steel and fire 03 - dance of steel

by rivet, jordan

  “I don’t have anyone to duel against,” Dara said. She wasn’t excited about the prospect of meeting all of Selivia’s relations after the cold reception she’d gotten from Tirra and the thinly veiled suspicion from King Atrin. She continued to avoid them whenever possible.

  “Why not duel Siv?” Selivia said. “He can pretend to be your training partner. He’ll have to keep his face hidden beneath a dueling mask. Or we could make him wear face paint, like you did for your Nightfall duel! He’d definitely do it. It’s my birthday after all.”

  “I don’t know, Princess. He’s still recovering from his injuries.” He had mostly healed by now, but there was no point in pushing it. Dara herself was almost back to peak dueling condition. On the other hand, it would be fun to see Siv wearing face paint.

  “He was doing lunges in his rooms just the other day,” Selivia said. “He’s really restless, isn’t he? He needs something to do.” Selivia skipped back to the window, looking pretty restless herself. Rain fell in a quiet rush over the city.

  “Maybe.”

  Dara stretched her legs out and reached for her toes. She didn’t feel like talking about Siv. They’d argued that morning, and it was all she could do to keep from telling Selivia how frustrating he was sometimes. He had gotten petulant and grouchy as he waited for his body to heal. She’d told him again that she didn’t think they should return to Vertigon, and he’d shouted at her about giving up. She knew he felt stressed over his next steps, grief-stricken over his sister’s death, and ashamed of himself for leaving Vertigon, but that didn’t mean he had any right to yell. She grimaced and shifted into another stretch.

  “What are you going to wear to the party?” Selivia asked.

  “Probably this.” Dara brushed her fingers over the deep-blue Truren gown she wore now. The skirts were wide and flowing, giving her plenty of room for her stretches, though the wide-hemmed sleeves sometimes got in the way.

  “That’s pretty,” Selivia said, “but how about something brighter? Purple would look great against your hair.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “I’ll find something for you.” Selivia clapped her hands. “It’s going to be a wonderful party. Now, let’s go visit Siv and ask him what he thinks about the dueling demonstration!”

  “I don’t want to talk to him,” Dara said before she could stop herself.

  Selivia stopped waltzing around the room. “Why not?”

  “We . . . sort of argued this morning.”

  Selivia sat on the floor beside Dara, leaning forward curiously. “About what?”

  “The usual. We disagree about whether to go back to Vertigon.”

  Selivia chewed on her lip for a moment. “You don’t think you can save Sora?”

  Dara frowned, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. The princess still refused to believe that her older sister had been killed. Her party distracted her right now, but she’d need to come to terms with it eventually. Even though Dara hadn’t seen Sora’s body, she had seen the blood on the swords of the assassins leaving her tower clearly enough. There was no point in trying to convince Selivia now, though. She deserved to enjoy her birthday.

  “I don’t think we can fight my father, Princess,” Dara said instead. “At least not yet. I told you about how I was learning to Work, but I’m not skilled enough. And I can’t practice here because there’s no Fire.”

  Dara had worked up the courage to try Working with Rumy’s help again, but the feeling of the Fire in her veins had conjured vivid, searing memories of that night in the Great Hall. The night her father had nearly killed her. All because of the power.

  The true Fire within Rumy’s dragon flame only came in small spurts anyway. Like dueling, Fireworking was best done in Vertigon. She had no place, no purpose in the Lands Below. Despite the pain it caused, she had noticed that she felt antsy the longer she went without touching the Fire. She would get as irritable as Siv soon if she wasn’t careful. Something needed to change.

  “Would you hurt your father, Dara?” Selivia asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” Dara said. “I tried to learn how to stop him without hurting him, but that didn’t work. I may have no choice if it comes down to it. That’s the other reason I don’t want to go back.”

  “But Siv thinks he has to?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you pledged to protect him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Aw, I see why you’re so solemn,” Selivia said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I wish I could give you some advice.”

  Dara smiled at the young princess and resumed her stretches.

  “Thank you. I think Siv and I just need to work it out.”

  “Have you tried kissing him?” Selivia said brightly.

  Dara nearly pulled a muscle in her thigh. “What?”

  “That’s what happens in the storybooks,” Selivia said. “The couple finally kisses, and then all their problems are solved.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple,” Dara said. “And we’re not a couple.”

  To her surprise, Selivia laughed. “But Dara, don’t you love my brother?”

  “I . . .”

  Selivia continued to smile guilelessly at her. Dara sighed.

  “Yes. I do love him.”

  “And he loves you too. It’s obvious you’re a couple.” Selivia leapt to her feet and went back to dancing around the room. “Just kiss each other. It will make everything better.”

  Dara abandoned her stretches and stood. “I’ll think about it, Selivia. Thank you for the advice.”

  “Anytime! And make sure you wear a pretty dress to the party. And let me do your hair! Boys pretend not to notice that sort of thing, but he’ll be impressed.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Dara decided not to tell the young princess that she and Siv had kissed once before. It hadn’t solved their problems. If anything, it had made it impossible to continue pretending there was nothing between them. She thought about that kiss in the stairwell all the time. Every moment in each other’s company was a little harder because they couldn’t do it again. But in others ways it had made everything better, every light brighter, every taste sweeter. Ever since their exile began, their different stations had mattered less. They had stepped closer and closer to an invisible line. Sometimes it was all she could do to keep from kissing him again.

  Maybe it was time to stop fighting it.

  Dara started for the door. “I’d better go see if Siv’ll stop sulking long enough to join us for dinner.”

  “Have fun,” Selivia sang. “And don’t forget about the dress!”

  Dara strode out into the corridor, nodding at Princess Selivia’s bodyguard, Fenn Hurling, on her way out. The woman had grown more sullen and silent than ever after learning of the attack on the castle in her absence. Her brother had been on the mountain—and if Sora was dead, he had most likely been killed too.

  Dara frowned, straightening her dress over her hips. Their lives had been in peril too often of late. She and Siv had faced down death together again and again. She had almost lost him. They shouldn’t be wasting their time snapping at each other.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, Dara marched to Siv’s room. Maybe it wouldn’t make everything better, but she ought to listen to Princess Selivia. It was her birthday after all. The least she could do was follow her advice.

  Anticipation flooded Dara like Fire. She was going to give Siv the best kiss of his life.

  But the palace guard was missing from the corridor outside Siv’s door, and his room was empty. Dara searched the palace for him, checking the nooks and crannies he’d shown her over the past two weeks where he liked to hide out and read. There was no sign of him. How strange.

  She climbed up to the rooftop. It was empty too. Though the rain was turning the grounds to mud, she went down and searched the gardens surrounding the palace and the shelter near the stables where Rumy slept. The cur-dragon was napping contentedly, but
Siv was nowhere in sight. Worry started to pull at her, biting and irrational. Where was he?

  She tramped back to the palace through the rain. None of the gardeners and stablemen she encountered along the way had seen him in hours. She squeezed a bucketful of water out of her skirt before entering the Grand Hall. She glanced up at the magnificent painting of horses churning across the plains and shivered. She wouldn’t want to be out riding on a day like today.

  She was steeling herself to check for Siv in the one place she’d avoided so far—his mother’s chambers—when a soft voice called out to her.

  “Can I help you, my lady?”

  “I was just looking for—oh, hello, Zala.” Dara recognized the young woman crossing the vast tile floor toward her. Zala Toven was a handmaid from the Far Plains who had been brought to Vertigon to help Princess Selivia learn the language of the Plainsfolk (though she spent more time helping Selivia dream up new outfits). She had returned to Trure along with the princess and her mother before the attack on the castle.

  “I’m looking for King Siv,” Dara said. “Have you seen him lately?”

  “I believe he went out with Lord Tem.”

  “Out?”

  “He asked me to find him a hat,” Zala said.

  Dara blinked. “A hat?”

  “Yes. He intended to disguise himself before accompanying his uncle outside the palace.”

  Outside the palace? Of all the foolish things Siv had done . . .

  “Do you know where they went?” she demanded.

  “No, my lady.”

  “What did this hat look like?”

  “It was light brown, with a wide brim.” Zala put her hands about two feet apart to demonstrate. “It’s a common style on the Far Plains.”

  “Thank you. That’s very helpful.”

  Zala inclined her head and continued toward the other side of the Grand Hall. Dara turned in a slow circle, scanning the vast space and wondering what she should do. Worry made her stomach muscles tighten. She had no reason to think Siv’s uncle meant him ill, but it was irresponsible of him to invite Siv to leave the palace. He’d been going a bit stir-crazy, but she didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to go out into the city with nothing more than a hat for a disguise.

  On second thought, Siv had snuck out of the castle in Vertigon several times in the relatively brief span of time she’d known him. Maybe he was that stupid after all. She dropped into a lunge and did a bit of footwork across the sleek tile floor, her boots skidding, as she contemplated what to do. Should she go after him? She’d have no idea where to look.

  Maybe Rumy could help her find him. His sense of smell was as good as that of a dog. Plus he could fly. She was just heading back out to the gardens when the doors burst open, and Lord Tem strode into the palace. Alone.

  “Has he returned?” he demanded as soon as he saw her.

  “What?” Dread grasped Dara’s heart like a fist of iron.

  “Siv and I were at the races,” Lord Tem explained. “He went to place a bet and never came back. I thought he’d be here by—where are you going?”

  Dara didn’t answer. She was already sprinting for her room to retrieve her sword.

  13.

  The Visitor

  DARA ran through Rallion City, feeling grateful for the time she’d spent building her endurance back up over the past few weeks. She hunted for any sign of Siv in the unfamiliar streets. Every second she slowed, every second she didn’t spend searching, he could be getting farther away. Or he could be nearing death, stabbed in an alleyway by a common footpad or by an assassin sent by her father to finish what he’d started. She couldn’t think about that. Focus, Dara.

  She hadn’t even taken the time to change out of her dress before leaving the palace. She’d buckled on her Savven blade and demanded that Lord Tem take her to the last place he’d seen Siv. Then she jogged in ever widening circles around the racing grounds, combing the streets for hints of his passing.

  Zala’s description of Siv’s Far Plains hat was all she had to go on. She couldn’t exactly ask people if they’d seen the King of Vertigon. He wasn’t supposed to be alive, much less in the city. She asked passersby if they had seen the hat on a tall, handsome man with a scruffy beard. Heads shook one after another, and fear wrapped around her like a cloak. She wanted to shake the truth from someone. He couldn’t have just vanished.

  She kept her head, though, and systematically worked her way outward from where Siv had disappeared. Lord Tem and the soldiers of the city guard helped her search, but she didn’t trust them. For all she knew, Tem had betrayed Siv and his supposed worry was a façade. Dara had to find him herself.

  The rain worsened as night fell, soaking Dara to the bone. Mud caked the hem of her dress. She wanted to cry, but she had to keep running, keep searching. Hope threatened to abandon her, but she wouldn’t let it. She would find him.

  When it grew almost too dark to see, Dara circled around to the racing-ground entrance again. She found Lord Tem speaking to a voluptuous woman wearing a fine green cloak. A young soldier with ears like the handles on a cider mug stood beside him, shifting from foot to foot as if waiting to deliver a report. Tem forestalled him with a raised hand and leaned in closer to the woman. Dara scowled, annoyed that Tem would flirt at a time like this. She wouldn’t wait.

  As she stomped toward the pair, Tem looked up and waved her over.

  “I may have a lead,” he said. “This kind lady saw a man who matches our friend’s description in her shop not long after I lost track of him.”

  Hope sparked like Fire in Dara’s chest. “What kind of shop?”

  “I sell jewelry,” the woman said. “Your friend came in wearing a hat like the one you described. Handsome fellow. He bought a brooch and a necklace. Paid too much for both, I’m afraid.”

  “Was he alone?” Dara asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Where?”

  “At the end of the road there. The shop on the corner.” The woman laid a hand on Lord Tem’s shoulder, and her voice became sultry. “If you need anything else, my lord, that’s where you can find me.”

  Dara didn’t wait to hear his answer. She hurried toward the shop. The door was closed and locked up tight. Dara scanned the street around it. Enough traffic had passed by throughout the day that it was impossible to tell whether any of the hundreds of footprints belonged to Siv.

  The spatter of the rain hitting the mud puddles was the only sound. A lone figure trudged by, cloak pulled close against the blustery weather. Where would Siv have gone after visiting the gem shop if not back to the palace? And why was he buying jewelry at all?

  That didn’t matter. She had to figure out where he was likely to go next. She stood on the step and surveyed the street until she spotted a tavern. Light and laughter spilled out of the windows. That was as good a place to look as any. It was Siv after all. If it turned out he’d merely gone drinking without telling anyone, she’d make him pay for the hours she’d spent searching in the rain. After she kissed his stupid face, of course.

  Dara started toward the tavern. Before she’d gone three steps her boots crunched on something in the soft mud. A fabric-wrapped package was squashed into the muck not far from the door of the gem shop. Dara picked it up and unwrapped the damp cloth, revealing a sparkling yellow brooch and a pendant necklace. Dara didn’t know much about jewelry, but the pieces looked expensive. She would expect someone to take care not to drop them—if they had a choice.

  She ran back up the street, relieved to find that the shopkeeper was still talking with Lord Tem. Her hand rested on his lapel, and he was whispering in her ear, making her giggle. The mug-eared soldier was still waiting patiently, his face red.

  “Are these the jewels the man with the hat bought?” she demanded as she skidded to a stop beside them.

  The shopkeeper looked at the muddy packet in Dara’s hands.

  “Yes. Where did you get that?”

  “It was on the ground right outside yo
ur shop. Are you sure you didn’t see anything suspicious?”

  The woman shrugged. “I was inside the whole time.”

  “You say this was on the ground?” Lord Tem said, his face grave.

  “Yes.” Dara met his eyes. He must have come to the same conclusion she had. “Siv has been captured.”

  An hour later, Dara stood before King Atrin in the royal dining chamber as he shouted loud enough to shake the tapestries on the walls.

  “How dare they kidnap my own grandson in my own city! When I find out who did this, I’ll have them drawn and quartered. I’ll feed their bloody pieces to my horses. My own city!”

  “Father, your heart—” Tirra began.

  “Don’t lecture me about my heart, Tirra! It’s as strong as ever. And you, Tem. Of all the spineless, foolish things you could do. Letting your nephew get kidnapped out from under your nose. I ought to exile you to the Soolen salt mines.”

  Lord Tem grimaced, and his boots squeaked on the tile floor. “He was right beside me when—”

  “I don’t see him here now!” the king bellowed. “Don’t you dare make excuses! I want my grandson found.” He pointed at the mug-eared soldier who’d been helping them search. “Call in every soldier posted across the plains, and have them scour the city this very instant. I want every barrel overturned and every shifty reprobate questioned within an inch of his miserable life.”

  The soldier ducked his head. “Of course, Sire. I already have men searching the—”

  “And you!” King Atrin rounded on Dara next. “Aren’t you supposed to be looking out for him? Where were you when my grandson was being kidnapped?”

  “I didn’t know he’d left the palace.”

  “This is why women shouldn’t be bodyguards,” the king growled.

  Dara’s face burned, but she stood as still as a statue. King Atrin couldn’t possibly make her feel worse than she already did. She should never have let Siv out of her sight—even if it was his fault for leaving without telling her. He’d better be alive, or she’d kill him herself.