King of Mist (Steel and Fire Book 2)

by Jordan Rivet

  5.

  Encounters

  DARA crossed paths with Lady Tull Denmore on her way out of the tower. Though they had met before, the noblewoman didn’t even glance at her as she swept up the stairs toward her dinner with the king. She was a small woman, but she looked positively regal in an elegant blue dress with a modest cut, her hair piled on top of her head in an intricate style that must have taken hours.

  Dara hurried past, ignoring the dull pain that sprang up in her gut at the sight of Lady Tull. She had no reason to be wary—and certainly no reason to be jealous. Lady Tull would make a charming Queen of Vertigon. And Siv had been so sad since his father died. He deserved to have someone who brought him joy. Not that Dara was convinced he had chosen Tull because she made him happy. Siv was doing what he had to for the good of the kingdom. His own feelings couldn’t be his main priority. Dara understood that better than anybody.

  Still, she couldn’t help replaying her few moments alone with Siv as she descended through the tower. Their closeness. The brush of his arm sending a slow blaze across her skin. Just the two of them facing that fiery sunset view. What would happen if she ever told him she felt like burning to a cinder when he looked at her the way he sometimes did? He didn’t think she noticed it, but it was all she could do to keep from stepping into his arms when he looked at her like that.

  But there was no point in thinking about what could never be. Dara adjusted her new Castle Guard uniform, which had just arrived from the tailor that morning, and straightened her shoulders. She had taken on this duty to atone for her father’s actions, not to steal moments alone with Siv. She was a guardswoman, and the king had a duty to select an appropriate queen.

  When Dara rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairwell, she almost bumped into Fenn Hurling. In her mid-thirties, the muscular red-haired bodyguard was almost as large as her twin brother, Denn. Fenn folded her arms, the polished buttons of her coat winking, and stared down at her. Dara muttered an apology, but it didn’t ease the disapproving scowl on Fenn’s face.

  Fortunately, Princess Selivia popped out from behind her a second later.

  “Dara! I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Hello, Princess. How are you?” Dara couldn’t help smiling whenever she ran into the young princess. Not yet fourteen, Selivia was a bubbling cauldron of enthusiasm ready to overflow at any moment. Some of that joyous energy had been missing since her father died, but she seemed in good spirits today.

  “I saw Lady Tull!” Selivia said. “Her dress is so lovely. Did you see it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Siv wouldn’t let me set up the parlor for him. He said I would make it too girly.”

  “I’m sure it would have been beautiful,” Dara said. “It looks nice, though. I just came from there.”

  “Where are you going now?” Selivia walked with Dara down the wide corridor, her slippers whispering on the marble floor. Selivia had abandoned her black gowns the second the family’s mourning period had ended. Today she wore a deep-green dress that looked like it was getting too short for her already. She would be as tall as Dara soon.

  “I’m heading back to the barracks for a bit. I have to run some errands tonight,” Dara said.

  “Ooh, how are the barracks? Mother never lets me explore them.”

  “They’re fine,” Dara said. “A bit empty right now. I have my own room for the moment.”

  “Oh, you mean you might have to share?” Selivia looked back at Fenn, who had fallen in behind them. “You could be roommates when the barracks fill up again!”

  “Maybe,” Dara said. Fenn grunted noncommittally. She was the only other woman on the guard, but Dara hadn’t forgotten that Fenn had been nowhere in sight when the princess was kidnapped a month ago. Supposedly one of the turncoat guards had hit her over the head, but that could have been orchestrated to keep Fenn in the castle if things went poorly. Dara had to be cautious with her trust.

  “Can I come see your room, Dara?” Selivia asked. “Please!”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’ll end up sneaking over there anyway. Better for you to take me now than when there are a bunch of new guardsmen making them all smelly.”

  Dara chuckled. “You might have a point.”

  “Excellent. Fenn, don’t tell your brother.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Fenn said, her tone surprisingly indulgent.

  Dara led the way down the corridor leading to the back courtyard, which separated the castle from the guard barracks. It was strange to have the run of the place. Dara had been able to see this castle from the window of her room in her parents’ home for her entire childhood. She had never imagined she would one day live within its walls.

  When they were almost to the back courtyard, a dark-robed figure loomed into their path. Selivia gave a little squeak, and Dara put a hand to her blade.

  “Evening,” said a dry, papery voice. It was Zage Lorrid, the Fire Warden. He stared down at them, his face egg white and grim. A bit of silver glinted at his throat.

  “Oh, Warden, you scared me,” Selivia said.

  “Where are you going, Princess?”

  “Dara is showing me the Guard barracks,” Selivia said.

  Zage frowned, his dark eyes glittering. “I don’t think that’s wise in light of the tragedies your family has faced of late.”

  “I’m tired of sitting in my room,” Selivia said. “Dara will protect me, like she did before.”

  Zage looked Dara up and down. “I suppose she did.” He kept staring, and Dara wasn’t sure whether to look away or not. She got the sense that Zage knew every thought in her head and every worry she’d ever had. She shivered. Did he know what had happened with Farr? No, that was impossible. No one had been around to see it.

  Dara remembered what Berg always said about making eye contact before a duel: the first person to look away lost. She held Zage’s gaze. The Fire Warden didn’t blink, didn’t waver, but neither did Dara. This was the man who had killed her sister. Over ten years ago, he had unleashed a surge of Fire through the mountain that had burned right through Renna as she was learning to Work. Zage’s name had long been a curse in Dara’s household. She couldn’t forget it, even though they were supposedly loyal to the same family now.

  “We’ll be quick, Warden,” Selivia said, apparently not bothered by the staring match. She tried to edge past Zage to reach the outer door. “I’m finished with my lessons for the day.”

  Zage finally turned from Dara and looked down at the young princess.

  “Perhaps I should accompany you,” he said, his expression softening unexpectedly. There was affection there. And concern. He didn’t want the princess to be in danger. The realization threw Dara off balance.

  “I’ll show you the barracks another time, Princess,” she said.

  “But—”

  “I promise.”

  “Fine.” Selivia sighed dramatically. “Let’s go to the kitchens, Fenn, and see if they’ve made any special desserts for Lady Tull’s visit.”

  Zage waited until the princess and her bodyguard marched off toward the lower level of the castle before he swept away in another direction. He didn’t give Dara so much as a backward glance.

  Relieved to be rid of him, Dara headed out to the barracks, a sturdy building at the edge of the back courtyard. A few practice weapons leaned against the wall, but the quiet of evening had already settled over the grounds. She mulled over Zage’s intervention as she climbed the steps to the simple portico outside her room. He clearly suspected Dara was a danger to the young princess. Siv respected Zage as a teacher and maybe even a mentor, but the man had never warmed to Dara. She had every reason to mistrust him—or at least she had until she’d thrown her lot in with the Amintelles.

  Zage was her parents’ longtime political adversary too. As Fire Warden, he controlled the flow of Fire through the mountain, and they believed he wanted to keep power out of their hands by spreading it thin, leaving it diluted and unt
hreatening. But now that the Ruminors’ desire for power and revenge had taken a dangerous turn, had Dara found herself on Zage’s side after all?

  She had questioned why her parents went after King Sevren before directly challenging the Fire Warden. She suspected it wouldn’t have been enough for them to simply kill him. They would want to obliterate him. They’d demand a public denunciation of his crime, the justice they hadn’t received ten years ago. And they wanted a new ruler, one who wouldn’t try to keep their powers in check. In that, they had failed. For now.

  Dara was sure they would try again. The Ruminors wanted revenge. They wanted change. They wanted a revolution. Dara had vowed to stand in their way. She missed her sister as much as they did, but taking down the Fire Warden and every Amintelle on the mountain would not bring her back. She would do whatever it took to avert her parents’ murderous ambitions, even if that meant working alongside Zage Lorrid.

  Dara’s door creaked as she returned to her room to prepare for her evening jaunt with Berg. The room was austere, with two raised cots, a small wooden table, a stone washbasin, and a few shelves for her possessions. A handful of dueling tokens, a necklace of mismatched Fire-forged beads, and the medal she had won in the Square Tourney last year were the only keepsakes she had brought to the castle. She forced down the memory of her mother screaming vitriol at her as she left her childhood home behind.

  She pulled off her boots, which were still shiny and new, and sat on her cot to rub her feet. She’d switch to her old clothes for the midnight excursion. She wouldn’t want anyone to recognize a Castle Guard snooping around whatever Berg planned to show her.

  Dara’s dueling gear sat unused in the corner. She avoided looking at it as much as possible. She could keep competing on Turndays when Pool hired more Castle Guards, but it would be terrible to go to tournaments and see her rivals outstripping her because they trained more. Dueling was an all-or-nothing game, and Dara had decided to give her all to another cause.

  She wished she felt more confident that it had been the right decision. Did she really have a place in the castle, especially now that the king was entertaining his possible future wife?

  The reminder was like a blow to the stomach. She shrugged it off and unwound her braid, running an ebony comb through her golden tresses. She had to keep her focus, just like in a competition. If Berg revealed some useful insight tonight, she might be able to stop her parents and whoever else was plotting against Siv. His troubles likely ran deeper than the Fireworkers. Maybe her parents were only the beginning.

  A knock sounded at her door, making Dara jump. She tossed her comb on the bed and opened the door. The young guard she’d met the other day was raising his fist to knock again.

  “Hello,” Dara said. “Telvin, right?”

  “Dara.” He gave a slight bow, almost a salute. “Would you like to have a drink in town this evening?

  “With the other guardsmen?” she asked.

  “No, just with me.”

  “Oh, um, thank you,” Dara said, surprised at the directness of the offer. “I have business over on Square tonight.” She started to shut the door then caught sight of the eastern tower rising behind Telvin. She couldn’t quite see the glass parlor at this angle, but she could picture it—and the romantic table setting—well enough. She surprised herself by pulling back the door and calling out to Telvin before he walked away. “Actually, I have time beforehand if you don’t mind getting some food too. I’m starving.”

  “Great,” Telvin said. “Are you ready now?”

  “Give me five minutes,” Dara said. “I’ll meet you by the gates.”

  “Agreed.” Telvin smiled and turned crisply on his heels to march down the portico to his own quarters. He had broad shoulders and a strong back, and there was something pleasing about his sharp, serious movements.

  Dara looked up at the tower, a gloomy spire in the fading light. Siv was doing what was necessary. Why shouldn’t she grab a bite to eat with one of her new colleagues? She needed all the allies she could get.

  6.

  The Guardsman

  DARA changed into a black blouse, tucked soft gray trousers into her old boots, and braided her hair again. She slung her black cloak over her arm. It had been a gift from Selivia, and it was by far the finest item of clothing she owned. She also buckled her Savven blade at her waist. She needed to be prepared for her midnight stroll with Berg.

  Telvin Jale waited for her at the small sally port by the main castle gates. He still wore his guard uniform, but his coat buttons were undone, and his shirt hung open at the neck. He greeted Dara with a nod and only the slightest glance at the ornate black hilt of the Savven on her hip.

  They ambled down through Lower King’s, passing the fine greathouses with elegant balconies and marble-trimmed porticos. A hush permeated the streets at this twilight hour. Dara and Telvin had to step aside to allow the occasional palanquin to pass by, but most people on King’s Peak would be at their dinners already, bent over bowls of goat stew, flatbread, and orchard fruits.

  “I don’t know many good places to eat in Lower King’s,” Telvin said as they made their way from the residential areas near the castle to a busier street lined with stylish shops and parlors. “My favorite haunts are over on Square.”

  “Did you live there before you joined the army?”

  “No, I grew up on Village,” Telvin said. “Not far from the mines. My father and brothers still work there.”

  Dara reassessed his broad shoulders and strong build. Yes, she could see his mining family roots.

  “But you joined the army?”

  “It’s a better life than my father’s,” Telvin said. “And Castle Guard is better still.”

  They peered in the windows of the shops and taverns as they walked, looking for somewhere to eat. Dara stopped at a familiar sign: Bridge Troll Tavern.

  “I’ve actually been here before,” Dara said. With Siv. She still remembered the cozy warmth of the establishment, the way one patron had smoked a pipe by the window, the tendrils escaping into the night. And she remembered Siv leaning in to advise her about how to act around potential patrons, nearly taking her hand. It felt strange to bring Telvin here, but then Siv would be entertaining—and possibly proposing—to Lady Tull at that very moment. “I don’t know if the food is any good, but we could try it.”

  “Looks fine to me.” Telvin pulled open the door for her with a creak.

  Dara led the way to a table on the opposite side of the tavern from where she had sat with Siv. The Bridge Troll Tavern was quiet this evening. A pair of travelers sat in a corner booth, and a well-dressed craftsman leaned against the bar and chatted with the tavern keeper. A few men came in behind Dara and Telvin, looking like butlers or noblemen’s attendants on their night off. Their voices were soft and sober. Gloom had settled over the city during the past month of mourning. King Sevren had been well loved. Something would need to change soon in Vertigon, or this winter would be very grim indeed.

  Dara tried to shake off the somberness of the evening as she settled in across from Telvin with goat pies and ale. She hated the taste of ale, but she took a long sip from her tankard anyway. She was one of the Guard now, and she should embrace her new role. Siv was doing the same.

  A small Firebulb hanging above their table created a warm pool of light around them. Dara and Telvin talked about dueling as they ate, but that only made her miss the rush of competition and the roar of the crowds. And Siv waving a black silk banner with her name on it. She forced herself to take another sip of ale.

  “What do you think of the king?” she asked.

  “Think of him?” Telvin said, forehead furrowing. “He’s the king.”

  “Yes, but what’s your opinion of the man himself now that you work for him?”

  “I was recruited from the army.” Telvin snapped to attention in his chair. “I am loyal to the crown.”

  “This isn’t a test,” Dara said. “I’m just curious.”

&
nbsp; Telvin’s shoulders relaxed a little. He studied his tankard, scratching a thick finger along the carving at its base.

  “The king is young,” he said. “I don’t reckon he’s proved himself yet, but then he hasn’t had a chance either.”

  “That’s true,” Dara said. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Twenty-two. Not much older than the king himself, to be fair. Another drink?”

  Dara blinked, surprised she had already finished her ale. Somehow it didn’t taste any better at the bottom. But she thought of that romantic table setting in the sunset-drenched parlor and accepted a second one.

  “These were on the house,” Telvin said when he returned with the foaming tankards. “The tavern keeper wanted to know if you’re really Nightfall. I was damn proud to say I’m having dinner with one of the most popular lady duelists in Vertigon.”

  “That’s not me anymore,” Dara said.

  “I was proud anyway.” Telvin took a long sip of the complimentary ale, looking at her thoughtfully. “So what do you think of the king?” he asked.

  “He’s a good man,” Dara said. “He’ll prove himself.”

  “I hope so. Vertigon deserves a good king.”

  By the time they finished their meals and their third round of drinks—Dara switched to water for herself when she went to fetch the round—it was past the eleventh hour. She’d have to run to meet Berg on time.

  “What do you say we cross to the pubs on Square?” Telvin said. His face was a little red, and he had relaxed considerably. “Tomorrow’s my day off, and I reckon a few other barkeeps would love to treat you.”

  “I have to take care of a few things,” Dara said. “Thanks, though.”

  She stood, wavering a bit from the drinks, and dug her fingernails into the wooden tabletop to steady herself. The Firebulb hanging above the table swayed, right at eye level. The tavern door was closed, and there was no draft. It was as if Dara was pulling the Fire in the bulb toward her. It seemed to grow larger before her eyes. Her skin hummed with warmth.