Duel of Fire (Steel and Fire Book 1) (23 page)

No, no, no.
They were not having this conversation. He did not want to know.

“You may find solace in ways that are separate from your wi—”

“Mother!” Siv finally got out a strangled cry. “You’re not saying that you . . . that you . . .”

“Goodness, Sivarrion,” the queen said. “Don’t look so scandalized. You know very well that I have compromised by spending much of my time in my beloved Trure with my family even though I live with your father. Perhaps your friend can have a role in your life beyond that of a dueling partner. As a guard, perhaps. What did you think I was suggesting?”

“I thought . . . I didn’t think you were . . . I’m sure Selivia is still in the library, but I have to take care of . . . something. I shall see you at dinner, Mother.” Siv bowed to hide the redness in his cheeks. Of course his mother wasn’t advising him to take Dara as his lover! He pretended to be very interested in a sconce in the wall so he wouldn’t have to meet her eyes.

The queen smiled gently and continued on to the library. She did look tired. Siv always had the sense that mountain air was heavier for her than for others. He watched her until she disappeared from view.

No, Siv couldn’t give his future wife the halfway marriage his mother had given his father. She called it a compromise, but Siv didn’t think it had been fair to his father or to him and his sisters that her allegiance was to Trure and not to their family. When the time came, Siv would be as devoted to his partner as he was to Vertigon itself. Even if that partner had to be Lady Tull.

But the idea of making Dara a more permanent presence in the castle lingered. He wasn’t ready to give her up just yet.

Of course, she would be far too busy being a champion duelist to have time for guard duty. After her showdown with Vine, she would be more popular than the king himself. The duel was going to set Vertigon on fire for Dara Nightfall Ruminor. Siv only wished he could be there to see it.

20.

Duel on the Bridge

IT
was uncommonly sunny on the Turnday Dara and Vine had selected for their duel. Summer was drawing to a close, and they wagered people would want to take advantage of one of the last truly warm days. They’d be strolling through Lower King’s and the Village in large numbers, and people on both slopes would have a great view of Fell Bridge.

Dara waited on the porch outside her parents’ home for the moment to arrive. Her father was hard at work, even though it was a rest day. Her mother was meeting a foreign distributor over on Square, so there was a good chance Dara could get through the day without her parents stopping her from making a spectacle of herself. They’d find out after the fact, but by then it would be too late.

Dara was dressed in one of the all-black outfits Princess Selivia had put together for her. The trousers were too tight, but Dara could still move. That was the important thing. The swirls of black face paint were absolutely ridiculous, but the overall effect wasn’t too bad. The hood of her cloak would hide the paint until the big reveal anyway. She’d even braided a few black ribbons in her hair.

She had enlisted Kel and Oat to help with her scheme. They should be getting into position now. She tapped her feet on the porch steps, watching the slant of the shadows over the peaks, waiting for the right moment to head to the bridge. She would show the world she could be more than a good duelist. The mountain would have to pay attention to her. The people would know her by her own name, not her parents’.

If the reports of her dueling friends were any indication, people were already talking. Word had gotten out that Dara was with the prince the night of the attack. Some of the gossips even declared that she had saved his life. This could only help her cause with the people. Well, all of the people except her parents.

Dara’s mother had been strangely cold toward her lately. Dara had expected a fiery lecture at the very least. Instead, Lima had been formal and polite. The only evidence of anger had been when she vigorously cleaned and polished Renna’s chair, jostling Dara roughly while she ate breakfast.

Yesterday Dara had finally cornered Farr the apprentice to ask for hints about what her mother might be thinking.

“She asked me not to talk to you,” Farr had said, cracking his bony knuckles.

“At all?”

“Well, about business stuff.”

“She said that?”

“I think she’s worried you might report back since . . . well . . . I guess you’re friends with the prince now.”

Dara frowned. “The prince doesn’t have much to do with the Fireworking business. He knows the Fire Warden, but I doubt he tells him everything.”

“Maybe.” Farr had clammed up after that and told her not to worry. He had said her parents knew what they were doing.

Dara had barely seen her father, and she avoided going down to the workshop at all costs. She figured it was only fair that they cut her off from talking about their work after she had hidden the truth from them. They must think she was fraternizing with their enemy, even though the Fire Warden was the one they truly hated, and she certainly wasn’t talking to him. Even so, she was sad to see her hopes of a partnership between her and her parents evaporating. It was ironic that they had finally stopped demanding she get more involved with the business the very week she discovered she could Work after all.

She’d agonized about telling her parents the truth, but she knew they’d make her give up dueling to study the Work. She would have to abandon the rush of competition for the hot confines of the workshop and plant her feet beside her father’s for hours on end. She would have to say good-bye to the fast action of the duel, to her friends and her coach. To Siv. Once, the ability to Work the Fire had been all she ever wanted. Now, she was no longer sure.

She had to see her plans through, at least until the big competition. She would be able to make the right decision after she found out whether or not she was going to be offered a patronage. With any luck, the duel today would launch her into the public eye so definitively that the sponsors couldn’t possibly ignore her. She’d patch things up with her parents after the Vertigon Cup.

Dara glanced up at the Ruminor Lantern hanging above the porch. Her father’s Work. Solid. Magic. It hovered there, singing with power and heat.

No one was around. The Fire burning in the core of the lantern called to her. The shadows around it were faint, almost nonexistent in the sunlight, but the Fire pulsed, matching the beat of Dara’s heart.

The temptation was unbearable. Dara looked around once more. The pathway beside the house was empty. Farr didn’t come to the lantern shop on Turndays. Her mother was still on Square. Her father was deep inside the mountain, consumed with his own work. No one would see.

Dara reached up and touched the metal lattice of the lantern, concentrating on the Fire core within it. Almost immediately, warmth sprang into her fingers. Heat spread up her arm and down through her stomach, her legs, her feet, finding root in the mountain. The lantern dimmed as Dara drew the Fire out of its core and through her fingers. It was easier this time, a slower burn. And it was magnificent. Dara’s body became a conduit for the Fire between the lantern and the mountain itself. As the Fire passed through it, the metal lacework of the lantern melted and twisted. Dara pulled out more Fire and kneaded the metal with the tips of her fingers. It curled and formed beneath her hands.

Stop.

Dara released the Fire. Her head whirled with dizziness, gone in the space of a few breaths. The metal lace of the lantern stilled. She checked to make sure the walkway beneath the porch was still empty. She couldn’t let anyone see her touch the Fire, not when she was so close to making a name for herself. She turned the lantern so the panel she had touched and altered couldn’t be seen from the porch.

Dara glanced at the sky. It was time. She hoisted her gear on her back, pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, and started down to Fell Bridge. She slipped into doorways whenever anyone passed her. She was about to reveal herself to the mountain, but it would be embarrassing if someone spotted her in costume beforehand. Besides, she was supposed to be stealthy and mysterious.

Dara crossed Fell Bridge at a jog. They had agreed to start the duel in Lower King’s Peak to draw the attention of the “right people,” but the contest would range across the bridge if all went well. With luck, people from Village Peak would gather to watch the fight from the other bridges too.

Thunderbird Square was as crowded as she and Vine had hoped it would be. Palanquins and mountain ponies eased their way through crowds. Servants scurried by with packages, and tradesmen sold their wares to the throng. Children darted underfoot, racing each other across the cobblestones. Ladies strolled, brightly colored skirts swirling, and guardsmen drank with casual abandon in the shade of a tavern. Dara wound through the mob, keeping her head down. She approached the elegant greathouses looking out over the square. Nerves played in her stomach. This was a performance, not a competition. She wasn’t used to this.

The fine weather had brought the nobility out onto the terraces and rooftops of their greathouses. The clink of glasses and peals of laughter drifted out over the mountainside. Dara scanned the greathouses until she located a head of lustrous dark hair. Vine Silltine stood on the balcony of a particularly fine house. She wore an elaborate green dress woven with Firegold. Her thick black hair hung loose around her shoulders, lifting and swirling in the breeze. She did not look ready for a duel.

Dara took up a position in the shadows near the greathouse so she could hear what was being said above her. Dozens of people crowded the balcony with Vine. It sounded as if they were having quite a big party. Dara fervently hoped Vine wasn’t planning to humiliate her.

She spotted Kel leaning on the terrace beside her rival. Good. He had insisted he would have no problem getting an invite to the terrace party. The greathouse belonged to a Lord Zurren, who was a big dueling fan. As soon as Kel spotted Dara waiting in the shadows, he touched Vine’s arm. She glanced down and winked at Dara.

“So,” Kel said in a loud voice. “I hear you’re going to win the Vertigon Cup, Vine Silltine.”

“That is my goal.” Vine’s voice carried well. A few people in the street looked up.

“Is that Vine Silltine and Kelad Korran, the champion duelists?” said the loudest stage whisper Dara had ever heard. She spotted Oat in the crowded street. He waved.

“Are you worried about any of your competitors?” Kel called.

“No one can touch me,” Vine said. She hoisted herself onto the balcony railing and stood. Firegold flashed from her dress. She swirled it about her ankles and pranced along the balustrade. “No other female duelist has made me bat an eyelash all year.”

“There’s another swordswoman making a name for herself,” Kel said.

More people were looking up at the pair on the balcony. A portly lord waved for his companion to be quiet so he could hear them better. A pair of young girls pointed at Vine, whispering her name like a prayer.

“I heard she saved Prince Sivarrion with her blade skills,” Kel continued. “She’s really something.”

“Rumors!” Vine tossed her hair dramatically. “Where is this duelist? If she’s that good, why don’t I know her name?”

“Wasn’t it the Ruminor girl?” someone near Dara called out.

“That’s what I heard.”

“Ruminor!” Oat shouted from the street.

“What’s that you say?” Vine wrinkled her nose prettily. “Blooming Door?”

A few people laughed, including the portly nobleman. Vine tossed her hair again.

“I’m not afraid of a duelist who won’t even let her name be known. I am Lady Vine Silltine, after all.”

One of Vine’s mysterious assistants appeared beside her. He tossed glittering tokens into the air. People in the street cheered and scrambled for the tokens on the cobblestones. Three teenage boys had joined the two girls, and they were hurriedly telling them everything they knew about Vine Silltine’s famous moves. The crowd beneath the balcony was growing.

“Where is this supposed prince savior?” Vine called. “I don’t believe she exists. If she does, will she be brave enough to answer my challenge? Vine Silltine won’t tremble before some Blooming Door.”

Chuckles rippled through the spectators. The audience waited eagerly to see what else the famous Lady Vine Silltine would do.

“Nightfall,” Kel said. He was quiet, but not too quiet. “I hear she’s called Nightfall.”

“I heard that too!” a man in the street shouted. He wasn’t even one of their friends. More people were strolling up to the group beneath the balcony to see what the commotion was about. The cluster of teenage dueling fans had multiplied, with both boys and girls eagerly telling their friends about their favorite competitors. A lady ordered her palanquin bearers to halt so she could get out and see what was going on. The nobles at the party above all had their gazes fixed on Vine.

“Nightfall?” Vine scoffed. “Is she asleep? I want her to show her face.”

Wait for it. Wait for it.
Dara had to get the timing just right. She pulled her mask and weapon out of her gear bag and pushed it beneath the front porch of Zurren’s greathouse.

“I hear she doesn’t sleep at all!” came another voice nearby. There was something familiar about it. “She’s too busy saving lives. What have you done lately, Vine? Pranced around like a Truren peacock?”

That voice. It couldn’t be. Suddenly there was a hand on the small of Dara’s back. She whirled around and looked up into the eyes of none other than Prince Siv. He wore a hooded cloak, but there was no mistaking those high cheekbones, those bright eyes. She felt a jolt of fire in her toes.

“It’s time,” he whispered, just for her.

Vine strutted back and forth on the balcony. Somewhere, her musicians had started blowing trumpets.

The prince squeezed Dara’s waist for the briefest instant. “Knock her down,” he said. Then he spun her back around and gave her a push.