Duel of Fire (Steel and Fire Book 1) (31 page)

She jogged around the arena, willing the nerves and the fear to sweat out of her. She was here to do the one and only thing she had ever truly cared about. This, at least, was simple.

Fanfare and trumpets blared, announcing Vine Silltine’s grand entrance. Dara had planned for this moment. She slowed, waiting until Vine reached the center of the arena. She wore a new dress today, bloodred and billowing, and she looked magnificent. She blew kisses at the crowd and twirled her scarlet skirts dramatically. She’d added dancers to her entourage, and they flailed around her in a manic parade as she crossed the dueling hall.

Dara picked up her pace, veering just a bit, and bumped roughly into Vine as she jogged past.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, loud enough for her voice to carry. “Didn’t see you there.”

Vine’s smile slipped. The crowd waited with bated breath.

“Just keep your eyes clear for the bout,” Vine said. “You don’t want to go tumbling into the officials. Or the stands.”

Dara bowed mockingly. “I’ll leave the theatrics to you. I’m here to duel.”

A low “oooohhh” rumbled through the crowd. Someone started chanting, and others quickly joined in. The shouts for Nightfall and the chants of “Vine Silltine” competed for dominance. Hands drummed on knees, the energy in the stadium palpable. Their build-up had worked. They were ready for a showdown. Dara waved once more and went to gather the rest of her gear before the first bout.

Vine met her in the trunk room. She glanced around to make sure no one was listening then whispered, “This is great fun, Dara. We should have started a rivalry years ago!”

“May the best duelist win,” Dara said.

“You’re so good at this animosity thing.” Vine giggled. “Now, you have to tell me about you and the good prince. Princess Selivia told me how he’s sweet on you, though anyone with half an eye could see it at the Cup Feast. But the big rumor is your father has it in for King Sevren.”

“What?” Dara felt the ground shifting in strange directions.

“I have to know. Are you involved in a forbidden romance, or are you part of your father’s plot? Or both!”

“Vine, there’s no—”

Horns rang out, calling the duelists for the first round of competition.

“Tell me after!” Vine said and darted back out to the arena.

Head reeling, Dara followed. The prince was sweet on her? Enough to tell his sister? Her father was involved in a plot? There was no way. Her father would never work with Zage Lorrid.

In a daze, she reentered the arena. The crowd roared her name, the sound drumming through her like thunder.

She shook her head to clear it. Her father couldn’t be plotting against the king. He wouldn’t work with the Fire Warden, and he definitely wouldn’t have sent an assassin after her and Siv. Vine was trying to mess with her by bringing up the prince’s affection and rumors about her father now. Vine could giggle about their rivalry in the trunk room, but she wanted the Cup too. This was part of the game. Dara had to keep her head in the competition. There would be time enough for answers later.

Siv and his sisters were sitting in the royal box now. They waved and cheered along with the crowd as she crossed the competition floor to her first bout. Siv looked happy to see her, despite their recent unpleasant parting. Was it possible he had been trying to say something that wasn’t about a patronage after all? Could he really have feelings for her? In the same way she had feelings for him?

The prince stood up, revealing that he was wearing all black once again. He reached for something at his feet, and Selivia helped him unfurl a strip of black satin. It was a banner nearly the length of the royal box with the word Nightfall painted in gold across it. The crowd noticed whom the royal family was supporting, and their shouts reached a fevered pitch.

Dara raised a hand to acknowledge the gesture, overwhelming emotion threatening to rise through her. Siv grinned across the hall. Even though she knew it would conflict with her Nightfall image, Dara smiled back.

But then she looked down at the toes of her sensible dueling boots.

Breathe.
She had to block everything else out.
Just breathe.

Her first opponent was Taly Selwun. Dara’s vision narrowed to a tunnel. She took the strip, bending her blade into shape across her knee, and snapped her mask down onto her head.

The official waited until both duelists had saluted. Then he raised his hands.

“Ready. Duel!”

It was over quickly. Dara never should have lost to Taly Selwun. She commanded the bout start to finish. She didn’t throw in any fancy moves, but now was not the time to show off. She obliterated Taly ten to two.

Cheers filled the arena. Taly sobbed through her salute. Dara refused to look at the royal box. Refused to ask how Vine had done in the first round.
Concentrate.
Next
bout.

Her second opponent was from the Lands Below. The referee made the calls in two languages. Dara focused. She imagined the opponent was Berg. Any hits she allowed would rip her skin or gouge her eyes. She wouldn’t let this woman get through her.

“Bout! Ten, four to Ruminor!”

On and on the bouts progressed. Dara forgot everything but the competition. She didn’t bother with fancy moves or pageantry. She got the job done using her own precise style, enhanced by all the training she had done with Siv. Fast. Accurate. Deadly.

And the crowd loved it. They chanted her name as she barreled through one opponent after another. No one could touch her.

Berg stalked amongst the dueling strips, offering his usual tips whenever he passed Dara’s strip.

Against a sprightly Truren: “Invite, invite, invite, then crush!”

Against one of Surri’s best students: “Good endurance. Lightning reflexes. Intense focus. This is it. You know the way.”

Against a Pendarkan champion with muscles like iron: “Must be like tiger! You are not afraid!”

Dara let his words spur her forward. She would not lose. Not today.

In what felt like no time at all, she whipped off her mask and saluted her penultimate opponent. The woman limped forward to shake her hand, leg no doubt going numb from the last hit. Dara had won the semifinals. She would compete in the championship bout. She would fight for the Cup.

“Good, Dara,” Berg growled from the sidelines. “Keep doing this.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Berg gave a short nod and stalked over to check on his male students, who were preparing for their first round.

With the rest of the competition eliminated, Dara slowed to watch Vine’s final bout, the other semifinal. It was closer than any of Dara’s bouts had been. Vine and her opponent were tied at eight. Dara crossed her arms and loomed as close to the strip as she could get. People in the stands pointed gleefully at her as she glowered at her rival, enjoying the display of animosity. Secretly, Dara was afraid Vine would lose. They had to have this final contest. It had to be Vine.

And it was. Vine executed two identical shots to the wrist to claim the victory. They were beautiful hits. Clean and precise. Dara hid a smile as the crowd went wild.

The spectators couldn’t be happier. They were about to get the bout they’d been anticipating: Dara Nightfall vs. Vine Silltine, the first true female dueling rivals. The duelists who fought in public squares and jumped from balconies and danced with princes. It was a dream match-up.

There was a short break between the semifinal and final bouts. Vine sat cross-legged in the middle of the dueling hall to meditate while Dara ran laps. She tried not to look at the audience, at the patrons, at the prince. People would be buying snacks and replenishing their drinks. The betting on the final results would be growing to new, possibly record-breaking heights. Anticipation built around the stadium.

Dara blocked it all out as she jogged. She was tired, but her extra training sessions over the last months had paid off. She had energy left for the championship duel.

On her second lap around the arena, she couldn’t help looking up at the royal box. Siv waved at her to come over. Dara hesitated. She shouldn’t be distracted, but she couldn’t resist. She had to know if Vine was right. She jogged up to the box. Siv leaned down over the balcony.

“You’re doing great!” he shouted. “Sel has been clawing marks in my arm she’s so excited.”

Selivia noticed that Dara had joined them and bounced over from where she had been sharing salt cakes with Sora. She leaned so far over the balcony that Siv had to grab her shoulder to keep her from pitching over it. She had painted black swirls on her face.

“You’re amazing, Dara! You’re going to win this! This is the best day ever!”

“Thank you.” Dara smiled at the princess’s enthusiasm. “Just trying to stay focused.”

Selivia clapped both hands over her mouth.

“Of course!” she said through her fingers. “I won’t distract you. Siv, come on, we have to let her focus!” The young princess tugged on her brother’s arm, trying to get him to move away from Dara.

“Just a sec, Sel.” Siv shook her off and leaned back down, the height of the box keeping them separated by a few feet.

“Listen,” Dara said before he could say anything. “I’m sorry I stormed off the other night. That was immature.”

“Yeah, it was,” Siv said, but there was no sting in his words. “Look, I wasn’t going to offer to be your patron. I knew you wouldn’t like that.”

“Really?” Dara’s heart beat faster. “What were you going to say?”

Siv glanced around. People in the stands had noticed them talking, and they were pointing and chattering behind their hands. The two princesses watched them with bright eyes.

“I don’t want to distract you or make you mad,” Siv said. “I’ll talk to you after you win the championship, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

“You should.” Siv grinned and executed a perfect salute with an imaginary blade. “Cut her down, Dara Nightfall. This bout is yours.”

The horns rang out again. Cheers and shouts erupted around the stadium. It was time.

Dara took her place at one end of the championship strip, which sat on a raised platform directly in front of the royal box. She felt flush with triumph and anticipation, but not enough to distract her from the bout. She placed the Savven blade beside the strip. Her good luck charm.

Dara strode to the center of the platform and shook Vine’s hand firmly. Sweat glistened on Vine’s forehead, and her dark eyes were fierce and determined. Theatrics aside, she would give Dara a good bout. She strutted back to the starting line, still prancing for the crowds.

A profound calm descended on Dara as she saluted Vine, the officials, and the spectators. She gave an extra salute to the royal box. Selivia dug her fingers into her cheeks, the swirls of paint smudged beyond recognition, and bounced up and down on her seat. Soraline had a death grip on the crumpled black banner in her lap. Siv winked at her and smiled.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Dara Nightfall!” Vine called.

“You will.”

The official stepped forward. The spectators held their breath as one.

“On guard.”

Dara was ready. She had worked too hard for this. She was going to win.

Vine tossed her hair.

The official raised his arms.

“Ready?”

Dara lifted the tip of her blade, settling into the guard position she knew so well. No matter what Siv was going to say to her afterwards, this bout was hers.

The official took a deep breath. “Du—”

Someone screamed, shattering the silence in the stands. Shouts filtered through the back of the audience, confused and distressed. The official hesitated, hands still raised. Dara didn’t move, trying not to listen to whatever the crowds were shouting.

But then guardsmen began to run into the dueling hall, their boots thundering on the stands. People were standing, looking around, trying to figure out what was going on.

Then one voice shouted above the others.

“The king is dead! Someone killed King Sevren!”

28.

The Duel

CHAOS
tumbled through the arena. Shouts. Pandemonium. Cries of anguish. Dara only felt confusion. It didn’t make sense. It had to be a trick. A bad joke. The mountain was peaceful. Assassinations were for the Lands Below. This couldn’t happen in Vertigon.

Castle Guards surrounded the three young Amintelles up in the royal box. Siv and his sisters sat stunned, disbelieving. Dara could see their stricken faces through the guards sweeping around them. Then they were being ushered out of their seats, pushed toward the exit.

There was something strange about those men. They wore the Castle Guard uniform, but Dara didn’t recognize any of them. Were they
all
new? Where was Pool?

“I’m afraid we will have to postpone the duel,” the official was saying. But Dara didn’t wait for him to finish. She started toward the royal box.

“Wait!” Vine called. Dara ignored her. There would be no more dueling today.

“Siv!” she shouted.

The prince didn’t hear her. He looked rattled, fractured, but he put one arm around each sister and pulled them close as the guardsmen guided the three of them out of the royal box. One of the guards pushed back onlookers with bony limbs, stretched out like tree branches.

Dara dropped her competition weapon to the floor with a clang and dashed back to the strip to snatch up the Savven blade. She had recognized that bony guard leading the young royals away after all.

It was Farr, dressed as a Castle Guard. Something was very wrong.

Farr and three other guards formed a tight cluster around the royal family and rushed them out of the dueling hall. Dara hurtled after them. Spectators and other duelists lurched in front of her, asking what was going on as if she were some sort of authority. She forced through the crowd, snapping at anyone who got in her way, but she soon lost sight of her quarry. Panic spiked in her heart.

She finally broke through to the outer doors, where more crowds gathered, their faces worried and mournful. Dara scanned the streets and staircase leading away from the arena. She caught a glimpse of Siv and his sisters again. The guards were hurrying them down the street, too far ahead. People stood aside to let them pass, calling out questions in their wake.