King of Mist (Steel and Fire Book 2) (28 page)

“You mean you aren’t an expert in Firetears like your father?”

“What?” Ice and dread flooded Dara so rapidly that she wished she’d held on to the Fire.

“This is how my father died. Poisoned by Firetears. A coward’s weapon.” Siv climbed to his feet, holding on to the nearby table so his balance wouldn’t waver. He looked down at her, his face slowly turning to stone.

“Do you know anything about that, Dara?”

“Siv—”

“Tell me. Did Rafe Ruminor kill my father?”

Dara felt as if she were crossing the Fissure on a bridge that had suddenly given way.

“I—”

“And did you know?”

She nodded slowly, keeping her mouth clenched shut. Words wouldn’t make this any better.

Siv drew a ragged breath. “You’ve obviously been keeping more from me than I thought. Tell me: why do you bother saving my life when your father keeps trying to take it?”

“I’m trying to stop him,” Dara whispered.

“You didn’t stop him from killing my father.”

“I didn’t know then!” Dara reached out to touch Siv’s ankle, but he stepped out of her reach, his movements wooden. “You have to believe me,” she said. “I found out afterward, and I’ve been trying to stop him from hurting you too. I’ve been trying to make things right.”

Siv grabbed his crown, which had been sitting on the table, and clutched it between his hands as if trying to bend it in half.

“So that’s why you pledged to give your life in my service?” he said bitterly. “To repay a debt? Well, I have news for you, Dara. His life was worth more than mine. Nothing you do for me can make up for what happened to him. He was a better man and a better king.”

“I’m sorry,” Dara whispered.

Siv snorted and turned away from her. He walked to the window on shaky feet and pushed open the tall panel of leaded glass. Cold wind swept in, carrying flurries of snow into the room. The temperature dropped fast as the snow and wind and mist swirled in around the king.

They stayed like that for a long time. Siv leaned out into the black night, letting the First Snow fall on his face and hair. Dara sat on the floor, hands pressing into the rug, as she tried to think of something to say that would comfort him. Something that would make up for what her father had done to his. But he was right. Nothing would ever change what had happened.

The Firetears in the wine had to have come from her father. He wasn’t giving up, and each time, he got closer and closer to success. Dara had wanted to protect her family despite everything they’d done, but it was becoming harder to justify that course of action. Her parents were sprinting down a path from which they could never return. She’d held out hope that she could convince them of the king’s goodness during her visits over the past few weeks. But with this latest incident, it might be time to stop trying to save them.

Finally, Dara stood.

“I will take my leave, Your Majesty. I urge you to continue with the preparations for your engagement feast. I’ll prepare the Guard to meet an ambush. Will there be anything else this evening?”

Siv didn’t answer. Dara left his chambers and closed the door, leaving him staring out at the snow.

27.

Preparations

SIV
went straight to the dueling hall when he awoke the next morning. He laced up his best pair of dueling boots and was already sweating through his first hundred lunges when the Guards arrived. He didn’t pause his workout to speak to anyone until all the duelists had assembled. He didn’t look at Dara at all.

“I’m training with you today,” he announced. “Please treat me as you would any other duelist.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Telvin Jale said with a salute.

“Whatever you say, Your Highness,” Shon said at the same time that Dell Dunn shouted, “Your wish is our command!”

“Good.” The Guard gathered in a loose ring around him, uncharacteristically shy. The youngest of them looked afraid he might turn into a thunderbird if they moved. “Shall we get started?” he prompted.

They jumped and hurriedly began their stretches, all except for the rangy female duelist, Tora Feln, who folded her arms and faced him head on.

“Sire, do you want us to call you Siv?” she asked. “Like Dara does sometimes?”

“Quiet, Tora,” hissed her brother, Errol. “You can’t talk to the king like that!”

“He said to treat him—”

“I heard what he said,” Errol whispered, as if Siv couldn’t hear him plainly. “But he’s still the king to the likes of us! Dara is different.”

Siv cleared his throat, not looking at Dara.

“Let’s just focus on the dueling, shall we?” he said.

The Guards saluted and commenced their warm-ups. Siv just wanted to stab some things for a while. He didn’t want to see Dara. Yes, he’d come to the exact room in the castle where he knew she would be, but he
definitely
didn’t want to see her.

Dara apparently didn’t want to see him either, because she ran the training with the efficiency of a drill sergeant, never once acknowledging his presence. She looked as though she’d gotten as poor a night’s sleep as he had. At least she probably wasn’t hungover on top of things. Siv was, but that wouldn’t stop him from being ready when the Rollendars came calling. He needed to defend himself, his family, and his kingdom. He couldn’t trust anyone else to do it.

The duelists divided into pairs for a glove-tossing exercise that Berg used to have Dara and Siv do during their private training sessions. One person would stand behind the other and throw a glove out in front of their partner, who had to lunge and catch it before it hit the ground. The lunging partner wouldn’t see the glove until the moment they had to move. It was a good exercise for improving reflexes, plus it was fun. Or at least it was supposed to be, until Dara assigned Telvin Jale to partner with Siv. The former soldier took his job as the king’s temporary training buddy very seriously. He was about as enjoyable to work with as a window shutter.

Siv reminded himself he was not here to have fun. Dueling—along with everything else—had to be serious business now that he was a king with enemies on all sides. As of last night, those enemies included his best friend’s parents and the woman who was supposed to become his wife. He couldn’t afford to have fun anymore.

They did ten lunges and glove catches each then switched places so the other partner could toss. Siv managed to catch most of Telvin’s throws, but the man definitely wasn’t going easy on him. If anything, he tossed the glove farther for Siv than any of the other duelists were doing for their partners. Siv almost pulled a muscle in his thigh lunging to reach it before it hit the ground. His body ached, but it felt good to be working out again.

The partners switched back and forth until Dara called a halt for a water break. Siv strode over to the window so the others wouldn’t feel awkward about relaxing around him. He leaned on the window ledge, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. A fine dusting of snow coated the mountain. The snowfall wasn’t thick, and it had already been brushed away from many of the streets and terraces. The few remaining leaves clinging to the trees on the orchard terraces shivered in the sunlight.

“Your Majesty?” Dara came up to stand beside him.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“I understand,” she said. “I just wanted to say that my Fire ability must remain secret. I plan to use it to defend against Fire attacks, hopefully taking your enemies by surprise. It won’t be useful for your protection if . . . if my father and his allies know about me.”

“Zage can protect me from the Fire,” Siv said, resisting the urge to turn and look at her.

“I think the Fire Warden agrees with me on the need for secrecy,” Dara said. “He’s been helping me learn to Work in case I might be able to defend you with it.” She paused for a heartbeat. “Like I did last night.”

“Zage knew too?” Siv couldn’t help it. He turned to face her. “Is anyone in this castle on my side?” Apparently no one on the whole damn mountain was trustworthy.

“We’re both on your side,” Dara said. “All of us are.” She gestured toward the duelists of the New Guard, who had begun putting on their practice jackets.

“In that case, I expect you to keep me informed about life-or-death situations. And if you know the answers to questions I’ve spent months investigating.”

Dara was silent for a moment. She looked over at the other duelists again. They were giving them plenty of space to talk, but a few kept sneaking not-so-subtle peeks across the hall. Oat and Luci whispered animatedly to each other, punctuated by frequent curious glances at the pair by the window. Siv wondered for the first time how much the Guard knew about his friendship with Dara.
Former
friendship. Errol Feln had even said Dara was different, and he didn’t seem like the most perceptive of the bunch. Siv had let himself get in way too deep with her. How could he have been so foolish?

“Okay,” Dara said at last, lowering her voice so it wouldn’t carry to the overly curious squad. “For your information, I’ve been visiting my parents to try to get more information about their plans and allies, but I don’t agree with anything they’ve done. I also have a spy reporting on the Rollendars. I’m going to see him this afternoon to find out what he knows about the Rollendars’ plans for the feast.”

The formality in her tone made something crumple inside Siv. “Do what you have to do,” he said, feeling suddenly weary.

“I will. I always have.”

“Fine. Great. Let’s get back to work.”

Siv turned and stomped to the wardrobe to retrieve his gear.

After a few bouts with the Guard, Siv went up to the library to eat his lunch while he awaited Lady Tull’s arrival. They had planned to discuss more preparations for their engagement feast this afternoon. It would be downright fascinating to hear what she had to say.

Siv didn’t feel much like being alone while he waited for his duplicitous fiancée to arrive, so he invited his sister to join him for lunch. Soraline listened patiently while Siv explained what Dara had told him about Bolden and Tull and her plan to meet the attack head-on.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to let them make their move at the feast?” she asked. “It could be dangerous for the guests.”

“It was Dara’s idea.” Siv grimaced, stabbing at his food. “We don’t know where their force is hiding anymore, and it might be our only chance to end this decisively. You’re the one who said I didn’t stand up to the Rollendars. If we defeat them in front of the court, that could help secure my reign after the dust settles.”

Sora twirled a finger through her dark hair thoughtfully. “That’s true, but it’s a dangerous move.”

“I know,” Siv said. “I think you should head down to Trure for a while.”

Sora looked up, face stricken. “I have too much to do here!”

“I’m sure you can communicate with your Soolen target—I mean future consort—just as easily from Trure. He must have all kinds of romantic things to say now that his army is on the move.”

“How kind of you,” Sora said wryly. She helped herself to another serving of goat pie from the platter between them. “No, I think if you’re going through with this I should be here. I’ll have to put out fires for you later, and it’ll help if I’m actually present when the action happens.”

“That’s very strategic.”

“I know.” Sora sighed. “It’s my specialty.”

Siv smiled. At least he could trust his family. He should really appreciate his little sister more.

“I’ll assign my best men to join Denn on your personal guard so you’ll be protected during the feast,” he said.

“Do you . . . do you think you could assign Telvin Jale to my guard?” Sora asked, then she blushed worse than Selivia when she got caught reading romance novels.

“Why?” Siv said. “The man’s a bore.”

“He’s very noble,” Sora said, with something suspiciously close to a wistful sigh, “and he was a soldier. I think . . . I think I’d feel very safe with him.”

“Sure. Safe. Whatever you want.” Siv resolved never to let Telvin Jale near his sister. He wondered if he could fire him for being too burning noble.

“Good.” Sora took a large gulp of water to hide her pink cheeks and cleared her throat. “Now that you’re not going to marry Lady Tull, have you given any thought to a new alliance?”

“Sheesh, Sora, can’t we put one engagement to rest before we start talking about the next one?”

“But—”

“No, Sora, I don’t want to think about it.”

Sora frowned and picked at her slice of pie. It was their father’s favorite kind, Siv remembered, his chest tightening.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Go for it.” Siv forked the last piece of pie onto his own plate.

“What’s going on between you and Dara?”

Siv coughed. “What makes you think something’s going on?”

“You alternate between hanging out with her like she’s your very best friend, staring at her like an orphaned velgon cub, and being furiously angry at her.”

Siv tossed his fork onto the table and rubbed at his temples. The workout session hadn’t fully cured him of his hangover after all.

“I don’t know, Sora,” he said.

“Do you love her?”

Siv stared at his plate for a long time. When had his little sister become so perceptive? Or, when had he gotten so burning obvious? Well, as the king, he wasn’t obligated to answer. He kept his mouth shut.

“So that’s a yes, then,” Sora said. “I thought so.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny—”

“Save it, Siv. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I think the feelings will pass. You can’t always feel like your head is wrapped in thunder and your heart’s being struck by lightning every time you see hi—her. You just have to wait it out. It’s the only way.”

Siv raised an eyebrow at Sora, making a mental note to fire Telvin Jale as soon as possible. Sora was definitely not the type to talk about having romantic feelings, much less speak in metaphors. Time to head this crush off at the pass.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Lady Denmore is here to see you, Your Majesty.”