Dara held her breath, straining to distinguish any noise other than the rush of the gale. Then she heard it: a scraping, tumbling sound, like a rock rolling down a slope. A crunch of footsteps in the snow. Someone was approaching their hollow.
Dara reached for her Savven blade, aware of the strange new warmth in the hilt. It was no longer scorching, but it had a heat all its own. She fumbled the blade as she tried to draw it. Her fingers didn’t seem to be working properly.
“Give me your sword,” Siv said.
“I can—”
“You can barely hold your head up,” Siv said. He nudged Dara’s cloak open and drew the weapon from her belt with a soft rasp. He couldn’t hide the wince as he moved his sword arm. Then he drew Vine’s blade from his own belt and sat forward, a weapon in each hand.
Dara wanted to protest. She should be the one defending their position. She had to protect her king, but her hands still trembled, and her bones creaked. She had never felt so helpless—and she hated it. She wouldn’t be much use in combat in this condition. Grudgingly, she let Siv move forward to defend them both. His two blades glinted in the dying light.
The scraping sound came again, closer now.
Dara and Siv waited, the bare rock of the mountain at their backs. Closer. Siv tensed. The hollow was too low for him to stand, so he crouched, weapons at the ready.
Another scrape. Dara reached for a rock to throw to distract their attackers. She may be weakened, but she wouldn’t let Siv fight alone.
The sound of heavy, guttural breathing joined the crunching footfalls. Dara tightened her grip on the rock.
Then a dark shape loomed in the mouth of the cave, strange and grotesque. It wasn’t a man. It wasn’t a cur-dragon either.
“What in all the Firelord’s realm?” Siv muttered.
Some huge animal was prowling in front of the hollow. Hot breath huffed into the cave, and a peculiar stench reached them, like rotting fruit and leather. Then a vicious roar exploded in the darkness, and the shadowy creature lunged toward them.
Siv met the attack, both blades stabbing. The creature had inky fur and a bald, leathery head with wicked yellow teeth. It moved quickly, lurching to avoid one of Siv’s first hits, claws scraping the dirt. Yellow teeth snapped a few inches from Dara’s face. Siv stabbed again, and the night-black Savven blade sank into the creature’s muscular shoulder. It roared in agony and convulsed backward, yanking the Savven straight out of Siv’s hand. His injured right arm fell to his side, spasms rendering it useless.
Siv slashed with the second blade, and the creature retreated, hackles raised. The stench of rotten fruit was overwhelming now. Dara took in an ugly, hairless head and bulbous eyes as it prowled at the edge of the hollow. Pure animal rage quivered in those eyes. She’d never seen anything like it.
Siv swore steadily under his breath as he waited for the monster’s next move. The creature stalked them on all fours, its movements somewhere between those of a cat and a primate. It was bigger than Dara and Siv combined—bigger than a mountain bear—and it wasn’t backing down.
Dara hurled her rock at the grotesque bald head, hoping to distract the creature long enough for Siv to finish it off. The rock struck its broad snout with a thunk. Instead of being disoriented, the monster let out a snarl that shook the roots of the mountain and launched itself toward Dara with all the strength in its horrible body.
Siv struck as the creature attacked, his reflexes lightning fast, and sank his blade through its chest all the way to the hilt. The momentum of the savage assault carried the animal forward, bowling Siv over. The creature slammed on top of him with the force of an avalanche and let out a final bone-chilling growl as it died.
“Are you okay?” Dara scrambled forward on her knees. She could barely see Siv beneath the massive, still-quivering corpse.
“This thing stinks,” he wheezed. “Get it off me before I pass out!”
Dara let out a relieved breath and edged around the creature, pulling her Savven blade from its meaty shoulder as she passed. She wiped it quickly before the creature’s putrid black blood could stain the blade. Then she wrapped her hands around a clawed hind foot and pulled.
The creature didn’t budge.
“Anytime, Dara,” Siv said, his voice muffled by the inky fur.
“I’m trying.” She pulled harder, and the monster slid a few inches. After a decade of daily training, Dara was strong and well built, but even if she’d been at her best, she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to lift the thing. Now, with her body still severely weakened by her encounter with the Fire, she felt like a child trying to move a grown man.
She shifted her grip on the animal and braced her feet against the stones at the entrance to their hollow, limbs trembling. Had they accidentally taken the creature’s living space, or was it looking for a meal? They probably would have noticed the smell if the hollow had been its nest. She pulled harder, the effort making spots float before her eyes, and Siv groaned. His stitches couldn’t possibly all be intact at this point. The carcass slid a few inches. This was going to take a while.
Suddenly, a shuffling sound came from behind Dara. Her hand flew to her Savven blade, her body tensing painfully. But it was Rumy who appeared at her elbow. Snow and ice coated the cur-dragon’s scaly back. He looked unharmed, even a little smug. Rumy immediately took hold of the strange animal’s other hind leg and helped Dara haul it off of Siv. Rumy was big for a cur-dragon, but he looked small beside the fallen monster.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Siv said as he sat up, scrubbing at the black blood and fur covering his cloak.
Rumy dropped the creature’s leg and gave him an injured look.
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” Siv said. “You were doing very important work. You sure took your time about it, though.”
“We should move this thing farther away,” Dara said. The creature didn’t smell any better dead than it had alive.
“How about it, boy?” Siv said. Rumy fixed him with a flat stare and didn’t budge.
“I think you offended him this time,” Dara said.
Rumy huffed and shook the snow off his back. Then he curled up on the floor of the hollow and put his head under his wing.
“Fine.” Siv pulled himself to his feet and helped Dara drag the dead creature a few paces farther away from the entrance to the hollow. It left a trail of black blood in the snow.
“What is this thing?” Dara said, dropping it heavily as soon as it was far enough away from their hiding place. She scanned the darkness for any sign of their pursuers. The mountain was empty except for them and the dead monster.
“That’s a cullmoran if I’ve ever seen one,” Siv said, yanking his rapier from its chest.
“Have you seen one before?” Dara asked.
“Nope. First time for everything.”
They limped back to the hollow, leaving the putrid creature behind. They kicked snow over the blood trail as they went. More snow fell steadily from the sky. With luck it would cover their tracks—and the dead animal—before long.
Rumy was still curled up on the rocky floor of the hollow. He lifted his wing and sniffed at them and then turned his face away.
“We’d better keep moving,” Dara said.
“Come on, boy,” Siv said. “It’s time to go.”
Rumy ignored him, ruffling his wings and letting out what sounded suspiciously like a feigned snore.
“He might have a point,” Siv said. “We should sleep for a few hours.”
Dara sighed, lacking the energy to argue. She’d never wanted anything more than she wanted sleep at that moment. She couldn’t stand feeling weak. If she was going to resume her protector role, she needed rest. “All right. Let’s hope nothing comes near that carcass in the meantime.”
“The smell should keep unwanted visitors away,” Siv said. “And we’ll definitely feel more stealthy after a nap.”
“Agreed.”
They crammed in on either side of Rumy. He gave them an a
nnoyed grunt but shifted around so they’d have some room. His body was hot and reassuring, and Dara soon drifted to sleep with the steady beat of the cur-dragon’s heart keeping her warm.
2.
The Road
SIV slept fitfully. He hadn’t told Dara just how bad his injuries felt after his scuffle with the cullmoran. Two of his wounds had reopened, and he had to apply pressure for a while to stop the bleeding. He kept quiet, not wanting Dara to worry. Although she didn’t have any stab wounds, she needed time to recover from her ordeal with the Fire too. She had given up far too easily when he suggested they rest. He had never known her to tire before him in practice, and if she felt worn out now, she must be in bad shape.
Siv managed a few hours of rest, listening to Dara and Rumy breathe in the darkness. Night had fallen, and precious little moonlight reached them through the thick veil of snow.
It was hard to believe it had only been one day since a wall of Fire had shot up around Square Peak and changed everything. Only a day since an army of swordsmen had burst into the Great Hall, followed closely by the towering figure of Lantern Maker Ruminor.
Siv could just make out the faint shine of Dara’s golden hair in the darkness. Something large stirred in his chest. She had saved him from her father, risking his wrath—and her life—but it hadn’t been enough. The Lantern Maker had won.
Siv shifted on the rocks, welcoming the pain in an effort to distract himself from completing his recollection of the night before. But the images came to him anyway: swordsmen leaving his sister’s tower, blades dripping red. Pool’s body sprawled on the ground. The destruction of everything he held dear.
He had failed. It was his duty as a king to rule well and protect his realm. It was his duty as a brother to take care of his sister. Now they were both gone. He couldn’t do anything to help by staying in Vertigon, but he was wracked by guilt for fleeing. It didn’t matter that his body had been slashed to shreds and his allies had been defeated. He was still running away.
Poor Sora. Even though they teased each other mercilessly, they had grown closer since their father died. Sora had helped him navigate his first days as king. She had a good head for politics, she was observant, and she gave surprisingly good advice. Siv’s insides twisted as though he were being stabbed again. It had all gone so wrong.
His only hope now was to find his mother and other sister safe in Trure, the kingdom of his grandfather. He needed to regroup and decide what to do. He doubted he could retake his crown without throwing the mountain into turmoil. Besides, Vertigon was virtually unassailable. Getting down the mountain was hard enough. They could never bring an army up it—even if that was what Siv wanted.
No, he faced a future in exile, unless the Lantern Maker sent assassins after him to finish the job. He may try to eliminate the Amintelle line entirely, which kept Siv moving toward Trure. He had failed Sora, but he could still protect Selivia.
Dara moved beside him, mumbling in her sleep. She had to be struggling with what had happened last night too. Confronting her father must have been agonizing. Siv and Dara had barely spoken in the days leading up to the feast, but they had patched things up beforehand. He still felt hurt that she had kept the truth about his father’s murderer from him. But now Dara was all he had in the world. His trust in her had been fractured, but it hadn’t been destroyed.
He thought of their encounter with the creature now stinking up their hiding place. As he had stared into the cullmoran’s ugly maw, for one wild moment Siv had wondered if everyone would be better off if it won. It would be a gruesome death, but quick. He almost felt he deserved to fall for failing his kingdom. But a visceral need to survive and protect kept him fighting. He wouldn’t allow that revolting bastard to beat him, not with Dara behind him. If he didn’t defeat the monster, it would kill her next. Siv couldn’t let that happen. Not to his Dara.
He reached beneath Rumy’s wing and took Dara’s hand in his. Sword calluses textured her palm and index finger, reminders of her strength and dedication. She shifted sleepily, but her breathing remained steady. Siv didn’t move for a moment, holding Dara’s hand, thinking about what would happen next. He was no longer the king. He was no longer betrothed to the treacherous Lady Tull. What did that mean for him and Dara? That large something shifted in his chest again.
He eased back against the rough stones, ignoring the throbbing of his wounds and the sting of his memories. He held on to the thought of a future with Dara, one shimmery gold thread against the darkness, as he dropped to sleep.
When Siv awoke, the world was quiet. Dara and Rumy were still asleep, and the wind had stopped. Fingers of silver stretched through the opening to the hollow, a trace of moonlight piercing the darkness. Siv released Dara’s hand and crawled out from beneath Rumy’s warm belly.
The mountain glowed white. The moon was sliding down, almost at the crest of the nearby peak, but the air was crystal clear. Siv estimated he had slept for nearly five hours as the blizzard retreated. He felt refreshed, though his wounds ached worse than ever. And he was hungry! He’d probably be even hungrier if the stench of the dead cullmoran weren’t still filling the air around their hollow.
The snowfall had wiped away their tracks from the night before. Unfortunately, it also hid any sign of their pursuers. They had no way of knowing if the men had turned back or if they might encounter them somewhere farther down the road. Each switchback presented new opportunities to be captured, but they had to take the chance.
Siv turned back to the hollow. “Dara,” he whispered. “Are you awake? It stopped snowing.”
Dara jolted upright, and Rumy scrambled off her, flapping his wings irritably.
“How long was I asleep?” she said urgently. She looked disoriented but as ready for a duel as ever.
“Not long enough, probably. What do you say we make some progress before it starts snowing again?”
Dara agreed and joined him at the entrance to the hollow. They shared some of the jerky and flatbread Vine had packed for them, then scrambled down the slope to the road. Dara seemed sprightlier than the day before. Hopefully with a bit more sleep she’d be as good as new soon. She’d probably make him run laps or something as soon as she was healthy, but it would be worth it to see her back to her usual self.
“Think we should travel off the path?” Dara asked.
Siv scanned the mountainside. There was no sign of lights or movement anywhere. It felt as if they were the only people in the world.
“I think speed should be our priority right now,” he said. “The Lantern Maker won’t give up.”
“No,” Dara said, her expression grim. “He won’t.”
They resumed their journey, walking side by side down the switchbacks, the deep snow crunching under their boots. The path narrowed at times, and they drew closer together, not speaking much. The moonlight faded, replaced by a predawn gray.
They continued deeper into the Fissure, only sometimes able to see the bottom where the canyon wound down toward the Lands Below. Siv had made this journey many times before, but never in the depths of winter. Normally when he traveled to Trure with his family, they passed through blooming, verdant orchards and meandered back and forth down the side of King’s Peak at a leisurely pace. Tough mountain ponies would carry their luggage, and Siv’s grandfather would send horses to meet them at the bottom of the Final Stair. This was where the switchbacks of the trail ended and a weathered stretch of Fireworked stone steps descended the rest of the way to the bottom of the Fissure. It was nerve-wracking enough to walk the Final Stair in the spring. Siv was not excited about taking those steps covered in ice. Rumy could melt them clear, but there was no sense in announcing their position with such fanfare. The tracks they left in the deep snow of the path were bad enough. If only they had thought to bring Heatstones! He’d definitely think of that next time he had to flee for his life in the dead of winter.
The sky grew lighter, and King’s and Village Peaks cast sharp shadows on the slo
pes of Square Peak across the Fissure. Another road led down the side of Square, but there was no movement on it as far as Siv could tell. What had happened over there in the aftermath of the Fireworker attack? Had anyone tried to resist? Rafe had had a full day by now to cow any remaining opposition and establish his reign. Siv hoped the crown gave him a headache.
They had lunch while they walked, passing through an orchard full of leafless trees. It was deserted at this time of year, and the trees cast creepy shadows across their path even in the middle of the day. Sadly, all the fruit had been harvested months ago, and they still had to rely on bland traveling rations.
“How are you holding up?” Siv asked Dara around a tough bite of goat jerky.
“Better. I tried to draw on the Fire again, but I couldn’t find any in the stones.”
“Think they used it all up in the attack?”
“It doesn’t really work like that.” Dara rubbed a hand across the hilt of her Savven blade. “The Fire can be solidified into things, so it’s finite, but it can also be reused depending on what you do with it. You know how Fire Gates work, right?”
“Don’t remind me about Fire Gates,” Siv said. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice toasty Gate right now.”
Dara smiled. “I’m cold too. But the Gates just circulate Fire to warm a room. They don’t use up much of the power. Most of it can be recycled. I’d be willing to bet that wall was the same.”
“Just how much do you know about the Fire?” Siv asked.
“I grew up around it.”
“Isn’t it different now that you can Work, though?”
Dara was quiet for a moment. She kicked the dark toes of her boots through the ice-white snow.
“Yes, I suppose it is. I learned more from the Fire Warden over the past two months than I did from my parents in years. I guess I paid closer attention when the lectures about the Fire became relevant to me.”
“Oh right. You were training with Zage.” Siv couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. It still stung that his closest friend and his oldest advisor had conspired to keep several massive secrets from him.
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