steel and fire 03 - dance of steel

by rivet, jordan

  “You may live, providing you lead us to Amintelle,” he said.

  “That sounds like a fair arrangement,” Vine said. She met Lord Vex’s eyes steadily. “I will help you in any way I can.”

  “What?” Dara choked.

  “Can’t we kill the blond?” asked the pockmarked man. His hands strayed toward his groin, which must still be in pain.

  “I won’t help you if you kill my friend,” Vine said quickly. “We come as a pair.”

  “We can use her as bait when we find the boy. I understand he’s fond of her.” Lord Vex leaned in closer. A harsh shadow cut across his face, making him look ghoulish rather than handsome now. “But if either one of you tries to escape, we will kill both of you. Is that understood?”

  “Of course, Lord Vex,” Vine said.

  Dara only glowered at him.

  “Come now, Dara,” Vine said. “Let’s reassure the nice man.”

  The other guard snorted.

  “Fine,” she said. “I won’t try to escape.”

  “There,” Vine said. “Now, won’t you loosen our bonds a bit, my lord? I do think my arms have gone to sleep.”

  Lord Vex ignored her. “Go gather our provisions, Mertin,” he said to the pockmarked man. “We leave at dusk.”

  “Yes, Lord Vex.” Mertin fixed Dara with one more glare before heading toward the cellar stairs. She was satisfied to see he walked gingerly, slightly bowlegged from her kick.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours, Grelling,” Lord Vex said to the other man. “I have arrangements to make. Don’t let these two talk to each other.” His eyes flitted back to them, lingering on Vine for a moment. “I won’t have them scheming against us. And remember: no Fire.”

  The man with the hairy arms—Grelling—bobbed his head in a rough bow and took up a position in front of the two chairs. Lord Vex followed Mertin out of the cellar, leaving his candle lantern behind.

  Dara desperately wanted to ask Vine about her plan. Had she really managed to Sense Siv on the Air again? If she had, they couldn’t escort these men to him. But would Lord Vex realize she was taking them in the wrong direction? He had to figure it out eventually. He struck Dara as far too intelligent for simple schemes.

  Of course, Vine may simply be buying time. If that was the case, Dara would do her part to figure out a way to escape.

  If only she had access to some Fire! Despite their distance from the mountain, she had come to rely on it for comfort. Even the trace amounts she could get from Rumy’s dragon fire were enough to lull her into a false sense of security—even invincibility. But she was still a swordswoman. She had to figure out a way to get her hands on a weapon.

  Unfortunately, Grelling proved to be a diligent guardian. Every time Dara tried to whisper to Vine, he growled at her to be quiet. On her third try, he smacked her across the face. Dara tasted blood in her mouth and resolved to wait until they were on the move to sneak a private word with Vine. She didn’t want to provoke him further. She was all too aware of the way he leered at the two women bound to chairs in front of him. It made her feel vulnerable in a way she hadn’t throughout their travels. She would rather have a cullmoran watching over them than this brute.

  Mertin and Lord Vex returned after a few hours and hauled them back up the cellar steps. Vex didn’t hesitate to help his men with the task. Apparently he wasn’t the type of lord who made his subordinates do all the dirty work. He made Dara decidedly uneasy. She hadn’t paid much attention to him when he was the youngest of a group of brothers. He’d had no real power compared to Lord Von and his scheming son. She already regretted that oversight.

  Outside, they found a dark, moonless night. They could barely see the outlines of the buildings surrounding their erstwhile prison, apparently some sort of warehouse. Skeletal trees loomed over them, their branches stretching patterns across the sky. Four horses were tied up beside the cellar entrance, one laden with supplies for the journey. Dara had held out some hope that they could escape if they had their own mounts. Instead, the two henchmen hoisted Dara and Vine onto their horses, tied them securely to the saddles, and climbed up behind them.

  Mertin still refused to come near Dara, so he put Vine on his horse, and Grelling took Dara. She looked straight ahead as he settled himself in the saddle behind her, pressed far too close, and reached both arms around her to take her reins. She wanted nothing more than to throw her head back and break his nose, but she had to be strategic. She would treat their captivity like a dueling tournament. She needed a tactic to deal with each opponent, and she couldn’t make any rash moves, or she’d be eliminated.

  Lord Vex strode over to Mertin’s horse. “Here you are, Lady Silltine,” he said. “I took the liberty of purchasing you some boots.”

  Vine looked down at him, surprise crossing her face, as Lord Vex put the shoes on her bare feet and tied them himself. The shoes were exactly the right size, and Vex took care lacing up the soft leather. Vine appeared distracted by the unexpected act.

  Don’t let him play games with you, Dara thought. Vine was the one who distracted and entranced people. She shouldn’t fall for a stray act of consideration.

  When Lord Vex finished with Vine’s feet, he mounted his own horse. “Now then. What does the Air tell you? Where is our missing Amintelle?”

  Vine looked unsettled, but she closed her eyes and adopted a serene expression. Her breathing slowed gradually. Dara still wasn’t sure whether or not she was faking it. She certainly looked as if she was Sensing in earnest. Lord Vex’s piercing eyes never left her face, his long nose giving the impression of a bird of prey watching a mouse.

  Vine was quiet for so long that Dara wondered if she’d gone to sleep. Grelling shifted impatiently behind her, and she tried to ignore the stale stench of his breath and the feeling of him pressed against her back. A cold wind blew through the darkness, rattling the branches over their heads.

  Finally, Vine’s eyes popped open.

  “I have him!” she said. “He is traveling through Kurn Pass.”

  “I figured as much,” Lord Vex said. “Let’s go.”

  He heeled his tall, black stallion forward, and the others followed. Vine and Mertin rode behind Vex, and Dara and Grelling took up the rear, leading the packhorse. It was dark enough that passersby probably wouldn’t be able to tell that the two women were tied in place, but they kept to the shadows behind buildings anyway.

  All of Tollan felt tense. The news of the invasion to the north had sent the townsfolk into the warm confines of home. The only people about wore uniforms. The soldiers let their party pass unhindered.

  They drew near the barrier across Kurn Pass. Torches burned alongside the wall, revealing the shapes of soldiers on guard. The camp beside the road was well lit too. They would have had a difficult time climbing over without being seen by a dozen men.

  Vine drew in a sharp breath.

  “What?” Vex asked, twisting quickly to face her.

  “I . . . I am sure this is it,” Vine said. She sounded strained, not at all like she usually did when she was Sensing. “Yes, he passed through here. I can feel him on the other side of the barrier.”

  “I anticipated he’d be taking the Pass,” Lord Vex said, “so I’ve made arrangements with Captain Frem. We’ll need you again when we get to the Fork. Come.”

  Lord Vex rode directly toward the camp full of soldiers. He spoke to the sentries posted at the entrance, and they waved him through. Campfires burned at regular intervals, and men huddled outside neat rows of tents. Dara prayed someone would realize the two women being transported through their camp were prisoners, but none of the soldiers paid them enough attention to see that their hands were bound. Either that, or they had strict instructions from Captain Frem not to interfere.

  The western end of the log barrier jutted into the camp. As they approached it, an older man in uniform stepped out from a large tent. Dara recognized Captain Frem. He didn’t speak to them, but he nodded at Lord Vex as they passed.

>   What had the Vertigonian lord done to get this Truren army captain to let him pass unhindered? The Rollendars had been a wealthy family before their fall, but had Captain Frem’s cooperation really been bought with such ease in a time of war? Dara didn’t understand it, but she was more certain than ever that she didn’t want Lord Vex coming anywhere near Siv.

  A small sally port cut through the log barrier in the heart of the soldiers’ camp. They never would have been able to reach it on their own. But Lord Vex rode straight up to it, and the sentries opened the gate to let him through. Dara looked around frantically for aid. She didn’t want to enter Kurn Pass with these men. But the soldiers looked the other way—all except one.

  Sunders, the private she and Rid had met earlier that day, stopped short as he passed them with a cook pot in his hands. His uniform was damp, and he looked as if he’d spent the past few hours scrubbing pots. He stared at Dara, mouth slightly ajar. He recognized her! Dara widened her eyes and grimaced, trying to communicate that she needed help. Sunders blinked at her. She jerked her head, trying to draw attention to her bound hands.

  “Eyes forward,” Grelling hissed in her ear. “And stop your fidgeting, or I’ll give you something to fidget about.”

  Dara froze, still not wiping the fearful expression from her face. Sunders stared at her like a baby goat.

  “I’m warning you,” Grelling said, and he dug his fingers in her thigh, low enough so the soldiers couldn’t see. Pain spread from his hand. Still, Dara didn’t stop looking at Sunders until they passed through the sally port, leaving the camp of soldiers behind.

  The gate closed with a thud.

  The other side was even darker than Tollan had been. Cliffs rose on either side of the Pass. The gap was far narrower than the Fissure into Vertigon Mountain, and it was man-made. Miners had blasted straight through the mountains hundreds of years ago, leaving a serviceable trade route between Trure and the coastal lands of Pendark and Soole. It had opened up the north to trade from beyond the Bell Sea and had ushered in an era of prosperity and luxury in the land of the Horsekeepers.

  But in the dark of night, the Pass was an eerie black portal into the unknown. A shiver went through Dara that had little to do with the cold wind whistling around her. Their captors could decide Dara and Vine had outlived their usefulness at any moment. There’d be no one around to help if Lord Vex decided to slit their throats and leave their bodies in the Pass.

  Dara desperately wanted to get her hands on a blade. She could feel the heat from her Savven, still buckled at Grelling’s waist, but she couldn’t do anything without touching it. Unlike a Fire Lantern, she couldn’t simply pull the power out of the sword. It was an integral part of the metal now, and she needed to hold it in order to make use of its magic. She was trapped.

  Lord Vex turned to Vine, his features indistinct in the darkness.

  “Can you still feel him?” he asked. “Is there Air outside Trure?”

  “Oh yes,” Vine said breathlessly, not taking nearly as long with her “Sensing” now. “I believe he was here a day ago at most.” She met Dara’s eyes, and Dara immediately got the sense that Vine was telling the truth about this part. Siv had been here. He was still alive. Despite their perilous position, a little of the tightness in Dara’s chest eased.

  “We should continue straight ahead,” Vine said.

  “You’re certain?”

  “Quite,” Vine said. “But you may encounter more trouble than all this is worth on the other side of the pass. Our dear king can be very ornery.”

  “Amintelle won’t escape,” Lord Vex said.

  “Perhaps,” Vine said. “I expect we shall see in a matter of days.”

  “My liege will be pleased.” Lord Vex moved his horse closer to Vine and Mertin, blocking Dara’s view of her friend. “There may be a reward if you lead us true, Lady Silltine.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Vine said. “I do wonder why you serve the Lantern Maker after he betrayed your brother, though.”

  “The Lantern Maker?” Lord Vex looked back at Dara and grinned, the expression feral. “My new liege has more to offer than a jumped-up craftsman. Shall we?”

  Lord Vex kicked his horse forward, and they rode into the dark. Dara breathed steadily, fending off the fear that tried to descend on her with the darkness. So Vex wasn’t working for her father. But whom would he deliver Siv to if not her parents? Somehow, she didn’t think Siv’s chances of survival would be any better with Vex’s new liege.

  Dara sincerely hoped Vine knew what she was doing. If she had told Lord Vex the truth about her Senses, they would catch up with Siv in a few days. As much as Dara was dying to see him, she hoped they didn’t find him. She only wished she could warn him a storm was coming.

  30.

  The Peace

  LADY Jully pressed a bundle of paper into Sora’s hand. It was bulky, composed of four or five sheets, but Sora managed to tuck it into her belt before Lima saw. She would have to warn Jully to be a little more discreet next time. The young lady waltzed away through the crowd, her pink skirt fluttering around her. So much for stealthy communication.

  Sora strolled more slowly amongst the visitors in the Great Hall. Today they celebrated the founding of the Peace of Vertigon, a move that struck Sora as ironic given the events of that winter. Nobles and Fireworkers alike had turned out for the reception in all their finery. Servants meandered through the crowds with platters of soldarberry tarts, tiny minced pies, and goblets of wine. A dueling exhibition was scheduled for later in the evening, organized by Lord Zurren. He’d offered to host the event in his own greathouse down by Thunderbird Square, but Lima had vetoed that idea. The streets of Vertigon were not as safe as they used to be, and the reports of war in Trure only heightened Lima’s caution.

  Sora rested a hand on her belt, eager for an opportunity to sneak off and read Jully’s notes away from Madame Ruminor’s watchful eyes. A core group of young noblewomen had been passing her information for several weeks now. They mostly reported conversations they overheard between their parents and their noble friends, but they had taken to eavesdropping on people on the streets and bridges too. She was dying to know what everyone thought of the news from Trure and the Lantern Maker’s subsequent decision to increase the size of the army. She’d have loved to see Lord Farrow’s reaction when that edict was announced.

  The notes from her spies gave Sora a fascinating perspective on what was happening in her city. She had hated being out of the loop during the earlier days of her reign. Public opinion shifted and morphed as people grew used to the new distribution of power in Vertigon. The nobles grumbled about the Fireworkers swaggering around as if they owned the place, sometimes in surprisingly coarse language, and the Fireworkers scorned anyone who couldn’t match them for strength. The common people eviscerated them all—at least in private—and lamented that the mountain would never be the same. Jully reported every curse and complaint in her loopy, girlish handwriting and passed it to Sora whenever she had a chance.

  The Fireworkers certainly seemed to be enjoying their new status. The ones attending this reception, for example, carried Fire openly, some spinning and twisting it above their hands as they made idle conversation, others wearing loops of the molten power as if they were bracelets.

  The sheer excess of Fire on display spoke volumes. The Workers previously exercised careful stewardship of their finite shares, dedicating all of it to the production of useful objects to sell and trade. But with the loosening of restrictions, some were already taking in more than they needed. Sora had received reports that lesser Fireworkers were already being forced out of business. If they couldn’t draw the power and hold it strongly enough, it was simply taken from them by more-powerful Workers. These Workers gloried in the surplus and took every opportunity to flaunt their dominance before their contemporaries. Some of the disgruntled weaker Workers had retaliated with physical violence. The mountain had been knocked out of balance, and Sora wasn’t sure h
ow to fix it.

  She listened to snippets of conversation as she mingled with her guests, her guards hanging back by the walls. She heard the usual gossip about parlor antics and scandals, but a serious tone permeated many exchanges. Vertigon was balanced on a cliff’s edge, and fancy dresses, expensive wine, and idle gossip wouldn’t change that.

  Sora wore black today, unwilling to appear overly festive. She mourned the destruction of the Peace of Vertigon, and she didn’t care who saw it. Her long sleeves hid her bruises, remnants of Lima’s most-recent reminder of who was in charge. She felt increasingly aware she was running out of time before the Lantern Maker decided he didn’t need her anymore. She had to stop him from completing his mysterious Fire project before she was silenced for good.

  “Good evening, Your Royal Highness.”

  Sora stopped as Lady Tull Denmore swept into a deep curtsy before her, blocking her path.

  “Tull,” Sora said. This was one noble she didn’t feel compelled to treat with diplomacy. She hadn’t forgotten how Lady Tull conspired with the Rollendars against her brother, even becoming engaged to him to further her aims.

  “I wanted to congratulate you on this occasion,” Lady Tull said. “The Peace of Vertigon is—”

  “Thank you. Excuse me.”

  Sora turned her shoulder to Lady Tull, hoping she would get the hint. But the woman wasn’t deterred.

  “Wait! My queen, I would speak with you, if you have a moment.”

  Sora grimaced. Lady Tull was a two-faced traitor. The longer Sora spent in her company, the more she wanted to scratch the woman’s delicate, pretty face. She had never had a remotely violent streak before, and she didn’t intend to start on the anniversary of the Peace, no matter how much of a farce it was.

  “What is it?” she said at last.

  “The other heads of noble houses and I are concerned,” Lady Tull said. “We are worried there aren’t enough smaller Fireworks being produced this winter. We fear for the impact it will have on our houses when the export season begins in the spring.”