Duel of Fire (Steel and Fire Book 1) (28 page)

“Having fun?”

Dara whirled around. Siv was leaning in the doorway, grinning. He must have seen her flouncing back and forth.

“When did you get here?” she demanded, cheeks burning.

“I live here, Miss Ruminor.”

Dara cleared her throat and swept the cloak back, trying to show she didn’t care. Despite her practice, the cloak tangled in her blade, and she had to fight to pull the velvet free from the intricate hilt. She cursed under her breath until it yanked loose.

“That’s no way to talk to a Savven blade, Dara. Or should I call you Nightfall?”

Dara glared at Siv as he crossed the room toward her. He too wore all black, and a high, stiff collar drew attention to his high cheekbones. His boots shone brighter than the steel of her blade.

“I still think the name is silly,” she grumbled.

“We’ll see if you feel that way when the crowds are chanting it at the Cup.”

Siv reached Dara and straightened her cloak, which had been pulled to the side during her tangle with the blade. After adjusting the cloak, Siv let his hands rest on Dara’s shoulders, his thumbs near the dip in her throat. Dara met his eyes, her breath quickening. His hands tightened on her shoulders.

“You look stunning,” he said.

“It’s all Selivia’s doing.”

“No, Dara. You are . . . And even if we can’t . . . You’re . . .” Something like sadness flickered across Siv’s face, but it was gone in an instant. He uttered a foul curse about the blood of some sort of zur-creature or other. Then he cupped her face in his hands and drew her closer. Dara’s heart flickered like a candle.

“When did you get here, Siv?” Selivia’s bright voice sang out.

Siv dropped his hands as though they’d been burned and spun to greet his sister. Dara stepped away from the prince quickly, her blade tangling in her cloak again, her steps off balance.

Selivia sailed into the room in a grand dress that was the blue of a mountain lake. Her hair was piled up like Dara’s, with a few dark ringlets bouncing free. She looked fresh-faced and sweet, every inch the princess.

“I have come to escort my darling sister to the feast,” Siv announced, bowing with the dignity of an aged lord.

“Why, sir, I’m flattered.” Selivia dropped a playful curtsy and then strutted around the room to make her dress swirl. Zala hurried after her with a pair of dancing slippers in her hands. The young princess hiked up her skirt and stood still just long enough to allow the maid to finish dressing her. “Is Sora coming too?”

“She’s already downstairs,” Siv said.

“Of course. She always likes to be there early so she can corner her favorite diplomats,” Selivia explained to Dara. “She’s been raving about the envoy from Soole for a week.”

“Shall we descend, ladies?” Siv offered one arm to his sister then turned and offered the other to Dara. His smile was warm and confident. After a split-second’s hesitation, she took his arm. He was being polite. Nothing more. She must have imagined the warmth of his hands on her face, his breath mixing with hers.

They walked down to the Great Hall together. Fire Lanterns blazed along their path. Colorfully dressed people milled in the entrance hall before the wide-open doors to the Great Hall. Strains of music and laughter drifted out around them. The crowds parted, and the three of them swept through the double doors together.

The Great Hall was massive, almost as big as Berg’s dueling school, and it sparkled like a fairy kingdom. Glass baubles hung from the ceiling like droplets of rain. Banquet tables stretched the length of the room, and a head table sat on a raised dais at the far end. The space in the middle was clear of tables, and lords and ladies greeted each other with elegant bows and trilling laughter. Colors, lights, and voices swirled around them.

Selivia explained they would eat the feast first, followed by dancing until late.

“I don’t usually get to stay up for the dancing,” she said, “but this year Mother says I’m old enough.”

“The queen will be here?” Dara asked.

“Oh, yes. She rarely misses the Cup Feast.” Selivia exchanged a brief look with her brother. “There are always visitors from Trure.”

“She spends a lot of time there?”

“She visits twice a year and stays for a month or two, sometimes three,” Selivia said. “Oh, look at the Widow Denmore’s dress! Her mourning period must be over.”

The crowds shifted to reveal the beautiful, sad woman Dara had met at Atria’s parlor. Lady Tull’s dress was wine red and cut quite low. A group of admirers orbited her like moons. When she noticed the prince and princess, she dropped a deep curtsy. Her neckline dipped lower still.

“You’d better get her to save a dance, Siv,” Selivia said.

The muscles in Siv’s arms tensed for a moment. Then he relaxed, a quiet sigh escaping in Dara’s ear.

“You’re right. Wait for me?” he said to her. Then he released her arm and strode away without waiting for an answer.

Lady Tull brushed aside her other admirers with a stately wave as the prince approached.

“She’s sooo pretty,” Selivia said. “It was so sad when her husband died. My dressmaker told me it was a suicide, not an accident. I hope that isn’t true.”

Dara didn’t answer. She felt a twist of jealousy as Siv took Lady Tull’s hand and leaned in to speak to her. It was a ridiculous thing to feel. He had a right to dance with whomever he wanted. And she was certain he wasn’t looking at Tull the way he had looked at her a few minutes ago.

A group of noblewomen rushed up to Selivia to compliment her on her dress. Dara stepped aside and waited patiently. The princess may like to dress her up, but she wasn’t obligated to introduce her. They couldn’t truly be friends. Not here with the royal court surrounding them.

Dara scanned the hall for anyone she recognized. She felt out of place in her somber black, no matter how dramatic it made her look. Most of the women wore colorful dresses with elaborate Firegold embroidery and fantastic jewels. Some were clearly visiting from the Lands Below, their gowns exotic and strange. Dara rested her hand on the hilt of the Savven blade, gripping it for comfort. She had nothing to fear from these people. She didn’t need a noble house or her father’s famous name. She had worked hard, and she was about to prove herself in her own right.

She became aware of a young girl around Selivia’s age staring at her intently.

“Dara Ruminor?” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“You’re really her?”

“Yes, I am.”

The girl continued to stare. Not looking away from Dara’s face, she tugged on the sleeve of the man standing next to her.

“Papa, look who it is!”

The man turned to see where his daughter was pointing. He strode over and offered Dara his hand.

“Tellen of House Roven,” he said. “I saw your bout on the bridge the other day. Brilliant work!”

“Thank you,” Dara said.

“Maraina, look, it’s Nightfall!” the girl squealed to a passing friend.

The friend gasped. “Nightfall? Dara Ruminor!”

“I can’t believe we get to meet you in person!” said the first girl. She twisted her hands shyly in the folds of her pink gown. “My name is Jully. I’m . . . I’m a huge fan.” The girl’s face turned as pink as her gown.

Jully’s friend Maraina waved a few other young noblewomen over, and whispers spread through the crowd.

“It’s Nightfall. Nightfall came to the feast!”

More people hurried over to Dara. Some greeted her, others stared openly, awe and excitement on their faces. A space cleared around Dara. She did her best to act unconcerned, but she looked about for any sign of her companions, feeling self-conscious.

“Oh, Jully, you found Dara!” Selivia had returned. Dara breathed a sigh of relief as the princess began introducing her to the growing crowd of young noblewomen.

“I’m a fan of Vine myself,” one said to Dara, “but the way you’re both making female dueling more exciting is so inspiring.”

“What do you think the score will be at the Cup?” Lord Roven asked over the heads of the gaggle of young women. “I want to place a bet!” He laughed richly.

“Are you going to make Vine cry?”

“Ooh, have you seen her yet today? She looks so pretty!”

“May I see your sword, Nightfall?”

“Did you really save Prince Siv?”

“What was it like to fight on the bridge?”

The crowd spun around Dara. Princess Selivia had disappeared again into the milling onlookers. Dara didn’t have time to answer every question being tossed at her before three more took its place. Wait, was she supposed to be quiet and mysterious here too? Or was she supposed to make friends? She fought down panic.

Suddenly Siv was at her elbow.

“It’s absolutely true that Dara Ruminor saved me on the bridge,” he said. This sent the young noblewomen into a tizzy of giggles. Lady Jully’s mouth dropped open, and she tugged on her father’s coat again.

“May I escort you to your seat?” Siv said, his lips brushing Dara’s ear.

“Thank you.” She took his arm and kept her head high as they wove through the crowd. “I didn’t expect that.”

“You’re famous.” Siv grinned, puffing out his chest as they walked. “This is working.”

He led the way toward the long table to the right of the main entrance. Fine stone plates and goblets covered the surface, along with an ornate Firegold-trimmed tablecloth that Dara recognized as Master Corren’s work.

“You’re sitting next to Jully Roven,” Siv said, “but I wanted a minute with you before I send you back into her fawning clutches.”

“Oh. Okay.” For some reason, Dara had pictured herself sitting with Siv and his sisters at the feast. But this was an official royal function. Of course she wouldn’t be seated on the dais. However casual they were in the dueling hall, there was still a division between her and the future Fourth King. There always would be.

“Listen,” Siv said. “I’ve been thinking about something since our duel with Berg. We’re a good team, and I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Sivarrion!” A voice boomed, seeming to fill the Great Hall with warmth like a Fire Gate. Dara turned and found herself face to face with King Sevren himself.

“Father.” Siv bowed formally, but he was clearly pleased to see his father. “May I introduce Dara Ruminor?”

“You must be this Nightfall I’ve heard so much about!” King Sevren had a pleasant face, deep voice, and a smile that put Dara immediately at ease. She curtsied.

“Thank you for having me at the feast, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, a pleasure, my dear,” the king said. “I understand I owe you my thanks for keeping my son from being skewered.”

“I was in the right place at the right time, Your Majesty.”

“Nevertheless, I don’t know what I’d do without my boy.” King Sevren clapped his son on the back. Siv went a bit pink, but he was grinning. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I need my son for an important matter of state involving a toast with some exceptionally good wine.”

“I’ll talk to you about that thing later, Dara.”

“Make sure you try the orchard pies,” King Sevren said. “I’ve sampled them, and we’re in for a treat.”

Dara curtsied again, the king and prince already moving off through the crowd of nobles. She wondered what Siv had been about to say. They
were
a good team. Was it possible he wanted to be something more? For an instant, she felt the warmth of his hands on her face again. Had he been about to kiss her? Did he want to suggest that they’d make a good team in ways that had nothing to do with dueling? The idea was silly, but Dara couldn’t help indulging it. Despite the fact that he was a prince, she felt on an equal footing with Siv. They complemented each other, at least in the duels. And he made her feel like running and flying and wielding Fire all at the same time. Was it possible he felt the same way?

25.

First Dance

DARA
took her seat halfway along the hall from the high table. Each place was marked with a polished stone with the name of the guest written in infused Firegold. Dara’s simply read “Nightfall.” She touched the smooth stone. A tiny drop of Fire leapt from the Firegold word into the tip of her finger. She pulled back, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of the Savven. She’d have to be more careful about that. Her connection to the Fire was advancing at a more rapid pace than it was supposed to based on what she’d seen of Fireworker apprentices. She might not be able to hide her newfound ability for much longer.

When young Lady Jully joined her, she chattered non-stop about Dara and Vine’s duel. It was certainly having the effect they had hoped it would. People who hadn’t even seen it could describe the whole thing move for move.

When Vine Silltine flounced to a seat directly across the hall from them, Jully gasped loud enough to make people five seats away turn to look at her. Vine was dressed in her signature green and Firegold, and the neckline of her dress plunged almost to her belly. Unlike the other women with their elaborate up-dos, her dark hair was loose about her shoulders and woven with flashing threads of gold. She raised an appreciative eyebrow when she saw Dara then immediately scowled. The people around her noticed, and soon everyone was darting eager glances back and forth between the two rival duelists.

Dara chose not to react. She simply stared across the hall at Vine. She thought about their upcoming duel, about how she would cut through Vine’s defenses and put her prancing to an end. She allowed as much of that focus and determination to show on her face as she could manage. Berg said the first person to break eye contact always lost the duel. Dara’s eyes never wavered until the serving men and women brought out the food.

The feast was magnificent: juicy roasted hunks of mountain bear, blue pigeon eggs stewed in Fireroot, orchard pies and bird’s nest soup and sweetened spice cakes. Wine flowed freely. Dara took a few sips from her goblet, but she still didn’t like the taste. The clink of silver on stone filled the hall.

Siv and his sisters sat at the high table with their parents and a handful of honored guests. Dara got her first good look at the queen in a long while. She was dressed in a pale-green dress that was almost white, like her light Truren eyes. She looked unhappy, despite the warmth and frivolity around her. She only smiled when she looked at King Sevren, and even then it was a shadow of an expression.