by Jordan Rivet
“About?”
But Siv had heard her name. He leapt to his feet.
“Dara! How are you? How’s your h—?” He stopped when she shot him a warning look. “How are you?” he finished lamely. Zage raised an eyebrow.
“I’m fine, Your Majesty.” Dara resisted the urge to probe the lump on the back of her head. “I learned something last night, and I wanted to talk to you and Pool about an idea I had.”
“Excellent.”
Siv waited expectantly. Dara glanced at Zage. “Can we speak in private?”
“No, Zage should hear this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
Siv grinned, apparently not getting the hint that Dara didn’t want to talk about this in front of the Fire Warden. Siv trusted Zage unreservedly, but Dara didn’t think he’d proved himself worthy of it. When Siv didn’t respond to her pointed look in the Fire Warden’s direction, she sighed and launched into her tale.
She left out the name of the person who had taken her into the cavern and the part about Siv being there with her. She needed Pool to have all the information if he was going to help them with her scheme, but she didn’t want to let on that Berg was their source yet.
Siv acted appropriately surprised as she described the mysterious cavern, playing his part well. He scowled when she got to the part about Pavorran. That betrayal must still burn.
“So we have a squad of swordsmen training in this cavern, possibly with army involvement,” Dara finished. “I can’t tell how many are from Vertigon and how many are from elsewhere, but there were at least two Soolen men among them.”
“This is nearly inconceivable,” Pool said when she finished her story, rubbing a hand through the gray hair at his temples.
“It seems a fanciful tale,” Zage said.
“I saw it,” Dara said.
“I do not doubt you, Miss Ruminor,” Pool said. “But are you quite certain they mean the king ill?”
“They definitely weren’t training for sport,” Dara said. “If it was a normal army exercise, why would they practice in secret?”
“Didn’t you go out drinking with another guardsman prior to this?” Zage said. Dara’s mouth dropped open. How did he know that? “Is it possible you imag—?”
“Dara isn’t lying,” Siv said. Zage began to protest, but Siv didn’t let him voice further objections. He unlatched Rumy—who had been trying to chew through his boot—from his ankle and turned to Dara eagerly. “You said you had an idea for what to do about it?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Dara said. She resisted the urge to shoot Zage a triumphant look. “You need to build your own army of loyal swordsmen. I don’t think we should trust any of the soldiers under Pavorran’s sway.”
“That is problematic,” Pool said. “The candidates I have been vetting for the Castle Guard are invariably enlisted men. I thought the army would be reliable, Your Majesty.”
“I thought so too,” Siv said darkly.
“Alas, I suppose I can start over,” Pool said.
“It takes too much time to train green recruits,” Dara said. “These men we—I saw last night were skilled. But I have a better idea. Recruit a new Castle Guard from among the duelists.”
“The sport duelists?” Siv scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Interesting.”
Pool frowned, thumbing the hilt of the long knife in his belt. “I suppose it would be more efficient to train a company of seasoned athletes in the art of kingly defense. But we must subject them to the same scrutiny as any other candidates for the Guard.”
“Of course,” Dara said. “But I already know a lot of them. I can vouch for them. And none of them are likely to be Pavorran’s men.”
“You are forgetting,” Zage said, “that many of these duelists are well known in the citadel. It would likely cause a stir if you enlisted a large number of athletes to join the Guard.”
“That’s true,” Dara said slowly. “We could try to focus on ones who are less popular. They’re more likely to need the job anyway.” Plenty of talented duelists, like Dara just a month ago, were still trying to achieve good enough results to attract a well-paying sponsor. They might be interested in the opportunity.
“Even so,” Zage said. “I fear this would only confirm some of the elder nobility’s suspicions that our king is young and foolish. Your pardon, my king, but I believe that inviting your favorite athletes onto your royal Guard will not be perceived as a mature step.”
Siv didn’t respond at first. His eyes glazed over, as if he was concentrating very hard. Rumy tackled his boots again, and he tossed the last chunk of morrinvole to the little creature without looking at him.
“Sire?” Pool said. “Are you well?”
Siv began to pace across the stone cavern. Rumy snapped at his heels for more treats, but he barely noticed.
“Not mature,” he said at last. “That’s it! Of course.” He paced faster. “The nobles see me as a foolish young man. They think I’m not equipped to rule the kingdom. They think they can scheme and corrupt my general and build armies right under my nose. Well, let’s give the people what they want.”
“Sire?”
“People know I’m a dueling fan, right?” Siv said.
“I believe it has been discussed, yes,” Zage said, “especially after your recent enthusiasm for attending tournaments.” He shot Dara a look that wasn’t entirely friendly.
If Siv noticed the tension between them, he didn’t remark on it. “So if I invite all the best duelists to live in the barracks and join the Castle Guard, they’ll think I’m being a foolish young man. And people never think sport duelists can actually fight—sorry, Dara—so they won’t see all those athletes as a threat. They’ll think I’m doing it for the attention, for the pageantry of having pro athletes around me. And we’ll give them pageantry!”
Siv whirled toward them, a wild enthusiasm in his eyes that Dara hadn’t seen since he first gave her the name Nightfall. She couldn’t help grinning back at him.
“They won’t realize I’m on to their little scheme,” he continued. “The duelists can even keep going to competitions on Turndays. It’ll only be natural for them to train right here in the castle.
“We’d have to make sure they get plenty of time to practice anyway, or they might not agree to join the Guard,” Dara said. “We’ll have them train with sharpened steel at the same time.”
Siv clapped his hands together, making the cur-dragons start up in a rustle of claws and wings. “Before long I’ll have a powerhouse of trained fighters around me. And everyone will think I’m doing it as a vanity project. Oh, they’ll be surprised if they try to come after me expecting a bunch of athletes and instead meet master swordsmen—and women—armed with serious weapons.”
“I’m sorry to dampen your enthusiasm, Your Majesty,” Zage said, “but you still have the problem of perception. You will not be taken seriously.”
“The nobles might not like it,” Siv said, looking over at Dara, “but the people will love it. They’ll see a king who shares their biggest obsession. They’ll see this elite squad of duelists, whom they love to cheer for anyway, and their dashing young king will be right in their midst. We can hold exhibition matches. Festivals. We’ll entertain them, court them, show them that King Sivarrion Amintelle is as big a fan as they are. The stuffy old nobles might not like it, but they also won’t see it as a threat. And if they try anything, my Guard will be ready for them. At the same time, we’ll make sure the people are treated well and their businesses prosper, even during the coldest months of winter. We’ll get them on our side in every way possible.”
Siv had been pacing so fast he was almost running, but he finally stopped and faced them.
“What say you?”
“I like it,” Dara said. She was already making a list of the duelists she knew she could trust. If they made being on this elite force akin to getting a sponsorship and allowed them to continue competing on the side, the
duelists wouldn’t say no. And none of them would object to the extra attention that guarding King Siv would bring. “I know a dueling coach who would be happy to assist with the training, too.”
“I thought you might,” Siv said. “Pool?”
“Sire, I don’t mean to suggest this isn’t a meritorious idea, but aren’t some of the professional duelists in this citadel rather flamboyant and, well, difficult?”
“I’m sure you can handle them, Pool.” Siv grinned. “And Dara will help keep them in line. She’s good at making people be serious. How about you, Zage?”
The Fire Warden didn’t answer for a long time. He twisted his pale hands in the folds of his black cloak as he considered the idea. As usual, he scrutinized Dara, blatant mistrust on his face. What else could she do to prove her trustworthiness? She almost wanted to tell him that she’d been alone in the dark with the king last night and done him no harm—although this time he had been the one to save her.
Finally Zage folded his arms, seemingly resigned to the idea, and said, “Very well, Your Majesty. I suppose it cannot hurt. But be wary of your image.”
“Oh, I will,” Siv said. “In fact, I think my image needed some work anyway. We are going to give Vertigon exactly the young king it wants. And while they’re distracted by the pageantry, we’ll get the nobles in line.” He turned to Dara. “You are officially promoted to recruitment duty. Now, go find me an army.”
11.
The Army
SIV wished he could be more involved with recruiting his new army of duelists. It would be a lot more fun than holding council meetings, reading reports from his advisors, and having tea with the nobility. He trusted Dara with the task, but it also meant she spent a lot of time out of the castle visiting her athlete friends. In the meantime, Siv’s work piled up like sand on the Far Plains of Trure.
His advisors had confirmed that this winter was likely to be particularly harsh. Across Vertigon people worked double-time to harvest all the orchard fruits and prepare the bridges for the extra weight of snow that would soon cover them. A steady stream of imports arrived in the city through the Fissure: grain from Trure, fish packed in ice from distant Pendark, textiles and glass from Soole, rare vegetables and meats from Cindral Forest. In exchange, the Fireworkers sent their Everlights, Fire Lanterns, Fire-forged metalwork, and more down to the Lands Below. Smoke billowed over the mountain as they completed their Works.
Von Rollendar continued to cause trouble over the access road he now controlled. Siv had to deal with him by First Snow or risk having a group of tradesmen stuck in the Fissure with their goods. The council meetings weren’t going much better, though. Von grew increasingly bold, and his new alliance with Lord Samanar strengthened by the day. Whenever Siv brought up the road, Von insisted that it was wide open and changed the subject. Siv sent a pair of advisors to check on it, and it was indeed open—at least when his men were there. Lord Morrven claimed that the Rollendar henchmen disappeared whenever the king’s men approached, but he hadn’t yet been able to prove it.
The other access roads grew clogged the closer it got to winter. Tensions heightened on the slopes and among the council members, but most of the nobles didn’t bother looking to Siv to resolve it. They squabbled worse than furlingbirds defending their territory, and he often struggled to get a word in edgewise. He hesitated to trust any of them in case they were behind his father’s murder and the secret army of duelists. The mysterious fighters could swarm like zur-wasps from the caverns at any moment if he crossed the wrong nobleman.
Siv’s continuing courtship of Lady Tull gave him more to worry about. He wished she would just make a decision already. Bolden had started shooting him even dirtier looks than usual, and he was often the first to talk over Siv at the council meetings, which he now attended regularly. Tull must have let slip that she had received another proposal. Siv pretended not to notice Bolden’s barbs and focused on getting the kingdom ready for the snow.
Siv was so busy with his duties that he almost missed the first training session with the new Castle Guard. Dara sent him a note to let him know when the duelists would arrive, and he cleared a few hours from his schedule. He was secretly hoping he’d have time to get in a few bouts with the athletes. Council meetings made him want to stab things more than ever, preferably things he could pretend were Rollendars.
Berg and Dara were already there when he arrived in the western wing of the castle. His old rooms hadn’t changed since he moved up to the king’s chambers. A few of his books were still scattered over the low couch and the simple table. The Fire Gate was cold, though, hinting that the room was no longer in use. He had told Dara to use his antechamber as a headquarters. All the training would take place in his dueling hall because it was more private than the Castle Guard’s courtyard.
Siv shook Berg’s hand and thanked him for coming. Dara looked better than the last time he had seen her, apparently recovered from her head injury. He had offered to let her move into his old room too, but she informed him it would be better for her to stay in the barracks with the others. It made sense, but he didn’t think of her as just another Guard. Dara was different, and she always would be.
He smiled at her and was about to ask her how she was when a young, broad-shouldered man strode into the antechamber.
“Your Majesty.” He snapped off a salute.
“At ease.”
“This is Telvin Jale, Your Highness,” Dara said. “He’s going to help with the swordsmanship training. He was a duelist before joining the army.”
“Is that so?” Telvin? Was this the same Telvin Dara had drinks with the other night?
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said crisply. “I was the top duelist in my school, and I would likely have gone pro if not for the army.”
“I see.” Siv glanced at Dara, planning to make fun of Telvin’s rigid demeanor, and was surprised to find she was looking at Telvin instead of him. Dara always met his eyes. He could count on her to understand what he was trying to communicate with a look or two. Why wasn’t she looking at him now? He turned back to Telvin. Okay, the man wasn’t bad looking, but he was so stiff. Top duelist in his school, was he?
“You’re dismissed, Jale. I need to speak with Berg and Dara alone.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The man strode out to the dueling hall without hesitation. At least he was obedient.
“I thought he could help with training,” Dara said as the door slammed behind the guard. “Are you sure you want him to—?”
“I don’t trust him,” Siv said.
Dara frowned. “He might be able to tell us about Pavorran. We need to find out who’s in on his scheme.”
“There’s something sneaky about that fellow,” Siv said. “Let’s keep what we know about Pavorran between us for the time being.”
“My king, I am thinking this is wise,” Berg growled. “Trust no one.”
“Yeah, trust no one, Dara,” Siv said. Especially muscular young guardsmen who had been top duelists at their schools. “I’m going to watch from the balcony. I’ll give you a few minutes to talk to your recruits before I arrive.”
“Good,” Dara said. “We want to show them you’re following their progress. Sponsors often pamper their duelists. We want them to feel like they’re on your team. We’ll need their undivided loyalty.”
“Have you warned them about the stakes?” Siv asked.
“Yes, but I’m not sure they believe me. Those who show up will be prepared to train to kill in your defense, but we’ll need them to understand how serious we are.”
“They could be hurt if we end up needing them like we think we do,” Siv said.
“I know.” Dara looked unafraid. Siv didn’t know what he ever did to deserve having her on his side.
“We will make them ready,” Berg added.
“Okay,” Siv said. “Maybe if we have a little time I can even come down to the dueling floor and join—”
There was a knock at the door.
&
nbsp; “Yes?”
“Sire? Apologies for the interruption, but Lady Tull Denmore has arrived to visit with Your Majesty. She wishes to join you in viewing the training.”
“Firelord take . . . Okay, Pool. Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”
Dara’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “She wants to view the training?”
“I mentioned what I’d be doing today,” Siv grumbled. “She must have decided it would be interesting.”
“Sure,” Dara said. Her expression didn’t give anything away. She saluted and headed for the training floor with Berg. Siv kicked the cold Fire Gate and went to greet Lady Tull. So much for getting to join the duelists. He had been hoping for a respite from the nobility today. Well, if she really wanted to watch the dueling with him, she was welcome to it. It could be a sign she was getting closer to accepting his proposal.
Despite what she’d told the king, Dara feared none of the duelists would turn up. She paced anxiously across the dueling floor while Berg sat in a chair by the washbasin with his large arms folded across his chest. Morning light cut across the smooth stone floor from the four tall windows. The hall felt emptier than usual as they waited for the duelists to arrive.
She had trekked all over the mountain inviting promising athletes to join the elite new dueling squad. She focused on those without patrons and promised that this opportunity would be as rewarding as signing with a sponsor—and it would include free coaching from the legendary Berg Doban. She chose athletes she had known for years, ones with no links to the army or to noblemen who weren’t firmly on the king’s side. Some duelists might stay away because they didn’t want to upset their own coaches, but the prestige of having the King of Vertigon as their patron should attract enough of them.
She paced and paced as the minutes ticked by. No one came. Telvin Jale was doing one-handed push-ups in the corner, but she barely glanced at him. She had decided it would be wise to keep him close due to his connections to the army. And he could help train the duelists if he was as good as he said.
