by Jordan Rivet
“They don’t always keep going like that,” Siln explained as he and Dara marched through the Jewel District one day, keeping watch for enemy Waterworkers. “Some vents only have a bit of juice in them. It gets divided up, and then everything goes back to normal.”
“Wyla has had her main vent for a long time, right?”
“It’s one of the deeper ones.” Siln glanced around their green-flagged surroundings. “You’d best not speak about it on the street. Not everyone knows its form or its location.”
“How do other Waterworkers hold their power?”
“Usually in pools, fountains, or underground streams. Wyla’s whirlpool system is particularly effective. I’ve heard rumors of people keeping the power in stone for a time, but I don’t believe it’s possible. It needs to be active, or it drains away.”
“Why is it so hard to store and transport the power?”
Siln shrugged. “Always has been. If someone figures out a better way, they’ll become the most powerful Waterworker in the city overnight. They could rule the continent itself. Pendark could be so much greater if not for the Might’s limitations.”
“And if people stopped fighting each other over it.”
“True enough,” Siln said.
Dara nodded toward the King’s Tower rising in the distance. A haze hovered over the swampy land, obscuring the lights that always burned in the tower windows.
“Does he ever try to control the Watermight practitioners?”
“It would be pointless,” Siln said. “The king serves as a buffer for the mundane people of this city. He can dispense justice and protection to them while the Waterworkers are otherwise engaged.”
“Why doesn’t one of the Waterworkers become king or queen?” Dara asked. “The first Amintelle king in Vertigon was a Fireworker. He set up a distribution system to prevent this sort of anarchy.”
Siln snorted. “Yes, well, the Fire has suffered for it, don’t you think?”
“Suffered how? Vertigon’s Fireworks are coveted all over the world.”
“Trinkets and lanterns and a handful of Fire Blades. Can you imagine what the Fire could do if it weren’t so limited? If those Workers spent their time on something besides basic craftsmanship?”
Dara didn’t answer. That came a little too close to her father’s beliefs. He had always wanted to do away with the limitations on his power. She may be curious about what else the Fire could do, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with the implications. Unlike Watermight, Fire could be transported and solidified. The Fireworkers could rule the world if they ever tried.
Dara prayed that would never happen—and that Wyla and the others would never figure out a way to transport the Watermight for longer than a week. She wondered if that was why Wyla wanted to study how she used the Fire. She might one day figure out how to create a comparable containment system. The powers were fundamentally different from each other, but if Dara could use both, they might have more in common than anyone believed.
Of course, she still couldn’t use the Fire and the Watermight at the same time. Her ability to use the Watermight would do her little good in a confrontation atop Vertigon Mountain, hundreds of miles from the nearest Watermight source. And she might never leave Pendark anyway.
Dara and Siln approached a bridge leading from one of Wyla’s islands to another. Suddenly, a pair of teenagers leapt from behind a nearby gem shop. Most of the shops on the street were boarded up, their owners taking shelter until the violence subsided.
“Halt!” one of the boys shouted. “You can’t walk here.”
“Yes,” said the other, his voice squeaking. “We are the Waterlords of this place.”
The boys were perhaps a year or two younger than Dara, ill-fed lads who positively shook with power.
“Do you know who I am?” Siln said softly.
The boys exchanged nervous glances. A glimmer drew Dara’s attention to a small pool of Watermight floating in the shadow of the bridge. The power cache that made them brave.
“We don’t care,” the older boy said. “This is our territory now. We’ll drown you if you come any closer.”
“This district belongs to Wyla,” Siln said.
“Not anymore.” To his credit, the boy’s voice didn’t shake as he faced down one of the most skilled Watermight combatants in Pendark. Dara had to admire the ferocity in the boys’ faces as they tried to claim a bit of the city for themselves.
“Why don’t you take these two?” Siln said, turning to Dara. “It’ll be good practice.”
Dara stood frozen for a moment. She didn’t want to hurt these gangly young fellows. They were just trying to carve out a place for themselves. But if she didn’t deal with them, Siln would. And Wyla would hear of yet more disobedience.
“We aren’t afraid of you,” the boy said.
Siln chuckled. “You should be. Dara?”
Dara tipped back her head and swallowed a measure of Watermight from the wineskin at her side. She advanced on the boys, the power icing her bones and giving her strength.
The fight was over quickly. She neutralized the boys by whirling a spool of Watermight around their heads and obscuring their senses. The boys soon gave up and took off running across the bridge, still trying to free themselves from Dara’s entrapment. Siln tutted in disapproval, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t killing anyone for Wyla.
Vine was pacing across their bedroom when Dara returned from patrol. She’d eaten a quick meal with Siln then stumbled upstairs to find her friend waiting, dressed in a light dress and sandals for the southern spring clime. Dara was still cold and shaking from her latest dosage of Watermight. She pulled an extra blanket from the wardrobe and put on her coat before sitting on her bed.
“The Sensors have picked up increased levels of Air in the city,” Vine said, dancing across the floorboards. “They think there’s a break in the barrier between Pendark and Trure.”
“With more Air, that means—”
“Yes! We can communicate with the Truren Sensors. I may even be able to reach someone in Vertigon!”
Dara wasn’t sure whether to feel happy or nervous about that. They had relied on rumors in the streets to keep track of events in the north, but with the outbreak of the Watermight conflict, the city gossips had more important topics on their lips. More than the war in Trure, Dara was nervous about what her parents had been up to since seizing power in Vertigon. How long had it been since she’d heard anything of them? She wondered if it would be possible to communicate with them directly. Not that she had any idea what she’d say.
She pulled her blanket tighter. Her muscles ached as if she’d been alternating push-ups and sprints all day, and she had a dull stomachache, a side effect of swallowing the Watermight.
“Was there anything else?” she asked.
Vine didn’t answer. She had stopped pacing, and she was frowning at the wall as if she could see through it to the far side of the city.
“Vine,” Dara said. “Are you all right?”
Vine turned toward her, face glowing in the moonlight from the window.
“Oh Dara, what is it?”
“I just wondered if there was any more news.” Dara frowned at the faraway look in Vine’s eyes. “You seem worried.”
“No, that’s all the news I have for now . . . Only . . .”
“What’s wrong?”
Vine bit her lip. “You’ve been busy with the Watermight, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. I’m worried about Vex. I’ve been dreaming about him every night.”
“Still?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You think it means something?”
“It’s complicated, Dara.” Vine sighed. “I saw him leaving the King’s Tower again a few days ago, and I felt a . . . connection to him. I’m sure it had something to do with the Air. The moment I felt it, he turned around and looked straight toward me. I dove behind a flower cart, so I don’t think he saw me, but it was uncanny.”
“Do you think he got some sort of spell or curse done that would link him to you?” Dara held up her sword arm. The idea that Vex still had power over her friend made her angry. She should have stabbed him during that fight months ago.
“It’s possible.” Vine fell silent for a moment, chewing her lip. “But what if that’s not it? Why would the Air bring me dreams about Vex? He ought to be the least of our worries right now. Information about Vertigon would be vastly more useful.”
“Are you sure it’s the Air?” Dara asked. “Could something more mundane cause the dreams and whatever you felt when you saw him?”
“What do you mean?”
“You and Vex spent a lot of time close together on our journey,” Dara said. “I’m sure you had intense feelings related to him. Fear. Anger. It makes sense that you’d have a strong reaction to seeing him again.”
Dara thought of the visceral response she’d had when she saw her parents after learning they were murderers. They haunted her thoughts still. She’d even had a vivid dream about them in the Air Sensors’ manor back in Rallion City. Her mother standing over her, wielding a ball of Fire. Dara had plenty of anger and fear and emotion when it came to her mother.
Vine must have thought the theory had merit, because she was quiet for a long time. Dara watched her friend twirl a dark curl around her finger, wondering whether she should mention the dream about her mother. She still found it difficult to talk about her parents, even with her best friend. But Vine had always been there for her. She would understand.
Suddenly, Vine gave a sharp intake of breath. “You are so right, Dara.” She whirled around. “I should have talked this over with you sooner. I should have known you’d help me figure out the truth.”
Dara blinked. “What truth?”
“That I’m attracted to Lord Vex, of course.”
“I— What?”
“That’s what you meant, isn’t it?” Vine said. “Intense feelings. Being close together. It’s no wonder you figured it out.”
Dara wondered if she was dreaming right now. “What are you talking about, Vine?”
Her friend didn’t seem to hear her. “I never thought of him that way in Vertigon, but then I didn’t take much notice. Now if I’d seen him duel . . . Who knew he was so skilled? And then our journey together.” Vine smiled slightly. “I do wonder whether the connection outside the King’s Tower was related to some vibration of the Air or if it was simply our feelings for each other manifesting in a tangible way.”
“Feelings for each other?” Dara said faintly.
“You do think he has feelings for me too, don’t you?” Vine said. “He tried valiantly not to whilst we were his captives.”
Dara stared blankly at her, wondering if she was falling for a prank. She certainly hadn’t seen this coming. Vine simply looked back at her, eyes hopeful, maybe even a bit misty. She wasn’t joking.
Dara figured out what she wanted to say at last. “Are you insane?”
Vine chuckled. “What are you talking about?”
“Vex Rollendar kidnapped us so he could kill Siv. He’d have killed us in a heartbeat to achieve his goals. You can’t possibly like him, and he . . . he . . .”
Dara wanted to say he definitely didn’t share Vine’s feelings, but she had noticed Vex being quite solicitous of Vine. She recalled when he had bought her a pair of boots and laced them up himself with unexpected gentleness. They had talked a lot throughout their journey, and when Vine and Rid joined the fray at the pen-fighters’ headquarters, Vex had looked almost pleased to see her. Dara could see Vex being infatuated with Vine quite easily now that she thought about it. But that didn’t change the fact that he was dangerous—probably more so than ever—and Vine had no business whatsoever having feelings for him.
“He what?” Vine prompted.
“He’s too old for you,” Dara said weakly.
Vine gave a tinkling chuckle. “‘Age is merely a measure of days.’ Haven’t you ever heard that saying?”
Dara shook her head, contemplating how to shake sense into her friend. She wanted Vine to find happiness, but not with one of their mortal enemies. If she had to pine after an older man, why couldn’t she have chosen Siln? Or one of the pen fighters? Or one of the dozens of safer men that fell in love with her on a daily basis?
“You’re not thinking of acting on these feelings, are you?”
“I’m afraid I’ll need more information before I do that. I may very well be in love—”
“In lo—?”
“—but I’m never rash. Perhaps we can use this development to our advantage.” Vine kicked off her sandals and skipped over to her own bed. “I am so curious what I’ll dream tonight. Thank you for helping me figure out my feelings, Dara. Good night.”
She climbed into bed and was asleep before Dara could summon a coherent word.
Dara burrowed beneath her own covers, wondering how to get Vine to come to her senses. Her friend had a tendency to do exactly as she pleased. That her schemes usually worked out was beside the point. Connection or not, it was only a matter of time before Vex tried to kill Siv again.
Vine sighed in her sleep, apparently dreaming peacefully. Could Vex have done something to her in order to lure her to him? Dara flexed the muscles in her sword arm, trying to sense something of the bond Wyla had left there. What else could magic do to link people together? Induce feelings? Vine wasn’t really attracted to Vex . . . was she?
Dara hoped Vine was right about the increased Air presence at least. Something must have changed in Trure to allow it through. They needed to know what Siv faced if he ever got out of Pendark alive. And the sooner she got Vine out of here, the better. Wyla may never let Dara herself go, but she’d do whatever it took to make sure her friends escaped unharmed.
25.
Sensing
SELIVIA sat beneath the shaded awning of Ananova’s house with Zala. Fenn worked on a new painting nearby. Rain had fallen over the past few days, and the desert bloomed around them. Pink blossoms decorated the cacti like fanciful hats, and the earth smelled of warm clay. Selivia had a book spread on her knees, but she had abandoned it in favor of listening to the spring breeze and the buzz of insects.
Stealing a moment of quiet was hard these days. News of the Fireworker attack on Rallion City had spread quickly. The Plainsfolk packed the popular spots for Sensing to listen for additional information. The latest news was that the barrier between Trure and the southern lands no longer held. No one knew if that was because the Sensors were focused on the events to the north or if the assault of the Firewielding Vertigonian army had caused a rift in the Air barrier.
The more people listened to the wind, the more they worried about Commander Brach’s next move. After being driven from Rallion City, he had disappeared into the plains. His men still held the Stronghold, and the Far Plainsfolk feared he would turn his attention west. Selivia was more concerned about what would happen to her mother if the Stronghold fell.
The Fireworkers had laid waste to the lands surrounding Rallion City. By all accounts, the city itself had been reduced to ash and mud. Selivia hated to think of it: the flowers trampled, the Azure Lake soiled, her grandfather’s palace burned. They stood no chance against the Fireworkers. The Lantern Maker’s men burned gleefully, recklessly, as if making up for the past hundred years.
It was more important than ever for Selivia to get in touch with her family. They were responsible for Vertigon—and the Fireworkers. Their people had been corrupted, sent by the Lantern Maker to conquer in the Amintelle name. They couldn’t let it continue.
Zala had warned Selivia not to bother the Sensors when they were listening to the Air, but she was growing impatient. She couldn’t sit here doing nothing for much longer. Unfortunately, Zala and Fenn watched her more closely than ever. Fenn seemed to think the Far Plains was the safest place for her, hostage or not. Selivia hadn’t had a chance to visit the true dragon again.
Ivran had come through
for her, though. He’d dropped the book about magical creatures in her lap without so much as a hello. He had also kept his promise not to tell anyone about her escape plans. She still couldn’t figure out what he was up to, but she’d take any help she could get.
The book lay open on her knees now, its pages crinkly and faded with age. It was written in an older version of the Far Plains language. She had entreated Zala to help her translate it, insisting she was just curious about the true dragon.
“Are you sleeping?” Zala said.
“What? No.”
“Read me that passage again.”
Selivia fidgeted with the corners of the book. “Can’t you just tell me what it means?”
“Your accent still needs work,” Zala said. “If you’re to live here, you should really improve.”
Making Zala think she planned to stay was the easiest way to research the dragon in peace, but Selivia didn’t like lying to her friend. She wasn’t very good at it. She shifted on her chair and read aloud from the book once more.
In ancient days, the Air Sensors spoke with animals—especially magical ones like true dragons—but that aspect of the discipline hadn’t been practiced much recently. Unfortunately, the book assumed its readers would know the basic art of dragon taming. All too soon, Selivia faltered over a confusing word used in a complicated phrase, and Zala had to interpret for her.
“Communion,” she said. “That’s what that word means. It’s talking about the communion between a magical creature and the human who works with it.”
“Is that like communication?”
“It’s more than that.” Zala took the book from Selivia’s hands and ran her fingers over the ancient words. “Communion implies a deeper connection than mere words. It’s when you have an empathetic relationship with someone.”
“Like a friendship?”
“Sort of. But you can be friends with someone without truly communing with them.” Zala rubbed the toe of her dark-green slippers along the dirt. She wore a matching dark-green scarf to protect her hair from the ever-present dust. “Like us,” she said. “We’re friends, but I’m willing to hold you here to protect my people, and you don’t really understand why. We’re not really in communion.”