Fire skt-2

by Kristin Cashore

  "Don't patronise me," Garan said; and then dissolved into a fit of coughing that had the sound of a saw blade tearing through wood.

  Fire leaned forward in her chair and touched Garan's damp face. She'd come to an understanding with him regarding this bout of illness. He insisted on working, and so she agreed to bring him her reports from the questioning rooms; but only if he allowed her into his mind, to ease his sense of his throbbing head and burning lungs.

  "Thank you," he said to her softly, taking her hand and holding it to his chest. "This conversation rots. Lady, give me some good news from the questioning rooms."

  "I'm afraid there isn't any, Lord Prince."

  "Still coming up with contradiction?"

  "Most certainly. A messenger told me yesterday that Mydogg has definite plans to make an attack against both the king and Lord Gentian in November. Then today a new fellow told me Mydogg has definite plans to move his entire army north into Pikkia and wait for a war between Gentian and the king to play out before he so much as raises a sword. Plus, I spoke to a spy of Gentian's who says Gentian killed Lady Murgda in an ambush in August."

  Brigan was spinning the ball now on the end of his finger, absent-mindedly. "I met with Lady Murgda on the fifteenth of September," he said. "She wasn't particularly friendly, but she was plainly not dead."

  It was a tendency in the questioning rooms that had arisen suddenly in recent weeks, contradiction and misinformation, coming from all sides and making it very difficult to know which sources to trust. The messengers and spies Fire questioned were clear-headed and truthful with their knowledge. It was simply that their knowledge was wrong.

  All at the Dellian court knew what it meant. Both Mydogg and Gentian were aware that Fire had joined the ranks of the enemy. To lessen the advantage she gave the Dellian throne, both rebel lords had begun misinforming some among their own people, and then sending them out to get caught.

  "There are people close to both men," Garan said, "people who know the truth of their plans. We need those people – a close ally of Mydogg's, and one of Gentian's. And they have to be people we'd never suspect normally, for neither Mydogg nor Gentian must ever suspect us of questioning them."

  "We need an ally of Mydogg's or Gentian's pretending to be among the most loyal allies of the king," Brigan said. "Shouldn't be so hard, really. If I shot an arrow out the window I'd probably hit one."

  "It seems to me," Fire said carefully, "that if I take a less direct approach, if I question every person we're holding about things I haven't bothered to investigate before – every party they've ever been to, every conversation they've ever overheard but perhaps not understood the significance of, every horse they've ever seen heading south when it should've been heading north – "

  "Yes," Brigan said. "It might yield something."

  "And where are the women?" Fire asked. "Enough men. Give me the women Mydogg and Gentian've taken to bed, and the barmaids who've had to serve them their wine. Men are daft around women, incautious and boastful. There must be a hundred women out there carrying information we could use."

  Nash spoke soberly. "That seems good advice."

  "I don't know," Garan said. "I'm offended." He stopped, choked by a spasm of coughing. Nash moved to his brother's bed, sat beside him, and held his shoulder to steady him. Garan reached a shaky hand to Nash. Nash clasped it in his.

  It always struck Fire, the physical affection between these siblings, who as often as not were at each other's throats over one thing or another. She liked the way the four of them shifted and changed shape, bumping and clanging against each other, sharpening each other's edges and then smoothing them down again, and somehow always finding the way to fit together.

  "And," Brigan said, returning quietly to his previous topic, "don't give up on the archer, Lady."

  "I won't, for he troubles me much," Fire said; and then sensed the approach of an altogether different archer. She looked into her lap to hide her flush of joy. "Lord Archer has just arrived at court," she said. "Welkley is bringing him here now."

  "Ah," Brigan said. "And here's the man we should recruit to shoot arrows out the window."

  "Yes," Garan said wickedly, "I hear his arrow is always finding new targets."

  "I'd hit you if you weren't flat on your back," Brigan said, suddenly angry.

  "Behave yourself, Garan," Nash hissed. Before Fire could even begin to react to the argument, which struck her as rather funny, Welkley and Archer were through the door, and everyone but Garan was standing.

  "Lord King," Archer said immediately, dropping to his knee before Nash. "Lord Princes," he said next, standing to take Brigan's hand and stooping to take Garan's.

  He turned to Fire. With great propriety he took her hands in his. And the instant their eyes met he was laughing and glinting with mischief, his face so happy and Archer-like that she began to laugh as well.

  He lifted her up to give her a proper hug. He smelled like home, like the northern autumn rains.

  She went for a walk with Archer around the palace grounds. The trees were blazing with autumn colour. Fire was astonished now, and thrilled, with the tree beside the green house, because in recent days it had transformed into the closest natural thing she'd ever seen to her hair.

  Archer told her how bleak the north was in comparison. He told her about Brocker's activities, and the year's good harvest, and his passage south with ten soldiers through the rain. "I've brought your favourite musician," Archer said, "and he's brought his whistle."

  "Krell," Fire said, smiling. "Thank you, Archer."

  "This guard on our heels is all very well," Archer said, "but when can we be alone?"

  "I'm never alone. I always have a guard, even in my bedchamber. "

  "Surely that can change now I'm here. Why don't you tell them to go away?"

  "They're under Brigan's orders, not mine," Fire said lightly. "And as it turns out, he's quite stubborn. I haven't been able to change his mind about it."

  "Well," Archer said, smirking, "I will change his mind. I daresay he understands our need of privacy. And his authority over you must lessen now that I'm here."

  Of course, Fire thought, and Archer's own authority must rise up to replace it. Her temper flared out; she caught at the ends of it and hauled it back in. "There's something I must tell you, Archer, and you're not going to like it."

  His entire manner changed instantly, mouth hard, eyes flashing, and Fire was amazed at how fast their reunion had turned to this. She stopped and stared at him in exasperation, spoke over him to stop him. "Archer, stay within your rights. Don't you dare start accusing me of taking some man to my bed."

  "A woman, then? It wouldn't be entirely without precedent, would it?"

  She clenched her fists so hard her nails hurt the palms of her hands; and suddenly she was no longer concerned with holding on to the ends of her fury. "I was so excited for you to come," she said. "I was so happy to see you. And now already you've started in on me, and I wish you would leave. You understand me, Archer? When you get like this I wish you would leave. The love I give you, you take, and you use it against me."

  She swung away from him, strode away, came back again and stood furious before him, aware that this was the first time she'd ever spoken to him this way. She should have spoken like this more. She'd been too generous with her patience.

  We're not lovers anymore, she thought at him. This is the thing I needed to tell you. The closer you get to me the harder you pull, and your grip is too tight. You hurt me with it. You love me so much you've forgotten how to be my friend. I miss my friend, she thought at him fiercely. I love my friend. We're through as lovers. Do you understand?

  Archer stood dazed, breathing heavily, eyes stony. Fire could see that he did understand.

  And now Fire saw Hanna, and sensed her at the same time, coming over the hill at the archery range and bolting toward them with all her small speed.

  Fire began a battle for her composure. "There's a child coming
," she told Archer hoarsely, "and if you take your vile mood out on her I won't speak to you again."

  "Who is she?"

  "Brigan's daughter."

  Archer stared at Fire very hard.

  And then Hanna reached them, Blotchy careening close behind. Fire knelt to meet the dog. Hanna stopped before them, smiling and gasping, and Fire sensed her sudden confusion as she took in their silence. "What's wrong, Lady Fire?" Hanna asked.

  "Nothing, Lady Princess. I'm happy to see you and Blotchy."

  Hanna laughed. "He's getting your dress muddy."

  Yes, Blotchy was destroying her dress, and practically bowling her over as he bounced in and out of her lap, for in his mind he was still a puppy, even though his body had grown. "Blotchy is much more important than my dress," Fire said, taking the wriggling dog in her arms, wanting his muddy joy.

  Hanna came close and whispered in her ear. "Is that angry man Lord Archer?"

  "Yes, and he is not angry with you."

  "Do you think he would shoot for me?"

  "Shoot for you?"

  "Papa says he's the best in the kingdom. I want to see."

  Fire couldn't have explained why this made her so sad, that Archer should be the best in the kingdom, and Hanna should want to see. She burrowed her face for a moment against Blotchy. "Lord Archer, Princess Hanna would like to see you shoot, for she's heard you're the best in all the Dells."

  Archer was hiding his feelings from her mind, but Fire knew how to read his face. She knew how his eyes looked when he was blinking back tears, and the muted voice he used when he was too miserable for anger. He cleared his throat now, and spoke in that voice. "And what kind of bow do you favour, Lady Princess?"

  "A longbow, like the one you carry, only yours is much bigger. Will you come? I'll show you."

  Archer didn't look at Fire. He turned and followed Hanna up the hill, Blotchy bounding after them. Fire stood, and watched them go.

  Quite unexpectedly, Musa took her arm. Fire placed her hand on Musa's, grateful to be touched, fiercely glad to think that her guard might be overpaid.

  It was a very hard thing to have crushed the heart, and the hopes, of a friend.

  After dark, unable to sleep, she went to the roofs. Eventually Brigan came wandering by and joined her. Now and then, since their conversation in the stables, he opened a flash of feeling to her. Tonight she could tell he was surprised to see her.

  Fire knew why he was surprised. After her quarrel with Archer, Musa had told her, matter-of-factly, that at Fire's request Fire actually was permitted to be alone with Archer; that in the very beginning, in his instructions, Brigan had made an exception for Archer, as long as the grounds outside the windows were guarded and guards stood outside every door. She should have informed the lady of this before, Musa said, but she hadn't expected Lord Archer so soon. And once Fire and Archer had begun to argue, she hadn't wanted to interrupt.

  Fire's face had burned at this knowledge. And here was why Brigan had defended Archer in Garan's bedroom earlier: he'd seen Garan's jibe as an offense to Fire, believed, even, that Fire was in love with Archer.

  Fire told Musa, "The exception is not necessary."

  "Yes, I got that sense," Musa said. Then Mila brought Fire a cup of wine in the timid, comprehending way Mila had. The wine was a comfort. Fire's head had begun to ache, and she recognised the onset of her pre-bleeding time.

  Now, on the roof, Fire was silent. She said nothing, not even when Brigan greeted her. He seemed to accept her silence and was rather quiet himself, filling the space occasionally with the gentle patter of his conversation. He told her that Hanna was bedazzled by Archer, that they'd shot so many arrows together she had blisters between her fingers.

  Fire was thinking about Archer's fear. She thought it was Archer's fear that made his love so hard to bear. Archer was controlling and imperious, and jealous and suspicious, and Archer always held her too near. Because he was afraid of her dying.

  She broke a long silence with her first words of the night, spoken so quietly he moved closer to hear. "How long do you think you'll live?"

  His breath was a surprised laugh. "Truly, I don't know. Many mornings I wake knowing I might die that day." He paused. "Why? What's on your mind tonight, Lady?"

  Fire said, "It's likely one of these days a raptor monster will get me, or some arrow will find its way past my guard. It doesn't seem to me a morbid thought; only realistic."

  He listened, leaning against the railing, his head propped on his fist.

  "I only hope it won't cause my friends too much pain," she continued. "I hope they'll understand it was inevitable."

  She shivered. Summer was well over, and if she'd had half a mind tonight she would have brought a coat. Brigan had remembered his coat, a fine long coat that Fire liked, because Brigan was wearing it, and Brigan was quick and strong, and always seemed comfortable whatever he was wearing. And now his hands reached for the buttons and he shrugged himself out of the coat, for try as she might, Fire couldn't hide her shivers.

  "No," Fire said. "It's my own fault for forgetting the season."

  He ignored this and helped her into the coat, which was too big; and its warmth and bigness were welcome, and so was its smell, of wool, and campfires, and horses. She whispered it into his mind. Thank you.

  After a moment, he said, "It seems we're both afflicted with sober thoughts tonight."

  "What have you been thinking?"

  That unhappy laugh again. "Nothing that will cheer you. I've been trying to find a way around this war."

  "Oh," Fire said, rising for a moment from her self-absorption.

  "It's a fruitless line of thought. There's no way around it, not with two enemies bent on fighting."

  "It isn't your fault, you know."

  He glanced at her. "Reading my mind, Lady?"

  She smiled. "Lucky guess, I suppose."

  He smiled, too, and raised his face to the sky. "I understand you rank dogs above dresses, Lady."

  Fire's own laughter was a balm to her heart. "I explained about the monsters, by the way. She already knew a bit about it. I think your housekeeper takes good care of her."

  "Tess," Brigan said. "She's taken good care since the day Hanna was born." He seemed to hesitate then, his voice carefully inscrutable. "Have you met her?"

  "No," Fire said; for indeed, Brigan's housekeeper still looked upon Fire with cold eyes whenever she looked upon her at all. As Brigan must know, judging by his manner of asking.

  "I think it's good for Hanna to have someone old in her life," Brigan said, "who can talk of all different times, not just the last thirty years. And Hanna loves Tess, and all of her stories." He yawned and rubbed his hair. "When will you start your new line of questioning?"

  "Tomorrow, I suppose."

  "Tomorrow," he said, sighing. "Tomorrow I go away."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fire had come to know more about the insignificant habits and tastes of Lord Mydogg, Lord Gentian, Murgda, Gunner, all their households and all their guests than any person could care to know. She knew Gentian was ambitious but also slightly feather-brained at times and had a delicate stomach, ate no rich foods, and drank only water. She knew his son Gunner was cleverer than his father, a reputable soldier, a bit of an ascetic when it came to wine and women. Mydogg was the opposite, denied himself no pleasure, was lavish with his favourites but stingy with everyone else. Murgda was stingy with everyone including herself, and known to be exceedingly fond of bread pudding.

  This was not helpful information. Clara and the king had better things to do than sit and witness its discovery, and Garan was still confined to his bed. More and more Fire was left alone in the questioning rooms, excepting, of course, Musa, Mila, and Neel. Brigan had ordered these three to attend Fire in any of her confidential court business, and they spent the greater part of every day with her.

  Archer stood sometimes with her guard while she worked. He had asked permission to do so, and Clara had gran
ted it, and so, rather absently, had Fire. She didn't mind Archer's presence. She understood that he was curious. She only minded the sense she got that Clara was more likely to join the interrogation if Archer was there.

  Archer was quiet these days, keeping to himself, his thoughts hidden behind a closed door. Confusion obvious, at times, in his manner. Fire was as gentle with him as she could be, for she appreciated what she knew must be a conscious effort on his part, to suppress his own instinct for furious outbursts. "How long will you be able to stay at court?" she asked him, so that he would know she didn't really want him to leave.

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Now that the harvest is over, Brocker is well able to handle affairs. I could stay for some time, if I were wanted."

  She made no answer to that, but touched his arm and asked him if he'd like to sit in on the afternoon's interrogations.

  She learned that Mydogg favoured the smuggled wine of an obscure Pikkian vineyard where frost came early and the grapes were left to freeze on the vine. She learned that Murgda and her Pikkian husband, the naval explorer, were thought to be very much in love. Finally and at long last, she learned something useful: the name of a tall, dark-eyed archer with spot-on aim who was old enough by now to have white hair.

  "Jod," her informant grunted. "Knew him some twenty years ago. We were together in old Nax's dungeons, "til Jod got out. He was in for rape. Didn't know he was sick. Not surprised, the way they piled us on top of each other, the things went on in there. You know what I'm talking about, you monster freak bitch."

  "Where is he now?"

  It wasn't easy with this man, or pleasant. At every question he fought against her hold, and then lost the fight and succumbed, ashamed and hateful. "How should I know? I hope he's hunting monster-eating bitch dogs like you. I'd like to watch him – "