by Jordan Rivet
Dara and Siv practiced while Selivia called in her dressmaker and began sorting through the piles of black fabric. Siv had come up with a new set of moves for Dara. She felt silly, but she gritted her teeth and did whatever he suggested. It was the least she could do when he had put so much effort into this new strategy. She resented the implication that he could “make her win” when she had been dueling for her entire life, but after her disastrous performance at the Eventide Open she was willing to try anything.
Selivia called Dara over every once in a while to hold garments up to her but wouldn’t let her try anything on because she was too sweaty. Selivia seemed to be having fun, so Dara didn’t object to the frequent interruptions. Unfortunately, Siv was having fun running her ragged too. When they were finished, she had a new collection of bruises on top of her old ones.
“Nice work, Dara.” Siv pulled off his mask. The sharp slant of sunlight on the dueling floor indicated it was almost high noon. “We’ll keep going on this tomorrow.”
“I’m not doing that leaping thing again,” Dara mumbled, loosening her jacket collar.
“Oh yes, you are,” Siv said. “I better get going. I have a lesson with Zage, and he pouts when I don’t bathe beforehand.”
“Zage Lorrid?” Dara tucked her mask under her arm.
“The Fire Warden is teaching me the intricacies of Fire administration,” Siv said. “Yes, it is as boring as it sounds. But I have to know how the kingdom works if I’m going to be the king.”
Dara frowned as the prince disappeared through the door beneath the balcony, and Selivia dragged her over to try talking her into dyeing her hair again. So the prince had lessons with Zage Lorrid? That worried her, especially because he mentioned it without even a hint of caution.
Dara remembered how the king had kept Zage on as Fire Warden after the Surge that had killed Renna. Dara had been too young to follow the nuances at the time, but the king had clearly thought the incident was an accident. And now he allowed the Warden to give lessons to his children? Dara couldn’t help thinking that even if the Surge had been an accident, Zage was now in a prime position to abuse the king’s trust. He was already mismanaging the Fire, as her parents said. What else was he capable of?
Selivia had gone back to sorting through clothes for Dara. One of her newborn kittens had popped out of the basket, and it wound around her ankles, pushing its soft pink nose through the piles of black fabric. Selivia was thirteen years old, soon to be fourteen, her attention split between her pets and projects and her crush on a cute athlete. Renna hadn’t even made it to thirteen.
Dara wondered what it would have been like to grow up with her sister, the warm, living person, not the shroud her memory had cast over their family. Dara was incapable of living up to her parents’ expectations with her sister gone, and she constantly warred against the resentment threatening to rise in her heart. She often wondered how her parents would have treated her if Renna had survived. It wouldn’t have mattered at all that she didn’t have the Spark. And she missed her sister too. She had Zage Lorrid to thank for all of that.
Dara glanced at the door to Siv’s room again, where he would shortly be meeting with the Fire Warden. Yes, Dara was worried for her new friends. Worried that her parents’ old enemy could be preparing to move against them and destroy their lives—as he had Dara’s.
Dara crossed Fell Bridge and climbed the winding steps up Village Peak to her home. Her mother was sitting on the porch, a platter of bread and goat cheese balanced on her knee. She wore a deep-purple dress with a tall collar framing her face.
“Where have you been, Dara?”
“Training.”
“I didn’t see you come in last night.”
“I’m sorry.” Dara set her gear down and sat on the steps at her mother’s feet, feeling sore. The new moves used different muscles than she was used to. “I stayed late at the school. But I’ll be here to help you all afternoon.”
Lima handed her a piece of bread with cheese. “You must become more involved with the business, Dara. It’s an important time.”
“Mother, do we have to keep having this conversation? We made a deal that I could try to get a patron.”
“Maybe it’s time to accept this isn’t going to work,” Lima said. “I heard about the Eventide Open.”
“You heard?”
“Corren was there. He said you lost to an easy opponent.”
You could have asked me yourself. “You don’t usually take such an interest in how I’m doing.”
“Nevertheless, if you are not even winning the tournaments—”
“I’ll win the next one,” Dara said. “I’m training harder than ever.” Why couldn’t they ever talk without all this pressure? The hope that had begun to rise after the prince and princess offered to help her faded in the onslaught of her mother’s disapproval.
“I need you to spend more time in the lantern shop and meeting members of the Fire Guild,” Lima said. “Farr is making good progress, but my daughter must be involved.”
“I already know how to balance the books,” Dara said.
“I’m not talking about the books.” Lima stood, pulling herself up to her full height. “This is a complicated business. You must nurture relationships, and not only with your clients. The Fireworkers are divided, and the mightiest among them are growing restless. They look to your father for leadership, and they must continue to do so. Zage Lorrid has grown too powerful.”
“He can’t split the Fires much further, can he?”
“Perhaps. He has the ear of the king.”
Dara frowned, thinking of how the Fire Warden must even now be teaching the prince. What was he capable of?
“I thought you’ve always considered him incompetent after what happened with—”
Dara stopped at her mother’s cutting glare. Lima hated it whenever Dara brought up her sister. She wished they could speak frankly about what had happened. They both missed Renna. They had both suffered from her loss. But it was no use.
“What do you think Lorrid will do?” Dara asked instead.
“Take your head out of your dueling mask and listen, daughter,” Lima said. “There is much he could do.” She swept into the house before Dara could respond.
She stared at the door long after it had closed. Her mother would be interested to know about her royal training partner’s lessons with the Fire Warden. Lima might actually approve of Dara’s presence in the castle if it meant she could get more information about what Zage was up to. If Dara could find out what the Warden discussed with the prince, the information could prove useful to her family—more useful than anything she had ever done in the lantern shop.
Dara popped the last piece of bread and cheese into her mouth and brushed the crumbs off her trousers. A light breeze blew over the mountain, carrying the sounds of Village Peak on the wind. It was a bustling, chaotic place, but the Ruminor house was far enough up the side of the mountain that there wasn’t too much foot traffic going by, even at this hour. A boy led a pair of mountain goats past their front steps and up toward the crest of the peak. A workman trudged by with a basket full of Everlights strapped to his back. A peal of laughter rose from the tavern down the path on the way to Square Bridge.
Dara stood, her muscles seizing up, and looked across Orchard Gorge to King’s Peak and the castle at its crown. Smoke hung over the ramparts, as if someone had been doing a particularly large Work that day. Similar pockets of smoke indicated access points to other Fireworker shops.
Would it be possible for Dara to listen in on one of Siv’s lessons with Zage? She could actually contribute to the family business for once, and maybe find out whether he truly had designs on the king’s power. But the idea of eavesdropping on Siv without his knowledge left an oily feeling on Dara’s tongue. The prince considered her a friend, and with his help she was getting closer to breaking away from the lantern business for good. Maybe it was better that her parents didn’t know whom she dueled in the
mornings. For now.
13.
Lords and Ladies
AFTER yet another lesson on Fire politics with Zage, Siv answered his father’s summons to the royal library. It was a high-ceilinged room in the easternmost tower of the castle. Shelves clung to the walls, with ladders stretching into the shadows at the top. A pair of tall windows looking out over Vertigon broke up the shelves, and several couches and a large oak table covered in books completed the room. The king often received nobles here when delivering decisions that were likely to disappoint them. The informal atmosphere was better for hard conversations, and judgments made in the library were often received better than pronouncements from the royal throne. Naturally, Siv was rather suspicious of why his father had called him here.
The king sat at the oak table, and he pushed aside the large book he had been reading as his son entered.
“You wanted to see me?” Siv said.
“We need to discuss the details of your visit to Trure.”
“Father—”
“This trip is overdue.” The king removed his eyeglasses and cleaned them with a bit of cloth. “I think it’s best if you stay the whole winter. Your mother has promised to winter on the mountain this year, but it would be good for you to be in Trure on your own.”
Siv tried not to let his dismay show on his face. “I thought you were giving me a chance to work on a few prospects for alliances with important houses before we decide anything.”
“Son, you keep talking about your big plans, but I haven’t seen any evidence that they’re moving forward. Eventide would have been the time to call on the eligible ladies of the kingdom—not to mention sample their staffs’ cooking—and instead you disappeared to a dueling competition. You continue to avoid your duties. Trure isn’t so bad, you know.”
Siv paced back and forth in front of his father’s table. This was so sudden! He had no warning! Well, he supposed he had some warning, but things were just getting started with Dara’s dueling project. He hadn’t been as excited about anything in a long while. He didn’t want to leave before he’d had a chance to admire his handiwork.
“If I can arrange something before First Snow, will you let me stay on the mountain for the winter?”
“You need to tell me more, Sivarrion,” the king said. “Who is this brilliant match you keep hinting at?”
Siv grimaced. That was a project he should have been working on more. It had been far more interesting to plan for Dara’s transformation into Nightfall than to arrange his inevitable marriage of state. It was time to show his cards, though.
“The Widow Denmore,” he said at last.
“Lady Tull?” The king looked surprised but not displeased. “I’m intrigued.”
“Her mourning period is coming to an end this month. With her husband’s untimely demise, she’s an even more promising prospect than when she was still the Lady Tull Ferrington.” Lady Tull’s husband had been the sole heir to the Denmore Estate, as she was to the Ferrington Estate, and now it all belonged to her.
“You may be right about that,” the king said thoughtfully. He pulled a map of the mountain toward him showing the holdings of all the major landowners. “She controls the Denmore Estate now, and her link to the Ferringtons is as important as ever.” The king traced the lines indicating the Ferrington lands. Lady Tull’s family holdings included Second Slope, where an important road led down into the Fissure. “She’d be a good match for any man in the kingdom.”
“That’s what I thought,” Siv said. “And I happen to be the most eligible bachelor in Vertigon.” He’d no doubt be letting down a host of adoring maidens, but a Denmore alliance would be the best scenario for the Amintelles.
The king put his eyeglasses back on and studied his son.
“And how do you like the lady herself?” he asked. “I hope you would find some joy with her.”
“She’s sad, but lovely,” Siv said. He had given it a lot of thought. Lady Tull Ferrington Denmore was a good match no matter how he looked at it. He had let his efforts to endear himself to her fall by the wayside in recent weeks, but he couldn’t allow his dueling with Dara to get in the way of the good of the kingdom any longer. It was time to renew his efforts to woo the young widow.
“Sivarrion, I’m impressed by your forethought,” the king said after a moment. “But I don’t wish to rush you or the young lady. You needn’t marry right away. Perhaps you should spend the winter in Trure, and we can revisit the idea of a match with the Widow Denmore when you return.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Siv said. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to drag this out. He had to marry anyway. He might as well maintain some control over the process. He stopped pacing and met his father’s eyes. “I might be ready to announce our engagement by First Snow. If I do, will you allow me to remain on the mountain?”
“Very well,” the king said. “If you entreat Lady Tull to accept your proposal before summer’s end, you may forgo the trip to Trure.”
“Thank you, sir.” Siv would need to work on Lady Tull, but at least he wouldn’t be leaving right away. He’d have to get out to the parlors more. He hadn’t been as often since he started getting his ass kicked in the dueling hall. Speaking of the parlors, that was another area where Dara was lacking. He could remedy that. And there was still the matter of launching Dara’s rivalry with Vine Silltine.
A knock sounded on the great wooden doors of the library, and Bandobar, Captain of the Castle Guard, stepped inside. He was a stone-faced soldier, a few years older than Siv’s father. One of the new Castle Guard recruits hovered behind him, his wide eyes darting around the king’s library.
“Lord Rollendar is here to see you, Your Majesty,” Bandobar said. “And his son, Lord Bolden, is asking after the prince.”
“Ah, good. Send them in.”
Bandobar saluted, and then glowered at the young guardsman until he did the same. The rookie blushed to his hairline. He hurriedly stepped back as Bandobar admitted the two noblemen.
The king turned over the map he had been perusing as Lord Von Rollendar entered the library. He was a powerful man with thick sandy hair going white at the temples. As always, he wore a formal red coat embroidered with ebony thread and the Rollendar House sigil. He took in the library and its occupants with sharp eyes, including Siv’s slouch and unbuttoned coat, before bowing to the king.
“Welcome, Lord Rollendar.”
“Your Majesty. May I present my son, Bolden?”
“Of course. A pleasure to see you again.”
“Majesty.” Bolden bowed to the king and nodded at Siv. Like his father, Bolden had thick sandy hair. He also had a long, sharp nose and blond mustache that made Siv think of a furlingbird poking its beak out of a nest. “I understand you have important matters to discuss with my father, Sire,” he said. “May I entreat the prince to join me for a walk about the castle while you talk?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the king waved his hand, still holding the cloth he had used to clean his eyeglasses. “I’m sure you young men have schemes aplenty. You’re free to go, Sivarrion.”
“Thank you, Father.” Siv offered a polite bow to his father and nodded at Lord Rollendar, though with less warmth. When Siv and Bolden had gotten into trouble as boys, it was always better to be caught by the king or one of the guards than by Bolden’s father. Von Rollendar had darkness boiling beneath his skin, and he let it show when he was angry at even the most innocent of pranks.
This was convenient timing, though, as far as Siv was concerned. Bolden always knew where the important players would be on any given night. He would definitely know when and where Lady Tull was likely to be socializing. He was also a dueling patron himself. He could help with the Dara project.
Siv and Bolden left the library, the heavy wooden door closing behind them. Bandobar stayed in the library to watch over the king and Lord Rollendar, but two more new Castle Guards stood at attention beside Pool in the corridor. One was young. The
other looked like a seasoned soldier. Perhaps he’d been recruited from the army. Siv and Bolden waited to speak until they had moved away from the Castle Guards. Pool followed at a polite distance.
“Do you know why the king called my father in today?” Bolden asked.
“No idea,” Siv said. “Hey, do you know when—”
“My father thinks the king is angry with him.”
“He didn’t seem angry to me,” Siv said. And if his father were angry, Siv certainly wouldn’t tell Bolden.
“Maybe you can find out for me,” Bolden said. “My father has reservations about the Ringston Pact, but I’d like to know for sure what the king thinks.”
Siv smiled, but it was forced. He didn’t appreciate Bolden trying to use him for information. He wasn’t stupid.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Siv said. “Are you going to the parlors this coming Turnday?”
“Obviously.”
Siv resisted the urge to chide Bolden about his tone. He needed the man right now. In truth, keeping company with Bolden wasn’t quite as easy as it had been when they were boys. Bolden was far too ambitious, and their friendship had become lined with barbs.
“I need a good night out,” Siv said. “Is Atria’s still the place?”
“That it is,” Bolden said.
“Will Lady Tull be there, by any chance?”
Bolden looked up sharply. The smile he gave Siv wasn’t entirely friendly.
“I suspect she will,” Bolden said after a moment. “She has come out with me often of late.”
“Good,” Siv said. Lady Tull may technically still be in mourning, but she was also quite young. He wasn’t surprised to find she was joining the parlor gatherings already. “Let’s raid the kitchens and see if we can’t finish off a bottle of wine before our fathers are done.” He’d need it to keep the mood light. Bolden also had designs on the Widow Denmore, but Siv was the prince. He’d have first pick. Bolden knew that and undoubtedly resented him for it.