Kel didn’t drop her hand until they reached the entrance hall. A few Fireworkers awaited them, looking tense and anxious after the events of the night. Some had reported to her in the hours she waited in her tower. They nodded to her, seeming reassured by her presence, even though the rumble of voices outside indicated the castle wasn’t out of danger yet.
Lima gave Sora quick instructions on what to say to the crowd gathering outside the gates and then hurried her out into the courtyard.
It was the darkest hour of night, with no moon or hint of dawn. Sora walked carefully, grateful the paths had been cleared since the last snow. As she walked, she remembered the harvest festival her brother had held that autumn. The way laughter and music had filled the courtyard, breaking the spell of gloom that began when their father died. Her brother had charmed the crowds that night, making them love him, making them believe he could be as good as their father. Sora may not have his charm and charisma, but she wanted to be good too.
She heard them long before she saw them. People gathered outside the locked castle gates, talking, crying, shouting. A baby wailed. It was far too cold out for children. But the people needed to know what had happened tonight. They needed to know if the Works that had kept them safe and prosperous might spew forth Fire and put their children in danger. They needed to know if the Workers who had given Vertigon so much were taking it back once and for all.
Sora reached the wall and climbed a narrow staircase to the catwalk at the top. A cold wind blew over the ramparts, carrying smoke and tendrils of mist. She let the breeze touch her face for a moment, remembering that this was her mountain. She would protect it—even if that meant soothing the people who hammered at the gates, calling for the Lantern Maker. He would only bring his wrath down on them. She had to prevent any more deaths from occurring this night.
After a final glance at the Ruminors waiting beneath her, cowering out of sight, she straightened the skirts of her Amintelle-blue dress and leaned over the edge.
“Look! It’s Queen Sora!”
“Queen Sora!”
A few pale faces turned upward. The throng outside the walls was larger than Sora expected. At least a hundred people milled in a pool of flickering light. The men, a mix of noblemen and commoners, carried torches rather than Firelights. She wondered where they had even found such things. Steel glinted too. Weapons bared and ready.
“What happened, my queen?” someone called.
“The Fireworkers have gone mad, that’s what!”
“Down with the Fireworkers!”
“Please, everyone. I need you to listen to me,” Sora said. Her voice was thinner and more nervous than she would have liked. She saw how quickly the crowd could turn to a mob. They were frightened and cold. They had dealt with the domineering behavior of the newly empowered Fireworkers. Their peaceful city now needed army patrols to protect anyone who went out after dark. The world beyond their borders had been thrust into turmoil. And now the Fire had turned against them. They’d had enough.
“Open the gates!”
“Queen Sora, we will take down the Chief Regent for you!”
“Long live House Amintelle!”
“Death to the Firewielders!”
The crowds surged against the gates, and the force shuddered through Sora’s boots. She was tempted to urge them to keep pushing until the gates gave way. They could retake the castle and throw the Ruminors off the steepest cliff in the three peaks.
But the people would try to rip apart every Fireworker they found, and the Fireworkers wouldn’t stand for that. Too many would die tonight. She had to calm them down.
“I know you are scared,” Sora said. She fought for serenity. This was her role, to protect and comfort her people however she could. She may only be an eighteen-year-old girl, but she would show them she was not afraid—and they didn’t need to be either. “There has been a terrible accident,” she said. “But there was no malice in what occurred tonight. It was an unintentional Fire surge, something that has happened before and will happen again as surely as lightning strikes and blizzards shake the mountain.”
“An accident?” someone called. “Are you sure?”
“It’s the Fireworkers’ fault!”
“Rid the mountain of the Workers forever!”
“Please,” Sora said. “We must not let fear have mastery over us. More importantly, we must not take out that fear on our neighbors. This was a natural disaster. We should be helping not threatening each other.”
She sought out the eyes of the people gathering beneath her, trying to form a connection with them one by one. She ignored the Lantern Maker and his wife waiting on her side of the wall. These were her people first and foremost. She met the gaze of the mother clutching a whimpering baby to her chest, the two teenage boys, probably brothers, with kitchen knives in their shaking hands, the wiry tradesman wearing nightclothes beneath his cloak. She knew some of them by name: a serving man named Hirram. A duelist called Murv. Lord Samanar waited at the edge of the crowd, his arm around Lady Atria. The hem of her skirt was burned away, as if she’d fled through a spreading pool of Fire. Lord Morrven waited on the other side of the crowd, glancing nervously at the flaming torches around him. And Berg Doban stood there too, a hand on his sword. He met her eyes and nodded.
“We need to rally together,” Sora said, her voice finding strength. “Some of your fellow Vertigonians have lost homes and livelihoods tonight. A few have lost family members. I will do everything I can to help, as will the Fireworkers in my royal court, but I need you too. Don’t turn against your neighbors. Don’t let fear take hold. Don’t forget that the Peace of Vertigon, even more than the Fire, is what makes us strong.”
Some of the anger and nervous energy began to dissipate from the crowd. For once, Sora was glad she wasn’t a big, strong man. She was a young woman, and if she hadn’t lost her head over a burst of Fire, however catastrophic, they needn’t either.
“Queen Sora is right!” someone shouted at last.
“Yes, we should be helping.”
“The Peace! Remember the Peace!”
“Thank you,” Sora said. “Now, I need your help to keep this process orderly. Since you’re all here, perhaps you could lead the effort to rebuild.”
“Just tell us what we can do to help, Queen Sora.”
“Hear! Hear!”
“Long live Queen Sora!”
Sora smiled, warmth building in her chest, even though a cold wind was blowing. “Thank you. We have a lot to do. I always find it helps to make a list.”
She glanced back at the Ruminors huddling anxiously behind the castle gates. Lima held her fur muff tight, as if trying to choke the life from it. She seemed to expect the gates to crash down at any moment. But Rafe watched Sora appraisingly. When she met his eyes, he nodded. He must know they would have had a witch hunt on their hands without her. The mountain would run with blood as well as Fire. Rafe could tamper with the ancient Spring, rile up whatever Fire-blasted creatures he wanted, but she wouldn’t let him take the mountain down with him, not while she was queen.
She looked back at the crowd gathering in the darkness beneath her. The sobs had subsided, and the weapons had been returned to their sheaths. Even the flickering torches seemed calmer. Expectant faces turned her way. Sora took a deep breath.
“That’s better,” she said. “Now, it’s time to get to work.”
42.
Sunset
DARA felt nearly delirious with joy and weariness as the last threads of light drained from the Pendarkan sky. The pen fighters argued amiably about what to eat for their evening meal. Dara let their voices tumble around her, already feeling comfortable in the strange house on stilts. With its simple kitchen table and dedicated training space, it was somehow both cozy and severe at the same time.
She kept her eyes glued to Siv, watching the thoughts progress across his face. He hadn’t spoken in a while, no doubt still processing all the recent developments. The scar on h
is temple had faded a little, and his new beard made him look older and more rugged. The new look suited him. He had been through a lot over the past few months.
She’d arrived just in time. She could barely contemplate what would have happened if she had agreed to go back to Wyla’s manor or resigned herself to looking for him at the Steel Pentagon the next day. It had been far too close.
Without the initial confusion of the water and mud, Siv and his friend never would have survived until the reinforcements arrived. Even though they were technically outside the bounds of Wyla’s domain, Dara was fairly certain the Waterworker had conjured the wave that deposited her on the island in time to stop Grelling’s killing blow. She doubted she’d imagined the flickers of silvery Watermight in the wave.
Dara knew the additional help would add to her debt. Wyla had already established that her assistance came with strings.
She would worry about that tomorrow. All she wanted to think about right now was Siv’s hand in hers at last. The news about Sora affected him deeply, but he didn’t let go of Dara, even though he was distracted. It was as if he intended to hold onto her hand for the rest of their lives. That was fine with her.
As the others finally settled on drawing straws and sending someone out for fresh fish and bread, the door flew open with a loud screech.
“Would someone mind telling me why there’s a cur-dragon on my porch?” The leader of the pen fighters had returned. He strolled in, studying the group around his table with shrewd curiosity.
“Rumy?” Siv asked.
“Guess he got tired of waiting,” Dara said.
Siv jumped up to go see his long-lost pet, tugging Dara with him.
“Kres, Dara. Dara, Kres,” he said as they brushed past the new arrival.
“A pleasure.” Kres, who was pushing forty, was shorter than both of them, and his strides were loose and self-assured. The intelligence and strength in his demeanor told her in an instant that he was a talented fighter. He would have been a real asset if he’d arrived in time for the fight.
The others introduced Kres and Vine to each other and launched into a dramatic retelling of the fight in the mud while Dara and Siv escaped onto the narrow porch. Rumy reared up on his hind legs on the wooden rail and snorted a happy greeting. Siv finally released Dara’s hand and threw his arms around the cur-dragon’s neck. Rumy lunged forward, joyously knocking his master over on his back. Siv laughed, scratching Rumy’s head and tickling his scaly belly while the creature slobbered on him like an oversized dog.
Dara leaned on the porch rail, looking out over the darkened city. A light breeze caressed her face, carrying the aromas of smoke, fish, and salt. Lights burned in a thousand windows, with the flickering, unsure quality of mundane flame. There must be plenty of Fireworks in the city, but they’d be expensive this far from Vertigon. Most people must use wood and wax fires for their light.
There was Watermight out there too. She wondered if she’d be able to interact with it in some way, as Wyla had implied. Would it respond to her Firespark? Could she combine it with the Fire to create Works of even greater power? She didn’t understand the connections between the powers, which were so strongly tied to their individual lands. Perhaps Wyla didn’t either, and that was why she had secured Dara’s assistance. Being indebted to Wyla made her nervous, but she couldn’t deny she was curious. Would it truly be possible to collaborate with a Waterworker? And more importantly, could she discover a way to thwart her father’s Fire? She still dreamed she might neutralize him without killing him. She had failed once, but perhaps she could try again.
She had three months to figure it out. She’d report to the Waterworker’s manor in the morning. Surely Wyla would give her until then. For now, she wanted to enjoy the sounds of the joyous reunion beside her. For now, she wanted to rest easy knowing the man she loved was safe. In the morning, she would repay her debt.
Siv touched her ankle and motioned for her to sit. She slid down beside him, the wooden porch rough beneath her hands. Rumy nuzzled her face then settled his bulky weight onto both of their legs.
“What have you been feeding this guy?” Siv said.
Dara laughed. “He’s gotten bigger, hasn’t he?”
“And cleverer, I’m sure,” Siv said, patting the creature’s scaly back affectionately.
“He’s been a real life saver,” Dara said.
“You have that in common.” Siv leaned over and kissed her cheek. He lingered there, his mouth brushing her skin, and heat spiraled out from his lips. He left more kisses at the corner of her eye, at the edge of her mouth, at the soft place where her jaw met her neck. His fingers traced soft circles on her arm. She didn’t dare move, afraid he would stop. Then Rumy grunted and stuck his nose in between them, demanding more attention. Siv obliged, pulling back with a chuckle.
“So what now?” Dara said when she could breathe normally again.
“We figure out a way to rescue my sister.”
“And then?”
“We take back what’s ours.”
“Good.” She scooted closer to him, not caring that she was disturbing Rumy’s position. She had waited long enough for this. She leaned her head on his shoulder.
Siv didn’t move for moment, as if he’d been captured in glass. “Dara?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t return right away.” His breathing grew ragged, raw. “I should have fought harder. But with Sora . . . the coup . . . my father. I figured everyone would be better off without me.”
Dara couldn’t speak for a moment. She had been through so much to get him back. It did sting to know that for at least part of the time she’d been chasing him he’d contemplated never coming back. It was hard to accept that the pen-fighting team would actually have killed him if he’d tried hard enough to get away—although she couldn’t be sure about that Kres fellow. But Dara understood what it was like to live with guilt, to wish you could go back and do things differently, see things better.
She tugged gently on his beard. “Don’t let it happen again.”
In answer, Siv slid his arm around her back and pulled her in. He held her gently, firmly, as if he was afraid she’d stand up and walk away. He held her as though she were precious and breakable—or as if what they had together were precious. He rested his face against her hair, breathing her in. Despite the awkwardness of the cur-dragon lounging on their laps, Dara had never felt more at home.
It was much warmer in Pendark than it had been during their travels, but a chilly breeze still blew inward from the sea. Dara snuggled into Siv’s chest and breathed deeply, at ease at last. They had work ahead of them. Mysterious magic wielders to appease. War-torn lands to cross. Enemies—Rollendar or otherwise—to fend off. Someone would try to kill them again. That, at least, seemed inevitable.
But all that mattered right now was that they were together. And together, they were strong.
She turned to Siv, taking a moment to memorize every angle of his face, every fleck of gold in his eyes. Then she wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to meet hers.
Epilogue
PRINCESS Selivia stood atop the battlements as a dazzling parade of soldiers exited the gates far beneath her. The winter sun shimmered on armor and weapons, as if they were made of silver and gold rather than steel. Horses whinnied, and men called to each other, their eager music filling the fresh morning air. The Truren cavalry was going to war.
Word had come not two days after she and her mother fled Rallion City for the Far Plains. Her grandfather’s kingdom was under attack! Selivia could hardly contain her agitation as she drummed her fingers on the ramparts. From the way everyone scurried about, it must be only a matter of time before the Soolen army looked their way. Half of the stronghold’s company was riding out to patrol the plains in case the Soolens dared approach them here.
Selivia almost wished she’d been allowed to stay in the capital. It must be terribly exciting to be in the city right
now. But the moment the Soolen army left Cindral Forest and crossed the border into Trure, her grandfather had sent her and her mother away.
The ride through the endless grasslands to the Far Plains stronghold where her Uncle Valon lived had been frightfully boring. It was a flat, flat land, full of nothing but grass and the occasional hawk soaring high across the sky. Then the grass had given way to barren sand, and the massive shape of the Rock appeared on the horizon. It was a natural formation, the tallest thing for miles and miles around. It grew up from the sand like a big stone treasure chest, with a small, lonely building beside it. Selivia hadn’t realized just how large the storied Rock was until they drew near enough to see that the tiny building was actually a massive sandstone fortress.
Selivia leaned her elbows on that very sandstone now as the last of the soldiers left through the gates. She wished desperately that she could go with them.
She had hoped she’d at least be able to go riding when they reached the safety of the Far Plains Stronghold, but her mother forbade her from venturing beyond the walls. Her cousins were still permitted to go out. A few were old enough to be soldiers, and they rode at the head of the cavalry that would patrol the plains and keep them safe. Selivia was sad to see them go. They were the most interesting of the bunch by far.
Selivia pouted, watching the glittering procession until it faded into the haze. What was the point of staying on the Far Plains if you couldn’t go out and enjoy them? It would be spring soon. Rallion City would bloom with a thousand flowers, and the ladies would parade through the streets in a rainbow of sumptuous gowns and dazzling jewels. Well, maybe they wouldn’t do that during a war, but still. The Far Plains had to have some nice flowers too. All of Trure was lovely in the spring.
The only place better was Vertigon. Selivia looked to the north. A distant shadow indicated where the glorious mountain range spread across the horizon, drinking in the sun. Vertigon Mountain stood tall at its heart. She missed the beauty and drama of her homeland. And her big sister needed her. Siv was gone too, but Selivia felt confident Dara would bring him back. After her dramatic escape from the palace dungeon, how could she fail? But who would save Sora?
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