Duel of Fire (Steel and Fire Book 1) (13 page)

“Don’t you wish to view the remaining duels, my prince?” Pool said.

“I have work to do.”

The young nobleman was staring at Siv with an open mouth, but he didn’t care.

“Enquire with Lord Bolden Rollendar about the match with Monster Murv, Lord Zurren. I’ll show up. To the castle, Pool!”

“Yes, my prince.”

Siv sauntered toward the entrance with a backward glance at the trunk room entrance. Dara hadn’t reemerged, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t be coming back out to watch the final duel anyway. He had work to do before their next meeting.

A few hours later, Siv scribbled ideas at the table in his chambers. Technically, he was supposed to be visiting greathouses to extend Eventide greetings to the nobility, but this was far more interesting. Eventide involved endless rounds of small talk with jittery old ladies who still upheld the old-fashioned visiting tradition. Most young people would celebrate Eventide by getting roaring drunk later in the evening, but he ought to be able to accomplish a lot before then. Crumpled papers littered the floor around him. He was turning out to be a master strategist, if he did say so himself.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

“My prince, Sword Master Berg Doban requests an audience,” Pool said as he cracked open the door. “Do you wish me to admit him to your royal presence?”

“Doban is here?” Siv wondered for a second if he had missed a lesson before remembering that his coach had been at the tournament at East Square earlier that day. “Let him in.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Berg strode into Siv’s antechamber. He wore street clothes rather than his usual loose-fitting coaching attire, and he carried a crumpled felt hat in his hands. Siv had never seen him away from a dueling hall before. He towered beside the table, looking oversized in the cozy space.

“This is a surprise, Coach.” Siv leaned back in his chair.

“My prince,” Berg said gruffly. “I must speak to you about a danger you face.”

“You mean Dara?”

Berg’s jaw dropped. “Dara, my prince? You know—?”

“That she’s going to kill me for watching her lose? Don’t worry. I plan to head her off like a Truren stallion at Kurn Pass.”

“A what?”

Siv grinned. “I want to help Dara get a patron, Doban, and I am a burning genius.”

“My prince, this is not the danger I speak of. Not Dara.”

Siv waved his eagle feather pen at him. “What’s this about? I’m very busy.”

“My prince, there is a plot,” Berg growled. “Dangers on foot for you.”

“You mean ‘afoot?’ You sound like Zage Lorrid.”

“The Fire Warden? My prince, the Fire—”

“Yeah, he’s always talking about dangers. He’s got my back.” Siv continued to scribble on his paper. He was on a roll. He couldn’t let his ideas slip away while Berg talked to him about yet another nefarious and insubstantial threat he faced as the royal heir. He wondered whether he could get his hands on a Firetorch. Zage had never let him have one as a child, but now he might be able to make a case for it. He’d claim it was for educational purposes only.

“My prince, you must be careful,” Berg said. “The city is not as safe for you and your family as it should be. It was a risk going to Square Peak alone. Someone there was . . . You cannot trust everyone you think you can trust.”

“Doban.” Siv looked up from his papers and met Berg’s eyes steadily. “I understand you’re trying to look out for me. Do you have any names? Any solid information to offer me about these plots? If so, I will listen.”

Berg frowned, glancing around the antechamber as if he expected an assassin to leap out from behind the couch. Siv gave him what he felt was long enough and then bent back over his papers.

“It’s okay, Coach. I know you’re worried, but I have good people around me. Pool takes care of me. The Hurling twins take care of my sisters. Captain Bandobar, the Guard, and the whole damn army take care of my father. We even hired a whole company of new Castle Guards recently.”

“These new Guards were chosen by Bandobar?” Berg asked.

“Yeah.” Siv didn’t know that for a fact, but who else would have chosen them? He barreled on. “I’m not an idiot. If you know something, I’ll listen, but if you want me to stop living my life for fear of some unknown danger, then save your breath.”

“Bandobar is a good man,” Berg said after a while. “If he trusts these new men . . . I have no certain knowledge.”

“And Dara isn’t going to run me through for watching her lose?”

“No, my prince. I do not believe Dara will hurt you.”

“Good.”

“In fact,” Berg said slowly, “maybe you would be wise to keep her close.”

Siv studied his paper carefully. “Keep her close?” Berg couldn’t have seen something between them, could he? Not when Siv wasn’t sure it was there himself.

“Dara is good, my prince.”

“Damn right. She’s way better than that Taly girl.”

“I mean she is
good
.”

“Right. She’ll make me a better duelist so I can defend myself against the dangers afoot.” Siv was beginning to tire of this particular refrain. Next thing he knew Berg would be trying to send him off to Trure too. But the man was studying him, his expression thoughtful.

“Yes, my prince,” he said. “Maybe she should train with you every day now.”

“Yeah? What does she think about that?”

“I will tell her tomorrow,” Berg said. “But she must not make excuses. Is okay for you?”

“If Dara comes here every day?” Siv did his best to fight down the tiny flutter of hope in his chest, like the wings of a moth. He shrugged, keeping his voice casual. “Sure, why not?”

“I have business in the mornings, my prince. I cannot come every day, but Dara will train with you.”

Siv raised an eyebrow. “You’re skipping out on our lessons now, Coach? Just like that?”

“Only until I discover more,” Berg grunted. “You will be okay with Dara, my prince.”

“Sure I will.”

“I take my leave,” Berg said. He jammed his felt hat down on his head. “Be careful, my prince. Do not go to Square alone as you did today. Vertigon is not so safe anymore.”

“I wasn’t alone.” Siv frowned. There were limits. He was the heir-prince of Vertigon, and he didn’t take orders from anyone but his father. And maybe Pool when he was extra insistent. He lowered his voice, knowing full well it still wouldn’t sound as gravelly or intimidating as Berg’s. “Is there anything else you feel you can order me to do or not do, Doban?”

Berg sighed. “No, my prince. You must be careful. As we say in my homeland: beware of the shadow as well as the fire.”

Siv nodded, but he was already deeply engrossed in his plans by the time Berg left the chamber. He hoped the man would have a relaxing Eventide eve and calm himself down.

The light from the Fire Gate flickered across the pages spread across Siv’s table. Yes, he was a genius. This would work. He would make Dara Ruminor a champion.

11.

Partners

DARA
was sorely tempted to skip her training the day after the competition. She hadn’t lost that badly in years. Ten, six to Taly Selwun? The numbers cycled around and around in her mind. She couldn’t sleep. She could barely eat. She felt hot and feverish whenever she thought about what had happened. She wanted to scream into the wind whipping across Furlingbird Bridge as she jogged over to the dueling school on Square.

She stretched with her friends, feeling stiff despite her warm-up run. Oat and Kel knew better than to talk to her about the bout with Taly, but they couldn’t help regaling her with their own stories of victory. Oat had won the men’s division, managing to defeat both Bilzar Ten and Rawl, Kel’s biggest rival. It was Oat’s best finish ever. Kel had placed fourth, but his patron had taken him out carousing in Lower King’s afterwards, and he’d scored a few victories of his own there.

Berg skipped the lecture she deserved when it was time for their usual lesson. He simply said, “You are losing focus. You know this.”

It was worse than being yelled at.

After the lesson, Dara sparred with the other duelists for hours. Her muscles strained, burning and cramping, but she embraced the pain instead of thinking about her loss. She felt heat in her blood and channeled it into every hit. She could not fail again. She had to be perfect. She had to win.

She dueled until everyone at the school refused to give her another match.

“You’ve had enough for tonight, Dar,” Oat said when she demanded he join her for just one more bout.

“I need to keep—”

“It’s already dark,” Oat said. “It’s time to go.”

Only then did Dara realize her limbs were shaking and her jacket was soaked through with sweat. She pulled it off and found a collection of new bruises patterning her arm. She trudged over to her trunk, avoiding the concern in Oat’s eyes. Most of the other students had already left.

Berg approached as she knelt beside her trunk and slowly gathered up her gear to pack into her bag. She felt as though she were moving through molasses. Kel and Oat lingered at the door, waiting for her.

“Dara,” Berg said.

“Yes, Coach?”

“This will not happen again, young Dara.”

“No, sir.”

Berg studied her from beneath lowered brows. “You must continue training with the prince.”

“Please, no, Coach,” Dara said, sitting back on her heels. “It’s a distraction. If he hadn’t been there in the crowd—”

“Stop!” Berg said. “You will not make these excuses.”

Dara swallowed her retort. She had lost concentration during the tourney because of Vine drawing the adoration of the crowd and the prince disrupting her focus. She needed to get back to her normal routine if she had any hope for the Vertigon Cup now. With Farr proving so helpful to her mother, she had to make the most of the extra time to train.

But Berg wasn’t finished. “I am busy, so you will practice with him alone from now.”

“What? Coach—”

“Do not argue.” Berg folded his arms over his broad chest and loomed over her. “You will go every day. Do not come back to the school in the afternoon unless you also train at the castle in the morning.”

“I can’t.” He was punishing her after all. Sure, Berg said he was busy, but no business of his should take priority over training the heir-prince. He was trying to teach her a lesson.

“You will,” Berg said. “This is not negotiation. You will go to the castle every morning. Start tomorrow.”

Dara closed her trunk and hoisted her gear bag onto her shoulder, considering his words. His insistence that she train at the castle every day seemed to go beyond a desire to make Dara and Siv into better duelists. She had always trusted Berg’s instructions, and she couldn’t refuse him now. Training with the prince was still training. And dueling was still her only chance at the life she wanted away from the family business.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

Berg gave a brief nod, as if he expected nothing less, and stalked away.

“What did he say?” Oat asked when Dara finally joined him and Kel at the door. He pushed it open, and the harsh mountain wind swirled around them, carrying promises of rain.

“He’s punishing me for losing focus,” Dara said as they descended the stone steps from the school.

“How?”

“He’s making me . . . do extra workouts in the mornings.”

“That’s hardly a punishment for you,” Kel said. “You love working out.”

“It’s different,” Dara mumbled. She figured she still shouldn’t tell anyone she was dueling with the prince. Vine had seemed to know at the tournament, though. Could the nobles be talking amongst themselves about Siv’s new training companion? How long would it take her parents to find out? Fortunately, because they didn’t associate with Zage Lorrid and the Fireworkers in his employ at the castle, she didn’t think word had gotten back to them yet.

“Are you coming to the tavern with us?” Oat asked as they headed down the winding stone path away from the school. Warm lights glowed across the three peaks of Vertigon. It was the second night of Eventide, so some people would still be engaging in the old tradition of visiting and bringing token gifts to their friends. They hurried through the wind, eager to get indoors before the rain began.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Come on,” Oat said. “It’s Eventide, and we’re celebrating my win.”

“Again,” Kel put in. “Didn’t quite get my fill of celebrations last night.”

“Sorry. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.” She didn’t add that all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and forget how she had let herself down. She didn’t want to ruin Oat’s enjoyment of his moment by moping. She faked a smile for her friend’s sake. “Have fun.”

“Your loss,” Kel said.

He sauntered ahead, but Oat was still looking at Dara hopefully. Suddenly he reached out and took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, and pulled her closer.

“Come with us, Dara.”

Dara looked down at their hands, surprised at the sudden intimacy. Oat’s wide palm was damp, a look of hope on his face. Dara tugged her hand out of Oat’s grasp, perhaps a little too roughly.

“Sorry, O, I’m beat.”

He couldn’t quite hide the hurt as he said, “No big deal. See you around, Dar.” Oat turned and loped off after Kel, his practice weapons rattling in his bag.

Dara sighed. Oat had been sweet on her for a while, but she never thought he’d act on it. Why did he have to do it today of all days? She felt a little sick. Maybe she had overdone it at practice after all. She hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings, and she wasn’t sure why she didn’t return his affection. Like Farr, Oat would be a perfectly adequate match for her. He was kind and unassuming, and they’d been friends for years. But she wanted someone who made warmth and excitement spread through her, not someone who would be merely tolerable. She wanted Fire in her veins too. Real mountain Fire. And she wanted to win, to show her worth. She wanted so many things, but no matter how hard she worked, the lucky spark remained beyond her grasp.

Rain began to fall lightly over the mountain, making the Firelights shudder. Dara slogged home through the drizzle, passing huddled figures on the long bridge between Square Peak and the Village. She climbed the winding stairs toward her home, feeling tired and sad. The lanterns lit the front porch, bright and almost harsh. Her parents were in the showroom, their shadows distinct amongst half a dozen others. Corren’s gravelly laugh rattled the window. Rafe and Lima must be entertaining their Fireworker associates. They were the types to keep to the old Eventide traditions. Dara skirted around the house, climbed through her bedroom window to avoid speaking to anyone, and went to bed.