by Jordan Rivet
Dara pounded on the door again, shattering the quiet of the snowy night.
Slow footsteps approached on the other side of the door. It cracked open, releasing a sliver of light. Vine’s butler peered through, holding up a Fire Lantern. A Ruminor Lantern, of course.
“Sorry to bother you in the middle of the night,” Dara said.
“Who is it?”
“Is Vine home? I need to see her right away.”
“What’s happening out there?” The butler kept the door mostly shut. The cold wind whistled at the crack. “We heard such a commotion.”
“Please,” Dara said. “It’s urgent.”
“Who is it, Toff?” Vine’s voice floated out from the darkness. The butler glanced over his shoulder.
“Vine, it’s Dara!” she called, praying she’d made the right choice. She was pretty sure it was their only choice. “Can we come in, please?”
“Dara Ruminor! Quickly, Toff!” Vine bustled forward and pushed her butler out of the way. Her eyes widened when she saw Siv. She had a rapier in her hand as if she had expected a fight at her doorstep, but she tossed it aside to grab Dara and Siv and pull them through the doorway.
“We had nowhere to go, Vine. Could we—?”
“Of course, of course! Toff, run get some bandages and hot water. And don’t open that door again.”
“My lady! What is that?” The butler went rigid as Rumy tried to force his nose through the doorway behind them.
“It’s just a cur-dragon,” Siv said. He was starting to sound as weak and tired as Dara felt. Blood pooled beneath his boots.
The butler blanched. “A cur—My lady!”
“It’s all right, Toff,” Vine said impatiently. “We won’t leave any living creature out in the snow. Take him through to the kitchen for now.”
As soon as Rumy crossed the threshold, Vine closed the door, sealing them off from the dark and the cold. Toff headed down a side corridor, and Rumy followed, stopping to sniff at everything he passed.
Vine wore a pale-green silk nightgown, and her lustrous hair hung loose around her shoulders. She looked absolutely delighted to see them.
“Come!” she said. “You must tell me everything that happened after I left the castle!”
She led them into a parlor on the ground floor and bustled about, pulling heavy curtains over all the windows. Dara couldn’t help glancing at them every few seconds, afraid she’d see the tall forms of her mother and father looming outside.
A soft darkness filled the parlor, which was decorated in an old-fashioned style. A few chairs and one low couch spread about the space in a haphazard manner. A table in one corner held an unfinished game of mijen. A large Fire Lantern hanging from the exposed beams of the ceiling, dim with age, was the only illumination.
Dara dropped into a chair and leaned her head back against the ornately carved wood. With Siv’s help, she explained to Vine what had happened in broad strokes. Vine’s father had apparently come down with a cold, and they’d left the feast early to get home before the blizzard gathered strength. She had missed most of the action.
“I saw the wall of Fire around Square,” Vine said, “but only when Toff came to wake me. I swear I shall never leave another party early for as long as I live. Now, take your clothes off, Your Highness.”
“Yes, my lady,” Siv said. He winked at Dara, an expression that turned to a wince as he eased off his black coat. He wore a white shirt underneath, which showed off the full extent of his injuries. Red lines crossed his ribs in several places, and blood completely soaked the tattered sleeve of his sword arm.
If the king’s injuries shocked Vine, she hid it well. Toff arrived with the bandages and a Firekettle full of hot water, and they set about patching Siv up together. Several of the cuts required stitches. Vine spread a blanket over the couch and made Siv lie down on top of it while she worked. Siv gritted his teeth, not making a sound as Vine sewed him up.
For her part, Dara had the worst headache of her life. She felt fragile, as if her bones would crack under too much pressure. She wished she could ask someone if that was a normal feeling—and if it would go away—but there was no one left to ask. Zage was dead, and she would surely never speak to her father or any of the Fireworkers who supported him again after tonight. The enormity of what had happened was starting to dawn on her. She only wished it would dull the pain in her head.
“What are you going to do now?” Vine asked as she tied off another row of stitches. “When my father wakes up in the morning, he’ll wonder how long I plan to have house guests.”
“We can’t stay here,” Dara said. Rumy had bought them time. Her father would likely expect them to be hiding in or near the castle. He wouldn’t look this far away tonight. And it wouldn’t occur to him to look for his daughter at House Silltine, the home of Dara’s famous rival, anyway. “Thank you for helping us, Vine, but I think we need to get off the mountain.”
“I won’t leave Vertigon,” Siv said.
“He will hunt you down and kill you,” Dara said.
“He tried before,” Siv said fiercely. “We’ll stop him again.”
“Siv, I’m no match for my father.” Dara leaned forward in her chair so she could see his face. The light from the Fire Lantern cast a shadow from his high cheekbones. “The Fireworkers are on his side, enough of them to threaten all of Square. Zage is gone. The Guard is decimated. Unless the army will side with you, which I thought was already out of the question, we don’t have a chance.”
“So you just want to abandon the city to him?” Siv said. “The man who killed my father and my sister?”
“We can’t stand against him, at least not now. What if you go to Trure, to your mother’s people? Maybe you can gather some support to—”
“To what?” Siv snapped. “Take back the mountain, the unassailable mountain of Vertigon, with a foreign army? And probably kill half my people in the process?”
“You’d rather kill my father directly instead?”
“That seems like the obvious choice to me.”
Dara felt her exhaustion like a physical weight on her shoulders. Of course Siv would see that as the only way to defeat her father. He was probably right. But Rafe would have safeguards in place. And she had meant what she said: she was no match for her father. She doubted she ever would be. There was nothing they could do. She wasn’t capable of killing her own parents, even if that was what it took to defeat them, even if they deserved it after everything they had done. But she couldn’t walk away from Siv either. And he didn’t want to abandon his people.
“I’m sensing a great deal of tension in the air,” Vine said pleasantly.
Dara gritted her teeth. “Are you.”
“Tension and weariness and grief,” Vine said. “You have to give yourself time to feel grief, in particular. May I make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead.” Siv rolled over so she could get at one of the cuts across his ribs. He bit into a couch cushion as she started the next row of stitches.
“You must sleep and regroup,” Vine said. “Neither one of you will be storming the castle in your current state. I suggest you sleep here tonight and begin the journey to Trure tomorrow.”
Siv started to object, but Vine poked him in the rib.
“I’m not saying you should return with a Truren army,” she said. “But you can regain your health and gather information. I will send word as things develop here. You will be in a much better state to consider your options there. I suspect that whatever move you make will have to wait until spring.”
The mere mention of sleep was enough to make Dara want to melt into her chair. Siv’s jaw tensed as Vine continued stitching up his side, but he seemed to be considering her suggestion. Then his eyelids began to droop.
“Siv!”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I think that’s as good a plan as any.”
“I agree,” Dara said. Vine was right: they needed to see where the ashes settled tomorrow, and they needed time to consi
der their options.
“Oh, lovely,” Vine said. “I do think coming to a consensus is best. You’re all finished, Your Majesty. Try not to move too much.”
Vine sat back to prepare another bandage as Siv reached down with tentative fingers to check the final row of stitches.
“Can you spare some cloaks and food for our journey?” Dara said. “I’m sorry we’ve already asked so much of you, Vine.”
“Nonsense, Dara. You’re my friend. And House Silltine has always been loyal to the Amintelles. I’m delighted at the opportunity to actually show what true loyalty means. I shall sleep like a baby after helping the two of you to safety.”
“Thank you. I’ll find some way to repay you,” Dara said.
“Just return safely one day. I would be so disappointed if we never got to compete together again.”
“I’ll try.”
But Dara wasn’t sure she could return to Vertigon. No matter what Siv did, she didn’t see how she could live here. Her father had betrayed the kingdom. He knew she could Work the Fire now. And she had collaborated with her parents’ enemy, the man who’d caused the death of their other daughter. She had learned from the Fire Warden himself. There would be no coming back from that in her parents’ eyes. Dara grimaced. She had to stop thinking like that. She knew her parents’ true natures now. But she still felt the bone-deep desire for their approval that had once been such a huge part of her life. They weren’t worthy of it, but it felt as if the only way to escape their thrall was to flee.
Dara rested a hand on the night-black hilt of her Savven blade, reaching for its familiar comfort. She gasped. The blade was still hot to the touch. No, not hot. It burned with Fire, like a Fire Blade, but far stronger. She had never felt anything like it.
She ran a finger over the weapon, around the intricate curls of the hilt and the Savven mark stamped in the pommel. It hadn’t melted from the torrent of power she’d sent through it, and it looked the same as always. But it had changed. Somehow through that furious rush of power and desperation she had transformed the Savven into a Fire Blade unlike any she’d ever encountered.
Dara removed her hands from the hilt and didn’t mention the sword to the others. Too much had happened tonight, and she was too tired to even begin unraveling this new mystery. She could barely stand up, much less wield this new blade now anyway.
She was sure the memory of everything she had seen would torment her as she went to sleep, but in the end she didn’t have to worry. Vine settled her in a musty guest bedroom in the old greathouse, and Dara dropped into unconsciousness before Vine even closed the door behind her.
Siv expected the pain prickling all over his body to prevent him from sleeping, but it ended up being remarkably easy. Vine slipped him a tonic she used after particularly trying training sessions. The enormity of everything that had happened that day didn’t have time to crash down on him before he dropped to sleep.
When he awoke in the morning, the pain from his wounds returned with such a vengeance that he couldn’t think too hard about their situation anyway. Vine cleaned his wounds again and had Toff pack up supplies for him and Dara. While they fussed over the details, Siv hobbled to the window and peeked out through the curtain.
The snow had finally stopped, and nearly three feet of it piled around the greathouse. The mountain was deceptively quiet. A soupy fog hung over everything, giving the impression that the whole world had been painted varying shades of white.
Some time in the night, the Fireworkers had withdrawn the wall of Fire. Square Peak looked safe for now. The only evidence of what had occurred was a stark ring all the way around the peak where the drifts weren’t nearly as deep. A thick crust of ice, glimmering in the weak morning light, indicated where the snow had melted and refrozen around the burning barrier.
They had no time to wait for information about who held the castle as day broke. The Lantern Maker would surely send men to search the mountain. Vine wrapped Siv and Dara in thick cloaks and reiterated her promise to send them news in Trure. Siv borrowed rope to make a leash and warned Rumy he’d have to be on his best behavior until they got to safety. Then Siv, Dara, and the cur-dragon began the long, treacherous journey into the Fissure.
Siv looked back at the castle as they snuck from building to building and tree to tree on their way around the edge of King’s Peak. It looked the same as it always had. No structural damage. No remnants of the incredible power that had burned within the Great Hall last night. No hint that for the first time in a hundred years, the crown did not sit upon an Amintelle head. His father’s legacy was destroyed. Siv didn’t know what he could do to recover it. Or if he should even try.
For now, all he knew was that the cuts on his body stung like hell, and he and Dara were going to survive. Whatever it took, they would look out for each other. And even though he was no longer the king, he would not leave his people at the mercy of the Lantern Maker forever.
Epilogue
SORALINE Amintelle huddled underneath her bed. She always thought she would be braver than this in the face of disaster. She had imagined what would happen if the castle was ever attacked, as it had been in the days of old before the Peace of Vertigon began. She had read about it in the history books. She had admired the long-ago queens who remained icy and defiant in the face of insurmountable odds. She had hoped she would be as serene as those ancient queens if such events ever came to pass again.
Instead, she curled in a ball underneath her bed, praying that the trouble would just go away. She was only seventeen. She didn’t want to die.
Sora shuddered as the door to her chambers opened.
“She’s under there,” said a voice in a familiar accent. Soolen. She’d had such high hopes for the visitors from Soole. Despite the troubling news from Cindral Forest, she had never guessed the Soolens would be part of the attack on the castle, the attack on her family.
“Did you hurt her?” The second voice was deep and firm.
“No, sir. We killed her guards, but she is unharmed.”
“Good.”
Sora bit back a sob as a pair of boots approached. She had seen the first guard go down with a sword in her belly. A sweet girl named Luci Belling. Sora had thought they might be friends in other circumstances. Denn Hurling had been posted outside her door too. He had guarded her since she was small enough to sit on his knee and pull at his red mustache. He had been like an uncle to her as well as a protector. How would she ever tell his twin sister, who was far away in Trure? Sora missed her own sister. And she missed her mother.
The boots stopped beside her bed. Then she saw a pair of knees, and finally, a face.
“Hello, Princess. May I have a word?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I believe that conversation would be much easier if you’d come out, Soraline.”
Sora shuddered at the sound of her own name being spoken by that deep, powerful voice. She recognized the face, though it was difficult to see with her cheek pressed against the cold, dusty floor. It was Rafe Ruminor, the Lantern Maker. Why was he working with her Soolen captors?
“Are you going to kill me?” she whispered, her voice sounding unforgivably small. Why, oh why couldn’t she be braver than this?
“That depends on you,” Rafe said. He waited, but when Sora made no move to emerge from underneath the bed, he continued. “I control this castle. I had intended to place young Rollendar on the throne and see to it that he followed my wishes. That is no longer possible as he got himself killed. Your brother is dead too, by the way, in case you were unaware.”
Sora sobbed. Siv. Her loving, infuriating brother. She had been sure he would be such a good king. The world had gone to ruin. Sora felt as if the bed over her head was the only thing keeping her in one piece now. She stared at the Lantern Maker.
“Did you—?”
“Bolden Rollendar killed him,” Rafe said. “He attacked the castle with a squadron of trained men.”
“But . . .
but you said Bolden is dead too?”
“Yes. Most unfortunate.” Rafe leaned in closer. Sora wished she could hide the tears slipping onto the dusty stones beneath her. She had never felt so alone. “I believe this transition will be easier if the people do not see it as a coup,” Rafe said, his voice soft and firm. “The army is not fully in hand, and I don’t wish to deal with so many complications at once. But if the figurehead bears the Amintelle name, I can see a good many things being different.”
“But what do you want from me?” Sora repeated.
Rafe Ruminor smiled.
“How would you like to be queen?”
Thank you for reading King of Mist. The third book in the Steel and Fire series, called Dance of Steel, is coming soon! Sign up for Jordan Rivet’s mailing list to get an email about a special discount when the book launches.
For a dystopian adventure featuring a gutsy female mechanic on a post-apocalyptic cruise ship, check out Jordan Rivet’s Seabound Chronicles.
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Acknowledgments
Thank you for reading the second book in the Steel and Fire series! It wouldn’t be possible for me to tell this story without the help of a few key people along the way.
I especially want to thank Willow Hewitt, Brooke Richter, Sarah Merrill Mowat, Rachel Andrews, Laura Cook, Marcus Trower, Amanda Tong, Rachel Marsh, Kaylee Peelen, Whitney Galletly, Kaitlyn Godfrey, Mike and Angela Chang, Geoff and Alison Ng, all my siblings, and Ayden and Julie Young for their encouragement and advice along the way.
Susie and Lynn at Red Adept Editing and the team at Deranged Doctor Design helped me polish this story and turn it into a book. The Author’s Corner continues to inspire me to do better with every release.
Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed Duel of Fire. Your positive feedback has made a huge difference. Thanks for skipping some sleep to hang out with Dara and Siv. I can’t wait for you to read Book 3!