Duel of Fire (Steel and Fire Book 1)

by Jordan Rivet

  “What’s wrong with Berg?”

  “He does not have our family’s best interests at heart.”

  Dara frowned, surprised at this statement. Berg had been her coach for her entire career. He cared about her. She thought back to his insistence that the prince was in danger, which had been proven correct.

  But what could Berg be involved in that had allowed him to know about it before anyone else? What if he was on the wrong side? What exactly was the right side?

  “You must trust me, daughter. Cease your lessons with this man.”

  “But I have to train,” Dara said.

  “Then you will do so without our support,” Rafe said. He used his thumb to curl a bit of steel into a winding tail for the dragon then allowed it to cool from orange to black. “Your mother and I have decided it is time for you to quit dueling.”

  “The Cup is only a week away!”

  “Then it will be your last duel.”

  “Please.” Dara took a step closer to her father, ignoring the heat flaring in her chest. “I’ve worked so hard.”

  “Our decision is final.”

  Dara bit her lip, nearly drawing blood, as indecision warred through her. Should she tell her father about her newfound Spark? The temptation was fierce. She almost promised to turn to Fireworking if he would let her keep dueling too. The news about her ability would change everything. But she didn’t know if it would serve as a bargaining chip or a shackle. She wasn’t ready to tell him yet.

  “I’m sorry I kept my practices with the prince a secret,” she said instead. “I didn’t think it would do any harm.”

  “You truly believed that?” Rafe lowered his voice to a whisper. “After what happened to your sister in this very room?”

  “What does that have to do with the prince?” Dara asked. “It was the Fire Warden’s fault.”

  “And it was the prince’s father who allowed him to get away with it.”

  “What?”

  “The king denied us justice,” Rafe said. “The king allowed the Warden to diminish the power of Vertigon with his dilution of the Fire. And you think it does no harm to play with this king’s son like a child?”

  Dara shivered at the dangerous quiet in her father’s tone, despite the intense heat of the workshop.

  “None of that is Siv’s fault,” she said. “He could change things one day.”

  Her father scoffed. “He is young. Young, and under the thrall of Zage Lorrid. Do you really think Sivarrion will change his father’s Fire regulation policy when he becomes king? The Fireworkers have enough difficulty challenging Zage’s actions. We can hardly count on a foolish young prince to do it.”

  “What does all this have to do with me and my dueling?” Dara asked, wondering what it would mean for her Working too. Until a week ago, what the Fireworkers said about the regulation policies hadn’t mattered to her. Until a week ago, none of it had truly affected her.

  “The winds are changing,” Rafe said. “Do not be surprised if you find your priorities change as well. It is time for you to grow up, my little spark.”

  Dara studied her father’s strong profile, bathed in light and shadow. What was going to change? What did her father think was going to happen? Could Zage’s efforts to gain more power over Vertigon take a more drastic turn?

  And what of what Rafe had said about the king? Dara had assumed he would warn the king if he knew anything about Zage’s plans. But it sounded as if his dislike of the Amintelles ran deeper than she realized. But he wouldn’t want any of them to die. Would he?

  “What do you think is going to happen?” she asked.

  “I cannot say.” Rafe waved a hand, dismissing her. “Trust no one but your own flesh and blood and Fire.” It was an old saying, one her father only used in his gravest moments. Dara took that as her cue to go.

  She hesitated when she reached the door, and turned back toward her father. He was a darkened shape against the light of the Fire Lantern on the table. The Work was important to him, but she had worked hard too. She couldn’t give up now.

  “I have to keep training until the Cup,” she said, her resolve strengthening with each word. “I have to see it through.”

  “So be it. But do not expect to remain under this roof if you continue to duel after that.”

  “You’d . . . you’d kick me out?” Dara’s breath caught, coming short and sharp.

  “It would be your choice.” Rafe studied his lantern, speaking without emotion. “Duel or remain under my roof. I will no longer have an irresponsible young woman sullying our family name.”

  Pain flashed in Dara’s heart at his words. A tiny spark of Fire moved through her body for an instant, but her father didn’t appear to sense it. She shut the door to the workshop and trudged up the tunnel, feeling hollow and cold. A line had been drawn. If she wanted to keep dueling after the Cup, she needed a patron. Otherwise, she would have nowhere to live. Her footsteps dragged, echoing dully in the corridor.

  She went through the lantern shop on her way out. Her mother wasn’t there, but Farr was bent over the ledgers, scribbling eagerly.

  “Hello, Dara,” he said as she passed. He sat back and stretched his arms, his limbs unfolding like tree branches.

  “Farr.”

  “Are you off to join your mother at the meeting? The Guild is talking about the king and the Fire Warden.”

  Dara slowed. “What about them?”

  “The plan, of course.”

  “What plan? The Fire Warden’s plan?”

  “The . . . It’s . . . I thought that’s what your father wanted to talk about . . .” Farr glanced toward the workshop. He cracked his scarred knuckles nervously.

  “No, that was something else. What is the Guild discussing? Is he finally going to make a move?” She sincerely hoped the Guild had enough power to act against Zage before he hurt anyone, even if her father apparently had little interest in helping the king himself.

  “I’d better not say,” Farr said. His face split with that nice grin of his. “Your parents have been really good to me. They’re giving me opportunities I never dreamed of, Dara.”

  She thought of what her father had just said, about how he would turn her out of his house. He had effectively threatened to disown her unless she bent to his will. She blinked back tears, thinking of her mother’s coldness since she saved the prince. Maybe it would have been better if Farr were their flesh and blood, not Dara.

  “I’m going to practice,” she said. “See you later, Farr.”

  “Bye, Dara. Oh, and good luck with the dueling show.” Farr returned to his work as she closed the door behind her.

  22.

  The Savven Blade

  WHEN Dara arrived at the castle gates, the guard—one of the new ones—didn’t turn her away. The prince had sent her a message letting her know he was finally free to resume training. She crossed the uneven courtyard to the castle, its walls glowing with thin Firegold veins. It was strange to think that crossing this courtyard had become routine over the past two months. A cur-dragon swept overhead, its call sharp through the wind. The first hints of autumn tinted the leaves of a gnarled old tree beside the castle wall.

  Princesses Selivia and Soraline accosted her inside the ornately wrought doors.

  “Siv told us everything!” Selivia gushed. “I wish I could have been there to see you duel!”

  “It was fun, actually,” Dara said. “Thank you for your help with the outfit.”

  “You must have looked dazzling! In a very intense way.”

  “I’ve heard several members of the nobility discussing you over the past few days,” Princess Sora said, her round face glowing. “I think you have a solid chance of earning a patronage.”

  “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

  “They’ll be fighting over you!” Selivia said. “Just wait.”

  “I hope so.” Dara was grateful for their unabashed confidence in her. If only Dara’s own family could be as supportive. She tried
to put thoughts of her conversation with her father out of her mind.

  “Are you coming to practice today?” she asked the two princesses.

  “We’re on our way up to the library for a lesson,” Sora said, “but we wanted to make sure you’re coming to the Feast. It’s two days before the Cup.”

  “The King’s Feast? Ordinary duelists aren’t usually invited.” The annual feast before the Vertigon Cup was primarily for visiting dignitaries and nobles. The athletes would go out to the taverns for their own celebration after the competition was over.

  “We’re inviting you now, of course,” Selivia said. “And you have to get here early so I can dress you.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I insist,” Selivia said. “Vine will be there too. We can play the two of you off each other. It will be brilliant!”

  Dara brushed her fingers against her sensible gray trousers and avoided looking at her scuffed boots. She was pretty sure Vine would make a better impression than her in a ball gown. It might not help Dara’s cause to attend the feast. But maybe Selivia could work a bit of magic.

  “Okay. I’ll be there,” Dara said. “Thank you.”

  “Yay!” Selivia hugged her tight and then darted off down a corridor on the opposite side of the entrance hall. “Hurry, Sora. We’re going to be late!”

  “I’m looking forward to speaking with you later, Dara,” Sora said. She smiled and followed Selivia while Dara headed for the dueling hall.

  The prospect of attending the King’s Feast cheered her up a bit, but Dara couldn’t shake the memory of her father’s words. He had drawn the final line. He had told her to abandon everything she had worked toward. She had been on the brink of telling him about her Fire sense, perhaps promising to study the art with him if he would only allow her to duel too. But could she simply give in to him now?

  She wanted him to be impressed by her dueling, the thing she loved most. She wanted him to see that her work was paying off. She wanted to feel valuable to him as his daughter completely apart from the Fire. She wanted him to embrace her, acknowledge who she was and what mattered to her. If she told him about the Spark now, she would never have that. She couldn’t concede when she was this close to victory.

  Pool stood guard in front of the dueling hall. Dark shadows underlined his eyes, and the straight wrinkles around his mouth had deepened.

  “Welcome back, my most eminent and agile lady,” he said, offering a stiff bow.

  “Hello, Pool. Nice to see you again.”

  Pool opened the door for her. “He is waiting for you.”

  Siv leapt out of his chair and strode over to meet her as she slung her gear bag to the floor in her usual corner. For a second Dara thought he was going to hug her, but he stopped short when he reached her.

  “That was spectacular, Dara! Sheer utter magic.”

  A thrill of pride and warmth filled her at his words. It was amazing how much light Siv could add to her day. She had missed him. It felt right to be back here in the dueling hall, more right than being anywhere else on the mountain—or with anyone else.

  “I can’t believe you came,” she said, meeting his eyes.

  “You didn’t tell anyone I was there, did you?”

  “I wasn’t even sure myself.”

  “I snuck out,” Siv said proudly. “I haven’t done that in ages, but I was as stealthy as a gorlion in a lightning storm. My mother and father will kill me if they find out, never mind what Pool will do! You didn’t tell him?”

  “No,” Dara said quickly. “But Selivia and Sora—”

  “They know all about it. Selivia would literally murder me if I didn’t describe every single instant of the duel. It was all I could do to keep her from coming along.”

  “You shouldn’t have risked it,” Dara said. “What if you had been attacked again?”

  “You’d have saved me,” Siv said lightly.

  Dara took a deep breath. It was time to voice the worry that had been tugging at her from the first time she met Zage Lorrid. She couldn’t lose Siv, not now.

  “I think someone is plotting against you and your father.”

  “That attack was a one-off,” Siv said. “Don’t worry so much.”

  “I’ve been hearing things lately from the Fireworkers, and a bit from Vine too. I think something is going to happen.”

  “Look, I appreciate that you’re spending your free time worrying about me,” Siv said, “but the people love my father. He’s a good king, just like my grandfather and his father.”

  “I think . . . I think Zage Lorrid wants to usurp him.”

  “Zage?” Siv chuckled and began putting on his dueling gear. “My father has given more power to Zage Lorrid than anyone else in the kingdom. It’s not in his best interests to try anything.”

  “But—”

  “Zage has served my family for years. He’s a good man.”

  “Siv.” Dara swallowed. She hated bringing this up, but she had to impress upon her friend the seriousness of what could happen, what this man he trusted had done in the past. “Do you remember the Surge from about ten years ago?”

  “The Surge? Is that a duelist?”

  “The Fire Surge. When the Warden lost control of the Well, and the Fire he’d been restraining burst out through the access points in the Fireshops?”

  “That sounds vaguely familiar. Must have been quite a light show.”

  “Did you know that a Fireworker’s apprentice died when it happened?”

  Siv stopped putting on his gear and turned toward her, suddenly serious. He waited patiently, as if he could tell she wasn’t finished. Dara took a slow breath and met his eyes.

  “It was my older sister. Her name was Renna, and she was only eleven years old. Zage should have been removed as Fire Warden after it happened. But he manipulated your father into keeping him on. Now he has been reducing each individual Fireworker’s access to the Fire. He could be planning to take control once and for all.”

  Instead of answering, Siv walked over to her. He took her hand between both of his, holding it gently. She took a shuddering breath, feeling annoyed as her vision blurred with tears.

  “I’m sorry about your sister, Dara. I didn’t know.”

  “It was a long time ago.” She sniffed, fighting to regain her composure. “But Zage . . .”

  “I understand why you must hate him,” Siv said softly, “but I don’t believe Zage would hurt any of us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “If he wanted to hurt us, he’s had plenty of opportunities over the years. And like I said, he already holds the highest Fireworker position in Vertigon. I’ve known him for a long time, and I don’t think he’d want to be king.”

  “But what if he’s the one who hired the assassin?”

  “Dara, it’ll be okay. Bandobar and the Castle Guard will get to the bottom of that.” He squeezed her hand, and she wished he wouldn’t ever let go. At the same time, she felt that he was dismissing her concerns because she was upset. He was trying to cheer her up, and he wasn’t taking this seriously enough.

  “Zage has been causing friction for a while now,” she said. “I think you should look into it in case he has something bigger in the works.”

  “Plots and intrigues are for the Lands Below,” Siv said. “Vertigon is better than that.”

  “Then at least be more careful,” Dara said, her grip tightening on Siv’s hand. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Siv said. Suddenly he looked down at their hands, still clasped, as if he realized what they were doing. Instead of releasing her, he stood very still. His breath was warm on her face, his grip firm. Dara’s heart sped up, and heat spread across her skin. Then his eyes dropped to her mouth.

  “Prince . . .” Dara whispered.

  He dropped her hand as if it burned. “Let’s focus on your training for the Cup,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ve had some ideas for new moves since the duel with V
ine.”

  There was a heavy knock on the door, and Berg Doban strode in without waiting for a response.

  “Coach! It’s been a long time.” Siv turned away from Dara and went over to shake Berg’s hand. The coach’s face was solemn, but he gave no indication that he’d noticed how close together they’d been standing a moment ago.

  “You are training well without me, I hear.”

  “Dara’s great!” Siv said. “She’s making me a more boring duelist, but she’s keeping me alive.”

  “Hmm,” Berg grunted. “Today I will teach you a lesson. Dara, you will watch. You are next.”

  “Yes, Coach.” Dara took a seat on the rug to stretch while she waited. It had been a while since Berg had been here for a practice session, and she was surprised to see him. He seemed to be in a foul mood as he shrugged on a jacket and glove.

  Siv was unfazed, though. He rotated through each set of exercises, his arms moving in clean lines, his thigh muscles flexing. Dara couldn’t help sneaking glances at him while she stretched. He was definitely getting better.

  But Berg was harsher than ever. Whenever Siv missed a parry, Berg riposted, letting every hit land with a thud. Siv would be bruised after this practice. Berg wasn’t as fast as he used to be, but he was still brutally strong.

  Soon, the prince was sweating and swearing. They worked longer than a typical twenty-minute lesson, but Berg didn’t let up. He continued to land almost as many hits as Siv did. He was supposed to be conducting a lesson, not a thrashing. Something wasn’t right here. Dara stood.

  Siv must have realized something was amiss at the same moment.

  “What’s gotten into you, Doban?” he said, straightening and pulling off his mask. “Mother of a cullmoran! Are you trying to kill me?”

  “I am trying nothing,” Berg growled. “You must be ready.” He tossed his blunted practice blade onto the floor and stalked over to the rack of weapons by the door. He pulled out one of the ornate swords. The tip was sharp, winking cruelly in the late morning light.