by Jordan Rivet
Dara expected Berg to keep arguing, but instead he stalked toward the exit, jerking his head for Dara to follow. Daz Stoneburner hadn’t resumed his work, and he watched them with narrowed eyes. But it wasn’t Berg who had the Firesmith’s attention. Instead, he stared at the Fire Blade growing warm in Dara’s hands.
She quickly returned it to its sheath and left the forge without looking back.
She shouldn’t have come to see Daz, even though he was the most talented Firesmith she knew. She shouldn’t trust any of the Fireworkers. Some must support her parents’ efforts against the king, though Dara wasn’t sure how extensive that support was. Master Corren the Firespinner—and Farr’s original employer—was on their side, and Farr had been taking the princess straight to the Fire Guild’s headquarters. The Workers had good reason to resent King Sevren. He had enforced a policy of regulation that diminished and diluted their access to the Fire of Vertigon. The tension had been increasing for some time now. She’d thought Daz was staying out of it, though. What if he was on their side now too? If he was, why had Berg come to see him today?
Dara tried to ask her coach what was going on as they climbed the rickety stairs leading away from the smithy, but he brushed off her questions with a roll of his heavy shoulders.
“We talk tomorrow,” he barked. “Do not be late.”
4.
The Ladies
WITH Sora trailing him and chattering in his ear, Siv didn’t make it back to his rooms in time to meet Dara. The new Castle Guard at his door informed Pool in crisp tones that Miss Ruminor had already come and gone. Siv did his best to hide a scowl of disappointment as he strode into his antechamber and flopped down onto the couch.
He pulled off his crown and twisted it between his fingers as Sora began digging through the books and papers on the table, still lecturing him about everything he should have done differently at the council meeting. He felt unbearably restless. He wanted to go for a run, of all things, and he hated running.
“Where’s Sel?” he asked his sister, cutting off whatever enthusiastic diatribe she’d been on for the past half hour.
“With Mother.”
Siv sighed. Their mother had spent the past month secluded in her chambers. Last time he had visited her, she informed him she would be returning to Trure now that her husband was dead. She wanted to take her youngest daughter, Selivia, with her. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for his sister to spend some time with her cousins and grandfather in the Land of the Horse Keepers, but Selivia adamantly refused to leave the mountain behind.
“What do you think about sending Selivia to Trure?” Siv asked his other sister. Sora may only be seventeen, but she could be wise. Sometimes.
To his surprise, Sora said, “I don’t think you should make her go.”
“Really? Not even to lay the groundwork for future marriage alliances with Trure?”
“I think she would be more use here,” Sora said. “You can hint to the nobles that you’re thinking about promising her hand. It’ll keep the ones with young sons in line for years until she’s actually old enough to marry any of them.”
“Can’t I do that with your hand?” Siv said with a grin. Sora gave him a flat look in return.
“I have plans for my own hand,” Sora said. “And I think Sel will end up being more enticing than I am when she gets older. She’ll be the greater beauty.”
Siv blinked. “That’s very . . . noble of you.”
“I’m stating facts,” Sora said. “There’s nothing noble about that. Besides, Selivia’s still pretty sad.” Her voice softened. “I don’t think it’s fair to make her leave so soon.”
Siv agreed with that at least. He hated seeing the grief on his young sisters’ faces. It was too much of a mirror of his own. They had all loved their father, and his loss shadowed their family like a winter storm. But Siv couldn’t let his emotions reign. They all had to do things they didn’t want to do.
“Speaking of people’s hands,” he said with a sigh, “I’ve invited Tull Denmore to dinner tomorrow night.”
“That’s wise,” Sora said, “though it may be too little too late. She has been visiting the parlors with Bolden almost every night.”
“What?” Siv leapt from his chair and paced across the room. Firelord take Bolden Rollendar all the way to his burning realm. “Every night?”
“Yes. I had tea with Vine Silltine recently, and she filled me in on the parlor gossip. The prevailing belief is that they’ll announce an engagement soon.”
“So while I’ve been busy with the aftermath of our father’s assassination Bolden has been . . . oh that’s low, lower than a cullmoran nest in . . . every night?”
“You’ll have to act quickly,” Sora said.
“I guess I will.” Something niggled at the back of Siv’s mind, something besides Bolden and his sneaking maneuverings. “Wait a minute. What are your plans for your hand, Sora?”
Sora frowned at a map spread across Siv’s table. Dimples wrinkled in her round cheeks. She may not be a great beauty, but she was reasonably cute. And she cared about their family and their kingdom as much as he did. Siv should really appreciate her more.
“I am going to marry the Crown Prince of Soole.”
“You are? Since when?” Siv stopped at the table, looking down at the map where far-off Soole was outlined. Located beyond Trure and Cindral Forest on a rocky peninsula, it was as far from Vertigon as blasted Pendark.
“I’ve had it in mind for a while now,” Sora said. “The Soolen ambassador was here during the Vertigon Cup. She said the Crown Prince has not yet been promised to anyone.”
“Isn’t he nine?”
“He’s fifteen. Honestly, Siv, you’re supposed to know these things. He was nine when we met him six years ago.”
Siv rubbed a hand through his hair, thinking back to the grand visit from the Soolen royal family. Siv had been fourteen, and he and Bolden had spent most of the time trying to capture a jar full of zur-wasps to release in the Soolen queen’s rooms. She had not been very nice at all. The Crown Prince hadn’t impressed him either.
“Wasn’t he a bratty little thing?” Siv said. “He can’t have turned into a particularly appealing fifteen-year-old.”
“As I recall,” Sora said dryly, “you were a rather bratty little prince at the time too. And you’re doing all right.”
Siv raised an eyebrow.
“Why, Sora, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Soolen queens have more power than Vertigonian ones,” Sora said, ignoring his comment. “And assuming you live long enough to produce an heir, it’s the only way I’ll ever be queen.”
“Oh.” Siv studied his younger sister. She really did love the workings of the kingdom. He had often thought she might make a better ruler than him. Not that he would ever tell her that. “Well, I feel sorry for the little guy. You’ll make a formidable Queen of Soole, Sora.”
“Thanks. So, have you worked out how you’re going to woo Lady Tull away from the dashing Lord Bolden?”
Siv sniggered, but Sora only folded her arms and fixed her light-blue eyes on him.
“Oh, come on,” Siv said. She had to be joking. “You think it’ll be hard? What woman could possibly favor Bolden over me?”
“It may surprise you to hear this, Sivarrion,” Sora said, “but you are not the only handsome and eligible young man in Vertigon. Bolden is a bit dark and brooding, but many women like that. And he’s ambitious. Lord Denmore was too, and Tull picked him first.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Siv said, “but Bolden is going to have to rein in his ambitions. Him and his father.”
“I agree. I’ll keep my ears open in any case,” Sora said. “If the Rollendars have a new alliance with the Samanars, it won’t be good news for us.” She went back to rearranging the papers spread across his table. “And you’d better work on being your most charming self tomorrow night. It wouldn’t hurt to take every opportunity to remi
nd Lady Tull that if she chooses you she’ll become queen.”
“Sure,” Siv said. “Apparently some women like that sort of thing.”
Sora looked back at the map and traced Soole with her fingertips. “Apparently they do.”
The following night, Siv strode toward the eastern tower, where he would be hosting his dinner with Lady Tull. He didn’t think he had anything to worry about in his pursuit of the comely widow. All he had to do was be kingly and fascinating. And actually ask for her hand. That was the part he was still working up to.
As Siv reached the eastern stairwell, Dara marched up to intercept him. She bowed and snapped off a salute to Pool.
“Your Highness, I may have news about the investigation you asked me to conduct.”
“That was quick,” Siv said. He had a full complement of Castle Guards in tow and decided he didn’t know them well enough to be sure they were trustworthy. If only he could read the minds of all the men who were supposed to protect him. “Walk with me. We can talk in the tower.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Dara said, falling in beside him as they started up the stairs. She was always extra formal around him in front of her new comrades. Siv found himself wondering whether she fancied any of them. The Guards were all spry and athletic, and doubtless very good with their swords.
He rolled his shoulders, not wanting to think too much about that. Maybe he shouldn’t have invited her to join the Guard and live with all those men in the barracks. He could be a burning fool sometimes.
He studied Dara out of the corner of his eye. He wouldn’t object to being able to read her mind either. She looked professional and serious in her Castle Guard uniform. She had acquired a new coat since yesterday, one that was tailored to fit the curves of her tall frame better than the standard issue one. Her trim black trousers fit her well too. If she noticed him noticing, she didn’t let on. Her golden hair was pulled back in a tight plait, but a few wisps had escaped it and framed her proud face. She kept her eyes on the stairs ahead. She had been unfailingly proper since taking the job. He supposed he should be grateful that she was making things easier by keeping him at arm’s length, even if it wasn’t that easy after all.
He forced himself to look straight ahead as they climbed the stairwell. A glass-encased parlor jutted out from the tower on one of the upper levels. It would be the perfect setting for his evening meal with Lady Tull. With luck, the moon would rise over the peaks of Vertigon and bathe the mountain in a muted glow. It would be damned romantic, and Tull wouldn’t be able to help saying yes to him. She was the only woman he should be thinking about tonight.
But Dara strode beside him with her usual confidence, and he wished the other Castle Guards would disappear. He wanted to walk a little closer to her, to look into her intense eyes, to take her hand just so he could feel her skin against his. When they reached the door, he asked Pool to wait outside.
“I’ll fill you in later,” he said, not giving him a chance to protest.
They entered the parlor, where a serving woman was finishing up the final preparations for the meal. She fussed over a small table set with polished stone plates and goblets, not the fanciest set the castle owned, but nice. In the center sat a pure Firegold vase filled with artfully preserved apple blossoms. The glass windows revealed the deep shadows spreading over Vertigon as the sun began to set. Mists boiled deep in the Fissure and spread tendrils around the bridges. They might not have the clear, romantic night Siv had hoped for, but it was still one of the best views on the mountain.
If Dara was impressed, she didn’t let on. She waited until the serving woman placed the final piece of silver on the tablecloth and shuffled out.
“I have a lead,” Dara said as soon as they were alone. “I went to see a sword smith about the Fire Blade, and Berg was there.”
“Doban?” Siv hadn’t thought about his dueling coach in weeks. He’d had many more important things on his mind. “That’s normal, right? To find a sword master in a sword shop.”
“They weren’t talking about swords, exactly.” Dara filled him in on the conversation she had witnessed. There wasn’t much to go on. Berg had been talking about plots against the Amintelles for months now. Little good that had done Siv’s father.
“They weren’t surprised to see a Fire Blade without a maker’s mark,” Dara said. “Someone is forging them for your enemies. I think Berg wants Daz to do the same for him.”
“This is Daz Stoneburner?” Siv asked.
“Yes. He said he wouldn’t break his oath.” Dara studied him with those intense eyes of hers. “I’m not sure what he meant.”
“Wouldn’t that be the oath not to forge Fire Blades for anyone except the king and army?”
“That’s the only Firesmith oath I know of,” Dara said, “but I’m not sure that’s all he meant. And why would Berg ask him to make weapons rather than working directly with the army and the Guard if there’s a real threat? Something doesn’t add up.”
“Hmm.” Siv paced across the small parlor. There wasn’t much room for pacing with the table and chairs in the way. His arm brushed Dara’s as he passed her. “Do you think your parents would have any insight into any other oaths a Fireworker might make?” Dara’s father was a prominent Fire Lantern Maker. Siv didn’t think Lantern Makers would have much to do with a potential illicit weapons ring, but they must know most of the Workers in Vertigon.
“I’m sure they don’t,” Dara said. Her response was quite sharp. Siv knew Dara didn’t get along well with her parents, but he was still surprised at her vehemence. “Berg told me to meet him at midnight tonight, and he would show me what’s going on.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Siv remembered a particularly harsh dueling lesson in which Berg had fought them with a sharpened blade. He hadn’t hurt Siv, but he had cut Dara’s arm right through her sleeve. Siv didn’t like the idea of her going off to meet the man in the middle of the night.
“Why not?” Dara said. “Maybe Berg knows where those weapons are being forged.”
“Then why didn’t he tell you straight off?”
“I’m not sure. This thing could be a lot bigger than we thought that first time we were attacked.”
Dara looked up and met Siv’s eyes. A bit of color suffused her cheeks, and Siv wondered if she was remembering the same things he was about that night. He had held her for the first time that night, right before he was almost murdered. He had very nearly kissed her.
Firelord take him, but he wanted to kiss her again. The sun dipped lower, setting the mist creeping up the slopes alight. The mountainside blazed gold and red, and the dying sunlight caught in Dara’s golden hair.
With a rather kingly effort, Siv pulled his eyes away from her and resumed his frenetic pacing. It wouldn’t be fair to kiss her now. Not when he couldn’t offer her anything more than that. He had already asked her to devote herself to the Castle Guard knowing it would take her away from dueling, the thing she loved most. He had no right to ask anything more of Dara Ruminor, not even a kiss.
So something was going on, and Berg knew about it. Siv shook his head. He should think about Berg, with his grumbling voice and his gruff, square face. Think about Berg, not the gorgeous woman standing almost within arms reach.
He imagined that strange practice bout again and the white-hot rage he had felt when Berg cut Dara’s arm.
“I don’t think you should go out there tonight,” he said.
“What?”
“With Berg,” Siv said. “I don’t think you should meet up with him in the middle of the night. We don’t actually know whose side he’s on.”
Dara frowned. Damn, she was even pretty when she was frowning.
“If Berg was going to do something to me, he’s had a thousand chances,” she said. “He could have tossed me into the Fissure as we left the Firesmith, and no one would have known. I should see what he wants to show me.”
She was right. They needed something new, some sort of breakth
rough if they were going to find whoever had orchestrated his father’s death. Even if that meant putting Dara at risk. He glared at the table set for his romantic meal, wishing he could call it off. If only he could go along to make sure Dara was safe. She could take care of herself, but he would feel better if he could watch her back.
“Report to me as soon as you return to the castle,” Siv said. “I don’t care how late it is. I want to know you’re safe.”
“I’ll be fine,” Dara said. “Besides, are you sure you won’t be busy late tonight?”
Her gaze dropped to the romantic table setting, and Siv winced. He had made no secret of his plans for the evening. Of course she knew he was entertaining a noble lady shortly. Worse, she would understand completely what his end goal had to be with Lady Tull.
“Even if Pool has to pull me by the toes from my bed, I insist on being informed when you return,” Siv said. “Besides, you’ll have way more fun sneaking around than I will here.”
He gave a rueful smile, and to his relief Dara answered it.
“I’ll do my best to have more fun than you,” she said. Her normally serious face softened as she met his eyes. Her hair fell in wisps from her braid, and the sun caught them like tendrils of Firegold. The curve of her lips and the intensity of her eyes nearly drove him mad. She couldn’t possibly know the effect she had on him. She looked so beautiful he wanted to—
“Berg!” Siv gasped. Think about ugly old Berg. Don’t think about Dara.
She raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”
“Uh . . . ask Berg if he’s heard of any dueling schools where the owner of our Fire Blade may have trained. They could be turning out athletes who are a bit too comfortable using deadly force.”
“I’ll ask,” Dara said.
“Good. Be careful. And don’t forget to tell me when you’re back.”
Dara snapped off a salute and headed for the door, ever the professional. Siv watched the door long after she closed it behind her.
