If Kel noticed her strong reaction to him, he didn’t let on. He simply returned to scanning the courtyard, keeping an eye on the three guards who had been loyal to her brother. He was wiry and strong, though only a few inches taller than Sora herself. He carried a sword, the Rollendar House sigil glinting on the pommel. She wondered if Oat, Telvin, and the red-bearded guard would have a chance against Kel and his two companions. No, the red-bearded guard moved stiffly and appeared to be injured, and Kel was supposed to be among the best young duelists in Vertigon. Her guard had clearly been selected with care.
The Lantern Maker’s wife, Lima Ruminor, met them outside the castle gates. A luxurious fur muff warmed her hands, and she stood tall and regal in the snow. Sora could easily see the resemblance to Dara. They had similar height and handsome features, though there was a cruel sharpness to Lima’s thin lips.
“Did she give you any trouble, Lieutenant Benzen?” she asked.
“Not at all, Madame Ruminor,” answered the bronze-haired Vertigonian officer. Apparently he didn’t consider the fact that Sora had been chatting with her guards-under-guard to be troublesome. Maybe she could use that.
“Good. Are you ready?” Lima said.
Sora inclined her head, the crown slipping forward slightly. “I know what I have to say.”
“Keep in mind that we will have Fireworkers on hand should you try anything. Can we expect any trouble from you?”
“No. I will adhere to our agreement,” Sora said hollowly.
“See that you do.”
Lima turned and led the way down the icy steps into Lower King’s Peak. In their few interactions, Lima had never referred to Sora with an honorarium, not even a standard “my lady.” If she wasn’t mistaken, Lima herself wasn’t a Fireworker at all. Sora wondered where she got her confidence. And her bitterness.
Lima was right to be wary, though. Today Sora would come face to face with some of her family’s longtime supporters—the very people the Ruminors must have been worried about when they decided to establish her as their figurehead. So far Sora had met with several groups of nobles chosen from among the Ruminors’ allies. Her captors had tested whether she would speak out against them before they risked displaying her in front of a wider audience. But today she would prove whether or not she’d be a good little puppet.
Sora hadn’t dared ask any of the nobles for help yet. She had a pretty good idea which ones had supported the usurpation plot led by House Rollendar. The Zurrens, the Samanars, and of course the Denmores and Ferringtons were at the top of the list. The Ruminors may not realize how well informed she was, though. Sora had made a habit of paying close attention to the friendships among the nobility for years now. None of the visitors she’d received so far would offer her any assistance. She hadn’t even tried, and hoped the Ruminors would take that for cooperation.
Still, the Ruminors had to show the rest of the mountain that Sora was indeed alive and well. So this afternoon, they had arranged for her biggest test yet.
The temperature dropped as they descended the long steps from the castle, and the wind drove ice across Sora’s cheeks. She kept her head high, knowing that the people must be watching her from the curtained windows of their dwellings and greathouses as she passed. She had to show them how Amintelles carried themselves in a crisis. She had to be brave.
The guards were a comfort, even though three of them were prisoners too. They formed a loose box around her, helping to block the wind. Oat’s height and Telvin’s broad-shouldered form were familiar shapes in her peripheral vision. She could almost imagine that her brother walked beside her, that Lima was Dara, and that they were just out for another stroll on their mountain.
She hadn’t seen much of the Lantern Maker over the past few days, but she was starting to get a clearer picture of his plans. He had sent a letter to Sora’s grandfather in Trure blaming Soole for her brother’s death. It was convenient for him that Soole had so recently made aggressive movements beyond their boundaries. But Rafe had also sent a letter to the royal family in Soole itself, not so subtly blaming the city-state of Pendark for the assassinations and suggesting that a new alliance between Soole and Vertigon would be welcome. There had been swordsmen from Soole amongst her brother’s attackers, and until this excursion all her guards had been Soolen too.
Rafe was playing a dangerous game in trying to provoke both Trure and Soole—and in getting Pendark involved—especially while apparently working with Soolen allies. She wasn’t sure of his end goal yet, but it went far behind pulling the strings behind the throne of Vertigon. He wanted to extend his influence into the Lands Below, something that no Vertigonian leader had attempted for centuries.
He’d also made her sign edicts granting noble status to the most-powerful Fireworkers and revoking any restrictions on the flow of the Fire through the mountain. Today, they’d be making that change official.
Despite these hints about Rafe’s ambitions, he couldn’t move too quickly. He still had to show the people that all was well and that Vertigon remained stable. Sora’s contingent of Vertigonian guards—most of them recognizable sport duelists—would reassure the people that Soole was not in control. Sora wondered whether anyone would figure out her actions weren’t her own. She had no idea if she had any friends left on the mountain at all.
Sora and her entourage processed through Lower King’s Peak, collecting a small following of curious onlookers. They reached a broad, sloping avenue lined on either side with shops. They continued their slow parade all the way to the end, where a stone fountain was situated above a small cliff. A semicircle of stone seats cut into the slope above the fountain, forming a small amphitheater in the hillside where people could sit and enjoy the view when the weather was good.
The fountain had been dry for as long as Sora could remember. Snow piled within its low stone basin, and ice glistened on the statue rising above it. The statue was shaped like a Firewielder of old, her hands raised high over the outlook. She wore a long cloak, and holes in the palm of each hand indicated where water had once flowed into the basin. The statue’s face was rubbed smooth with age, leaving only a hint of a strong jaw and a high, proud forehead.
A few people already sat on the stone steps facing the fountain, their hands wrapped around Heatstones to protect against the cold. She recognized old Lord Silltine and Lords Roven and Farrow, among others. Those three houses had long been loyal to the Amintelles. A handful of influential merchants who’d enjoyed great prosperity under her family’s rule were here too, skepticism carved in their furrowed brows and thinned lips. The well-connected Lady Atria sat with this group, wearing a scarlet cloak, the edges dusted with snow.
The nobles stood as Sora approached with her guards. Lord Silltine’s wrinkled face was placid, and he kept his arms wrapped tight beneath his cloak, as if to steady shaking hands. Lord Roven looked at her with concern and pity. He hadn’t brought his wife or young daughter to this event, even though Sora knew they had been invited. He and the others must still be wondering exactly who ruled Vertigon now. How much did they know about what had happened a few days ago? And if she called on them, would they help her?
They may not be effectual even if they wanted to assist her. Carefully placed beside each nobleman or lady was a Fireworker. Raising the status of the Fireworkers had been one of the primary goals behind the coup. The Workers looked incongruous beside the nobles, with their cloaks bearing house sigils. In many cases the Fireworkers’ clothing was just as fine as the nobles’, but where the nobles were wary, smug triumph painted every Fireworker’s face. Master Corren, a Firegold spinner and known ally of the Ruminors, looked as happy as if it were his birthday.
Rafe Ruminor himself stood beside the snow-covered fountain, wearing a coat of a deep red that was almost black. Firegold embroidery curled around the high collar. He had a regal presence, drawing every eye. The sun caught his golden and white hair, making it glimmer like a crown. Sora resisted the urge to reach up and touch the cro
wn resting on her own head.
Rafe nodded at his wife, and Lima bent down to whisper in Sora’s ear.
“Do not deviate from the speech we prepared.”
“I know.”
“Do you have it memorized?”
“Of course.” Sora lifted her chin and strode forward. She didn’t have to grasp for anger to combat her fear now. It flooded her like rain in a gully. She was about to betray everything her family had stood for over the past century, and she had no recourse to resist. “Good afternoon, my lords and ladies. Thank you for coming out in the cold for this special ceremony.”
A wave of bows swept through the little crowd. More onlookers gathered to see what was going on.
“As you know, I lost my father several months ago, and my brother perished last week in attacks by a company of assassins from Soole.” Sora repeated the words she had memorized, her voice sounding small as it disappeared into the mountain air. “I wish to thank each of you for the condolences you have sent to the castle over the past few days.” She hadn’t seen any of these notes of condolence herself, but Lima had told her to mention them. “It is my deepest wish that I will be able to serve Vertigon as the Amintelle family has for generations. In that spirit, I have asked Lantern Maker Ruminor to advise me in the days to come as my Chief Regent.”
Rafe bowed his head, not quite managing to look humble. He would no doubt be perceived as a reliable leader next to a short, round-cheeked teenage girl. Sora wished she could speak without her voice shaking. But whether fear or anger had greater prominence, she couldn’t achieve the icy calm she’d hoped for.
“As you all know, Vertigon owes its status as one of the great kingdoms to the presence of the Fire and the noble efforts of the Fireworkers.” She glanced at the Workers in the crowd. Master Corren fingered the Firegold embroidery on the sleeve of his fine coat, grinning widely. Lord Roven met her eyes, his face a flat mask.
“With the help of the Fire,” Sora continued, “we can make sure Vertigon remains strong in the face of Soole’s attempts to harm us. As one of the first acts of my reign, I have decided to acknowledge the great work of those who tamed our Fire. I have granted nobility to all Fireworkers who can wield the power at a high level—as determined by the Chief Regent—and I look to them to shore up our defenses against the forces of Soole. The greatest amongst the Wielders will henceforth be full members of the royal court.”
Mutters broke out amongst the nobles. It may have sounded like a simple statement, but with these words Sora was changing the entire balance of power in Vertigon. The speech glossed over the part about only the strongest Workers attaining nobility. Rafe had already given her a list, and she had little doubt it only contained his closest allies.
“My . . . my father planned to carry out this very edict before he died.”
Lima gave her a sharp look, and Sora fought to keep her features neutral. Her father most certainly had not planned any such thing. Lying about his wishes felt like an insult to his memory, but she had no choice right now. “As a symbol of our renewed strength, and in memory of my father and brother, I have gathered you here to rededicate the Fountain of Pala.”
Sora turned to the worn stone figure. She couldn’t bear to make eye contact with any of the Workers or nobles anymore. They must know now that her actions were not her own. The question was whether they would take a stand against the Fireworkers to help her. She didn’t know if any of them believed as strongly as her father had that the Workers needed to be controlled. Setting them loose was a dangerous thing. But there was nothing she could do to stop it. Yet.
Rafe drew himself up, and the muttering crowds fell silent. He stretched a hand toward the stone statue in the center of the fountain, not quite touching it. He kept his eyes open and focused on the figure with the intensity of a master craftsman.
At first they heard nothing. Rafe stared at the statue of Pala, his face like iron. Stillness reigned on the mountainside. Then a few of the Workers began to murmur, as if they could sense something happening. Something powerful. Sweat beaded on the Lantern Maker’s high forehead. Still, he didn’t move.
Then the statue began to vibrate. Sora’s heartbeat quickened. The nobles muttered behind her. Feet scraped nervously against stone. The vibrations intensified, and a low rumble built within the mountain. Sora clenched her fists to keep her hands from trembling.
Suddenly, the snow filling the basin around the fountain melted rapidly, turning to water and then to steam. Heat poured over Sora’s face, but she didn’t step back from the fountain. She had agreed to the Lantern Maker’s demands. She could not retreat now.
A groan came from deep within the earth. The ground around the fountain warmed up, sending needles of heat through Sora’s legs. More snow melted, spreading outward from the fountain in a ring. Sora glanced at the nobles, who shifted uneasily on the hot stones. Lord Silltine took a few tottering steps away from his seat and bumped into Telvin Jale, who reached out to steady the old man.
Sora looked back at the stone fountain and the Lantern Maker. Sweat bathed Rafe’s forehead now, and his eyes burned as bright as Firegold for an instant.
Then the statue of Pala gave a mighty shudder, and Fire burst from its fingertips. The molten magic glowed hot, shimmering in the cold air. It streamed from the holes in the stone hands where water used to flow and splashed down into the basin. Rafe turned over his hands as if he were directing music, and the Fire swirled around and around the basin in a glistening whirlpool. There were gasps from the watching crowd. The Fire gleamed like liquid gold.
Heat blasted Sora like wind, but she still didn’t step back. Gradually, the shaking in the earth subsided.
The Fire spewing from the statue slowed to a steady trickle. The basin had filled almost to the brim. Rafe nodded as the flow steadied. He must have solidified the Work somehow, so the Fire could pour from the fountain but not overflow.
He turned to Sora. “It is done.”
She nodded, fear slipping through her at the triumph in his eyes. She knew he had done much more than create a fountain. Deep within the mountain, the magical containment system designed by her forefathers had been destroyed. Rafe had unleashed the Fire to roar through the mountain once more, ready to be claimed by those with the strength.
She addressed the onlookers again.
“Let this fountain be a memorial to our departed kings and a symbol of a bright new future in Vertigon. The Fire has been freed from the channels that once restricted it. Those who have the strength can Wield it at will and help to keep our mountain strong.”
Applause spread through the crowd, polite from the nobles and joyous from the Fireworkers. A short Worker with wispy white hair and muscular arms wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Another rubbed her hands together eagerly. Lords Roven and Farrow exchanged worried glances. They knew what had happened here today.
“Long live Queen Soraline,” Rafe said. Then he gestured for Lieutenant Benzen to escort her back to the castle. She had played her part. A new era in Vertigon had begun.
9.
The Guard
SORA glowered at the snow beneath her shoes as she trudged back toward the castle. She had hoped to stay behind after the fountain dedication to speak to some of the nobles. They had to figure out how to work against the Lantern Maker. She couldn’t defeat him through sheer strength, but she wouldn’t allow him to keep her as his puppet forever. She needed allies.
But Lieutenant Benzen had ushered her away from the newly awakened fountain immediately, leaving the Lantern Maker and his wife to speak to the crowd of onlookers and accept the congratulations of the Workers.
At the very least, Sora had hoped to speak to Lady Vine Silltine, whom she considered a friend. But the noblewoman hadn’t accompanied her elderly father to the ceremony. That was unusual. Old Lord Silltine rarely went out without his daughter. He seemed to have left early anyway. The last Sora remembered seeing him was when he bumped into Telvin Jale as he eased away from t
he spreading ring of heat.
They left the broad avenue and took the road past the old Fire Warden’s austere marble greathouse. She wondered which Worker Rafe had assigned to watch over the Well deep beneath it. He and his wife had taken up residence in the castle. Perhaps it didn’t matter who lived above the Well now that the Fire had been freed from the containment system invented by her great-grandfather. She wondered if the spectators truly grasped what they had witnessed today. She herself was terrified of the repercussions.
The six guards surrounded Sora in a loose formation as they climbed the ice-slicked streets. After the Fire Warden’s dwelling, they passed the smaller Atria greathouse beside it. The sun hadn’t set yet, so the parlor at the front of the notorious house was empty. A hint of movement caught Sora’s eye. That’s odd. The front door was open a crack, as if to let in a breeze. Why would Lady Atria want to admit all this biting-cold air?
She glanced at Telvin Jale walking beside her to see whether he had noticed the open door too. That was when she realized the sheath swinging at his hip was no longer empty. Someone had given him a sword.
Hope leapt in Sora’s chest. The three actual guards were spread out, with one behind her and Kelad Korran and Lieutenant Benzen in front. Kel rolled his wiry shoulders and coughed.
Then with lightning speed he drew his sword and rammed the Rollendar-marked pommel down on the back of Benzen’s head. The lieutenant dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.
Sora stifled a gasp. The other guards were already moving. Telvin drew his newly acquired blade and thrust it through the throat of the guard behind Sora. A faint gurgle passed his lips, and he didn’t even have time to shout a warning. The red-bearded guard hurried forward to help Kel with the man he had knocked out.
“Quickly, my queen,” Oat said. He took her arm and pulled her through the open door of House Atria.
Telvin followed, dragging the guard he had killed by the feet. Then came Kel and his companion hauling their unconscious superior. The door snapped shut behind them, plunging them into darkness.
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