King of Mist (Steel and Fire Book 2)

by Jordan Rivet

  “Are you sure Pavorran isn’t doing this to help you?”

  “Dara, the kingdom is out of my control,” Siv said, his voice as heavy as the mountain pressing down on them. “This enterprise looks advanced, and I don’t know what we can do to stop it, even if only part of the army turns on me. I only have a few guards I can truly count on, and they have as much chance against that little army back there as a morrinvole has against a velgon bear.”

  It was too dark to see Siv’s face, but Dara tightened her grip on his arm. She wished there were some way to help her friend, but she didn’t know enough about scheming noble families and treacherous generals. She had always been a duelist, nothing more. Why had she thought she’d be able to save him?

  Despite what they had discovered, Siv’s breathing remained steady. He was tense, yes, but he wasn’t letting fear take hold. She shouldn’t either. Siv had supported her and helped her when they barely knew each other, long before she had ever saved his life. She had to think of some way to aid him.

  “What about the people?” she said. “They loved your father. I think they’ll love you too.” She couldn’t imagine anyone could get to know this king and not love him.

  “The people aren’t a match for a secret army of duelists.”

  “Maybe not, but they might stand up to a conniving nobleman. If you have their support, they could make trouble for any house that tries to rise against you.”

  “Perhaps,” Siv said. “We’ll need to get their attention, though.”

  “You’re good at getting people’s attention.” She squeezed his arm again, and in the darkness he rested his hand on hers.

  As they stood there in the lightless tunnel, Dara began to grow warm. It was a familiar sensation now. Something about being around Siv made the Fire sense come alive in her. As he held her hand her awareness sharpened. She realized she could tell exactly which direction they needed to go to find that strange vein of Fire back in the cavern.

  “I think I can find the way out,” Dara said. “Follow me.”

  9.

  Night

  SIV followed Dara through the darkness. She kept a tight hold on his hand, and their palms grew warm as they crept back through the tunnels. Every few minutes she stopped to adjust their course or choose a new direction. Siv wondered if she had particularly good hearing. He couldn’t make out how she was finding her way.

  But she didn’t let go of his hand, and that was all Siv cared about. It was foolish of him to come here tonight, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret these stolen moments when he got to hold hands with Dara. Besides, if he hadn’t come along she might not have recognized General Pavorran, and they’d have missed a vital piece of information.

  Siv grimaced. Pavorran. The man had led the army for close to a decade. Vertigon’s military was small by the standards of most kingdoms. The long-established Peace of Vertigon ensured that the army didn’t see much action. But it was always there if they needed it. The people of Vertigon rested secure knowing that if foreign soldiers ever tried to assault the mountain their men would be ready to defend them. But what of these secret fighters training within the mountain itself? What was Pavorran planning to do with them? And just how deep into the army did his tendrils spread?

  Siv considered what Dara had said about the people. If they supported him, if they were loyal, they might be able to stand against a small force. Vertigonians wouldn’t take kindly to a coup. They could definitely make things difficult for whichever noble house was behind the plot. He assumed they’d support the Amintelles over the Rollendars, for example. On the other hand, he had also thought Lady Tull would choose him over Bolden as soon as he got around to extending his offer of marriage.

  Tull! He had completely forgotten he proposed to her tonight. He dropped Dara’s hand as if he’d been burned.

  She was concentrating on finding their way, though, and didn’t notice. She walked faster. A hint of cooler air drifted through the tunnels now. It was lighter too. They must be almost to the outer edge of the cavern system. Dara walked faster, getting slightly ahead of him. He could see her now, a tall figure silhouetted against the gray of the tunnel.

  After what they had discovered tonight, it was more important than ever for him to solidify his hold on the throne. He needed to secure Tull’s hand and charm the people. He would win his mountain back from whomever thought they could undermine the Amintelles. He was the Fourth Good King, and he would be burning good at the job!

  Siv strode after Dara. Yes, there was definitely mist and light in the tunnels now. They were almost out.

  Then Dara walked past a gap in the stone, and a dark figure leapt out behind her. Siv shouted a warning, but the assailant shoved Dara hard against the tunnel wall before she could react. Her head smacked the rock with a sickening thud.

  The attacker pulled a sword from his belt. Dara scrambled for the Savven blade at her hip, but she looked disoriented. She wouldn’t get to her feet in time. The attacker raised his sword.

  “Dara!”

  Siv threw himself into the swordsman before he could bring down his blade. They tumbled to the ground, rolling across the sharp rocks, grappling for control. Siv couldn’t get his sword out of its sheath. Fortunately, his opponent couldn’t do much with his weapon in the close quarters, either.

  Siv threw wild punches and tried to get a grip on the man with his legs. They reeled over the sharp stones, fists swinging, struggling for the advantage.

  The scramble was nothing like the noble duels for which he’d trained. The mysterious assailant remained utterly silent, but Siv grunted and swore enough for both of them. The other man caught him with a punch to the ribs and dove on top of him, slamming him into the tunnel wall. Siv’s head rang, but he managed to flip the man off him and deliver a kick to the knee.

  In the seconds before his opponent recovered, Siv grabbed the kitchen knife from his coat pocket. He lunged onto his attacker’s back and laid the blade against his throat, grasping him roughly by one arm.

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  The man moved, tossing his head backwards and smacking Siv painfully in the forehead. His grip on the kitchen knife slipped. The attacker ducked out of his grasp, diving for his sword, which had fallen to the ground in the scuffle.

  When he picked it up, he was facing Dara. She wavered on her knees, as if she had tried to get up but couldn’t quite manage it. Blood matted her golden hair.

  The attacker lunged toward her.

  Siv was faster. He leapt onto the man’s back and drove the kitchen knife into his neck. Hot blood spilled over his hands as they fell to the ground.

  Silence reigned. Siv listened for more assailants. They—he—had made a lot of noise. They must have attracted attention. But nothing moved in the tunnels except for the drip of blood. They were alone.

  Then Dara spoke into the darkness. “I owe you my life, Sivarrion Amintelle.” And she slid down to sit on the floor of the tunnel.

  Siv wiped off his hands as best as he could on the strange man’s shirt and scrambled over to kneel before her. He put his fingers in her hair and gingerly searched for the cut on her head.

  Dara winced, reminding Siv that it was now light enough to see. They had to be almost at the surface. He pulled off the brown cloak he stole from the castle kitchen and used it to dab at the wound on Dara’s head. It wasn’t too deep, but she’d have a headache.

  “Are you hurt?” Dara asked.

  “No. Maybe a few bruises, but he didn’t get a good stab in.”

  “Good.” Dara groaned as Siv shifted his hands to put more pressure on her head wound.

  “Do you feel dizzy?” he asked. “Look at me for a minute.” He tilted her face up to see if she was able to focus. Some of the usual intensity was missing from her eyes, but when he shifted his position she followed his movements. She should be all right.

  “You have nice eyes,” Dara said. “I’ve never told you that.”

  Siv froze. She didn’
t sound quite like herself, but her gaze was fixed on him now.

  “And you have a nice face,” she said.

  “You hit your head, Dara.” Siv barely dared to breathe. He had always found Dara attractive, but how much did she . . .? Almost against his will, Siv’s eyes darted to her mouth. She blinked slowly, and her eyelashes fluttered against the inside of his wrist.

  “Who is he?” Dara said, and it took Siv a minute to figure out what she was talking about. Right. The man he had just killed.

  Siv moved Dara’s hand so she could hold the cloak against the wound on her head, and then turned over the body. The man was Soolen. He was shorter than Chala Choven, though, and he wore cloth wound around part of his face as the other duelists had. Siv breathed a short sigh, relieved he hadn’t killed one of his own subjects.

  “I don’t know him,” Siv said. He wished he could have taken the man alive. They might actually get some answers. He looked over at Dara, who still had blood in her hair. The man had almost killed her. Maybe Siv didn’t feel that bad about not taking him alive after all. Besides, there had been something odd about this man as they fought. He hadn’t made a sound.

  Siv picked up the kitchen knife and used it to pry open the Soolen man’s mouth. His tongue had been cut out. Siv grimaced. That wasn’t a good sign. Soole was the only country on the continent known to cut out criminals’ tongues, and they only did it to murderers. He hoped none of the other mysterious and deadly swordsmen training in that cavern were murderers from foreign lands. This was not good.

  “We’d better get out of here.” He wiped off the kitchen knife and tucked it back into his coat, not wanting to leave any evidence of who was responsible for this.

  “Check his blade.”

  “What?”

  Dara was on her feet now. She clutched the wall of the tunnel as if still a little dizzy.

  “Is it like the other one?”

  “Good point.” Siv retrieved the weapon that had fallen on the stones. Like the one belonging to the man who had tried to kill them after the Vertigon Cup, it had no maker’s mark. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Siv was pretty sure it was exactly the same as the other one.

  Dara reached out to touch the hilt.

  “It’s a Fire Blade,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Agreed.”

  Before long, they were hurrying down a final tunnel—not the one they had come from—and emerging into the mist-drenched night. The peak was deserted, but they didn’t feel safe until they made it down to Pen Bridge.

  Siv supported Dara’s arm as they walked, glad she didn’t reject his offer of help. She was quieter than usual. He started to worry she was really injured. That, or extra thoughtful. They kept their heads down, hoping that if anyone spotted them they’d assume they were just another couple out enjoying the moonlight.

  He liked the chance to hold her, though. As they strolled through the stillness it was almost romantic. Mist seethed in the Fissure and rose around them, pearly and ethereal. Their strides matched, and Dara’s arm felt warm in his.

  They didn’t need to worry about being recognized after all. The bridge was empty, and it was as if they were the only people on the mountain tonight.

  Finally, Dara spoke.

  “How was dinner?”

  “Huh?”

  “Dinner. With Lady Tull?”

  “Oh.” Siv glared at the mist around the bridge as some of the magic fractured. “It went as well as can be expected. I asked for her hand.”

  Dara jolted, and Siv instantly regretted the words. She strode faster, as if trying to cover her reaction.

  “And her answer?”

  “She’ll consider it,” Siv said. “Bolden has already asked her.”

  “I see.”

  They resumed their walk in silence. Why couldn’t she have waited to bring up Lady Tull? He had to stop doing this, holding Dara close and imagining them as a couple. It only made everything harder. He burning knew that, but he kept letting it happen.

  They were almost back to King’s Peak, almost back to where he was the king and she was his guard. The castle loomed out of the mist as if it were floating on a cloud. A hint of the Firegold adorning its walls glinted in the moonlight.

  “Wait, what about Berg?” Siv said suddenly.

  “I’ll send word to him in the morning letting him know I got out safely,” Dara said. “I think it would be better for both of us if he doesn’t know you were out and about tonight.”

  “Agreed.”

  “We’ll need his help sorting out this mess.” Dara’s tone was business-like and practical. She was approaching this problem as she would a training session, with no indication that she was particularly bothered by the news of Siv’s pending engagement. It was just as well. He had asked her to join the Guard because he knew he could trust her, not for any other reason. He wasn’t sure he could trust anyone else at this point. He should really be worrying about that, not about how she apparently liked his eyes. And his face. He could be practical too.

  Siv cleared his throat. “Let’s sleep on it and figure something out in the morning.”

  “I agree,” Dara said.

  They climbed the streets of King’s Peak in silence. When they reached the entrance to the secret tunnel, Dara withdrew her arm from his.

  “I’d better go back in the way I came out,” she said.

  “Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” Siv knew it was a bad idea, but he said it anyway. “You shouldn’t be alone with a head injury.”

  “That would be difficult to explain to Pool in the morning.”

  “Let him wonder,” Siv said. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’ll have Telvin check on me,” Dara said—rather brusquely, he thought. “I’ll tell him I stumbled down some steps on my way home. Too much ale.”

  Siv blinked. “Who’s Telvin?”

  “One of the guardsmen. I had a drink with him earlier tonight.”

  “You don’t even like drinking.”

  “It was okay.” Dara shrugged. “He’s a decent man.”

  “Is he,” Siv said flatly. Which one was Telvin? Not many of the guardsmen were young. He’d better not be one of the good-looking ones. Why was she having drinks with guardsmen anyway?

  “Yes, I think so,” Dara said. “I’ll keep an eye on him in case he could be a potential ally. He used to be in the army. Maybe he could give us information on Pavorran.”

  “Information,” Siv said. “Sure. Good idea. Just be careful.”

  “Good night, Siv,” Dara said. “And thank you. I needed your help tonight.” Then as suddenly as if she were lunging toward a target, she stepped closer to him and kissed his cheek. Before he could move, she strode off through the darkness toward the castle gates.

  Siv grinned all the way through the tunnel, the kitchens, and the secret stairwell to his chambers. He was still smiling by the time he fell asleep.

  10.

  Plans

  DARA’S head pounded as she descended through the bottom level of the castle to the cur-dragon cave. She hadn’t slept well. Telvin had dutifully woken her up throughout the night to make sure she wasn’t slipping into a coma. She had spent her waking hours mulling over what to do about the threat they had discovered yesterday.

  In the bright light of day, the solution seemed clear. If General Pavorran and his cronies—whoever they were—had decided to make their own private dueling army, the king needed to do the same.

  The Castle Guard had to recruit and train replacements anyway after being compromised during the assassination. It was more important than ever to make sure the new recruits could handle the threat brewing over on Square Peak. They might not have much time. What they really needed was a ready-made group of fit, trained swordsmen who weren’t in danger of being influenced by the general.

  Fortunately, Dara happened to know some of those.

  She
nodded to Yeltin, the gray-bearded Castle Guard posted at the entrance to the cur-dragon cave. One of the original guardsmen, he was definitely loyal to the king, but he also wasn’t young. They needed fresh blood to meet the new threat.

  As Dara strode down the cur-dragon tunnel, claustrophobia flashed through her at the memory of their adventure the night before. She had been afraid in those tunnels—very afraid—until she felt that river of Fire pulling her like a beacon. She had followed that sensation to get out of the depths of the mountain and back toward the surface. But what was all that Fire for? It presented an even bigger problem than the mysterious duelists.

  Pool stood at the end of the passageway, where an iron gate blocked the cavern entrance to prevent unruly cur-dragons from wandering into the castle.

  “Greetings, Miss Ruminor.”

  “I’d like to talk to you and the king about something, Pool,” Dara said.

  “Certainly. I shall inquire whether he has a moment to hear your entreaty.”

  Pool opened the gate to the cur-dragon enclosure and shooed away a pair of dragon keepers lingering nearby. The sky outside the cave opening was clear today. The Burnt Mountains stood sharp against the skyline. A cur-dragon launched itself from the ledge and soared out into the crisp blue sky as Dara entered.

  Siv sprawled on the floor with his back to her, playing with his favorite cur-dragon hatchling. Rumy was three months old and getting big quickly, already the largest of his litter. He stretched his wings, which had begun to take on a greenish cast, and preened as Siv tossed him bits of morrinvole meat. Siv looked like his old self, not like a king with enemies on all sides. Dara didn’t speak, watching him coo at the little dragon and tease it with the treats. Not for the first time she wished everything could go back to the way it used to be.

  Then Zage Lorrid stepped out of the shadows, clad in his customary black. A silver leaf pin glinted at his throat.

  “What is it, Miss Ruminor?” he said.

  “I need to speak with the king.”