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

“Lima. The job isn’t done. We must be careful for a while yet.”

“At least your part succeeded. And good riddance.” A chair scraped across the floor. “Where is Dara?”

“I expect she is with her dueling friends.”

“I’m going to . . .”

Dara hadn’t heard the rest. She stomped on the steps by the porch to alert them to her presence, hoping they’d think she just arrived. She had heard enough to confirm that their assistant, Farr, had failed at an important mission—one they had sent him to carry out. They already knew he wouldn’t return.

He wouldn’t return because Dara had killed him.

Her parents had looked up when she entered the room, taking in her fractured, exhausted appearance. She wasn’t even sure whether what she had overheard or the fight she had barely survived had shattered her more. She told them she’d gone for a run to clear her head after hearing the news of King Sevren’s assassination. Fortunately she hadn’t been injured in the clash, so there was no reason for them to suspect she had been outside the Fire Guild at the crucial moment. Her parents had offered her a bowl of porridge and sent her to bed. They’d been kind and nurturing, as parents should be. If only she’d learned the truth about what they were capable of before she faced Farr on that boardwalk.

Dara gritted her teeth and picked up the pace of her footwork as regret squeezed her like a hand around her throat. There was no point thinking about that. Farr had made his own decision. He’d been trying to abduct young Princess Selivia, and his companions were about to stab Siv to death when she stopped them. She had no choice.

That didn’t save her from seeing Farr’s face in her dreams, his eyes going wide and then lifeless. He had seemed like a nice person, and she’d thought him harmless. But he had fallen under the thrall of the Ruminors, and they were a force to be reckoned with. Dara was only just coming to understand how dangerous they were.

The morning after the king’s murder, she had moved out of her parents’ home to live with their enemy. She didn’t reveal what she suspected, simply saying she’d been offered a job on the Castle Guard. She had long failed to live up to their expectations anyway, and her departure would just be one more disappointment. Her father had given her a cold stare and turned his back as she left through the Fire Lantern shop. But her mother had flown into a towering rage. She screamed about how Dara would never be as good as her sister, Renna, who had been killed in a surge of Fire a decade ago, and how she was betraying their family name. Dara trudged down the slope of Village Peak with her mother’s shouts hammering her like hailstones, desperately fighting the urge to cry. If Lima hadn’t been so harsh, Dara might have turned around and decided to stay. Instead, her mother had treated her with the same derision she’d experienced for the past decade—and her father had done nothing to ease the sting.

She was fairly certain the only reason her parents hadn’t marched to the Castle Guard barracks and dragged her back home was because they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves while the investigation into the king’s murder was underway. The relative ease with which she’d been able to walk away from them only helped to confirm her suspicions.

She’d tried to sort out what her parents wanted as she got used to living away from them for the first time. Her father resented the restrictions placed on his power by the Fire distribution system. Her mother believed in the Fireworkers’ natural superiority—even though she didn’t have the ability herself. But Dara knew it was about more than that. Her parents wanted revenge for Renna’s death. Zage Lorrid, the Fire Warden, had been responsible for the accident, and the Ruminors’ hatred of him was well known, but they held a deeper grudge—one that was much worse than Dara had realized. The king had pardoned the Warden and denied them justice. Now they wanted the king and his children to pay the price.

Dara intended to atone for what they had done in turn and prevent them from trying again—if she could. And if she ever got to do more than guard an empty passageway.

Her boots shuffled and scraped against the stone floor as she moved, switching directions as rapidly as possible. A cold breeze drifted from the cur-dragon cave, carrying a hint of mist through the corridor. Autumn had been cold and rainy so far, and it was threatening to be a vicious winter.

“Do you never rest?”

Dara spun to face the entrance to the castle. Siv—the king—leaned in the doorway. He wore a deep-blue coat and a sword buckled at his hip. Dara recognized it as a Fire Blade, even from this distance. Pool’s tall form loomed a few paces behind him.

“I have to stay in shape,” she said.

“You make me tired just watching you.”

“You should be training too,” Dara said, wiping the stiff, too-long sleeve of her guard uniform across her forehead. She was having new coats tailored to fit her better, but this one would have to do for now. “You’ll be too slow next time we duel.”

“I am in wonderful shape,” Siv said, putting his fists on his hips and posing with his chest puffed out. “You should spend more time admiring me, really.”

Dara fought a grin. He wasn’t wrong. He had a strong, slim waist and broad shoulders, and the shadow of a beard on his jaw emphasized his high cheekbones and intelligent eyes.

“I’m too busy keeping my eyes on this passageway in case the cur-dragon keepers rise up against you.”

“I’ve always suspected them,” Siv said. “They’re sneakier than burrlinbats under an Eventide moon.”

“Did you need me for something?” Dara asked. “Or are you just here to critique my footwork?”

“There’s no way I’d be as critical of your footwork as you are of it yourself.” Siv stretched his arms over his head, joints cracking. “I happened to be walking in this general direction and thought I’d say hi.”

Pool made a sound very like a snort behind him.

“Don’t you have a council meeting soon?” Dara asked.

“Yeah, but I’m making them wait. It’s all part of the plan.”

“Right. Today’s the day you’re going to demonstrate your brilliant political maneuverings.”

Siv nodded sagely. “It will be a council meeting for the ages. You should come. I’m sure to be very impressive.”

“I am on duty, Your Majesty,” Dara said.

“Majesty. Ooh, that’s a new one.”

“Would you prefer ‘Your High and Mightiness’?”

“That is very tempting, but seriously, it’s just me and Pool. I wish you’d go back to calling me Siv.” The king’s voice was casual, but there was sadness in his eyes, something that had been there too often of late. Dara’s chest tightened at the sight. She knew how much Siv’s father had meant to him. And his life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dara said.

“Good. Now, when I’m done with my meeting I want you to come with me to talk to Zage about that Fire Blade we picked up during the attempt against my life.”

The image of a tall, mysterious swordsman flashed before Dara’s eyes. They had faced him together. Dara had feinted, opening the man up for Siv’s killing blow. They’d made a good team, despite the fear rattling both of them.

“What about it?”

“I thought it was standard Guard issue, but I had a closer look recently and now I’m not so sure.”

“Is that it?” Dara gestured to the dueling blade buckled at Siv’s waist.

“Nope, this one’s Bandobar’s. They’re different. Check it out.” Siv drew the sword from his own sheath and handed it to Dara. “Captain Bandobar had his blade custom Worked by the army’s Firesmith, and it has the castle seal.”

Dara took the rapier and hefted it, feeling the perfect balance of the weapon. She ran her finger over the stamp in the cold steel hilt. Or at least, it was cold when she first picked it up. Within seconds, warmth spread from the weapon into her fingertips. She nearly dropped the blade as the heat seeped into her blood and crept up her arm. Without thinking, she spun away from the king and dropped into a lightning fast lunge. The blade sang through the air.

“You can show off your perfect form later,” Siv said, but he sounded impressed.

The blade came alive in Dara’s hands. She could barely help herself as she thrust at an invisible target. The Fire imbued in the steel and the Fire sense in her blood worked together to make her movements uncannily fast and sharp. But when she felt a connection forming to the Fire seeping through the stones of the passageway too, she quickly straightened and handed the blade back to Siv.

“It’s good steel.” She didn’t meet his eyes, hoping he hadn’t noticed the difference when she wielded it compared to a normal blade. It was the first time she had held a Fire Blade since she discovered she could Work the magic Fire flowing through Vertigon Mountain. She hadn’t realized how different a Fire Blade would feel in her hands. It was little wonder Fire Blades were forbidden in competitions.

“I want to see if Zage can tell anything by comparing it to the one we found,” Siv said. “That one doesn’t have a maker’s mark at all. It might help our investigation if we know where the blade came from.”

“No, don’t give it to Zage!” Dara said quickly. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the blade of the swordsman they had defeated together the day of King Sevren’s murder, but there was a chance it could lead right to her parents. They had sent Farr, and it was possible his companion got the Fire Blade from one of their allies. The assassin who had attacked Dara and Siv near Fell Bridge had carried a knife with a Firegold hilt too. It could very well have been a Fire Blade from the same source. Too much of the evidence pointed toward the Workers—and her parents were chief among them. She didn’t want the Fire Warden to be the one to discover the link. As much as she deplored her parents’ involvement in King Sevren’s murder, she didn’t want them to be executed either. She hoped to find some other way to stop them.

“I mean, I can look into it,” she said, blushing when the king raised an eyebrow at her. “No need to bother the Warden.”

“Is guard duty that boring?” Siv asked.

“I know a lot of the Firesmiths,” Dara said. “They would probably be able to give us more useful information.”

“That’s a good point,” Siv said.

“I’ll have to wait until my shift is over, though.”

“The blade is in my chambers. You sure you don’t mind doing some investigating?”

“Of course not,” Dara said. “I’ll do anything to figure out who’s responsible for what happened to your father.” She dropped her gaze to the stones. She didn’t add that she desperately hoped she was wrong about her parents.

“Thanks,” Siv said. “I can always count on you.” He reached out as if to nudge her, but instead he circled her arm with his hand, just above the elbow. Warmth spread from his fingers. He met her eyes, and his grip tightened, as if he was contemplating pulling her closer. Dara’s heart did a slow, painful flip.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said.

Siv dropped his hand abruptly. “Come see me when you’re done. I’ll tell you all about my brilliance at the council meeting.”

He turned to stride back into the castle, and Dara found herself missing him before he was even out of sight.

2.

The Council

SIV was still kicking himself by the time he arrived at the council chambers in the castle’s central tower. He shouldn’t have gone to see Dara. All that did was remind him of their hours in the dueling hall together, of the night she had danced in his arms, of what he could never have. He was the king, and kings didn’t think about kissing their guardswomen. He may care for Dara, he may owe her his life, but he couldn’t let his father’s legacy down.

Pool opened the door to the royal council chambers with a flourish, as Siv had instructed. The double doors banged against the walls, making the tapestries hanging from them shudder. The bodyguards who had accompanied the noblemen waiting within stepped aside to make way for the king.

A long oval table made of polished oak all the way from Cindral Forest filled most of the room. High-backed chairs inlaid with Firegold surrounded the table. A Fire Lantern hung from the ceiling, casting warm light over the men and women seated around the table. The chamber had no windows, and the tapestries on the walls muted the echo of Siv’s boots on the stone floor.

He strode to the far end of the table, keeping his head high as the noblemen and women stood. He had invited the heads of all the most important houses in Vertigon. He had to establish his hold over the nobility before they could begin to maneuver against him, especially because he wasn’t sure which ones might want him dead. It was just like dueling, except potentially more deadly.

The heads of Houses Morrven, Samanar, Rollendar, Denmore, Roven, Farrow, and Nanning watched him expectantly. A few had brought their advisors along, and Lord Nanning had brought his rather fearsome wife. They were all at least twenty years older than Siv, except for Lady Tull, the beautiful young widow who was now head of House Denmore. The council members represented houses that had followed his father for many years, and they were powerful in their own right. Siv would have to convince them to respect him if he was to carry on the Amintelle legacy.

He fought down a jolt of nerves as he faced the nobles.
I’ll have them all in hand before First Snow
. He cleared his throat, about to launch into his opening speech, when another man entered the chambers.

“Sorry I’m late, Your Highness,” Bolden Rollendar said as he strode in with barely a nod at Siv. The doors slammed behind him with a resounding bang. He flipped a hand through his sandy-blond hair and took a seat beside his father, Lord Von Rollendar. The other nobles followed his lead and sat down before Siv could say anything. Siv grimaced as the scrape and screech of shifting chairs filled the room. He’d planned some inspiring words about how they’d all stand together to ensure a prosperous future for Vertigon. Too late for that now.

“Right. Well, shall we begin?” Siv sat in his throne-like chair as the nobles shuffled papers and muttered to each other, not paying much attention to him.