by Jordan Rivet
Dara pulled away from the door and darted back to the table. It sounded as though Corren was taking his leave. She quickly gulped down half of her tea, which had gone cold. She had just managed to adopt a relaxed posture, her face in her mug, when her mother entered the kitchen.
“Dara,” she said.
“Mother.”
Lima took a seat across the stone table from Dara. She looked at her for a moment then stood and rummaged in the cupboard for some bread and cheese. Dara stayed silent, still processing what she had overheard. She leaned back a little so she could see into the lantern shop. Her father was shaking Corren’s hand.
So they had a noble ally of some kind, someone who wanted the throne for himself. And this ally had resources. Dara thought of the cavern she and Siv had visited, where Pavorran the General had been overseeing the training of the mysterious group of duelists.
But Pavorran didn’t live in a greathouse. His quarters were located beside the army barracks on the far eastern side of Square Peak. Whoever her father planned to collaborate with was definitely a member of the nobility. And it sounded as if he was preparing to overthrow the king!
Lima returned to the table and put down the bread and cheese. She met Dara’s eyes for a moment then turned away to prepare some tea for herself. She was a tall, imposing woman, not at all prone to nervous activity, but she couldn’t seem to think of anything to say to her daughter. She had plenty to say last time, Dara thought bitterly. She glanced at her sister’s chair, wishing Renna were around to help her understand their proud, cold mother.
By the time her mother finished making tea, Rafe had entered the kitchen.
They sat down across from Dara together.
No one spoke. Dara fiddled with her mug and took another sip of cold tea.
Rafe sliced the loaf of bread and ate a piece of it slowly and methodically, his strong jaw churning. He offered some to Dara, and she took it without a word.
What were you supposed to say to your parents after you overheard them planning a coup? After you last left their home in a hailstorm of bitter words?
After a while, Dara cleared her throat. “Thank you for the bread.”
“It came from Tollia’s bakery,” Lima said.
More silence.
Finally, Lima sighed, a long, heavy sound. “How is your new job?”
“It’s going well,” Dara said. “I enjoy training with the Guard.” She looked up at them. “And the king is good . . . good for Vertigon, I mean. I’m honored to be in his service.”
The Ruminors looked at each other.
“Are you so certain?” her father said.
“Yes.” Dara leaned forward across the table, catching a trace of her father’s familiar scent: fire and metal. “He’s a good man,” she said. “I’m very sorry for what happened to his father, but I think Siv—King Sivarrion will be a good ruler.”
“His reputation—”
“I know,” Dara said. “But he needs a chance. He’s intelligent and reasonable. I think you’d like him if you really knew him.” If only she could convince them to see what she saw in Siv. Perhaps they could work with him instead of against him. There was still a chance.
“Does he still favor Zage Lorrid?” her father asked. The name rumbled in his mouth like an earthquake. Dara resisted the urge to look at her sister’s chair.
“I . . . Yes, he does.”
“Then I am afraid he will be too much like his father,” Rafe said. “Ever since the Warden returned from Pendark he has been influencing the Amintelles to diminish the power of the Fire.”
“Pendark? What did Lorrid do in Pendark?”
“It matters little,” Lima said. “The damage has been done. And if this young king is like his father, I sincerely doubt he will ever give your father the position he deserves.”
“But—”
“Dara, you will understand one day,” Rafe said. “Let us leave this topic. You have made your choice, but we needn’t discuss it at home.”
“Yes, sir.” Dara held in a sigh. She shouldn’t push them too much on her first visit. “I’m sorry. I . . . I am happy to see you both.”
Her mother smiled at her, but it was more like a grimace. Her father studied her pensively. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then he decided against it and took another sip of tea.
They finished the bread, cheese, and tea in silence. When Dara rose to go, she promised her parents that she would come see them again. She had thought about inviting them to the castle to meet with Siv in hopes of some reconciliation, but that would be too much of a risk. Her parents wouldn’t be dissuaded from their views with one conversation.
She gave them each a stiff hug as she took her leave. She kept her heart rate absolutely steady when she hugged her father and made sure no Fireworks were nearby. She was relieved to find he wasn’t holding onto any Fire himself. He didn’t even blink, so she thought her secret was still safe. Unless Daz Stoneburner had said something, of course.
As Dara crossed Fell Bridge and returned to King’s Peak, she felt utterly exhausted. She had learned information that could prove useful, but the encounter with her parents left her feeling drained and sad.
The sun sank in the distance, and a light rain began to fall. A sharpness in the air hinted at the snow to come. Soon, the mountain would be wrapped in a deep, soft blanket, and the people would rely on the heat of the Fire to get them through until spring.
Not for the first time, Dara wondered how things would have been different if she had learned to Work the Fire from an early age. She’d be well on her way to being an accomplished Fireworker instead of studying the basics in secret with Zage. Her parents would value and respect her choices. In the fantasy as she imagined it, her sister would still be alive to train alongside her. They would be a real family. But she never would have learned to duel, and she never would have met Siv. If things had turned out that way, she wondered if she’d agree with her parents’ actions against the Amintelles.
Dara’s father and his associates wanted unmitigated access to the power of the mountain. There was no telling what they planned to do with that power, though. Did her father want to be Fire Warden? Did he want to dominate the other Workers and show them he was the mightiest of all? Or did he set his sights on higher goals? Did he want to be the king himself, to rule the mountain with the magic flowing through its veins as the first Amintelle king had done a hundred years ago?
Dara wasn’t sure where her father’s ambitions led. The one thing she knew was that her parents wanted to change the balance of power in favor of the Fireworkers. And she might not have opposed them if things had been different.
Dara looked up at the tallest tower of the castle as she approached the end of Fell Bridge, remembering that stolen moment with Siv the night before. As she had known it would, the memory caused physical pain deep within her chest. She could never be with Siv. Not the way she wanted. It might have been easier to throw herself in with her parents’ efforts than to split her heart in two.
But there was no looking back now. Dara had made her decision, and she wouldn’t let Siv down.
Darkness finished falling over the mountain. She trailed her hand along the railing of the bridge, her fingers going numb from the cold, and descended the steps. Her boots thudded on the stones of Thunderbird Square in a pool of light from a solitary Fire Lantern.
Suddenly, a cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows and grabbed her arm. Dara reached for her sword, realizing too late that she had left it at the castle. She was about to take a swing at her assailant when he yanked off his hood.
“Easy there, Dara.” It was Kel.
“You scared me.”
“You were pretty deep in thought,” Kel said. “Didn’t you hear me whisper your name from the shadows like a proper spy?”
“No. Sorry, Kel. I was distracted. You have news?”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you at the festival.” Kel glanced around the rain-
smudged square and drew her further into the shadow of the bridge guard’s house. “I followed my liege into the castle last night.”
“Oh, good.” Dara had almost forgotten about Bolden Rollendar with everything else that had happened yesterday.
“He was hanging around the kitchens,” Kel said. “They were pretty busy with all the stuff for the carnival. He didn’t do much, just lurked around for a bit. When one of the cooks questioned him he said he was fetching more salt cakes.”
“There were plenty of salt cakes at the carnival.”
“My thoughts exactly. Any idea why he might have been snooping around the kitchens?”
“Possibly.” Dara was pretty sure Siv’s secret tunnel went through the kitchen. He had been friends with the young Rollendar lord in his youth. There was a decent chance Bolden knew about the tunnel. Maybe he had been checking to see if it was still there. “Thank you, Kel. That’s really helpful.”
“No worries,” Kel said. He brushed at the rain droplets on his cloak. “This better be worth missing out on all the fun with the Guard.”
“I’m sorry.” Dara squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “I wish you could join us. If it’s any consolation, I make the Guard run laps a lot.”
“Maybe I’m better off playing the spy, then. You’re probably worse than Berg.”
Dara grinned. “You might be right.”
“I hope the king is prepared to give me a whole lot of public recognition if I end up helping to foil a coup.” Kel pulled his hood back over his head. “I never want to have to buy my own drinks again.”
“I’ll be sure to mention it,” Dara said. “But remember, he doesn’t know you’re doing this yet. This is just between you and me.”
“I know.”
“And be careful,” Dara said.
“Always am.”
Dara nodded and started to leave, then she stopped as another thought occurred to her. “Kel?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you know who makes Bolden and Lord Von’s coats, specifically the ones with Firegold embroidery?”
“Corren, I think. I bumped into him at the greathouse a few weeks ago.”
“Thanks, Kel. I owe you.”
“Sure thing.” Kel winked and disappeared into the drizzle.
Dara began the long walk back up to the castle through King’s Peak. She had a lot to tell Siv. They might finally be getting somewhere. If her father had decided to work with the Rollendars, stopping him could be straightforward. They could cut off the “resources” Corren was gathering rather than attacking him directly. Dara would feel much better about moving against Von and Bolden Rollendar than against her father. Maybe she could counter his efforts without ever having to confront him.
Dara felt more optimistic the closer she got to the castle. Some of the sadness that had clutched at her during her visit with her parents began to ease as she approached the warm lights of the castle. She always felt wanted here. She felt as if she was part of something. And Siv was here. She wanted to be in the same room with him, work with him on strengthening his position and foiling the plots against him. They were a good team. Unlike her parents, Siv believed in her, valued her, wouldn’t let her down.
Maybe she shouldn’t kiss him, but she could go tell him what she had learned about the Rollendars. It was excuse enough for them to be in the same room. And if she happened to hold his hand for a minute or two, feel his skin against hers, what was so wrong with that?
Dara strode into the castle entrance hall and shook the rain from her coat. A basket of Everlights and a bundle of colorful awning cloth sat by the door, remnants of yesterday’s carnival. The usual hustle and bustle had returned to the castle now that everyone had spent the day recovering from the festivities. Princess Selivia was passing through the entrance hall, chattering with her handmaid. She spotted Dara and darted up to her, eyes bright with excitement.
“Oh, Dara, did you hear?”
“Hear what?”
“Lady Tull is here. She has accepted my brother’s proposal. They’re going to be married!”
20.
Farewell
THE kingdom couldn’t be more delighted by the news of the royal engagement. The markets and taverns were already buzzing with talk of the carnival. Adding the prospect of a royal wedding on top of it was sure to keep the gossips of the mountain busy all winter long.
The people loved that Lady Tull’s tragic story would have a happy ending. They loved that she was beautiful. And her allies loved that she was going to be the queen. Where they had been hesitant to throw their weight behind Siv before, they now supported him enthusiastically.
He received a steady stream of noble visitors and invitations to dine and drink, view orchards, and admire livestock. He might as well fire the castle cooks because it looked as if he’d never have to eat at home again. He took advantage of the opportunity to assure the nobility of a prosperous and peaceful future under his kingship. Tull accompanied him on many of these excursions. She was a smart woman, and she did her part to charm the nobles. Siv almost felt as if they’d rather have her in charge than him.
He was surprised his performance at the carnival had been enough to prompt her to accept him. He’d expected her to keep him and Bolden waiting for weeks or months longer. He’d been stunned when she turned up at the castle to say she wished to marry him, so stunned that he’d nodded dumbly and said, “Sounds good. Let’s do that, then.”
She had shaken his hand and kissed his cheek, and suddenly the whole castle knew about it. It left Siv feeling winded, defeated, and kind of miserable.
The wedding wouldn’t take place until spring. They needed to invite dignitaries from lands near and far, and Vertigon wasn’t the easiest place to visit in winter. Besides, Princess Selivia had warned her brother that she would personally murder him if he dared have the royal wedding while she was away in Trure.
The queen delayed their departure for a few days amidst the excitement, but a sudden cold snap reminded her that First Snow would arrive all too soon. So she packed up the youngest princess and prepared to leave the mountain.
Siv, Sora, and Tull accompanied them to the road into the Fissure to give them a proper send-off. He decided it was a good time to take his growing cur-dragon out for a stroll. Rumy was now bigger than his mother, though his muscles hadn’t thickened fully and his scales were still a bit soft. He nearly reached Siv’s waist when standing on all fours, and he might end up being larger yet.
Siv guided him in a harness as he escorted his mother and sister down through King’s Peak. Rumy tugged at the lead, sometimes leaping into the air and flapping his wings for a few paces before falling back to the ground. He also enjoyed snapping at the heels of the tough little ponies that would carry Tirra and Selivia’s luggage down the mountain, making the animals snort and shuffle nervously. Siv had to pay close attention to keep the little guy from flying away or accidentally setting someone on fire.
The queen, the princess, and their guards and handmaids would spend a few days traveling the steep road down the Fissure on foot. It wound back and forth along the sheer canyon wall, far too precarious for most people to feel comfortable riding down it. When they reached the bottom, horses sent by Siv’s grandfather would be waiting to take them the rest of the way to Trure. For a brief moment, he almost wished he could go with them. That was a first. Siv hated visiting Trure.
The top of the road into the Fissure led through Ferrington-Denmore land, so there had been no way for Siv to avoid inviting his betrothed along. Tull was the perfect lady, as always. She dressed demurely and assured the queen that she would look out for her son. They all knew this was a purely political marriage, but the two played their parts well. Workers from the Ferrington-Denmore Estate gathered to watch them, thrilled to see the lady in her capacity as the future royal consort.
Between them and the onlookers stood the Guard. The duelists had embraced their role enthusiastically, and they now operated like a well-maintain
ed Fire Gate. They formed a loose circle around the king and his party, allowing an appropriate amount of space for their farewell. Siv gave Rumy’s lead to Oat while he hugged his mother and sister. Dara was among the guards escorting them today, but she stood facing the steep path into the Fissure, one hand on her Savven blade, and didn’t look at him at all.
“Send word when you reach the palace,” Siv said. “And watch out for burrlinbats in the Fissure.”
“Those don’t exist,” Selivia said.
“Do too. I’ve seen them myself.”
Selivia stuck her tongue out at him then seemed to realize it wasn’t quite appropriate for a princess who was nearly fourteen years old. She blushed and said, “Don’t do anything too fun without me.”
“I intend to hold a feast in the Great Hall every night you are away,” Siv said. “We will all be far too tired of parties to have any more when you get back.”
Selivia made a face then hugged him around the waist. When she pulled away there were tears in her eyes.
“You’ll be fine, Sel,” Siv said. “You won’t be gone long.”
“I know.” She sniffed and turned to say good-bye to Sora, who was busily adding to the list of all the Truren nobility she had asked Selivia to visit while she was in the Lands Below.
Selivia may be crying, but their mother looked as happy as she always did when she left for Trure. She adjusted her long velvet traveling cloak and reached out to squeeze Siv’s hand.
“Stay warm this winter,” she said. Then with a glance over at Dara, who still had her back to them, she pulled him close for a quick hug. “And be wary of the Lantern Maker.”
“Have a safe journey.”
The queen smiled, looking positively cheerful as she headed toward the steps leading down the mountainside. Zala, Selivia’s handmaid, followed close on her heels, no doubt happy to be returning to her homeland. Fenn Hurling took leave of her twin brother, Denn, looking as stoic as ever. Selivia commenced another round of hugs, beginning to look a bit more excited about the journey.