King of Mist (Steel and Fire Book 2) (27 page)

The meeting with Pavorran had gone as well as could be expected. The man was about as interesting as a rock. Plus, Siv kind of resented him for being involved with the secret force training in the cavern. If he was going to be a villain, he could at least be an entertaining one. Pavorran had delivered a long-winded report on the recruitment of additional soldiers and the subsequent modifications to the army’s training regimen. The only mildly interesting part was when he requested the commissioning of a new supply of Fire-infused weapons. Siv told him he would consider it and asked for the details of which Firesmiths he’d use for the job. He didn’t plan to approve any new weapons until he determined whether or not they’d be used in his defense. He still wasn’t sure whether Pavorran acted alone or whether the whole army would end up fighting on his side. He felt increasingly vulnerable without a strong hold over his military force. He had begun to regret giving Pavorran permission to expand the army in the wake of the news from Cindral Forest. Hopefully Lady Tull had been right to give him that advice.

When Pavorran finally left the castle, Siv retired to his chambers with a plate full of meat and bread and a bottle of wine. Okay, maybe two bottles. It was exhausting to court people’s approval, step lightly around those plotting to kill him, and keep everyone from panicking over news of distant wars. Siv was burning tired of it. He had a reprieve from entertaining visitors for once, and he intended to get a bit drunk and enjoy himself. Alone.

Who knew being king would be so hard? He thought he was doing a decent job, but he wished for the simplicity of his prince days. He dropped into a dueling stance and did a bit of footwork across the rug in his antechamber, balancing his wine goblet expertly in his left hand. He wished he could be a Castle Guard instead. It looked like a good life. The Guards got to train, duel, attend carnivals and feasts, and hang out in the castle. They got a warm bed and plenty of food. They could go out for drinks when they liked and kiss whomever they wanted. It was all swords and booze and beautiful, intense eyes admiring you in your uniform.

Siv poured himself another goblet of wine, imagining what it would be like to march around the castle in one of those sharp blue coats.
I wonder if you can drown envy with wine.
He took a huge gulp and walked to the window, his steps wavering a bit. He balanced his goblet on the sill and leaned his forehead against the cold glass.

Of course, the Guards still got to work for the good of Vertigon. They lived on this beautiful mountain and actually had the freedom to explore it whenever they wanted. Plus, their mistakes wouldn’t result in someone who didn’t have the best interests of the people at heart taking control of the throne. Yes, it didn’t sound like a bad life at all.

Siv was thinking about using his secret stairwell to fetch a third bottle of wine from the kitchens, when someone pounded on the door. He tripped on the corner of his Firegold-embroidered rug as he crossed the room. He really shouldn’t let his guard down by drinking like this, but his job was burning hard, and he was safe in the castle.

He brushed the breadcrumbs from his table with clumsy hands and dropped onto the couch before calling, “Come in.”

“Good, you’re still awake.” Dara strode into the antechamber and shut the door behind her. She swept off her black cloak, sending droplets of icy water across the room. A bit of frost dusted her golden hair.

“Is it snowing already?” Siv asked.

“Just now. Oh, happy First Snow.” Dara reached for a spare goblet from the table without really looking at it and raised it toward him. “I have news, Siv.”

“Glad to see you dropping the highnesses and majesties,” Siv said, his words slurring a bit. “That was getting older than a Soolen bullshell.”

Dara put her hands on her hips. “Are you drunk?”

“Why on the snow-blessed mountain would you say that?” Siv said. He raised his own goblet, which was mostly empty again. That happened so quickly. “Happy First Snow to you too.”

Dara narrowed her eyes.
Firelord
, her eyes were pretty.

“Well, pay attention,” she said. “The Rollendars are planning something for the night of your engagement feast. And Tull Denmore is in on it.”

“Tull? My lady wife? Or future lady wife, or whatever you would call her.” His engagee? There was a word for it, but Siv couldn’t quite think of what it was. He drained the last of his wine.

“As far as I can tell,” Dara said, “she accepted your proposal, but she’s working with Bolden. I think they’re going to assault the castle on the night of the engagement feast. Bolden said he wanted there to be a lot going on to distract the Guard.”

“That sounds like Bolden,” Siv said. “But you mean to tell me my future lady wife doesn’t love me? I’m shocked.”

Dara rolled her eyes, apparently picking up the sarcasm in Siv’s tone. “I’m lucky I saw her. She’s been around the castle a lot lately. The Guard would have let her come and go as she liked until the feast. She could set up any number of traps for you. Or just open the door for the Rollendars, which sounds like the strategy she picked.”

“How did you find this out? It’s good detective work.” Siv tried to work up the energy to feel betrayed, but there had never been anything personal between him and Tull. In fact, he felt a little relieved that she might be trying to kill him. That probably meant he wouldn’t have to marry her after all.

“I got lucky,” Dara said. “I went by Lady Atria’s parlor and overheard them talking. They looked pretty cozy too.”

“Atria’s? I miss that place. What do you say we go for a drink there right now? I feel like celebrating.” Siv started to stand, his balance off-kilter.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, actually,” Dara said.

“It’s never enough!” Siv shouted.

“Do you want me to have Pool put you to bed, or do you want to hear my idea for foiling Bolden?”

“I don’t want anyone but you to put me to bed, Dara.” Siv said. “Ever. Ever ever.”
Boy, that word’s fun.

Dara grew very still. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Your Majesty.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“No,
you
know why.” Siv grinned. That would show her.

“Siv.”

“Dara.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Just how much did you have to drink?”

“This is good vintage, Dara,” Siv said. “You should try it. Loosen up a little. And maybe stop being so serious around me all the damn time.”

“This
is
serious,” Dara said. “I think we have a chance to stop the Rollendars for good. We can’t keep letting them sneak around and scheme. Let’s lie in wait for their men and deal a decisive blow when they least expect it.”

“That all sounds grand,” Siv said. “But it’s First Snow. Celebrate with me. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we will be as decisive and kingly as my old granddad was.”

Dara folded her arms. “The wine is gone anyway.”

“Not true!” Siv said. “I’ve just remembered I have another bottle. A gift to congratulate me on my engagement.”

Siv rummaged underneath a pile of books until he found the bottle in question. It had an unfamiliar label, but he was sure it would be good. People never gave him poor-quality wine. It was one of the definite perks of being king.

Despite Dara’s objections, he popped the cork and poured a goblet for himself and one for her. He splashed a bit on the table, but a respectable percentage ended up in the cups.

“To my un-engagement,” he said. “And to the brilliant plan that I have no doubt you will tell me about in the morning when my head has stopped spinning.”

Dara sighed, apparently resigned to the good sense of his suggestion.

“Happy First Snow.”

She lifted the goblet to her lips. Siv drank deeply, watching her intense eyes. This
was
a nice bottle, with a hint of spice and oak. It really ought to be enough to make her smile.

Because he was watching her, Siv had a rather good view when Dara’s eyes widened, her goblet dropped from her fingers, and she lunged forward to knock Siv’s drink out of his hands.

An instant later, he was flat on his back with Dara straddling him, her hands clutching his shirt and horror in her eyes.

“Siv!” she shouted.

“I can hear you. If you wanted me on my back, you could’ve—”

“Siv, shut up. There are Firetears in the wine!”

26.

Firetears

DARA
didn’t know what she was doing. She hadn’t trained for this. All she knew was that she needed to get the poison out of Siv’s body before it killed him.

Firetears could only be used on people who couldn’t Work the Fire. It was a simple potion: the Fire pulled together out of its liquid form when it entered the victim’s body, forming a single glob or “tear.” When the Firetear reached critical mass, it shot upward through the victim’s body, wreaking havoc on the way. Depending on the dosage the formation could take hours, but once activated a Firetear would burn through someone’s heart, throat, and brain in seconds, stealing their life, their warmth, their light. Firetears were particularly dangerous because they had no taste, and they didn’t take effect right away. The speed at which the poison worked varied, but it was always deadly.

Dara knew all of this in an academic sense, but she had never encountered it before. When she put the wine to her lips and felt the Fire contained within it, she knew. By that time, Siv had already drunk half his goblet.

Now he lay flat on his back as she tried to grab hold of the tears of Fire forming in his stomach with sheer will. She had to seize control of the droplets before they joined together, while fighting down her own panic. She’d been getting better at Working the Fire with her thoughts. She relied on the senses she’d been honing during her hours with Zage as she reached into Siv’s body. It had to be enough.

“Dara, are you sure—?”

“Quiet. I need to concentrate.”

Siv wouldn’t feel anything yet. His father probably hadn’t felt anything either until his final moments when the fully formed tears burned through him. Dara gritted her teeth so hard she thought they’d crack. She wouldn’t let Siv die this way.

She ripped open the buttons on his shirt and pressed her hands against the warm skin of his stomach. The Firetears moved within him, minuscule and fragmented in the wine, but already pooling together in places. There was too much of it! She spread her fingers and tried to capture the droplets, like picking up steel shavings with a magnet.

Siv looked down at Dara’s hands on his abs.

“Uh, Dara, I know I’m a bit drunk, but—”

“Shh.”

Slowly, Dara allowed a few beads of Fire to pull together in Siv’s stomach. She didn’t want to leave any of the potion behind. She moved one hand up his chest, guiding the trail of Fire. If she couldn’t keep the bits of Fire small they would damage his stomach and throat on the way out. That would be a much more painful way to die than with the quick flash of a fully formed Firetear.

Siv cleared his throat. “As much as I’m enjoying this weird massage, Dara, it’s kind of strange, and—Ouch! What are you doing?”

“Stop moving,” Dara snapped. “You’re making this harder.” The droplets of Fire were pooling too fast. He was going to get hurt. She needed to get them out of his body.

Dara kept one hand on Siv’s stomach to help her focus on spreading the Firetears out. She moved the other upward, drawing a trail of tiny tears up through Siv’s throat. She wasn’t sure she could get them out of him without releasing her hold on the rest of the poison in his body. She hadn’t practiced controlling this many distinct drops of Fire at once, especially without being able to touch it directly. It was always easier to control the Fire with direct contact. That gave her an idea.

“Open your mouth,” she said.

“Why—?”

“Just do it.”

She shifted her hand up, resting it firmly on Siv’s throat, and then clamped her mouth onto his. Firetears would kill someone who couldn’t work the Fire, but Dara didn’t have that problem anymore. She breathed in, letting the trail of Fire pass from Siv’s mouth into hers, hoping the pieces weren’t big enough to burn his tongue. The hot drops sizzled in her mouth as she absorbed them into her own body.

She sat back to begin working the rest of the Fire upward. Siv looked up at her, his eyes slightly out of focus. He had gone absolutely still. The Fire she had drawn from his body ran through her blood now, flowing harmlessly beneath her Firesparked skin.

Still straddling him, she repeated the delicate task of easing the rest of the Fire together in tiny droplets and guiding them up the passageway of his throat. Siv winced, apparently able to feel a bit of what was going on, but he remained still as she put her mouth on his again to draw out the last of the poison.

As soon as it was gone she pulled back a bit, her lips not quite brushing his, and felt for any remaining vestiges of Fire waiting to merge together and slay the man she loved. Their breath mingled between them, warm and sweet. He stared back at her, and for a moment the world was utterly still.

“Is it done?” he said hoarsely.

Dara blinked and scrambled off him.

“Yes, I think I got it all.” She sat on the rug next to him and reached for the stone goblet so she’d have somewhere to release the Fire she had pulled into her body. Her fingertips glowed as she let the Fire drain into the stone.

Siv sat up slowly, rubbing his throat. His eyes never left Dara’s face. She stared back at him, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but also incredibly relieved.

“You can Work the Fire,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You’re a Fireworker,” he said hazily. “Like your father.”

“I haven’t known for long,” Dara said. “I’ve been practicing, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to do that.” It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t been touching steel while she worked on the king. She hadn’t needed it to focus when his life was on the line. She was making progress. A brief smile started to form on her lips, until Siv spoke again.