King of Mist (Steel and Fire Book 2) (11 page)

“I’d better go back in the way I came out,” she said.

“Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” Siv knew it was a bad idea, but he said it anyway. “You shouldn’t be alone with a head injury.”

“That would be difficult to explain to Pool in the morning.”

“Let him wonder,” Siv said. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’ll have Telvin check on me,” Dara said—rather brusquely, he thought. “I’ll tell him I stumbled down some steps on my way home. Too much ale.”

Siv blinked. “Who’s Telvin?”

“One of the guardsmen. I had a drink with him earlier tonight.”

“You don’t even like drinking.”

“It was okay.” Dara shrugged. “He’s a decent man.”

“Is he,” Siv said flatly. Which one was Telvin? Not many of the guardsmen were young. He’d better not be one of the good-looking ones. Why was she having drinks with guardsmen anyway?

“Yes, I think so,” Dara said. “I’ll keep an eye on him in case he could be a potential ally. He used to be in the army. Maybe he could give us information on Pavorran.”

“Information,” Siv said. “Sure. Good idea. Just be careful.”

“Good night, Siv,” Dara said. “And thank you. I needed your help tonight.” Then as suddenly as if she were lunging toward a target, she stepped closer to him and kissed his cheek. Before he could move, she strode off through the darkness toward the castle gates.

Siv grinned all the way through the tunnel, the kitchens, and the secret stairwell to his chambers. He was still smiling by the time he fell asleep.

10.

Plans

DARA
’
S
head pounded as she descended through the bottom level of the castle to the cur-dragon cave. She hadn’t slept well. Telvin had dutifully woken her up throughout the night to make sure she wasn’t slipping into a coma. She had spent her waking hours mulling over what to do about the threat they had discovered yesterday.

In the bright light of day, the solution seemed clear. If General Pavorran and his cronies—whoever they were—had decided to make their own private dueling army, the king needed to do the same.

The Castle Guard had to recruit and train replacements anyway after being compromised during the assassination. It was more important than ever to make sure the new recruits could handle the threat brewing over on Square Peak. They might not have much time. What they really needed was a ready-made group of fit, trained swordsmen who weren’t in danger of being influenced by the general.

Fortunately, Dara happened to know some of those.

She nodded to Yeltin, the gray-bearded Castle Guard posted at the entrance to the cur-dragon cave. One of the original guardsmen, he was definitely loyal to the king, but he also wasn’t young. They needed fresh blood to meet the new threat.

As Dara strode down the cur-dragon tunnel, claustrophobia flashed through her at the memory of their adventure the night before. She had been afraid in those tunnels—very afraid—until she felt that river of Fire pulling her like a beacon. She had followed that sensation to get out of the depths of the mountain and back toward the surface. But what was all that Fire for? It presented an even bigger problem than the mysterious duelists.

Pool stood at the end of the passageway, where an iron gate blocked the cavern entrance to prevent unruly cur-dragons from wandering into the castle.

“Greetings, Miss Ruminor.”

“I’d like to talk to you and the king about something, Pool,” Dara said.

“Certainly. I shall inquire whether he has a moment to hear your entreaty.”

Pool opened the gate to the cur-dragon enclosure and shooed away a pair of dragon keepers lingering nearby. The sky outside the cave opening was clear today. The Burnt Mountains stood sharp against the skyline. A cur-dragon launched itself from the ledge and soared out into the crisp blue sky as Dara entered.

Siv sprawled on the floor with his back to her, playing with his favorite cur-dragon hatchling. Rumy was three months old and getting big quickly, already the largest of his litter. He stretched his wings, which had begun to take on a greenish cast, and preened as Siv tossed him bits of morrinvole meat. Siv looked like his old self, not like a king with enemies on all sides. Dara didn’t speak, watching him coo at the little dragon and tease it with the treats. Not for the first time she wished everything could go back to the way it used to be.

Then Zage Lorrid stepped out of the shadows, clad in his customary black. A silver leaf pin glinted at his throat.

“What is it, Miss Ruminor?” he said.

“I need to speak with the king.”

“About?”

But Siv had heard her name. He leapt to his feet.

“Dara! How are you? How’s your h—?” He stopped when she shot him a warning look. “How are you?” he finished lamely. Zage raised an eyebrow.

“I’m fine, Your Majesty.” Dara resisted the urge to probe the lump on the back of her head. “I learned something last night, and I wanted to talk to you and Pool about an idea I had.”

“Excellent.”

Siv waited expectantly. Dara glanced at Zage. “Can we speak in private?”

“No, Zage should hear this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

Siv grinned, apparently not getting the hint that Dara didn’t want to talk about this in front of the Fire Warden. Siv trusted Zage unreservedly, but Dara didn’t think he’d proved himself worthy of it. When Siv didn’t respond to her pointed look in the Fire Warden’s direction, she sighed and launched into her tale.

She left out the name of the person who had taken her into the cavern and the part about Siv being there with her. She needed Pool to have all the information if he was going to help them with her scheme, but she didn’t want to let on that Berg was their source yet.

Siv acted appropriately surprised as she described the mysterious cavern, playing his part well. He scowled when she got to the part about Pavorran. That betrayal must still burn.

“So we have a squad of swordsmen training in this cavern, possibly with army involvement,” Dara finished. “I can’t tell how many are from Vertigon and how many are from elsewhere, but there were at least two Soolen men among them.”

“This is nearly inconceivable,” Pool said when she finished her story, rubbing a hand through the gray hair at his temples.

“It seems a fanciful tale,” Zage said.

“I saw it,” Dara said.

“I do not doubt you, Miss Ruminor,” Pool said. “But are you quite certain they mean the king ill?”

“They definitely weren’t training for sport,” Dara said. “If it was a normal army exercise, why would they practice in secret?”

“Didn’t you go out drinking with another guardsman prior to this?” Zage said. Dara’s mouth dropped open. How did he know that? “Is it possible you imag—?”

“Dara isn’t lying,” Siv said. Zage began to protest, but Siv didn’t let him voice further objections. He unlatched Rumy—who had been trying to chew through his boot—from his ankle and turned to Dara eagerly. “You said you had an idea for what to do about it?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Dara said. She resisted the urge to shoot Zage a triumphant look. “You need to build your own army of loyal swordsmen. I don’t think we should trust any of the soldiers under Pavorran’s sway.”

“That is problematic,” Pool said. “The candidates I have been vetting for the Castle Guard are invariably enlisted men. I thought the army would be reliable, Your Majesty.”

“I thought so too,” Siv said darkly.

“Alas, I suppose I can start over,” Pool said.

“It takes too much time to train green recruits,” Dara said. “These men we—I saw last night were skilled. But I have a better idea. Recruit a new Castle Guard from among the duelists.”

“The sport duelists?” Siv scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Interesting.”

Pool frowned, thumbing the hilt of the long knife in his belt. “I suppose it would be more efficient to train a company of seasoned athletes in the art of kingly defense. But we must subject them to the same scrutiny as any other candidates for the Guard.”

“Of course,” Dara said. “But I already know a lot of them. I can vouch for them. And none of them are likely to be Pavorran’s men.”

“You are forgetting,” Zage said, “that many of these duelists are well known in the citadel. It would likely cause a stir if you enlisted a large number of athletes to join the Guard.”

“That’s true,” Dara said slowly. “We could try to focus on ones who are less popular. They’re more likely to need the job anyway.” Plenty of talented duelists, like Dara just a month ago, were still trying to achieve good enough results to attract a well-paying sponsor. They might be interested in the opportunity.

“Even so,” Zage said. “I fear this would only confirm some of the elder nobility’s suspicions that our king is young and foolish. Your pardon, my king, but I believe that inviting your favorite athletes onto your royal Guard will not be perceived as a mature step.”

Siv didn’t respond at first. His eyes glazed over, as if he was concentrating very hard. Rumy tackled his boots again, and he tossed the last chunk of morrinvole to the little creature without looking at him.

“Sire?” Pool said. “Are you well?”

Siv began to pace across the stone cavern. Rumy snapped at his heels for more treats, but he barely noticed.

“Not mature,” he said at last. “That’s it! Of course.” He paced faster. “The nobles see me as a foolish young man. They think I’m not equipped to rule the kingdom. They think they can scheme and corrupt my general and build armies right under my nose. Well, let’s give the people what they want.”

“Sire?”

“People know I’m a dueling fan, right?” Siv said.

“I believe it has been discussed, yes,” Zage said, “especially after your recent enthusiasm for attending tournaments.” He shot Dara a look that wasn’t entirely friendly.

If Siv noticed the tension between them, he didn’t remark on it. “So if I invite all the best duelists to live in the barracks and join the Castle Guard, they’ll think I’m being a foolish young man. And people never think sport duelists can actually fight—sorry, Dara—so they won’t see all those athletes as a threat. They’ll think I’m doing it for the attention, for the pageantry of having pro athletes around me. And we’ll give them pageantry!”

Siv whirled toward them, a wild enthusiasm in his eyes that Dara hadn’t seen since he first gave her the name Nightfall. She couldn’t help grinning back at him.

“They won’t realize I’m on to their little scheme,” he continued. “The duelists can even keep going to competitions on Turndays. It’ll only be natural for them to train right here in the castle.

“We’d have to make sure they get plenty of time to practice anyway, or they might not agree to join the Guard,” Dara said. “We’ll have them train with sharpened steel at the same time.”

Siv clapped his hands together, making the cur-dragons start up in a rustle of claws and wings. “Before long I’ll have a powerhouse of trained fighters around me. And everyone will think I’m doing it as a vanity project. Oh, they’ll be surprised if they try to come after me expecting a bunch of athletes and instead meet master swordsmen—and women—armed with serious weapons.”

“I’m sorry to dampen your enthusiasm, Your Majesty,” Zage said, “but you still have the problem of perception. You will not be taken seriously.”

“The nobles might not like it,” Siv said, looking over at Dara, “but the people will love it. They’ll see a king who shares their biggest obsession. They’ll see this elite squad of duelists, whom they love to cheer for anyway, and their dashing young king will be right in their midst. We can hold exhibition matches. Festivals. We’ll entertain them, court them, show them that King Sivarrion Amintelle is as big a fan as they are. The stuffy old nobles might not like it, but they also won’t see it as a threat. And if they try anything, my Guard will be ready for them. At the same time, we’ll make sure the people are treated well and their businesses prosper, even during the coldest months of winter. We’ll get them on our side in every way possible.”

Siv had been pacing so fast he was almost running, but he finally stopped and faced them.

“What say you?”

“I like it,” Dara said. She was already making a list of the duelists she knew she could trust. If they made being on this elite force akin to getting a sponsorship and allowed them to continue competing on the side, the duelists wouldn’t say no. And none of them would object to the extra attention that guarding King Siv would bring. “I know a dueling coach who would be happy to assist with the training, too.”

“I thought you might,” Siv said. “Pool?”

“Sire, I don’t mean to suggest this isn’t a meritorious idea, but aren’t some of the professional duelists in this citadel rather flamboyant and, well, difficult?”

“I’m sure you can handle them, Pool.” Siv grinned. “And Dara will help keep them in line. She’s good at making people be serious. How about you, Zage?”

The Fire Warden didn’t answer for a long time. He twisted his pale hands in the folds of his black cloak as he considered the idea. As usual, he scrutinized Dara, blatant mistrust on his face. What else could she do to prove her trustworthiness? She almost wanted to tell him that she’d been alone in the dark with the king last night and done him no harm—although this time he had been the one to save her.

Finally Zage folded his arms, seemingly resigned to the idea, and said, “Very well, Your Majesty. I suppose it cannot hurt. But be wary of your image.”

“Oh, I will,” Siv said. “In fact, I think my image needed some work anyway. We are going to give Vertigon exactly the young king it wants. And while they’re distracted by the pageantry, we’ll get the nobles in line.” He turned to Dara. “You are officially promoted to recruitment duty. Now, go find me an army.”

11.

The Army

SIV
wished he could be more involved with recruiting his new army of duelists. It would be a lot more fun than holding council meetings, reading reports from his advisors, and having tea with the nobility. He trusted Dara with the task, but it also meant she spent a lot of time out of the castle visiting her athlete friends. In the meantime, Siv’s work piled up like sand on the Far Plains of Trure.