by Jordan Rivet
Tirra considered him for a moment then inclined her head. “Very well. I will send her back to Vertigon in the spring.”
“Good.” Siv went over to the side table and poured himself a goblet of water from a silver pitcher. The conversation had sucked away a little of his excitement over finally getting to kiss Dara. He and his sisters all had a royal duty, and now that he was the king he understood even better how important making a good match was.
But his mother wasn’t finished.
“How goes the investigation into your father’s death?” she asked.
Siv sighed, waving at a pile of papers on the table containing his notes on the suspects. “I’m at a stalemate. Without further evidence I can’t make any accusations. The only real clue was the Firetears. It seems that many Fireworkers can make the potion, but no one actually sells it on the mountain itself. Any of the nobles father met with that day could have privately employed a Fireworker to provide them with the means.”
“Have you considered the Fireworkers themselves?” the queen said.
“He only met with one Fireworker that day, and it was Dara’s father.” Siv shrugged and tipped back his goblet, finishing his water in one gulp.
“Indeed. I know you trust her,” the queen began.
“I do,” Siv said. “Besides, Dara has saved my life on numerous occasions.”
“Darling.” Siv’s mother reached out a pale hand to touch his arm. “Someone slipped me a note last night warning me to be wary of Rafe Ruminor.”
“What?” Siv felt a mist wrapping around his head, making it difficult to think.
“It happened so quickly I didn’t see who it was.” The queen plucked a crumpled scrap of parchment from her belt and held it out. “It reminded me that I do not feel safe on this mountain. It is time for me to go.”
Siv took the note automatically and smoothed it out on his knee. In elegant, looping handwriting it said, “Beware the Maker of lanterns and tears.”
“Rafe Ruminor,” Tirra said. “I don’t know of anyone else the note could refer to. Or anything else. I know Selivia is friends with that girl, and as for you—”
“Dara is my friend,” Siv said. “And she doesn’t speak to her parents anymore. Even if they were involved somehow, Dara has thrown her lot in with me.”
“That implies she must know something, doesn’t it? Even though she apparently wants to protect you, if she knows who murdered your father—”
“No,” Siv said. The note crumpled in his hand. “I don’t believe that.”
“I’m sorry, my son,” the queen said softly. “But it’s possible your feelings are blinding you. You have barely considered her father a suspect, even though he was here in the castle that day, and he surely had the means to produce Firetears. Is that logical?”
Siv stood and paced across the antechamber that had belonged to his father so recently. Back and forth. Back and forth. It couldn’t be. There had to be some mistake, some unlikely coincidence. Even if the Lantern Maker himself was dangerous, Dara couldn’t have known.
But what if she did?
Zage Lorrid had suggested Dara was a danger to him. Zage, who knew more about the activities of the Fireworkers than anyone else in the kingdom. Did he too suspect the Ruminors might be involved in the death of Siv’s father?
But what could be their motive? Siv knew about the tragic death of their other daughter, but that didn’t have anything to do with his father, did it? The Ruminors didn’t like the regulation of the Fire, but would that drive them to regicide? And what did Dara know about it all?
The queen rested a featherlight hand on Siv’s shoulder. “I am sorry to put this burden on you,” she said. “But I don’t wish to stay here any longer, and I want to make sure my little girl is safe. At least ask the Ruminor girl what she knows.”
Siv didn’t answer as his mother took her leave. The triumphs of the night before didn’t seem nearly as sweet anymore. He had invited the Ruminors to the castle. He had thought he was doing Dara a favor by giving her a chance to reconcile with her parents. But what if she’d cut ties with them because she knew they were up to something . . . and she hadn’t told him?
He had to talk to her. It was only fair that he give her a chance to explain. Maybe she knew of some other lantern maker who could produce Firetears. Maybe they could tie the whole thing back to that mysterious cavern of duelists, or the Rollendars, or General Pavorran. There had to be an explanation.
Siv shrugged on a coat and left his rooms, sweeping up Pool from the landing without a word.
He hadn’t made any appointments for the day after the carnival. The castle needed time to recover from the festivities. A sleepy contentment permeated the corridors. Servants yawned, and guards blinked at bright lights. Siv would have enjoyed the peacefulness of it if a sick feeling weren’t taking root in his stomach.
He marched straight to the dueling hall, hoping to catch the end of Dara’s practice. His favorite thing was still to watch her duel. Well, that and kiss her. That had already jumped right to the top of his list of favorite things. What if she had orchestrated that kiss somehow? Gotten him to let down his guard in service of whatever her father—no. He couldn’t start thinking like that. She was Dara. He trusted her. He had to let her explain. And besides, he had been the one to kiss her first.
But when he reached the dueling hall, the guardsmen were already packing up their gear. Telvin Jale saluted, looking as if he had gotten plenty of sleep last night.
“Is training over?” Siv asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Where’s Dara?”
“She left as soon as practice ended,” Telvin said. “She said she was going to visit her parents.”
Siv stiffened.
“I see. What about Berg?”
“Coach Doban sent word that he couldn’t make it today, Your Majesty,” Telvin said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No. At ease.” Siv looked around the dueling hall at the other guardsmen. They looked worn out, sprawling on the floor or doing half-hearted stretches. It seemed Dara had kept her promise to make sure they trained as usual today. “You all did well last night,” he said, forcing himself to sound calm and regal despite the betrayal stinging him like a zur-wasp. “I am proud to have you all on my Guard.”
Smiles broke out amongst the duelists.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said young, earnest Dell Dunn. Siv was pretty sure he could tell him and twitchy Shon apart now. “It’s an honor to protect you.”
“Long live King Siv!” shouted Yuri.
“Hear! Hear!” called the others.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to use the hall for a while,” Siv said. “I hear there are plenty of pies left over from the carnival. Why don’t you help yourselves? Tell the cooks I sent you.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
The duelists gathered the last of their belongings and headed for the door. Oat and Luci held hands as they left the hall, and the sight cut at Siv like a knife. The guards greeted Pool cheerfully on their way out, apparently energized by a word of approval from their king. Pool peeked into the dueling hall, giving Siv a pensive look, then retreated to the corridor again.
Siv allowed the stillness to settle around the empty hall. Muted afternoon light cascaded through the tall windows. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the chair by the door to his old room. Then he dropped into a guard stance and began to do footwork across the hall, slowly at first, gathering speed as he warmed up. He needed to stay alert. Agile. Like a professional duelist, he had to be ready for anything. He always had to be on his guard.
The rhythmic motion of the exercise helped to calm his mind. It felt good to get back into it, even though his moves were rusty. After he finished his footwork, he retrieved a blade from the weapons rack and did lunges, striking a practice dummy again and again. Dara would explain everything when she returned to the castle. Her father couldn’t have been responsible. An
d she couldn’t have known.
Siv worked until every muscle in his body ached and sweat dripped down his face. He was out of practice and out of shape, but at least his accuracy was still there. He would clear things up with Dara, and he would find whoever had truly murdered his father. He would do what was right for his kingdom.
Darkness had fallen outside by the time Siv finished his workout, and he was exhausted. He cleaned up and retired to his chambers to change clothes. Dara still hadn’t returned to the castle. As soon as she did, he was confident she would alleviate his worries.
But his mother had reminded him that he couldn’t allow his personal feelings to blind him to what was happening in his kingdom. No matter what he wanted, no matter whom he wanted, he still had to act like a king.
And that evening, Tull Denmore came to see him.
19.
The Parents
DARA climbed the steep slope of Village Peak. A sleepy peace covered the mountain in the aftermath of the harvest festival. A lone goatherd ushered his flock along a pathway below her, bells tinkling around the creatures’ necks. Muted laughter rose from a tavern set into the mountainside. Smoke from the Fireshops drifted on the wind, and golden autumn leaves swirled across her path.
Dara’s muscles still ached from practice. She had worked her team hard that morning, hoping it would take her mind off of Siv and the way it had felt to be wrapped in his arms. But she would never forget that moment, even if it could never happen again.
She didn’t know if she wanted it to or not. Well, she definitely wanted to kiss Siv again. It had been wonderful, her senses spinning like a blizzard and crackling like a fire from the instant his lips touched hers. She had hated that the moment had to end. But how could she justify pulling him close again? He was the burning King of Vertigon! There could never be more between them than stolen kisses. And she had bigger problems to worry about right now.
The Fire Lanterns lining the walkway outside her parents’ home drew nearer. Dara shook with nerves. She hadn’t been here in two months. The last time her boots had trod this path, her mother had yelled about what a disappointment she had been. She as good as said she wished Dara had died instead of Renna. In many ways, her father’s cold dismissal had been worse. Dara fought off the urge to turn around and walk away.
She now knew for certain that her father’s schemes hadn’t ended with the assassination of King Sevren. Her father had brimmed over with molten power when he arrived at the castle last night. He’d been advancing on the king when Zage yanked the Fire away from him. He would try to hurt Siv again. And she might be the only person who could get close enough to stop him.
She climbed the porch of her parents’ dwelling, the thud of her boots loud in her ears, and rapped on the door to the lantern shop at the front of the house. Without waiting for an answer lest she lose her nerve, she pushed it open and entered.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal daughter herself.”
Dara stopped at the threshold. It wasn’t her mother who greeted her, but Master Corren. The stocky Firegold spinner was known for making elaborate embroidered garments with his golden threads. He was also the original employer of Farr, the man who had tried to kidnap and possibly kill the young royals. He must be in on the plot.
“It’s nice to see you, Master Corren,” Dara said warily.
The lantern shop was exactly the same as when she left: eight elaborate Fire Lanterns, each a different design, hung from elegant wooden arches around the room. A huge desk covered in drawings and neatly organized papers sat in one corner, with the same hard wooden chairs Dara had spent too many hours in throughout her youth. Corren lounged in one of these chairs with his Firegold-trimmed boot resting on his knee, but her parents were nowhere in sight.
“Where is my mother?” Dara asked.
“She’s just gone to fetch your father from his workshop. She doesn’t have you to do that for her anymore, eh?”
“I guess not.”
“I don’t mean to give you a hard time,” Corren said. “You have to find your own path, but your parents miss you.”
“I’m sure they do.” Dara avoided standing too close to the lanterns and focused on staying very calm so she wouldn’t accidentally draw on the Fire. She had left her sword behind at the castle. She still hadn’t managed to do much with the Fire without metal in her hand, and she didn’t want to take any chances.
“How are things up at the castle?” Corren asked. “I hear you’re making a name for yourself, along with some of our favorite duelists. Everyone’s talking about the New Guard.”
“We’re doing well.”
“I wish I could have seen them at the carnival last night. I hear it was quite the show.”
“It was.”
Corren smiled warmly, and Dara couldn’t figure out if there was more behind his words than polite chatter.
“You know,” he said, “I was talking to Daz Stoneburner at the Guild the other day, and he mentioned that he had seen you.”
“He did?”
“Indeed.” Corren traced a swirl of gold on his boot. “He said you were asking questions about a suspicious-looking weapon. I’m curious: did you ever find out where it came from?”
“Uh . . . no.” Dara breathed steadily. Focus. It’s just like being in a duel. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, just wondering if you had managed to get your hands on any more of those blades.”
“I wasn’t . . . No, I haven’t.”
“So the New Guard isn’t armed with Fire Blades, then?”
Corren’s question was so casual that Dara almost answered him. Instead she shrugged, as if the distinction between a Fire Blade and cold steel were inconsequential. She was already rushing through everything she and Berg had said in front of Daz Stoneburner that day. If he had been reporting back to the Guild all along, they would know Berg had offered to give her information.
That would mean the Guild knew all about Berg. That wasn’t necessarily a surprise. Her father had once stated outright that Berg didn’t have their family’s best interests at heart.
But Daz Stoneburner had also been watching her very closely indeed when she held that Fire Blade. Was it possible he had noticed she could Work? And if he had, did her parents know too? She fought desperately to control her breathing and the pounding of her heart.
Corren smiled.
Footsteps sounded in the passageway, and Dara’s parents entered the lantern shop a second later.
“Corren, we need to discuss last night’s—” Lima stopped abruptly when she realized Dara was standing there. Her husband halted beside her, allowing a brief glance at Corren before fixing his gaze on Dara.
“Hello,” Dara said. “I . . . I mentioned last night that I would come by for a visit. So . . . here I am.”
“Yes, here you are.” Rafe studied her from head to toe, and Dara resisted the urge to squirm. How much had Stoneburner told them? Did he already suspect she could Work the Fire? Did he know she had been the one to alert the Fire Warden last night?
“I can come back later,” she said. “If you and Master Corren need to talk.”
“We do,” Lima said, “but it won’t take long. Why don’t you wait in the kitchen?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was nice to see you, Master Corren.” Dara ducked her head and edged around her parents to get to the door. They waited until she had closed it behind her before they started to speak.
Dara snatched a mug from the cupboard and filled it with tea. She set it on the stone table and hurried back to the door. With luck, her parents would assume she was sitting and having a quiet drink while they talked. She pressed her ear against the thick wooden door.
The voices were muffled, but she caught words here and there.
“ . . . was nowhere near us, but he knew . . .”
“. . . took me by surprise, and then it was too late to . . .”
“. . . don’t think the king even realized how close we were . . .”
&n
bsp; “. . . too busy playing the fool . . .”
There was an indistinct murmuring, and then Corren’s voice rose above the others.
“What about Dara?”
“She won’t help us,” Lima said.
“Are you sure? She’s your daughter. Maybe if she . . .”
Dara’s father responded, his voice a low rumble, but she couldn’t make out his words. He would agree with her mother, though. Dara’s parents had long since decided she wasn’t truly a part of their family, not when she wouldn’t dedicate herself to their Work as they wished.
Dara frowned, running her fingers over the grain of the wooden door. She knew it shouldn’t hurt her feelings to hear her parents dismissing her. She didn’t want to be part of their nefarious activities anyway. They were murderers! But the rejection stung deep down, in a part of her beyond the reach of reason. She glanced around at the kitchen. It looked exactly the same as the last time she had been here. Renna’s chair still sat beside her own. The castle was still visible through the window. But this place was no longer her home.
Dara pressed her ear to the door again. The conversation had moved on from Dara and the unlikelihood that she would assist in their next assassination attempt. They were debating what to do next.
“. . . has the resources in place. It would be easier than getting all the Workers in line,” Corren was saying.
“That didn’t work as well as it was supposed to last time,” Rafe replied. “I still don’t trust him.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Lima said. “But you can use him.”
“Perhaps,” Rafe said.
“It’s overdue,” Corren said. “We shouldn’t have let them walk over us for so long. You are the one to secure our futures. But like I said, he has the resources.”
“Very well,” Rafe said. “I will visit his greathouse.”
“You’ll tell him you support his bid for the throne?”
“Indeed.” There was a shuffling of feet in the lantern shop, a scraping of chairs against the wooden floor. “It will take some time to prepare. In the meantime, Corren, you . . .”