steel and fire 03 - dance of steel

by rivet, jordan

  Then the boat hit a patch of ice, and they both pitched over the side.

  The cold shock of the water devastated Dara’s senses. It was like being hit with a massive jolt of Fire and a blow to the head at the same time. She was almost too surprised to do anything. Through sheer luck, her head broke the surface, and she gasped in a breath.

  “Dara!”

  Siv swam swiftly toward her as the river carried them downstream. The boat picked up speed, shooting beyond their reach. Rumy poked his head above the gunwale with a surprised squawk. Dara’s sodden cloak dragged at her, but they were moving too quickly for her to sink. The snowy riverbank swept by, and cold and terror hit Dara at the same moment. She swallowed a huge gulp of icy water.

  A second later, Siv grabbed her arm.

  “Swim,” he urged.

  “Right,” she choked. Now wasn’t the time to tell him she couldn’t. She kicked hard, her muscles screaming in protest. She wasn’t sure what to do with her arms, so she flailed one and held onto Siv with the other. They swept forward, not getting any closer to the riverbank as far as Dara could tell.

  “There’s a bend coming up,” Siv called. “Try to swim crossways out of the current.”

  Dara was concentrating too hard on keeping her head above water to respond. Then she caught a glimpse of the shore straight ahead. That must be the bend Siv was talking about. She kicked harder, imagining that she was hurling herself into a flying lunge with each stroke. More water rushed down her throat, blade-sharp and freezing.

  They inched closer to the river’s edge. The bend neared far too rapidly. Dara kicked and flailed, knowing full well that her life depended on it. She wouldn’t die now, not when they had made it this far.

  Suddenly Siv rose out of the water. Dara gasped, disoriented, before she realized he was standing up. They had reached shallower water where the river rushed around the bend. Siv turned and hauled Dara the rest of the way out of the high-speed current. They trudged through the shallows and crawled out of the water. Siv flopped onto the snowy riverbank, his breathing ragged. Dara wanted nothing more than to lie down beside him, but they weren’t out of danger yet.

  “Get up,” she said urgently. “We have to take our clothes off.”

  “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you to say that,” Siv said sleepily.

  “This isn’t a joke.”

  “Of course not, Dara. You never joke.”

  “The cold will kill us almost as fast as the water,” Dara said. She yanked on Siv’s arm until he grudgingly sat up and began undoing his cloak with clumsy fingers.

  A dark shape rushed overhead, and Rumy settled onto the snow beside them. He snapped his jaws anxiously. Dara hoped he’d gotten enough rest in the bottom of the boat to make fire again. They were going to need it.

  “We should move farther under the trees,” Siv said. “Less snow there. I’m burning tired of snow.” Despite his joking tone, he was removing his coat and boots as quickly as Dara. He understood the danger they were in.

  “Good idea.” Dara dumped the water out of her own boots, which were stiff and icy, and picked up the cloak and coat she’d already taken off. They hurried away from the river under the cover of the trees. Each step on the frozen ground was like walking on knives.

  Rumy trundled along beside them. He sneezed, releasing a burst of flame as if to show them he was ready to help. Dara was about to remove the rest of her clothes and begin gathering firewood, when she spotted something through the trees.

  “What’s that?”

  “This? Why, this is the makings of a fine pair of scars,” Siv said. He had already pulled off his shirt, and he prodded at the bandage across his ribs. It was soaked with blood as well as water.

  “No, that.” Dara pointed through the trees at a structure in the darkness. It had a thatched roof, and Dara never would have noticed it if not for a slight glint of metal that had caught her eye when Rumy sneezed out a burst of light. It must have come from the heavy steel latch holding the door shut.

  “Oh. That,” Siv said, “might be our first dose of luck in a long time.”

  He strode through the trees, and Dara followed. His broad shoulders looked bluish from the cold, but his steps were sure and straight. They reached the structure, a little cabin set in a clearing no bigger than the Ruminor dwelling back on Village Peak. The shutters were closed, and the place looked abandoned. Siv knocked once, and when no one answered, he lifted the latch and pushed the door open with a rusty squeak. He stepped back and held the door for Dara, teeth chattering.

  “Welcome, my lady.”

  “Are you sure it’s empty?”

  “Probably doesn’t matter now, unless you’d rather freeze to death,” Siv said.

  “Fair point.” Dara entered the cabin, catching a whiff of dust and dry earth. It was almost as cold inside as outside, but at least the cabin appeared to be vacant.

  “This used to be a messengers’ rest stop,” Siv said. “My father showed it to me once. They don’t use it much anymore, though. Too far from the road.”

  “That’s good for us.”

  Dara groped around in the dark for a light. Rumy shuffled in behind her, rubbing against her legs, and Siv let the door fall shut.

  “There should be a lantern or something,” Siv said. A bang and a clatter echoed through the cabin, and he let out a curse directed at whatever he had stumbled over.

  Dara moved more slowly. Her body was beginning to go numb. This was not good. They needed to get warm soon. Her knees collided with something soft. She reached down and felt the quilted top of a bed.

  Light burst around her, killing the shadows in an instant.

  “Found the Fire Lantern!” Siv said proudly. He held up the Work, wrought in a simple style, which must have been covered with a cloth when it wasn’t in use. He had moved to the right of the door while Dara moved to the left, and now he faced her across the cabin. There was a small table beside him, where the Fire Lantern had been sitting, and a chair on its side, which must have been what he had tripped over. The cabin had a cupboard topped with a stone washbasin, and an old boot with a hole in the toe leaned in a corner. A layer of dust coated everything. Rumy pranced across the center of the cabin, snapping at dust motes floating in the Firelight.

  An old fireplace waited at the foot of the bed. More importantly, cut wood was stacked beside it in a teetering, moldy pile.

  “Good news,” Dara said. “We’re not going to die after all.”

  They built a wood fire quickly. Neither of them had ever done it before, having grown up on the Fire Mountain, but it was remarkably easy with a cur-dragon for a companion. They simply tossed a bunch of wood into the fireplace and had Rumy hurl flames at it until the logs dried and caught fire. Satisfied with his work, Rumy curled up in front of the roaring inferno and went to sleep.

  In addition to the quilt spread across it, more blankets were folded at the foot of the bed. These smelled musty, and the top one had a light pattern of mildew. Dara and Siv were shivering so hard they barely noticed. They took off the rest of their clothes and spread them over the table, chairs, and the foot of the bed to dry. Dara was too cold to feel embarrassed. She had seen Siv without his shirt before, and as much as she wanted to sneak another look or two, she had to focus on getting warm. They quickly wrapped themselves in dry blankets and crawled under the quilt.

  Dara’s teeth chattered so hard they hurt, and her muscles had begun to seize up. The room warmed quickly with the crackling fire, but it took longer for the heat to work into her body. She burrowed further into the blankets, scooting closer to Siv to share his warmth. He didn’t have as much to spare as usual, but he hugged her to his bare chest and shivered alongside her.

  The sudden closeness might have made her shy in other circumstances. She was near enough to hear Siv’s heartbeat, to feel the soft hair on his chest against her cheek, to smell the blood seeping through his bandages. Dara had never dared hope they might one day be wrapped up together l
ike this without the barrier of his crown between them. She had spent months fearing that any intimacy would only make things harder in the end. But now? She didn’t know what their future held, but he wasn’t the king anymore. Her heart thundered in her chest as she considered the possibilities. She very nearly forgot how exhausted she was.

  But at last, the ordeal of their flight began to catch up to her. A fog slipped around her senses. She fought to stay awake. She wanted to enjoy having Siv’s arms around her for a little while longer. His fingers brushed her skin, tender and warm. For the first time Dara allowed hope full rein in her heart. Could they be together after all? She was afraid to speak, afraid to ask what he thought lest the hope shatter like glass. Without so much as a good night, she pressed her face into his shoulder, pulled the blankets over their heads, and succumbed to sleep.

  4.

  Soraline

  SORALINE Amintelle paced across her antechamber. She had been shut in her room for a day and a half, ever since her world ended. She was not allowed to speak to anyone, and she had no idea what was happening in the rest of the castle. A pair of Soolen guards stood watch outside her door at all hours, vigilant and grim. They responded to every question, plea, and rebuke with the same stony silence.

  Sora scrubbed angrily at her red-streaked cheeks. She felt as if she’d been crying nonstop, but she was out of tears now. All she could do was pace and pace and wait for the Lantern Maker to determine her fate.

  Rafe Ruminor had told her she would be queen. It was all she had ever wanted. For one terrible moment she had felt happy. Sora cringed at the memory of the uncontrollable burst of joy she’d felt at the idea of herself as the Queen of Vertigon. It was a mini betrayal on a night that had been full of them. But she knew the Lantern Maker wanted a puppet, someone with the Amintelle name who could give the illusion that a coup had not destroyed the Peace of Vertigon. He wanted her to wear the crown of her fathers and rule in their name, all while doing exactly what he said like a good little girl.

  We’ll see about that.

  Sora’s pacing took her to the window, where Vertigon sparkled white in the snow. The sun rose in a clear sky. It had snowed all day yesterday, making Sora feel as if she were enclosed in a swirling white cage instead of her tower bedroom. Now every rooftop was coated in a thick blanket, giving the illusion that all was well. The city was quiet, as if her people had decided to hide away until spring.

  Sora drummed her fingers on the windowsill, feeling the cold seeping through the heavy glass. She was the last Amintelle left on the mountain. Her mother and sister were far away. Her father was dead. Her brother was dead. She was alone. And she wasn’t even the queen yet. Not truly.

  But after a day and a night of crying, anger was all she had left—and she’d had enough of waiting. She marched to the door and pounded her fist against it.

  “I want to see the Lantern Maker,” she shouted.

  “He will speak with you later.”

  “When?”

  “When he has time.”

  Sora scowled at the door, imagining her guards could see her displeasure.

  She was under no illusions about what the Lantern Maker expected of her. She would be queen in name only. Her name had always been all that mattered. Noblemen courted her for it. Usurpers spared her for it. It didn’t matter that she actually had a good idea of how to run a kingdom. It didn’t matter that she’d invested far more time than her brother in getting to know the nobility and understanding the intricacies of the political system, both in Vertigon and the Lands Below. No, she would be made queen for her name and be queen in name alone.

  She had to admit it was a decent strategy. Vertigon would balk at the idea of a coup. The Amintelles had ruled it well for a hundred years. If the Lantern Maker gave the impression that the attack on the royal family had failed and the Amintelles remained in power, it would assuage the fears of those who could otherwise cause trouble for him. She suspected he would spend a few years strengthening his hold over the kingdom through her—until he no longer needed the façade. Then he’d poison her tea or ship her off to a foreign land. She had a lot of work to do before then if she meant to stop him.

  Sora banged on the door again. “I demand to see the Lantern Maker,” she said. “I’ll throw myself from the window if you don’t bring him to me.”

  There was silence outside. Sora doubted the guards believed her. She certainly had no intention of resorting to suicide after only a day and a half as a prisoner. But her guards must have decided they couldn’t take the risk. She heard the tap of footsteps as one of them left to fetch her captor at last.

  Sora settled into her armchair to wait.

  Her antechamber was neat and orderly. She had carefully arranged all of her books and maps on a pair of shelves opposite the windows. Her couch had a pair of cushions at each end with embroidered covers imported all the way from Soole. A Soolen tapestry hung on her wall between the two windows, depicting a ship leaving the harbor for a journey across the Ammlen Ocean. Sora scowled at the tapestry. She’d loved the idea of brokering an alliance between Vertigon and Soole by marrying the Crown Prince. It was to be her legacy. Then the Soolen army had invaded Cindral Forest and sent men to join the coup against her brother, perhaps in concert with House Rollendar. She still wasn’t sure how all the pieces fit together, but she was much less enthusiastic about the idea of Soole now.

  Captain Thrashe, one of the men who guarded her door, was from Soole. Sora saw him whenever her serving woman delivered her meals. They weren’t permitted to speak to each other. Captain Thrashe would loom above the poor woman, arms folded over his barrel chest, and watch her with his single eye. A battered leather patch covered the other eye socket, not quite hiding the long scar across it. The serving woman would set down Sora’s tray of food with shaking hands, give her a frightened smile, and flee that one-eyed stare. She was never allowed to stay long enough to clean, but Sora always kept her space tidy anyway. Captain Thrashe would depart without a word, ignoring her attempts to talk to him or win him to her side. He remained immovable and silent. Her threat had done the trick, though.

  Sora tapped her foot impatiently and adjusted the sleeves of her simple maroon dress. She wished she were wearing Amintelle blue to confront the Lantern Maker, but it was too late to change now. She combed her fingers through her curly dark hair and tied it back with a black ribbon.

  At last the door opened, and Rafe Ruminor the Lantern Maker swept in. He was an imposing man, tall and broad, with a strong jaw and golden hair edged with gray. He carried a roll of papers under one arm like a scepter. In his other hand, he held the Amintelle crown. He seemed to fill the space, as proud as if he were a king in his own right—and always had been.

  Sora remained seated, lifting her chin like a true queen, and met his eyes despite the nerves sending fireflies through her stomach. “Master Ruminor.”

  “I understand you wish to speak with me,” he said. “I’ve been rather busy, but I had to give you this anyway. Congratulations, Queen Sora.”

  He held out the crown as though it were nothing more than a mug of cider. The Firejewels in its band winked cruelly. Sora’s fingers twitched, but she did not take it.

  “Come now, we needn’t stand on ceremony,” Rafe said. “The crown is yours, as we discussed.”

  “Rulers of Vertigon are crowned before the body of their predecessor,” Sora said. “It’s tradition.”

  “Traditions change,” Rafe said. He smiled indulgently at her. “I expect you and I will change a number of them in the new Vertigon.”

  Sora’s grip tightened on the arms of her chair. The crown still glittered in the Lantern Maker’s hand. “I want to see my brother’s body.”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Besides, your brother’s body was not . . . presentable. Sword fights are savage business.”

  Sora swallowed as the urge to cry rose up in her again. She clutched for the anger and held onto it like a kite string.

&
nbsp; “How do I know he’s really dead?”

  “My dear,” Rafe said, not unkindly. “You’ve been through a lot. I am sorry for your loss, but imprinting the image of your brother’s corpse on your mind will not make it easier to move on.”

  “But—”

  “I lost my daughter, you know, and I shall never forget the sight of her body.”

  “Dara’s dead?” Sora asked, caught off guard.

  “Not Dara. My firstborn. Long ago.” Rafe frowned, his eyes glazing for a moment. Then he straightened and crossed to the table. He set the crown on it with a thunk. “When you are ready.”

  Sora sat straighter in her chair, resisting the urge to stand.

  “I can’t remain imprisoned here.”

  “I quite agree,” Rafe said. “You’ll make a public appearance soon. The arrangements are already underway.”

  “If you plan to rule through me,” she said, “we’ll have to communicate.”

  “I have not forgotten our bargain. There will be no need to resort to dramatics in the future.” Rafe set the roll of papers on the table beside the crown. “You are to be the queen, but I have particular plans for Vertigon. You can start by signing these royal edicts.” He smiled as he turned for the door. “Feel free to read them first if you wish.”

  Sora scowled at his back as he swept out. She caught a glimpse of Captain Thrashe outside before the Lantern Maker closed the door behind him. She leapt from her seat as soon as he was gone and resumed her pacing.