by Jordan Rivet
She reached another iron door at last. She rapped on it, but there was no answer. Dara pushed open the door, and a wall of heat swept out around her. She had been less affected by heat since the appearance of her ability, but sweat still broke out on her forehead as the door clanged shut behind her. She entered a vast cavern, not unlike the one where she and Siv had seen the mysterious duelists. Instead of stalactites, a smooth arch adorned the high ceiling. Elegantly formed columns were visible around the far walls. This cave was clearly Fireworked, perhaps in the days of the First Good King. Working stone was far more difficult than forging metal, and it used immense amounts of Fire. No individual Fireworker could mold a space on this scale, but the days were long over when enough of them were willing to collaborate on Works like this.
She stopped on a stone platform just inside the doorway. A raised path led to a narrow stone bridge arching through the center of the cavern. Beneath it, the Fire welled and flowed.
Dara stared down at the Well, the source of the molten power, for the first time. The Fire came from deep within the core of the mountain, like water welling up from a spring. It formed a lake in the center of the cavern, seeping up from the source in a steady flow. Hundreds of channels led off from the lake of Fire, disappearing into tubes and tunnels all the way around the cave. As the Fire bubbled upward from whatever magical source produced it deep within the earth, it was immediately distributed, parsed out through the intricate system originally designed by the First Good King a hundred years ago.
A solitary figure stood in the center of the bridge. Zage. Hands outstretched, he molded and redirected the flows of Fire and sent them into the arteries that would deliver them to dozens of Fireworking shops around Vertigon. Some Fire still seeped and oozed through the stones of the mountain, and strong Workers could draw on this residual power, but for the most part the Fireworkers relied on the flow of Fire they received directly from the Well.
The bigger tunnels had been divided in places, so the Fire now flowed in smaller and smaller quantities to each shop. It spidered out from the source, never enough to make any individual Fireworker a true danger to the ruler of the city.
Dara wondered what would happen if a Fireworker figured out how to meld multiple flows together without the Fire Warden realizing what they were doing. It would require cooperation between Workers willing to give up their shares for a time, but it was possible. It may seem as if the Fire Warden had all the power by controlling the Well, but he was vulnerable too.
Dara remembered the intensity of the channel of Fire she had sensed in the secret dueling cavern. If her father or some other Fireworker was gathering power, there might be no limit to what he could do. That was exactly the sort of thing the First Good King had been worried about when he first created this system.
Zage turned to face her, a narrow silhouette against the intense light of the Well. He wasn’t wearing his usual cloak, and Dara was surprised at how skinny he was without it. He wore simple black clothing, with a silver buckle on his belt. He was actually a little younger than Dara’s father, but he looked shriveled and ancient before the vastness of the Fire.
“Come,” he said.
Dara dropped her own cloak, leaving her Savven blade buckled around her waist, and started onto the bridge. The weapon would be no match for Zage, but she had so far struggled to manipulate the Fire without touching steel at the same time.
Zage glanced at the blade but didn’t tell her to remove it.
“You must be alert at all times,” he said. “Loss of concentration means death, especially this close to the Well.”
“I’m ready,” Dara said.
“You are both ahead and behind,” Zage said. “Most people learn to Work the Fire from childhood. It becomes as instinctual to them as walking or speaking their native tongue. You will have to work harder.” Zage nodded at her blade. “On the other hand, you have proved yourself capable of discipline. And you have urgency on your side. You must seize control of your power and master it. There is no time for coddling.”
“Understood,” Dara said. “May I ask a question?”’
Zage waited.
“Will it be possible for me to learn everything a Fireworker can do at my age? My father says—”
“I know your father’s views,” Zage said. “It will be more difficult for you, but not impossible. If you have the potential, you can learn to Work at the same level of proficiency as any other Vertigonian Fireworker. Not everyone recognizes their Spark for what it is from childhood. I myself did not train in the Work in earnest until the age of twenty-two.”
“Really? You didn’t learn as a child? Is that why my father—?”
“That is irrelevant to our lesson.”
Dara swallowed her additional questions. She had assumed she could never become a truly great Fireworker. She had long been taught that Fireworkers who didn’t start young would never achieve mastery. She thought she would only be learning to control and hide her ability, nothing more. But hope bloomed in her at the Fire Warden’s words. What if she could learn to be a true Wielder, like the sorcerers of old? How far could she go with her gift?
She looked down at the molten Well, imagining what it would be like to draw on that much Fire and mold it into great and terrible Works the likes of which the mountain hadn’t seen in a generation.
“Miss Ruminor,” Zage snapped.
Dara jumped. She peeled her eyes away from the Fire and focused on him. She was not here for the power. She was here to learn, so that she could do her duty. She would not be like her father.
“I’m ready.”
“Close your eyes. Working the Fire is about sensation. You must feel the Fire with your mind before you can touch and shape it.” Zage’s voice whispered across Dara’s skin, and she shivered. “When you begin to combine the Fire with metal and other materials, you must be able to tell exactly what is the Fire and what is the substance it is shaping. This will allow you to control the strength of the item you are Working.”
Dara nodded, filing the information in her head just as she filed away Berg’s dueling instructions.
“I don’t want you to pull on anything yet. Just feel the flow of the power beneath your feet. Sense how it moves. It’s like water, but thicker. It is like blood, but smoother. It will shape itself to your needs and will feel different depending on how you focus. Many Workers experience the flow like blood pumped by a heartbeat, but it does not pulse unless you let it.”
“How do you experience it?” Dara asked.
The Fire Warden didn’t answer, and Dara opened one eye. He was looking away from her, into the Well beneath their feet. The thick light of the Fire swirled in his eyes, which were not black as she had thought but rich brown, like an ancient oak.
“I am a vessel,” Zage said softly. “I am a servant of the mountain. I don’t seek to impose my own will on it. This power is far too much for one man to hold, and so I make sure it flows to many.”
Dara closed her eyes again, feeling the power churning and oozing beneath her feet. The Savven blade grew warm at her hip, and she resisted the urge to touch it and pull a bit of Fire toward her. It was warm, inviting. But this wasn’t about her.
“Okay,” Zage said. “Let us begin.”
15.
Harvest Festival
SIV leapt out of bed earlier than usual the day of the big harvest festival. He’d been looking forward to it for weeks. His people had worked hard to prepare for winter. The fruits and berries had been harvested and preserved; the bridges had been repaired; the meats had been dried. The workers had done their jobs well, and Siv wanted to reward them. He’d invited guests from all across the three peaks to a grand carnival in the castle courtyard. Too much gloom had filled the kingdom since his father’s death, and he wouldn’t allow it to carry on through the depths of winter.
Selivia had helped him with the planning, finally back to her usual bubbly self. She enlisted their mother’s help with the arrangements. The
queen might even stop by the carnival, which would mark the first time she’d been outdoors since her husband’s death. Sora tried to take charge of the guest list, and Siv had to remind her not to only focus on her favorite nobles and dignitaries, but to invite tradesmen and miners and orchard workers and artists as well.
They were all excited to introduce the new division of the Castle Guard. Rumors were already spreading about them, and Siv wanted to make sure the whole mountain knew about his new team. He had spent a lot of time thinking about how to establish his image as the Fourth Good King, as opposed to good old Prince Siv. With any luck, the New Guard would help him set the tone for his rule.
Siv had also invited everyone who met with his father the day of his murder to attend the festival. Pool would observe them closely for clues as to who might be responsible. The nobles tended to be on their guard whenever they came to the castle for council meetings, but today they’d be at ease as they enjoyed the entertainment. Maybe one of them would let something slip.
Siv worked in the library while the carnival took shape outside. He kept abandoning his papers to peer out the window as the booths materialized around the courtyard. He had ordered the castle gates thrown open, and unofficial vendors had already begun setting up outside the walls too. The celebration would spread all over King’s Peak by the end of the day.
A knock sounded at the library door while Siv had his face pressed against the smoky glass of the window, watching a pair of workers argue over the construction of a colorful awning. He hurried to the table and picked up what was surely an important piece of parchment.
“Enter.”
“Are you almost ready?” Selivia bounced into the room. She had taken another Fire Potion to her hair. Red streaks feathered the ends like flames. She wore a deep-orange dress and a belt of maple leaves wrought in Firegold.
“We can’t be the first ones there, Sel.”
“I don’t want to miss a minute of it.”
“Well, I need to make a grand entrance,” Siv said. “Where’s Sora?”
“Who knows? She wouldn’t let me pick her dress, so I’m not speaking to her.”
“And Mother?”
Selivia shrugged. “She was wearing black again today, but I think she’ll walk around a bit at least.”
“Good.” Siv tossed the parchment back onto the table and stood. “How do I look?”
Selivia bit her lip and studied her brother with a critical eye. He straightened his scarlet coat embroidered with Firegold and struck a pose.
“Flashy,” she said. “Don’t forget your crown.”
“Right.” Siv retrieved the circlet from where he’d set it on the table. He didn’t know why it was so hard to remember to wear it sometimes. The crown was heavier than it looked.
Selivia danced to the window to look down at the courtyard. “Is the New Guard ready?”
“As they’ll ever be,” Siv said. “Shall we go check on them? It’ll kill time while the guests arrive.”
“Sure!”
Siv offered his arm to his younger sister, and they left the library. Telvin Jale guarded the door today, wearing the crisp uniform Selivia and her handmaid had selected for the new squad. The deep blue with subtle embroidery in silver looked sharp on him, Siv had to admit. Damn it. He should have picked some less good-looking guardsmen. The man had been helping Dara train the new recruits, and Siv couldn’t help noticing that they were getting along well. Dara had been absent from the castle on several evenings when Siv had casually dropped by the barracks to check in. He’d begun to suspect that she and Jale were spending time together outside of work.
Fenn Hurling marched beside Jale as they descended through the castle, keeping an eye on Princess Selivia. Fenn wore the new blue uniform too. She didn’t look quite as dashing as the duelists with her square frame and morose expression, but Selivia had insisted she wear the new coat too. Siv knew Fenn had a soft spot for her young charge. She and her brother Denn had seemed rather unimpressed with the New Guard, but they were loyal. Siv trusted them to look after his sisters.
In the barracks courtyard behind the castle, the New Guard had nearly finished assembling. Dara stood in their midst, making sure every buckle was in place and every shoe and hilt shined. Siv thought she looked a little tired, probably from working too hard. She’d proved every bit as dedicated to training the Guard as she had been to her own dueling. She should really get more rest. He glanced back at Telvin Jale. And she definitely shouldn’t be going out in the evenings.
“Your Highness.” Dara snapped to attention when she saw him, but she smiled warmly.
“Is everyone ready?”
“Pool is sweeping the grounds one final time,” Dara said. “We’ve assigned several guardsmen to patrol the castle in case anyone decides to sneak in and cause trouble. Otherwise, we will be with you the entire time.”
Dara rested her hand on her Savven blade as she spoke, calm and confident. The royal blue looked particularly good against her golden hair. No one would even bother looking at the other guards while she was at his side.
“Good,” Siv said. “Let’s go show the people their new king.”
The Guard fell into a loose formation around him. Though they were all cleaned up and wearing matching uniforms, they didn’t look like soldiers. Some had kept their longer hair, like redheaded Yuri with his bushy beard. Bilzar Ten had slicked oil into his locks and made no effort to hide the fanciful tattoos spidering across his neck. A jittery younger fellow—Siv wasn’t sure if this one was Shon or Dell—had shaky hands and twitchy mannerisms that would have been stamped out of him in the army. The Feln siblings, Errol and Tora, wore swords with custom hilts swirled with bronze instead of the standard-issue Castle Guard blades. A few others carried their own weapons too, no doubt following Dara’s lead. Siv was pleased that she continued to use the black-hilted Savven blade he had given her.
Instead of walking in a rigid box like soldiers, the duelists moved with a swagger that screamed of their confidence in their abilities. Siv adopted a little bit of swagger himself, and as they sauntered through the castle to the front entryway, they cut an impressive figure. They were like a team of old-time, swashbuckling warriors. And more importantly, they had the abilities to back up their bluster.
Pool met them before the front doors in the entrance hall. He looked over the motley assembly with a longsuffering expression.
“My king, the carnival has commenced,” he announced. “The guests whose presence you specifically requested have all arrived at this juncture.”
“Good.” Siv glanced at Dara, who stood to his immediate right. He hadn’t mentioned to her that he invited her parents. Her father had been among the tradesmen to visit his father on the day of his death, so Siv had included the Ruminors in his invitation. Even though they didn’t get along well, he hoped Dara would be happy for a chance to talk to her parents in a neutral setting. He was more worried about the other people he’d invited.
“Have the Rollendars arrived?” he asked Pool. “And the good general?”
“Yes, my king.”
“Excellent.” Siv looked around at the New Guard. “Remember you are here to impress,” he said. “Keep your weapons ready and your eyes open. And try to have a little fun.”
“Yes, King Siv,” the Guard shouted in unison.
Dara nodded at him, then she and Pool pushed open the double doors together.
Heads turned as Siv and the Guard strutted into the sunlight. Trumpets blared to announce his entrance (the trumpeters had come highly recommended by Vine Silltine). The company stopped at the top of the castle steps, drawing eyes from all across the carnival. The duelists struck dramatic poses while Siv waved and smiled at the crowd gathering within his walls.
The courtyard had been transformed. The few trees growing between the castle and the outer wall were bursting with color. Leaves drifted from them in a riot of red and orange and gold. Beneath their spreading branches clustered booths for games, bel
ls and whistles and shouts of triumph already ringing from them. In each corner, a different entertainer attracted a crowd of onlookers. There was a juggler, a Worker specializing in Fireblossoms, and even Selivia’s favorite storyteller. Siv had spent many hours hanging on the old man’s words himself. He had asked the storyteller to proclaim his best tales of heroism and nobility throughout the day. Siv wanted to create a mood of gallantry and prosperity at this festival. Music trilled from another corner, adding to the upbeat, cacophonous environment.
And of course, there was food. Delicious smells mingled with the mountain breeze. Pies packed with every type of orchard fruit, savory stews to take the bite out of the cold air, mulled wine and spiced ale, sweet salt cakes expertly frosted in Amintelle colors. A group of children darted past the castle steps with some of these cakes in their hands, their mouths stained blue from the dye.
The courtyard was already crowded, with more people streaming in through the wide-open gates. Nobles were let down from their palanquins outside, and they came in on foot along with the tradesmen and servants and Fireworkers and miners and students and even a few foreign travelers. The atmosphere was already festive, and they were just getting started.
Siv and his Guard descended the steps and made a full circuit of the courtyard, stopping often to admire the performers and try out the carnival games. Whispers followed them, repeating the names of the duelists the onlookers recognized among the Guard. Lips twisted contemptuously on a few faces, but many people grinned as their young king strode among them. It was a spectacle, yes, but if there was one thing Siv’s people loved, it was being entertained.
For his part, Siv was having the time of his life.
He spotted Bolden and his father, both clad in the red and black of House Rollendar. Siv had purposely chosen his scarlet coat to outshine Bolden. There was little doubt whom the people were looking at today. Now, if only the Rollendars would let something slip while they were busy being annoyed at their new king’s flair for drama. He could even do something to provoke them. Perhaps it was a bad idea, but when Siv saw the sneer twisting Bolden’s face he couldn’t help looking around for something that would irritate him.
