Duel of Fire (Steel and Fire Book 1) (7 page)

Dara slowed when they passed Morn Brothers Dueling Supply Shop three quarters of the way down the market. A new line of dueling gloves was on display in the window, each intricately embroidered with a different design. The windows were bedecked in the colors of Bilzar Ten, an accomplished duelist sponsored by the Morn brothers. A painting of Bilzar hung on the wall inside the shop, clad head to toe in his sponsor’s gear.

Oat stopped beside her. “I need to get myself some fans,” he said. “And one of those equipment deals. Bilzar gets all his gear for free.”

“They probably don’t make jackets long enough for those gangly arms of yours,” Kel said.

Oat sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know. But custom gear is expensive.”

“You have fans,” Dara said. “What about those three brothers who always wait for you after tourneys?”

“That’s true,” Oat said, brightening a bit. “They think I’m the greatest thing since spiced salt cakes.”

“Speaking of which,” Kel said. “Can we move along here? Rordin’s cakes go fast.”

They purchased goat pies and salt cakes and found a free spot on the rocks to eat. A few people recognized them from competitions, but they were nowhere near as well known as some of the older duelists in the city. Bilzar Ten was just one of the athletes who had managed to parlay their fame into lucrative sponsorship deals with local businesses and noblemen. Kel’s patron, Lord Bolden Rollendar, was the son of one of the more powerful nobles in Vertigon. These arrangements were many times more valuable than the prize purses at any given competition. They were essential if you didn’t want to work another job in addition to training. Dara had her eye on one patron in particular who signed a female duelist every season.

“What were you and Berg whispering about the other day, Dara?” Kel asked as he licked pie juice off his fingers. “He was looking mighty grim.”

“Berg is always serious,” Dara said.

“Yeah, but he’s been acting suspicious lately too. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Suspicious how?” Oat asked.

“I’ve seen him around on King’s,” Kel said. “Last time, he pretended he didn’t see me and snuck away down an alley by the Fire Guild.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Dara said. Berg had asked her not to mention her duel with the prince. But he
had
left her before she crossed the bridge after the duel that morning. What other business did he have on King’s Peak?

“Maybe he’s thinking about setting up a King’s Peak branch of his school,” Oat said.

“Or maybe,” Kel said, “he’s spying on one of the schools that’s already there. I wouldn’t mind finding out which moves Rawl has been working on. I’ll probably have to face him at the Eventide Open.”

“Doesn’t your friend Yuri train with Rawl?”

“Yeah, but he’s no snitch,” Kel said. “Even when he’s drunk. I’ve already tried to pump him for information.”

“So what could Berg be up to, then?” Oat asked.

Dara kept her attention on her salt cake and didn’t answer. She had a feeling she was in the best position out of the three of them to find out. She wondered if Berg’s strange behavior was connected to his sudden desire to take the prince’s training to the next level. She couldn’t help feeling curious about what her coach might be up to. She knew very little of what his life was like outside of the dueling school. He had lived on the mountain for longer than she could remember, but he
was
from the Lands Below. It was strange that he should be so worried about the future ruler of Vertigon. Perhaps she should give training with the heir-prince another try after all.

“All I know is Berg will make us do extra squat lunges if we don’t head over soon,” Kel said, stuffing the last of his cake into his mouth and standing. “Let’s get moving.” He glanced across the market nervously, and Dara spotted an eager maiden shoving through the crowd toward them. Her feet slipped on the stones, but that didn’t slow her down.

“Isn’t that Tollia’s serv—?”

“No idea. Race you to the bridge.” Kel took off before Dara could finish the question, demonstrating his impressive agility as he leapt down the rocky outcropping. Oat offered Dara a hand and pulled her to her feet. They set off after Kel as the blushing serving maid scrambled across the laps of five picnicking bridgeworkers to reach them. By the time Dara and Oat made it to Furlingbird Bridge, Kel was halfway across the Fissure.

A few days later, Dara arrived at the castle to find Prince Siv stretched out on the rug in his dueling hall.

“The swordswoman has returned!” The prince looked more rested than the last time she’d seen him. His brown eyes were a little brighter, and he no longer had bags under them, though he still hadn’t bothered to shave. He bent the corner of a page in his book and tossed it aside.

Dara set her gear bag beside the weapon rack, staying near the door.

“Where’s Coach Berg?” she asked.

“He’s got a cold. He sent a courier this morning. You changed your mind, eh?”

“A few sessions can’t hurt,” Dara said. She shifted her feet, feeling awkward without Berg there. He was the whole reason she had decided to come back here. The room seemed bigger and grander with only her and the prince inside. She looked up at the balcony, but it was empty too.

“My sisters are out with the cur-dragons this morning,” Siv said. “They’ll be sorry they missed you. Selivia’s your biggest fan.”

“Oh. I guess we should start, then. What’s your warm-up routine?”

“You’re looking at it,” Siv said. He reached for his toes half-heartedly.

“It’s better to jog or something first. Your muscles are probably still cold.”

“If you insist.”

Siv hauled himself to his feet and started jogging in a wide circle around the dueling hall. After a moment’s hesitation, Dara joined him. He was just another training partner, she told herself. It was just like running with Kel and Oat. She tried to forget the fact that they were in the royal castle.

After a few minutes Siv turned around so that he was jogging backward. He seemed to know the shape of the hall well, because he turned the corners without looking behind him, still studying Dara.

“Sel’s been asking around about your stats,” he said. “Sounds like you’re already an accomplished duelist. Berg could have warned me.”

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of the lesson?”

“He didn’t even mention that you won the Square Tourney last season. Won it outright.”

“This is the season that matters,” Dara said.

“I guess. I usually only follow the male duelists, though. I’d never heard of you.”

“Charming.”

“That’s me!” Siv turned around again to face forward while they jogged. “So what do you do when you’re not dueling?”

“I help my parents with their business.”

Dara had slipped out after her father went to the workshop that morning. Her mother had a meeting at the Fire Guild, so she would never know that Dara wasn’t in the lantern showroom for the whole morning. She’d need to come up with a better excuse if she was going to keep doing these morning training sessions with the prince.
If.

“I meant for fun,” Siv said.

“Dueling is fun.”

“Well, yeah, but you take it super seriously. It’s just a sport.”

“Maybe to you. Okay, shall we stretch and start some drills?” Dara returned to her corner and began her warm-up routine. Siv kept looking over at her. He seemed to find her amusing somehow. She avoided his gaze as she completed her usual set of exercises. She couldn’t let him disrupt her focus.

They met in the middle of the hall to begin the drills. Berg had taught Siv the same form sequences he used with Dara and the others. They took turns going through the movements. Siv was more alert than he had been last time, but he tended to get lazy and drop his guard between the forms. Dara found herself getting frustrated. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. She could only work with the prince if it meant training every bit as hard as she normally did. And now her coach wasn’t even here.

“Shall we bout?” she said finally.

“Easy there. Let’s have a water break first.”

“I can’t stay for long. And aren’t you supposed to be ready at any moment? What if you’re attacked?”

Siv tucked his mask under his arm. “Do you honestly think that will happen? In Vertigon?”

“I . . .”

“Look, I appreciate what Berg’s trying to do, but if I’m going to be assassinated, it will probably be a poisoned goblet or something. I just like to duel.”

“You never know,” Dara said, remembering what her father had said about the Fire Warden’s growing sway over the kingdom. “You should really be ready for anything. There could be dangers you don’t know about.”

“Sure, sure. Dangers abound,” Siv said. He poured water into a goblet from a silver pitcher by the washbasin. “What about you? You’re training again this afternoon. Can’t you have an easier morning session?”

“I have the Eventide Open in just over two weeks,” Dara said. Siv hadn’t offered her any water, but she didn’t think she should help herself. This was the palace, after all. She’d have to bring her own water skin next time. If there was a next time. “Eventide is one of the last competitions before the Vertigon Cup. I need a strong finish so the patrons will pay attention to me at the Cup.”

“Oh right, you need a patron. What’s the big deal with them anyway? They just choose the best duelists?” Siv picked a blade from the weapon rack and began rubbing a brick of charcoal on the tip.

“Generally, yes,” Dara said. “They also pay attention to who’s most popular with the crowds. They want to know who will draw high ticket sales, both for standard tourneys and for exhibition matches.”

“So they like big personalities. Tough luck for you, then.” Siv grinned and headed for the dueling strip.

“They like winners,” Dara said. “All the posturing is a waste of time. I’m going to be the best, and they won’t be able to turn me down.”

“Sounds like it’s about more than winning,” Siv said. “You’ve got to play the game.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” Dara said.

“Hey, think about my father. He’s a likable man, and it helps him keep the peace.”

“Vertigon would be peaceful no matter who the ruler is,” Dara said.

“Not true at all. We Amintelles rule with an easy hand. Squeeze people too tight, and they want to squeeze back. My father knows what he’s doing.” Despite his casual air, pride and affection crept into Siv’s voice when he mentioned his father.

“The duels are different,” Dara said. “You don’t need to be that likable if you’re good enough.”

“Let’s see how good you are, then,” Siv said. “I’m feeling like a human being today. Ten firestones say I can beat you by three points.”

“I don’t have ten firestones.”

“It’s an expression. Sheesh, no wonder the fans love you. Duel!”

Dara and Siv dueled. They didn’t keep score out loud, but Dara kept a running tally in her head. She suspected Siv was doing the same. She had to work hard to keep the points even. Siv had been right: he was better than he had demonstrated last time. He used his relaxed air as a weapon, which made him a frustrating opponent. Nearly every time Dara thought he had lost focus, he answered her attacks with lightning-fast ripostes and counterattacks.

She always liked facing opponents with different styles. She had trained against the same sparring partners at Berg’s school every day for years. Siv used some of Berg’s signature moves, but he also threw in unique attacks that Dara hadn’t seen in competition before. This would be good practice for her upcoming tournament. There were a few strong women in her division—and more would travel from the Lands Below for the Cup. She had to be versatile. She had to show the patrons she deserved a sponsorship more than the others.

After they had each landed fifty hits, Dara stopped keeping score. She focused on the rhythm of Siv’s steps and the angles of her blade. The only sounds were the tap of their boots and the thud of their hits. Sweat seeped through both of their thick jackets. Dara threw everything she had at the prince—and he answered. They fought back and forth across the hall, and Dara lost herself in the thrust and pulse of the duel.

Finally, Siv raised a hand. “Enough, enough! You’re in better shape than me.” He pulled off his mask and flopped down onto the floor.

Dara hesitated for a second then sat cross-legged across from the prince. Her weapon arm shook a bit, and sweat dripped down her forehead.

“That was a good bout,” she said. “You’re better than you look.”

“Damn right.” Siv grinned, running a hand through his dark hair. “So, are you coming back?”

Dara rubbed the surface of her guard. The morning sun was strong now, slanting through the windows of the prince’s gorgeous dueling hall. It
had
been a good bout. If she gave her mother a few extra hours of work in the afternoon and stayed later at the dueling school, she could probably get away with training here a few mornings a week. She could tell her mother that Berg had switched her lesson schedule around.

“Only if you give me a bout like that every time.”

“Deal.” Siv stretched out a gloved hand, and Dara shook it, meeting his eyes for a moment and then looking away.

A bell chimed. It was almost high noon. Dara had lost track of time. She packed up her gear quickly.

“I have to get over to the school on Square,” she said.

“Can’t believe you’re planning to train more,” Siv said. He still sat on the dueling floor, breathing hard.

“I have to be ready.”

“Well, I’m going to sleep the afternoon away.”

Dara remembered what her mother had said about the prince being a lout. But he had worked hard during the duel. Siv’s instincts were good, and he had fast reflexes. He could be a good training partner. And she was curious about whether there was any merit to Berg’s suspicions. At the very least, she could practice with him until the Eventide Open.

Siv lay on his back and pulled his knees up toward his chest one at a time to stretch, groaning as he stretched out his muscles.

“Maybe you should do more exercise before our next bout,” Dara said, “so you can keep up with me.”