City of Wind (Steel and Fire Book 4)

by Jordan Rivet

“This is the young man you came to Pendark to help?”

  “Yes.”

  Wyla considered for a moment. Her expression didn’t reveal anything of her thoughts. At last, she said, “He would do well to stay far away from the Waterlord too.”

  “I’ll warn him,” Dara said.

  “Fine. You may return to your room. Contemplate your feelings when you caught the Watermight. I want you to capture that sensation in your memory so it will be easier to replicate. We will continue our work first thing in the morning.”

  Wyla strode toward the door, summoning a silvery globe of Watermight to light her way. She paused once to write down a few notes before tucking her parchment under her elbow and disappearing from view. Her fury from moments ago had vanished, dissipating faster than steam. Dara wondered if the anger had been real at all or if it was a pretext to attack her. In any case, it was an important reminder of the dangers of crossing Wyla. She shouldn’t have taken the risk tonight.

  Still breathing heavily from the encounter, she looked up at the Fire Lantern hanging above her. It was a Ruminor, the one depicting a Waterworker wrought in Firegold. Had she truly done it? Had she absorbed a second magical substance without damage?

  She had used up all the Fire in her shield by the time she blocked the Watermight with her hands, so she hadn’t wielded the two substances at once. But Wyla had been right.

  A few splashes of Watermight lingered on the floor, glimmering like tiny stars. Dara crouched down, careful not to let her scarlet hem drag in the substance. She reached out to touch the power, and it clung to her fingertip, as if it were nothing more than water. Whatever mindset she’d been in when Wyla attacked her was gone now. But it was replaced with a sense of wonder. She could do it. No matter how much work it took, she was going to figure out how to take this new power—and Wield.

  A week after Khrillin’s party, Dara stood across the Watermight pool from Wyla yet again. Since the breakthrough that night, they had spent nearly every waking moment together. Wyla approached her research with gleeful intensity. Dara had to admire the woman’s dedication. The challenge fascinated her too. For the first time since leaving Vertigon, she felt as if her power was increasing. And it was happening because of Watermight, a substance that had been as distant as a fairy tale a few months ago.

  Flickering silver-white light illuminated the chamber deep beneath the manor house. The pool swirled steadily between them, the constant churn keeping the power within Wyla’s control.

  “Let us try again,” Wyla said. “Are you ready?”

  Dara rolled her shoulders and prepared herself for another attack. Attempting to wield Watermight took a lot of concentration, and it left her body as exhausted as her mind. Wyla had been right about how her dedication to dueling made her well suited for this task, if only because it required so much physical endurance.

  She braced herself, waiting for the icy needles of power to assault her skin. Wyla had tried all manner of Watermight attacks in an effort to provoke the same response Dara had produced almost unconsciously the night of the party. Letting the power into her body required an exceedingly delicate balance. The Watermight didn’t flow easily within her like the Fire, and she had to fight against the instincts she’d already developed in her Fireworking practice.

  She barely had time to summon the memory of what she’d been feeling that night before Wyla struck. The power attacked her like a wave, rising up from the pool in a glowing torrent. Real water mixed in with the Watermight and drenched Dara’s clothes as the wave broke over her head. The power slithered over her skin and dripped back into the whirlpool before she could grab hold of it.

  “What do you feel?” Wyla demanded as the last of the Watermight dripped away.

  “Frustrated,” Dara said.

  “Good,” Wyla said. “Again.”

  She poured wave after wave over Dara’s head. Each time, the power trailed over her skin, tantalizingly close. She could sense the strength, the way it hummed with an intensity that was at once familiar and alien. It wasn’t the Fire, and it didn’t fill her with the same thrill or the same warmth, but she recognized the potency of it. If only she could pull it in, bend it to her will.

  “You are thinking too hard,” Wyla said as the latest wave dripped away. Dara felt cold, even though the effort kept her blood flowing. She wished she’d brought a Firebulb down here to warm her chilled bones, but Wyla wanted her to immerse herself in the Watermight alone before they tried combining the powers.

  “Let your emotions loose,” Wyla said. “Get angry if you must. Imagine running me through with a sword. Use the intensity of your feelings.”

  “It’s not that easy to fake my feelings,” Dara said.

  “I never said this would be easy,” Wyla said. “You must work harder. I won’t let your laziness keep me from proving my theory.”

  A hot flash of anger rushed through Dara. “I’m not laz—”

  Wyla struck. Cords of power rose from the pool and shot toward Dara’s chest like vipers. She threw her hands up, and the Watermight pierced them. The stream of power bent somehow, redirecting through her palms and straight up her arms. The sensation was excruciating, but Dara held on. She could push through pain when she ran, when she did squat lunges, when she took hits in practice. She could bear this. And she was not lazy.

  The Watermight knifed deeper into her skin and flowed along her bones. It felt like ice but more malleable, as if there were a state between water and ice. She grasped the power, holding it, trying to mold it into something. She wouldn’t let go this time.

  Suddenly, Dara’s vision sparked and flashed. She could no longer see Wyla. The whole chamber looked as if it had plunged into a silver-white blizzard. She resisted the urge to rub her eyes and instead took hold of the Watermight in her arms and forced it toward that swirling silver blizzard.

  She felt more than saw the power curling out of her hands in uneven coils. It hurt, as if tiny shards of bone were forcing their way out of her fingertips. Then the coils of Watermight burst across the chamber, forcing Wyla to duck, and splattered against the far wall.

  Dara’s vision cleared abruptly. Wyla straightened, looking at the Watermight dripping down the wall behind her.

  “That,” she said, “was very interesting.”

  Dara’s limbs shook. She lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the stone floor. She had never succeeded in forming the Watermight into anything before. It was a small step, but she was definitely making progress. She wished it weren’t so painful.

  “Quickly,” Wyla said. “Tell me what you felt. Then we will do it again.”

  Dara wiped cold sweat off her forehead and obliged. When she described the way her vision had gone cloudy, Wyla got particularly excited.

  “It takes years for Watermight apprentices to reach that point,” she said. “I knew you’d progress quickly.”

  “I still can’t do most of the basic tricks Watermight apprentices can, though,” Dara said.

  “Your skills are behind, yes, but the whitening of the eyes indicates a state of total surrender to the power. Many practitioners never achieve that state. I wondered if it would be possible for you.”

  “Do you think my Work with the Fire has anything to do with it?”

  “Perhaps.” Wyla tapped her fingers on her lips. “You are open to learning, and you have an intensity and diligence that younger apprentices simply aren’t mature enough to demonstrate. You’ve had a taste of incredible power already, and you thirst for it.”

  Dara tugged at a loose thread on her poison-green skirt, avoiding Wyla’s eyes. The woman meant it as a compliment, but she didn’t like the idea that a deep desire for power filled her. Her father had that desire, and she didn’t want to turn out like him. At the same time, she did want to learn. She relished the idea that she was progressing faster than Wyla’s past apprentices. She had always wanted to be the best at dueling. She couldn’t escape that hunger for victory when it came to Working either. But this
was a lot more dangerous than sport dueling. And Wyla viewed her apprentices as expendable as long as she learned what she wanted from them.

  Talk of other apprentices reminded her of a conversation they’d had when she and Wyla first met.

  “Wyla, what happened to the other one?”

  “Other one?”

  “The apprentice you told me about back on the road that was like me. You said he learned to use Watermight later in life. Did his delayed spark mean he could access other powers?”

  “We did not try. That was before I developed my theory about the Fire.” She frowned across the pool. The silver-white light churned steadily between them.

  “You told me before that the Watermight overwhelmed him when he tried to progress too quickly. Did his eyes also go white?”

  “They did,” Wyla said shortly. “But he was not disciplined. You will not let that happen to you. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Stand up. Let us try again.”

  Dara gritted her teeth and stood. Why wouldn’t Wyla just tell her more details? It could help her avoid the same mistakes. She was doing what Wyla wanted: training hard, doing experiments few Workers would dare contemplate. She had done everything Wyla asked. She needed more information if she was going to continue to improve. If she was going to win.

  Mulling over the thought that her training was being inhibited, Dara wasn’t ready when Wyla hurled Watermight at her once more.

  The silvery power streaked for her knees. Dara could barely gasp before a whip of power wrapped around her legs and yanked her into the whirlpool.

  She flailed, spinning wildly, unable to tell up from down. A solid wall of silver surrounded her, filled with flashes of white and blue and black and gold. Her arm scraped painfully against something, leaving it raw. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see.

  And the power. The surge of power around her was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was a blizzard, a tornado, a riot of energy and color and pain and sound. She tried to grab hold of something, but it felt as though her skin were peeling away and her limbs were no longer connected to the rest of her body. It hurt—Firelord, it hurt—but a terrible pleasure mixed with the pain. The pure rush of power was ecstasy and nightmare as it bore through her skin and ate into her bones.

  At first, she was shocked and afraid, but then anger took hold. Anger at Wyla for throwing her into this mess. Anger at her father for giving her this terrible thirst for power. Anger at herself for taking pleasure in it even as she drowned in the whirlpool of Might. Anger that she hadn’t had time to practice her swimming.

  But she wouldn’t let them beat her.

  Hardly knowing what she was doing, Dara opened her mouth and swallowed a huge mouthful of Watermight.

  Her body shuddered, responded. The power spiked outward from her stomach, oozing along her bones and freezing her organs. Unlike when she tried to pull it through her skin, the Watermight in her belly didn’t cut like an icicle. It melded with her form instead of fighting against it. She clutched at the sensation, let it take control. She blinked, and suddenly she could see the outer lip of the pool.

  Dara swallowed another gulp of the power and launched herself toward the edge. The Watermight in her body gave her strength, helping her fight against the current. The pool couldn’t contain her, not when she had Watermight within her.

  Silver-white still tinted her vision, but it didn’t obstruct it the way it had before. She caught the lip of the pool and pulled herself upward, using the strength of the Watermight because she had none left in her muscles.

  She hauled her body over the edge and collapsed on the stone floor. She gasped in a breath, feeling the air turn to winter wind in her lungs. She felt as if her whole skeleton were coated in ice. But it wasn’t brittle, and for a moment, she was sure she could smash a fist through a stone wall and her bones wouldn’t break.

  As she imagined what it would be like to break stone with her bare hands, curiosity overtook the anger and fear in her body. She noticed the silvery outline forming beneath her fingernails. She eased a bit of power out through her fingers and pooled it together in a glowing silver blob in the air.

  Then her stomach revolted, and she vomited a rush of silver-white liquid all over the stones in front of her. She wretched, heaving every last ounce of Watermight out of her body, and lay still.

  The silver-white film receded gradually from her eyes. The Watermight continued to swirl in an endless torrent beside her, a quiet rush echoing around the chamber. Her entire body shook like a leaf in a hurricane. She felt as cold as she had when she and Siv fled through the snows of Vertigon after her father took over the castle. She held onto the memory of Siv holding her tight against the cold. She pictured his arms around her as she shivered against his chest. The remembrance gave her strength, and at last she was able to lift her head.

  Wyla stood over her, steel-toed boots waiting just outside the pool of silvery vomit.

  “Huh,” she said. “I didn’t think to have you swallow it.”

  Dara coughed and pulled herself into a sitting position.

  “What did you think would happen when you tossed me in there?”

  “I had no idea.” Wyla tapped a silver-rimmed nail against her lips. “We are done for the day. I must make some notes. Meet me here first thing in the morning. I’d like to try a few things before you have your breakfast.”

  She marched out of the chamber, not giving Dara a backward glance.

  13.

  The Library

  SORA paced across the tall, narrow library. Light from the windows split the floor, not quite reaching the table piled with books and papers—papers she was supposed to be signing. She felt as if she spent most of her time doing paperwork these days. She was starting to understand why her brother used to sneak away for dueling practice at every opportunity.

  She glanced at the door. Kel would be on duty in a few minutes, and she had the library to herself. He had taken to joining her inside whatever room he was supposed to be guarding whenever he was on duty. For official business only, of course. Such times came infrequently, but she looked forward to them, even arranging her meetings so they wouldn’t interfere. It was nice to have control over her schedule again. She was responsible for most of the day-to-day operations of the castle and kingdom now. The Ruminors had set their sights on bigger prizes.

  Sora chewed on her lower lip, wondering how much longer she had before the Lantern Maker made his next move. The Well was still unstable. It had been spewing an increased quantity of Fire over the mountain for weeks. Rafe had been spending more time then ever at the Well since the attack by the surviving Square Workers. As far as she could tell, instead of putting it back to normal, he was trying to repair it in such a way that it would still draw a larger supply of Fire from the mysterious Spring in the Burnt Mountains. She hadn’t been able to find the rest of the old song about the true dragons and the Spring in the “burning range.” It had to be a warning, but she feared it was already too late.

  As Rafe’s power grew, so did his disregard for caution. He edged closer to disaster the more time he spent Working above that tremendous flow of power. His allies had stepped up their work on the Fire Weapons too. Most of the increased flow was being channeled into the project, but Sora still hadn’t seen the Fire Weapons in action. Perhaps it was time for another clandestine sabotage operation.

  “My queen?”

  Sora jumped. She’d been thinking of stealthy excursions into the Lantern Maker’s domain and hadn’t noticed the door opening.

  “Good morning—I mean—good afternoon—I mean—hi.”

  Her cheeks warmed as Kel strode in and closed the door behind him. She caught a glimpse of Oat standing watch outside in case one of the Ruminors returned earlier than expected.

  “You look well.” Kel had an easy grin, and a handsome face that left little doubt why he was a favorite amongst the female dueling fans of the city. He was only a little tal
ler than Sora, with a strong, wiry frame and an easygoing manner.

  “Thank you, so do you,” Sora said. Immediately she wished she could take back the words. Kel had proved a trustworthy ally and an uncommonly kind friend, but she didn’t want to read anything into his compliments that wasn’t there. She cleared her throat regally. “Is there any news?”

  Kel’s grin faded. “I’m afraid so. The Far Plains Stronghold has fallen.”

  “The Far . . . are you sure?”

  “The cur-dragons just delivered the news. The Trurens held out for a few weeks, but Commander Brach prevailed in the end.”

  Sora stepped back and bumped into the table. She gripped it with both hands to steady herself. The Far Plains Stronghold. She was certain her mother and little sister had fled there when the Soolens first crossed the border into Trure.

  “My family?”

  “Your mother has been imprisoned in the Stronghold, along with Lord Valon and your relatives who were inside when the walls were breached.”

  “What about my little sister?”

  “The message didn’t mention her.”

  Sora felt queasy. Selivia and her mother in the hands of the invaders. They should have been safe in the Stronghold. That was where she would have sent them if she were her grandfather, King Atrin.

  She frowned. That was not where she would have gone next after Rallion City if she intended to conquer Trure. Something didn’t add up. The Stronghold was too remote to provide a strategic advantage for a conqueror. Commander Brach should focus on the towns along the High Road. A siege of the Stronghold would have left the Soolens vulnerable if the Far Plainsfolk decided to move against them. Commander Brach couldn’t have expected to breach the country’s most formidable fortress so quickly. Yet he had succeeded.

  Come to think of it, he had decided to invade Rallion City directly instead of engaging in a long siege, as the Lantern Maker had expected him to do. That had worked too.

  “Either Commander Brach is very lucky, or he really is a military genius,” she muttered. And now her mother and sister were in his hands. Knots tightened in her stomach. She couldn’t lose them too.