King of Mist (Steel and Fire Book 2)

by Jordan Rivet

  “Shall we get back to work?” she said.

  Zage inclined his head. “Very well, Miss Ruminor.”

  When Dara left the Fire Warden’s home later that night, she felt restless. She thought about visiting Siv to reconcile with him. She had avoided being alone with him since his engagement, but they had to work together against the growing threats from the Fireworkers and the missing duelists. She hated the thought of his coming marriage, but she would not break her oath to protect him just because he had chosen a queen—as she had always known he would.

  He’d probably be asleep by now, though. He had been as busy as she had lately.

  The night was cold, especially after leaving the heart of the Well. Not many Fireworkers trained so close to that much power. Dara wondered if Zage had her work there instead of at one of the access points in the castle so she would learn control faster. He certainly wasn’t coddling her. Strange as it was, she was starting to appreciate Zage.

  As Dara left the austere marble house, laughter spilled from the window of the building next to it. She hesitated. This was where Lady Atria lived. She hosted influential people in her parlors every night, facilitating alliances and liaisons amongst important figures. Dara had been here with Siv when he was still a prince. She drew even with the parlor window, listening to the raucous babble. Who was here tonight—and what might they be discussing behind closed doors? Would Atria let her in? She’d become well known in the city of late. Hopefully being a prominent figure on the Castle Guard would be enough to get her into Lady Atria’s without a noble escort.

  Before she could think better of it, Dara knocked. Quick footsteps sounded inside, and Lady Atria flung the door open, looking as rotund and cheerful as ever.

  “Yes?”

  “Lady Atria? I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m—”

  “Nightfall! Of course, darling, come in. It has been too long.” Atria pressed Dara’s hand with a fleshy palm and pulled her into the entryway of the greathouse. “We’ve been taking bets on when First Snow will fall. Care to wager?”

  “No, I just came for a quick drink, if that’s all right.” Dara thought First Snow might happen that very night. It was customary to stop what you were doing for a toast the moment the first snowflakes touched the earth. Many Vertigonians started celebrating early as soon as the clouds hinted at a change.

  “Of course,” Atria said. “Allow me to—Oh, my dear, one of my guests appears to be trying on the suit of armor. Excuse me. Feel free to go downstairs if you wish. You are always welcome here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Put that helmet down this instant, Lord Farrow!” Atria cried as she disappeared into the front room.

  Dara walked down the corridor, peeking her head through open doors to see if she recognized anyone. She was mostly hoping to run into Kel. She needed to find out what Bolden had been up to lately, but it was tricky to get in touch with Kel without arousing suspicion. She still suspected the swordsmen she’d seen training in the cavern might belong to Bolden and his father. She needed Kel to investigate the Rollendar lands in case they’d suddenly acquired dangerous new lodgers.

  But as Dara passed one partially open door, she spotted a familiar head of sandy hair. It was Lord Bolden Rollendar himself. She checked to make sure the corridor was deserted and then stopped outside the door to listen.

  Bolden paced in front of a large armchair in a wood-paneled sitting room. Someone sat in this chair, too short to be visible except for a slim hand on the velvet armrest. Dara leaned closer, easing the door open a bit more. It was a woman’s hand. That much was clear. And there was something familiar about it.

  Then Bolden spoke.

  “Can’t you move up the date? My father grows impatient.”

  The woman in the chair said something indistinguishable.

  “It doesn’t need to be a fancy feast,” Bolden snapped. “Just enough to keep that silly Guard occupied.”

  The woman said something else and removed her hand from the arm of the chair so Dara couldn’t see her at all. Suddenly Bolden glanced up, and Dara pulled back faster than if she’d been burned. Well, back when she could be burned.

  She waited a few minutes and then risked another look. Bolden had turned away from the door. He must not have seen her.

  The woman stood up from her chair. She had slim arms and a petite, straight-backed figure.

  It was Lady Tull.

  She approached Bolden and laid a hand on his shoulder, speaking in a soothing voice. He turned around at her touch, and Dara had to leap back again to avoid being seen lurking at the door. Her reactions were slow, though. That was the king’s betrothed meeting in secret with a Rollendar!

  She hadn’t moved fast enough. Bolden said something she didn’t catch. Then the sound of footsteps approached the door. Dara darted into the next room and pulled the door mostly shut. Bolden’s footsteps reached the corridor. Dara held her breath, gripping her sword hilt. It was silent for a moment, except for the distant laughter of the revelers in the front parlor. Finally, the footsteps picked up again, and Bolden returned to the sitting room where Lady Tull waited.

  Dara remained still for a few heartbeats and then peeked into the corridor again. It was empty. When she emerged from her hiding place, the door to Bolden’s room was closed. Dara bit back a curse. She needed to hear more of what they were saying. She listened at the door, but the heavy wood muffled the sound too much for her to distinguish any words. Hopefully she’d learned enough.

  Dara didn’t bother visiting the underground lounge at the back of Atria’s greathouse. She didn’t want anyone else to know she had been there tonight. With any luck, the armor-wearing Lord Farrow would distract Lady Atria enough that she wouldn’t remember Dara had even been there.

  She left the greathouse and ran all the way back to the castle. So that was why Lady Tull had accepted the engagement. She was distracting the king! And it sounded as if the Rollendars would make their move the night of the engagement feast. Well, let them come. Dara and the Guard would be ready for them.

  As she ran up the long stairway to the castle, the first light flakes of snow fell from the midnight sky. They coated her eyelashes and clung to her cloak by the time she reached the castle gates. She hurried through the corridors and up to the king’s tower, her tiredness forgotten. By the time she threw a quick greeting to Errol Feln and Yuri standing guard and pounded on Siv’s door, she had a plan.

  25.

  The Bottle

  SIV wished he hadn’t made things awkward with Dara. He could sure use her help as the news from Cindral Forest continued to complicate his life. He’d had a meeting with General Pavorran that afternoon. He wanted Dara there to watch for any hints from their conversation, but she had disappeared from the castle yet again after her usual training session. If they’d been on better terms, he might have called her to his room to talk it over afterward or visited her in the dueling hall. But she still treated him extra formally, and she was impossible to catch when she wasn’t carrying out her Castle Guard duties.

  The meeting with Pavorran had gone as well as could be expected. The man was about as interesting as a rock. Plus, Siv kind of resented him for being involved with the secret force training in the cavern. If he was going to be a villain, he could at least be an entertaining one. Pavorran had delivered a long-winded report on the recruitment of additional soldiers and the subsequent modifications to the army’s training regimen. The only mildly interesting part was when he requested the commissioning of a new supply of Fire-infused weapons. Siv told him he would consider it and asked for the details of which Firesmiths he’d use for the job. He didn’t plan to approve any new weapons until he determined whether or not they’d be used in his defense. He still wasn’t sure whether Pavorran acted alone or whether the whole army would end up fighting on his side. He felt increasingly vulnerable without a strong hold over his military force. He had begun to regret giving Pavorran permission to expand the army in the w
ake of the news from Cindral Forest. Hopefully Lady Tull had been right to give him that advice.

  When Pavorran finally left the castle, Siv retired to his chambers with a plate full of meat and bread and a bottle of wine. Okay, maybe two bottles. It was exhausting to court people’s approval, step lightly around those plotting to kill him, and keep everyone from panicking over news of distant wars. Siv was burning tired of it. He had a reprieve from entertaining visitors for once, and he intended to get a bit drunk and enjoy himself. Alone.

  Who knew being king would be so hard? He thought he was doing a decent job, but he wished for the simplicity of his prince days. He dropped into a dueling stance and did a bit of footwork across the rug in his antechamber, balancing his wine goblet expertly in his left hand. He wished he could be a Castle Guard instead. It looked like a good life. The Guards got to train, duel, attend carnivals and feasts, and hang out in the castle. They got a warm bed and plenty of food. They could go out for drinks when they liked and kiss whomever they wanted. It was all swords and booze and beautiful, intense eyes admiring you in your uniform.

  Siv poured himself another goblet of wine, imagining what it would be like to march around the castle in one of those sharp blue coats. I wonder if you can drown envy with wine. He took a huge gulp and walked to the window, his steps wavering a bit. He balanced his goblet on the sill and leaned his forehead against the cold glass.

  Of course, the Guards still got to work for the good of Vertigon. They lived on this beautiful mountain and actually had the freedom to explore it whenever they wanted. Plus, their mistakes wouldn’t result in someone who didn’t have the best interests of the people at heart taking control of the throne. Yes, it didn’t sound like a bad life at all.

  Siv was thinking about using his secret stairwell to fetch a third bottle of wine from the kitchens, when someone pounded on the door. He tripped on the corner of his Firegold-embroidered rug as he crossed the room. He really shouldn’t let his guard down by drinking like this, but his job was burning hard, and he was safe in the castle.

  He brushed the breadcrumbs from his table with clumsy hands and dropped onto the couch before calling, “Come in.”

  “Good, you’re still awake.” Dara strode into the antechamber and shut the door behind her. She swept off her black cloak, sending droplets of icy water across the room. A bit of frost dusted her golden hair.

  “Is it snowing already?” Siv asked.

  “Just now. Oh, happy First Snow.” Dara reached for a spare goblet from the table without really looking at it and raised it toward him. “I have news, Siv.”

  “Glad to see you dropping the highnesses and majesties,” Siv said, his words slurring a bit. “That was getting older than a Soolen bullshell.”

  Dara put her hands on her hips. “Are you drunk?”

  “Why on the snow-blessed mountain would you say that?” Siv said. He raised his own goblet, which was mostly empty again. That happened so quickly. “Happy First Snow to you too.”

  Dara narrowed her eyes. Firelord, her eyes were pretty.

  “Well, pay attention,” she said. “The Rollendars are planning something for the night of your engagement feast. And Tull Denmore is in on it.”

  “Tull? My lady wife? Or future lady wife, or whatever you would call her.” His engagee? There was a word for it, but Siv couldn’t quite think of what it was. He drained the last of his wine.

  “As far as I can tell,” Dara said, “she accepted your proposal, but she’s working with Bolden. I think they’re going to assault the castle on the night of the engagement feast. Bolden said he wanted there to be a lot going on to distract the Guard.”

  “That sounds like Bolden,” Siv said. “But you mean to tell me my future lady wife doesn’t love me? I’m shocked.”

  Dara rolled her eyes, apparently picking up the sarcasm in Siv’s tone. “I’m lucky I saw her. She’s been around the castle a lot lately. The Guard would have let her come and go as she liked until the feast. She could set up any number of traps for you. Or just open the door for the Rollendars, which sounds like the strategy she picked.”

  “How did you find this out? It’s good detective work.” Siv tried to work up the energy to feel betrayed, but there had never been anything personal between him and Tull. In fact, he felt a little relieved that she might be trying to kill him. That probably meant he wouldn’t have to marry her after all.

  “I got lucky,” Dara said. “I went by Lady Atria’s parlor and overheard them talking. They looked pretty cozy too.”

  “Atria’s? I miss that place. What do you say we go for a drink there right now? I feel like celebrating.” Siv started to stand, his balance off-kilter.

  “I think you’ve had enough to drink, actually,” Dara said.

  “It’s never enough!” Siv shouted.

  “Do you want me to have Pool put you to bed, or do you want to hear my idea for foiling Bolden?”

  “I don’t want anyone but you to put me to bed, Dara.” Siv said. “Ever. Ever ever.” Boy, that word’s fun.

  Dara grew very still. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Your Majesty.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “No, you know why.” Siv grinned. That would show her.

  “Siv.”

  “Dara.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Just how much did you have to drink?”

  “This is good vintage, Dara,” Siv said. “You should try it. Loosen up a little. And maybe stop being so serious around me all the damn time.”

  “This is serious,” Dara said. “I think we have a chance to stop the Rollendars for good. We can’t keep letting them sneak around and scheme. Let’s lie in wait for their men and deal a decisive blow when they least expect it.”

  “That all sounds grand,” Siv said. “But it’s First Snow. Celebrate with me. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we will be as decisive and kingly as my old granddad was.”

  Dara folded her arms. “The wine is gone anyway.”

  “Not true!” Siv said. “I’ve just remembered I have another bottle. A gift to congratulate me on my engagement.”

  Siv rummaged underneath a pile of books until he found the bottle in question. It had an unfamiliar label, but he was sure it would be good. People never gave him poor-quality wine. It was one of the definite perks of being king.

  Despite Dara’s objections, he popped the cork and poured a goblet for himself and one for her. He splashed a bit on the table, but a respectable percentage ended up in the cups.

  “To my un-engagement,” he said. “And to the brilliant plan that I have no doubt you will tell me about in the morning when my head has stopped spinning.”

  Dara sighed, apparently resigned to the good sense of his suggestion.

  “Happy First Snow.”

  She lifted the goblet to her lips. Siv drank deeply, watching her intense eyes. This was a nice bottle, with a hint of spice and oak. It really ought to be enough to make her smile.

  Because he was watching her, Siv had a rather good view when Dara’s eyes widened, her goblet dropped from her fingers, and she lunged forward to knock Siv’s drink out of his hands.

  An instant later, he was flat on his back with Dara straddling him, her hands clutching his shirt and horror in her eyes.

  “Siv!” she shouted.

  “I can hear you. If you wanted me on my back, you could’ve—”

  “Siv, shut up. There are Firetears in the wine!”

  26.

  Firetears

  DARA didn’t know what she was doing. She hadn’t trained for this. All she knew was that she needed to get the poison out of Siv’s body before it killed him.

  Firetears could only be used on people who couldn’t Work the Fire. It was a simple potion: the Fire pulled together out of its liquid form when it entered the victim’s body, forming a single glob or “tear.” When the Firetear reached critical mass, it shot upward through the victim’s body, wreaking havoc
on the way. Depending on the dosage the formation could take hours, but once activated a Firetear would burn through someone’s heart, throat, and brain in seconds, stealing their life, their warmth, their light. Firetears were particularly dangerous because they had no taste, and they didn’t take effect right away. The speed at which the poison worked varied, but it was always deadly.

  Dara knew all of this in an academic sense, but she had never encountered it before. When she put the wine to her lips and felt the Fire contained within it, she knew. By that time, Siv had already drunk half his goblet.

  Now he lay flat on his back as she tried to grab hold of the tears of Fire forming in his stomach with sheer will. She had to seize control of the droplets before they joined together, while fighting down her own panic. She’d been getting better at Working the Fire with her thoughts. She relied on the senses she’d been honing during her hours with Zage as she reached into Siv’s body. It had to be enough.

  “Dara, are you sure—?”

  “Quiet. I need to concentrate.”

  Siv wouldn’t feel anything yet. His father probably hadn’t felt anything either until his final moments when the fully formed tears burned through him. Dara gritted her teeth so hard she thought they’d crack. She wouldn’t let Siv die this way.

  She ripped open the buttons on his shirt and pressed her hands against the warm skin of his stomach. The Firetears moved within him, minuscule and fragmented in the wine, but already pooling together in places. There was too much of it! She spread her fingers and tried to capture the droplets, like picking up steel shavings with a magnet.

  Siv looked down at Dara’s hands on his abs.

  “Uh, Dara, I know I’m a bit drunk, but—”

  “Shh.”

  Slowly, Dara allowed a few beads of Fire to pull together in Siv’s stomach. She didn’t want to leave any of the potion behind. She moved one hand up his chest, guiding the trail of Fire. If she couldn’t keep the bits of Fire small they would damage his stomach and throat on the way out. That would be a much more painful way to die than with the quick flash of a fully formed Firetear.