his head.” Fiz slapped Latch on the back, making the latter grunt. That slap couldn’t have been pleasant with the wounds he’d taken during the fight.
“Did you send word to Rallion City that you’re all right?” Dara said. “We were out in the wild by then anyway, but your mother and sister are worried sick about you. Your grandfather too.”
She wisely didn’t mention their names, but the reproach in her words made him cringe. If Dara was upset with Siv for not cutting through the pen fighters to return to her, she didn’t show it. He should have tried harder, even if it got him killed. Add that to the massive pile of things making him feel guilty. The weight of regret was getting heavier than a bullshell. But the latest attack only proved that people close to him would always be in danger.
“I was planning to send word when I arrived here,” Siv said, avoiding the pen fighters’ eyes. “But I can’t go back. I couldn’t defend my cr—my former position.” He swallowed hard and said the words that had been plaguing him: “I got my sister killed. My family is better off without me.”
Dara gasped. “Siv!”
She grabbed his arm and shook it, giving him a look he didn’t understand at all. Some extraordinary mix of intense joy and sadness. Then she said, “Sora is alive. Vine brought word right after you were kidnapped.”
“Oh yes!” Vine said. “I nearly forgot. She’s . . .”
Vine launched into some sort of explanation, with Dara adding commentary, but Siv couldn’t process anything else. Their voices washed over him like a wave from the Bell Sea. He felt as if he’d been smacked in the head. Alive. Sora was alive. Which meant . . .
“I left her.”
“Siv . . .” Dara began.
“We walked away.” An empty cavern opened up in his mind. “We left her for dead. And now she’s a prisoner. Until the Lantern Maker kills her.”
“We don’t know if he’ll do that,” Dara said.
Siv stood, knocking his stool to the floor. “We have to leave tonight. We can get in a few miles before midnight if you’re ready to travel.” He barely knew what he was saying. Mist wrapped through his brain, eating away at every nerve. Alive. Alive. Alive. And he had left her behind.
“There may be a small complication,” Vine said, giving Dara a meaningful glance.
“I can’t go right away,” Dara said. “A Waterworker helped me find you, and I need to repay her before I leave Pendark.”
“So pay her. I have to help Sora.” He imagined his sister alone, scared, cowering before the spectral shape of the Lantern Maker.
“I agree,” Dara said. “But the payment is complicated.” She took his hand, preventing him from sprinting for the door. “Let’s not rush into anything. Besides, this Waterworker might teach me something that could help us fight my father.”
“Us? Are you sure?” Firelord knew he didn’t have any right to ask her to come with him. If it weren’t for Sora, he never would have dared.
“Of course.” Grim determination shone in Dara’s eyes—and maybe a little fear. “You didn’t think I’d let you go that easily, did you?”
“Even though it’s your father?”
Dara hesitated, a shadow crossing her face. The prospect still weighed on her. No matter what she had been through while they were apart, she couldn’t relish the idea of confronting the man who raised her, the man Siv was certain she still loved.
“We have to make it right,” she said at last.
Siv squeezed her hand. He didn’t want to put Dara at risk, but he felt incapable of letting her out of his sight ever again. He had business in Vertigon, and he needed her help. He righted his stool and sat beside her once more.
“We don’t have to leave tonight,” he said. “Tell me more about this Waterworker complication and how I can help.”
As Dara explained the dangerous bargain she’d been forced to make, anger began to boil in Siv’s stomach. Three months Wielding power with the conniving Waterworker. Three months imprisoned within the boundaries of Pendark. Dara’s tone was as practical as ever, but she looked nervous. Siv gently wrapped his hands around her sword arm, the one the Waterworker had cursed, and silently vowed to protect her with every movement, every thought, every breath, from now until the end of eternity. A sense of duty replaced the anger, firm and hot, like new-forged steel. Maybe he had a chance to be the man his father had taught him to be after all. Dara had been ensnared while trying to save him. He would do whatever it took to atone for it—and to earn the loyalty she had already shown him.
There was work to be done, but he felt on firmer footing than he had in months. This, at least, was clear: Dara was his family. And he wouldn’t let the Lantern Maker, the Waterworker, or anyone else hurt his family anymore.
He thought of Sora, all alone in Vertigon. He hated delaying his return to her. She must be afraid, perhaps cowering in a dungeon or locked in a tower. She was only a little girl. But he wasn’t going to give up on her. And maybe the Waterworker really would teach Dara something they could use. With her help, he would get back to his sister somehow.
41.
The Queen
SORA marched down the stairwell from her tower. Lima and Rafe walked ahead, carrying on a rapid, whispered conversation with Captain Thrashe. They paid little heed to the queen trailing along behind them, but she didn’t forget that they had come to her for help. It was time to take back control of her mountain.
Kel fell in beside her. After a quick glance at the trio up ahead, he slipped his hand into hers.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“I’m fine. What happened out there?”
“Whatever the Fireworkers did backfired,” Kel said. “I was keeping watch outside, so all I saw was Berg Doban bolting out of there as if he was being chased by all the fires of hell. And then he burning was. The Fire just sort of burst out of the building, overflowing from all the doors, spilling down the walls. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Was there an explosion?”
“I didn’t hear one. It happened fast, though.”
“The Workers would have been pretty far underground if they were at the Well when it happened.”
“True,” Kel said. “I may not have heard an explosion, but there was plenty of screaming.”
Sora shuddered, grateful for Kel’s hand in hers. Zage Lorrid, the old Fire Warden, had taken her down the steep stone staircase to the Well once. He wanted her to know just how uncomfortable it was for a non-Fireworker down there. She’d never forget the lake of molten Fire churning beneath a massive stone bridge, the sheer power flowing outward to the Fireshops and access points across the mountain. She still remembered the way sweat had soaked her body and her head had become light and achy within seconds of walking through the door. She had never asked to see the Well again.
“Did anyone else make it out?” she asked.
“Berg lost a few men. Madame Pandan was at the top of the stairs and made a run for it. I think Daz and the rest of the Fireworkers are dead. They underestimated what they were dealing with in there.”
Sora’s heart sank. All of her Worker allies, gone in one sweep. She shouldn’t have let them assault the Well without more research. But they couldn’t let Rafe finish his Work—not when the fate of the continent was at stake. She had sent the Square Workers to do a job, and they had paid the cost. But making life-or-death decisions was part of being queen. She had to live with the consequences.
Kel hadn’t let go of her hand, and she tightened her grip on him. The Ruminors didn’t look back. They probably didn’t care whose hand she held anyway.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” she said.
“Of course not, my queen.” Kel smiled at her. “This wasn’t nearly as scary as confronting Her Giant Horribleness. It was practically a night off.”
His smile made her stomach flutter. No wonder all the female dueling fans on the mountain loved him so much. They had serious things to worry about tonight, but she was glad he was okay.
“Did you hear the Lantern Maker mention the Spring just now?” she said. “I’ve never heard that term before. I always assumed the Fire came straight from the Well. The idea of disturbing the Spring made Lima nervous—and that makes me nervous.”
“I heard,” Kel said. He frowned, his steps slowing.
“You know something?”
“Maybe. Only . . . it’s silly.”
“What?”
Kel glanced significantly at the Ruminors, but they were still busy with Captain Thrashe.
“We need something to go on.” Sora eased a little closer, pressing her shoulder against his. “Even a hunch.”
“My grandmother used to sing me a rhyme when I was small,” Kel said. “She wasn’t the most-educated woman, but she had a great memory for the old songs.” He bent down to whisper in her ear, and his breath tickled her cheek. “One of them had a line that went, ‘In burning range, let not the wild Spring break.’ She always said Spring like it was a big thing—and the line just popped into my head when they were talking.”
“Burning range?” The Lantern Maker ha
d mentioned the Spring being located in the Burnt Mountains. Kel could be on to something. “Do you remember the rest of the song? What happens at the Spring?”
“That’s just it.” Kel rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, and Sora pulled away a little, hoping he wasn’t objecting to her nearness. But he didn’t let go of her hand. If anything, his grip tightened. “The song is about dragons—big ones. The next line goes, ‘Lest Fire spread across the land and bid true dragons wake.’”
“True dragons?” Sora almost laughed. He might as well have said painted tarbears. The creatures had been extinct for just as long. Extinct—or sleeping. No one knew for sure. “It has been centuries since the last true dragon was seen,” she said. “Do you think meddling with the Spring could really bring them back?”
“It’s just a song,” Kel said. “All I know is I’d like to see the Lantern Maker try to take down a true dragon after waking them up from their nap.”
“If he’s planning to take them down.” For a moment she pictured Rafe Ruminor astride a giant true dragon like the drawings she’d seen in ancient texts. The creature’s eyes blazed with Fire, and it tore across the Truren plains, engulfing them in flames. Rafe himself looked like an ancient Firedemon, consumed by a rush of intoxicating power. The image was far more terrifying than Lima in a rage. Sora prayed Rafe would never be unleashed on the world like that—with or without the help of the fabled creatures.
Sora shook her head. What was she thinking? It was the strain of the night, the shifting shadows of the castle before dawn. She was sleep deprived. Of course the Lantern Maker wouldn’t try to wake the true dragons. If they were the ancient power that lived at the Spring, even he wouldn’t be foolish enough to risk it. The true dragons had been wild, fierce beasts when they roamed Vertigon long ago. Even the most-ambitious Fireworker couldn’t tame them.
No, Sora had to focus on things she could control. Tonight had been a disaster, but she wouldn’t stop trying to take Rafe down. And she still had allies left.
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