Sora tried to remain calm. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this had happened the night the Square Workers assailed the Well. What had they done?
Suddenly a gurgling noise inside the room caught her attention. Sora whirled around as a torrent of Fire burst from her Fire Gate.
Maraina shrieked and leapt off the couch by the Gate, narrowly avoiding being splashed by the white-hot liquid. The Fire spurted across the floor, burning the carpet and seeping into cracks in the stone. The metal grate melted as the burning golden substance surged through it in far greater amounts than it could handle.
The burst only lasted for a few seconds, but it was long enough to make it feel as hot as summer. The smell of melted metal filled the room.
Telvin rushed through the door, skidding to a stop before his boots touched the Fire on the floor. He had drawn his sword.
“Are you well, my queen?”
Sora’s heart raced like a Truren stallion, but she and the other girls were unharmed. The Fire was already slowing to a burble and receding back across the stone floor.
“We’re fine. What’s going on out there?”
“I don’t know,” Telvin said. “It’s everywhere!”
Sora studied the fiery gold liquid on the floor. It was as if the whole mountain had filled up and erupted from every outlet, including her Fire Gate at its very top. She could only imagine what the pressure had been like farther down the mountain.
“I must go see what’s happening out there,” she said.
“I’m not sure I can let you do that,” Telvin said. He glanced back at the door as his superior officer pushed it open.
Captain Thrashe surveyed Sora and her friends with his single eye. Unsettled by the Fire simmering on the floor, he didn’t advance into the room. The Fire was already draining back into the stone like water into dry earth, but Soolens were notoriously wary of the substance. In truth, anyone who couldn’t Work tended to be uncomfortable around the Fire. There would be a lot of scared people on the mountain tonight. Sora was one of them, but she couldn’t let it show.
“Captain Thrashe,” she said, marching past Telvin to face the larger man. “I must go down to the Great Hall.”
“I cannot allow it,” Captain Thrashe said.
“There must have been surges throughout the castle. I need to be informed about what’s going on out there.”
“Chief Regent’s orders,” Thrashe said. His jaw jutted out, but he still didn’t enter. They faced each other over the threshold. “You stay in your room at night.”
“Fine,” Sora said. “Then I want you to send me any Fireworkers currently in the castle. And a messenger. I have work to do.”
“I cannot—”
“We are in crisis,” Sora said. “Unless you plan to fix whatever has gone wrong with the Fire tonight, you must give me access to people who can.”
Before Captain Thrashe could answer, Oat ran up to them, long legs windmilling.
“My queen, the Lantern Maker has gone to investigate.” He saluted Captain Thrashe but spoke to Sora right over his head. There were advantages to being the tallest man on the mountain. “He is leaving the castle right now.”
“Thank you. Did he say anything about . . .?” Sora glanced at her companions huddling by the far wall of her room and stopped, trusting Oat would understand what she was asking. Was the Lantern Maker looking particularly triumphant?
“No, my queen. He didn’t seem to know what was going on.”
“Okay, thank you. I want you to return to the entrance hall to await his return. Let me know as soon as you hear something.”
If the Lantern Maker was surprised, he must not have set a trap that would cause this dramatic overflow of Fire. Had the Square Workers done this on purpose? She couldn’t imagine how that would help their cause.
“Yes, my queen.”
“And send me someone to act as messenger, and a Fireworker to report on the damage.”
“Yes, my queen. Captain.” Oat leapt to obey, charging off before Captain Thrashe could stop him.
Sora looked up at the one-eyed Soolen, who must have gotten far more than he bargained for when he first allied with Bolden Rollendar and the Lantern Maker. She wondered if he knew that Rafe was planning to double-cross his countrymen.
“I will remain in my room,” she said. “But I want to make sure everyone in the castle is safe. You will allow me to send and receive messages in exchange for my cooperation. And order Telvin and his fellow guardsmen to sweep the castle to make sure we aren’t facing further threats here.”
Captain Thrashe glanced at the Fire glowing on the floor then back at her. She stood firm, not cowering as she once had under his guard. At last he jerked his head in a nod and stepped back to let Telvin follow her orders. As the tap of Telvin’s boots faded away, Captain Thrashe saluted, something he had never done for her before, and resumed his post outside the door.
Sora allowed herself a small smile as she turned back to her room.
Maraina and Jully clutched each other’s hands, staying as far from the Fire Gate as they could get.
“It’ll be okay,” Sora said.
“What happened?” Maraina wailed. “Is it the end of the world?”
“No, it’s not,” Sora said. “But you’d better not go home yet. You’re safe here.”
“Can Telvin stay and watch out for us?” Jully asked.
“Oh yes,” Maraina agreed. “I’d feel much better if he was keeping us company.”
“Telvin has work to do,” Sora said. “But I’m sure he’ll be back.” She had to smile at the disappointment on both girls’ faces. Their fear hadn’t quite overcome their desire to have the handsome guardsman around.
She returned to the window. Fire still oozed over the walls of the greathouse, but with less violence than before. Smoke and light trailed all over the mountain, giving it an eerie aura. The worst of the surge appeared to be over. How much damage had been done tonight? And what of her friends who’d been at the Warden’s greathouse? She wished she could run down to see what was happening for herself.
But it was her duty as queen to make sure her people were all right. She may not be able to leave her room, but she would do what she could.
Jully and Maraina finished off the bottle of wine and went to sleep on her bed while she waited for whatever news her messengers and guards could provide and sent them running again with further instructions. She worked to restore order and calm as the hours passed. She made sure no one had been hurt and listened to reports of what had occurred near the various Fire Gates and access points in the castle when they overflowed. If only she could be sure the same was happening in the rest of the city. The Lantern Maker still didn’t return.
The Fire gradually drained from the Fire Warden’s greathouse. The flood continued down the mountainside, leaving a trail of illumination all the way to Orchard Gorge. As the nighttime mists danced outside her window, Sora wished more than ever that she could leave the castle at will. In the days of peace, no one minded if she and her brother and sister went out into the city. Her brother had taken full advantage of this by patronizing the taverns and parlors all over King’s Peak. She’d visited regularly at the noble greathouses, always in the company of her bodyguard, Denn Hurling, whom she still missed terribly. If she’d been royalty in the Lands Below, she never would have enjoyed the freedom of movement she’d had in her childhood. But she was truly a prisoner now—and she couldn’t do much for her people from here.
She feared something had happened to Kel and Berg. She had barely begun to get to know the latter. She still hadn’t learned what had happened between him and her father to inspire such devotion in the old sword master. If he had been killed, she might never know.
It was hours past midnight when her door opened at last, and Lima and Rafe strode in together. Their faces were grim as iron, and for a moment she feared they’d come to kill her at last. Then Kel slipped into the room behind them.
Sora barely r
estrained herself from launching across the room to hug him. His hair was sweaty, as if he’d been running, but he looked unharmed. He stayed near the wall, and Sora wasn’t sure if Lima and Rafe even realized he had followed them inside.
“We need you,” Lima snapped. She wore a cloak pulled hastily over a thick woolen nightgown, and her iron-gray bun hung lower on the nape of her neck than usual.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“A crowd is gathering outside our gates,” Rafe said. He was fully dressed, and he looked much calmer than Lima. Still, a deep furrow in his prominent forehead hinted at his concern. “The people do not want to hear from a Fireworker right now. You must reassure them everything is under control.”
Sora almost laughed. “Is it? That didn’t look like a controlled burst of Fire to me.”
“Don’t take that tone,” Lima said. Kel took a few steps closer to her, managing to look menacing despite his slight stature. Lima jumped, finally noticing his presence, and something like fear crossed her face. Kel only grinned at her. Rafe didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but Lima cleared her throat and modified her own tone. “The danger is over.”
“What happened out there?” Sora said. “I need to know if I’m to reassure people.”
“Sabotage,” Rafe said. “A group of Workers tampered with a project I’ve been working on for some time.”
“What project?”
“It doesn’t matter now. They’ve destroyed a very delicate balance I worked hard to maintain,” Rafe said. He strode to Sora’s window. The light playing off the mists created an ominous silhouette around his tall, broad form. “I can only hope we won’t see additional repercussions. This surge had incredible power. It could set off a chain reaction at the Spring.”
“The Spring?”
Rafe waved a distracted hand. “Where the Fire comes from, child.”
“I thought it came from the Well.”
“Before it reaches the Well, the Fire flows underground from an ancient spring deep in the Burnt Mountains.” He fell quiet for a moment. “The Well has provided for us, and we haven’t tampered with it for centuries. But it could give more.”
“More Fire?” Sora asked.
“More power.” Rafe turned from the window, his face dark against the glow. “I attempted to draw more Fire to the mountain. My project was designed to increase the volume of the Well and enable us to enact truly magnificent Works unlike anything the continent has ever seen. The surge tonight was a taste. A glorious one at that.” Rafe’s voice took on a dreamy quality, and Sora understood he was no longer speaking to her. “There are still risks, but now that we’ve seen the potential . . .”
“Rafe,” Lima said. “Even you have said the limits need to be respected.”
“Limits, yes.” He let out a dark laugh. “There are always limits.” He stepped toward his wife, feverish intensity on his face. Sora didn’t dare move. He already controlled a vast amount of Fire. How much more could he want?
“You saw it, Lima,” Rafe said. “This surge was a fraction of the true power we could tap if we are willing to do what’s necessary. The accident tonight only confirms my theory. I wasn’t certain before, but now that the dam is broken . . .”
“This hardly needs to be discussed in front of the child,” Lima said. She had begun to play with the edges of her cloak, an unusually nervous gesture for her.
“So you want to pull more Fire from the Spring?” Sora asked quickly. She couldn’t miss her chance to learn more. She needed Rafe to keep talking. “Then what will you—?”
“There are things at the Spring that shouldn’t be awoken,” Lima said.
“Like what?”
“This doesn’t concern you,” Lima said. “Get your cloak. You must address the people before they knock down the gates.”
Sora didn’t argue. She grabbed her cloak, pulling the inner door to her bedroom closed before the Ruminors noticed her birthday visitors. A chill crept through her at the pensive expression on the Lantern Maker’s face as he looked out the window once more. The glow from the Fire trailing over the mountain gave it a ghostly quality. She was afraid the events of tonight had awoken something much worse in Rafe than whatever prompted him to tamper with the Well in the first place.
But what terrible power lurked in the wild reaches of the Burnt Mountains? What could make even the formidable Lima Ruminor nervous? Sora had thought Lima would go to any lengths to achieve her goals, but even she thought the Lantern Maker had surpassed the bounds of wisdom. Was there any way to stop him?
38.
The Blue House
HEADQUARTERS—as Kres had described it—turned out to be a large blue house on stilts in the fish-curing district. Located only a few hundred yards from one of the biggest fish smokehouses in the city, the house had been remarkably cheap for Kres to purchase with the team’s pooled winnings. The reason for the bargain became apparent as they crossed a rocky causeway to the small island where the blue house sat nestled amongst a dozen similar dwellings.
“What is that smell?” Latch said.
“I suspect it’s this thing called a fish,” Siv said, eyes wide.
“Don’t be cute,” Gull said. “Our poor noble lad here probably never smelled a fish smokery before.”
Siv didn’t mention that he’d never smelled one before either. He was too busy concentrating on not gagging. It really was unpleasant.
“We eat our fish fresh in Soole,” Latch said.
“And raw, if I remember right,” Fiz said. “Foulest thing I ever had in my life.”
“It’s an expensive delicacy,” Latch muttered. “It’s not foul.”
Fiz chuckled, and Gull grinned at Siv. It was almost too easy to rile Latch.
“Come along, children,” Kres said. He kicked his heels into his horse’s sides at the end of the causeway and rode ahead to the blue house. He vaulted off the back of his horse almost before it stopped moving. A narrow ladder led up to the main house. Kres scrambled up it in a flash and paused on the porch, which had white flags flying from the railing. He flung his arms wide.
“Welcome home!”
Kres looked genuinely happy to be there. He took out a huge brass key and wrestled with the door for a minute before it opened with a pained screech. The others took more time to rub down their horses and secure them in the paddock underneath the house before climbing up after him. Fiz and Gull were already more relaxed than they’d been the entire time they were traveling together. Siv supposed that was what happened when people came home.
He paused at the ladder as images of the home he’d left behind cascaded down on him. His room, where he sprawled on the rug to read, experimented with melting things on the Fire Gate, and slept past noon after nights of carousing. The dueling hall, where he’d spent many happy hours training—and where he first met Dara. The cur-dragon cavern, where he spent time with his sisters. The library, where he could always talk to his father. He avoided picturing the Great Hall, where the Lantern Maker had defeated him and stolen it all away. The heady beauty of Vertigon was lost to him. But could he find another home, perhaps here in this blue house on stilts that smelled like fish? If the pen fighters ever stopped threatening to kill him whenever he tried to leave, perhaps he’d like to stay.
“Are you going up or what?” Latch tapped his foot impatiently behind him.
“Oh yeah, just checking to make sure Fiz didn’t crack the rungs when he climbed up.”
Fiz shouted a genial curse back down at him, and Siv climbed the ladder to the narrow porch, which ran all the way around the house, those white flags decorating it at intervals. The front door opened into a bright room with wide windows on three out of the four sides. A row of doors on the windowless side must lead to bedrooms. A small, open kitchen bordered the eastern side of the house, with a rough-hewn wooden table and five stools separating it from the rest of the room. The house had no other furniture, and exercise equipment spread around its edges: iron weights, bars for pull-
ups, folded rugs for stretching. A large pentagon was marked on the scuffed floorboards with red paint. This was definitely a training house. Kres’s fighters truly lived for the Dance.
Siv crossed to the huge windows. The silvery line of the gulf peeked over the tops of the buildings to the south. At this height, the divisions between the different districts in the city emerged. Walls or canals separated many of them, and each region displayed flags to indicate their allegiance to—and possession by—a different Waterworker. The effect from above was of a bright flower garden, complete with lots of mud beneath the fluttering colors. Their white-flag district didn’t stretch too far before it gave way to a sea of emerald green to the south and west. Sure, there may not be any sheer cliffs or peaks cloaked in mist, but it wasn’t a bad view.
They got settled in their rooms—Siv and Latch had to share, though Latch acted less miserable about it than before—and then they reconvened for an afternoon meal. Kres fixed it himself, humming as he dumped a random assortment of dried and slightly musty ingredients into a giant cook pot. The meal had a distinctly fishy odor. Siv suspected he’d have to get used to the smell of seafood quickly.
Kres was certainly having a good time now that he was home. He hummed and tapped his feet, and by the time the stew reached a boil, he broke into all-out song. Gull rolled her eyes, but she tapped her fingers on the table in time with Kres’s song. She seemed younger and less guarded here. Fiz elbowed in to claim the first serving of fish stew the moment it was ready, and Kres playfully whacked him with a damp towel. Fiz chuckled jovially. Siv couldn’t help thinking the pen fighters were something like a family. He glanced over at Latch. He could be the grouchy old uncle.
“Now rest up, children,” Kres said when everyone finished eating. “I want you all to stretch and do some light exercises this evening to limber up for the Dance tomorrow. Now that we’ve given the Pentagon a glimpse of our new knife fighter, I want a solid showing in our first melee of the season.”
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