King of Mist (Steel and Fire Book 2) (32 page)

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” she said.

Siv looked around at his four remaining guards. Pool’s face was grave, and he carried his long knives in his hands. Oat’s tall head rose above the others. Yuri’s red beard collected a dusting of snowflakes. Young Dell Dunn clutched his blade with both hands. Siv hoped they were all loyal, but there was little he could do if they were not.

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I know you still hope your father may change. Talk sense into him if you can.”

“And if I can’t?”

“I will do what is best for my people,” he said.

“You can’t think that putting Von Rollendar on the throne—”

“I will do it if I must,” Siv said. “A cruel king may be better than a foolish one.”

Dara held his gaze, and her eyes seemed to set the world on fire. If the world weren’t already burning. To her credit, she didn’t try to make him feel better. Nothing would at this stage.

“I’ll try, Your Majesty. Stay in the castle. I’ll return soon.”

Siv inclined his head and kept it bowed as Dara strode past him and followed the Fireworkers into the swirling blizzard.

30.

The Fire Guild

THE
cold crept into Dara’s bones as she walked. She wished she could pull Fire from the stones to warm her body, but she didn’t want to give herself away just yet. Besides, there was very little Fire in King’s Peak. The castle Workers remarked on it as she caught up to them. The stray traces of magic that normally wove through the stones had been pulled toward a single location.

As soon as she left the blazing Great Hall, she’d been able to sense the Fire Wall around Square. Zage had been right. The decorations were a distraction. While she had been worried they would somehow come to life and strangle the king, they had kept her attention elsewhere. Hers, and every other Fireworker in the castle, including Zage Lorrid.

While the nobles danced and the guards worried about defending the castle itself, the Fireworkers—she didn’t know how many, but it had to be dozens—had yanked the Fire from that underground lake toward the bridges to form the barrier around Square. The Fire slowly streaming to that central location had welled up enough to engulf an entire peak.

She should have been more worried about what the enemies of the king could do with all that Fire, but she had been distracted by the mysterious duelists, by the treacherous general, by learning to control her own power to neutralize her father. She should have known the sheer strength of the Fire would win out in the end.

And now she marched toward the Fire Guild, on what was sure to be a futile mission. She wouldn’t be able to talk her father out of his scheme. He likely wouldn’t even be there. He was probably at the center of the Fireworkers sustaining the wall on Square. He would be where the greatest concentration of power was. He was too far gone now anyway, gone down this deep, dark path.

Dara pulled her cloak close with one hand, keeping the other on her Savven blade. She would need it to focus tonight. This wasn’t a day for trying to Work without touching steel. This wasn’t a day for mistakes.

She kicked herself for not running Bolden through when he dared put his hands on her at the feast. She had never imagined he would do something on this scale. She had underestimated him time and again, and now it was too late. She said a prayer to the Firelord for Kel. Was there any chance he had survived this night? She was glad Princess Selivia and Queen Tirra had left the mountain at least. Maybe Siv and Sora could flee to Trure too when this was all over. She doubted they could win this with Siv’s reign intact.

The snow thickened, and the wind howled around the little group of Fireworkers as they descended the steps from the castle and turned along the wooden boardwalk leading to the Fire Guild. The Fire on Square was a beacon at the edge of Dara’s senses. She thought of Berg, trapped within that wall, keeping watch on the army. She thought of her old friends inside the dueling school, all the workers and tradesmen and farmers who lived there—and their children. No matter who was in charge of the throne when dawn broke, they had to protect those people.

As they approached the Fire Guild itself, the second, smaller Fire Wall came into view. She could feel it, crackling against her skin and crawling along her bones. The Fire Guild had become a fortress. Could Zage and this small group pull that much Fire away from the Workers within?

They stopped on the boardwalk, before the final stone steps leading to the Guild doors. Zage didn’t step onto the stones, which collected neither snow nor ice, anticipating some trap. Their little group waited behind him, clustered on the very boardwalk where Farr had died a few months ago.

Figures moved in the windows of the Guild, but they were unidentifiable with that molten wall obscuring them. Tentatively, Zage touched the stone to test it then snatched back his hand.

“He’s strong,” Zage said quietly. “But not as strong as I thought.”

“Who?” Dara asked.

“Not Rafe.” Zage met her eyes. “A single Worker holds this Fire Wall. The rest must be over on Square or waiting to unleash other defenses should the wall fail.”

“My father isn’t in there?”

“Perhaps,” Zage said. “Where would you expect him to be?”

“Square,” Dara said. “Where the most power is.”

Zage’s eye glinted as he nodded.

“Are you stronger than this one Worker?” Dara asked. “If you pull down the wall, can the rest of us deal with any others in there?” She wanted a fight. She wanted the one-to-one simplicity of a duel. She hated feeling powerless beneath the threat of annihilation of so many innocent people.

“I believe our king is correct: we would bring down the wrath of the Workers on Square if we harm the Rollendars inside the Guild,” Zage said.

“You always think you know best, Zage.” A cold, proud voice spoke through the night, a voice Dara knew all too well.

A hole appeared in the wall of Fire in front of a second-floor window. Lima Ruminor, Dara’s mother, looked down on the little knot of castle Fireworkers beneath the Guild. The Fire burned around her, setting her proud eyes blazing.

“Evening, Lima,” Zage said, so softly that she might not even be able to hear him.

“You haven’t even begun to experience the wrath of the Workers,” Lima said. Her eyes flickered to her daughter then away again. Dismissing her. “Your foolishness is as clear now as it was the day you were appointed. You took my daughter away, but now I will watch you fall.”

From the way Lima said “my daughter” she might as well have said “my only daughter.” Dara knew her own presence was inconsequential in the face of Lima’s towering fury over Renna’s loss.

Zage raised his voice. “Lima, this vengeance you seek will not bring Renna back.”

“Do not dare say her name!”

Zage put a hand to his throat, and Dara knew he was clutching the phoenix leaf pin. His tone remained dry and steady as ever, though.

“You cannot allow Vertigon to suffer for your revenge.”

“You are wrong again, Zage,” Lima said. She reined in her fury, her eyes as cold as the ice gilding the boardwalk railing. “This is bigger than a settling of scores. You and Sevren thought you could keep the power of this mountain in check. You thought true Wielders would allow their power to fritter away. I can’t even touch the magic myself, but I know how vain that is. Wielders like my husband, like Corren, like Daz Stoneburner, will not be constrained by your petty limits.”

“You are confirming we were right with every breath,” Zage said. “Allow me to speak with Lord Rollendar on behalf of the king. This needn’t end in bloodshed.”

“It is too late for that,” Lima said. “Did you honestly believe we would bow to a cold-fingered man like Von Rollendar when we finally made our move?”

Then Lima tossed something from the Guild window. Von Rollendar’s head rolled to a stop at the Fire Warden’s feet, the sandy hair drenched in blood. Dara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from shouting. A shriek escaped the youngest of the castle Fireworkers.

“He was a fool too,” Lima said. “This mountain belongs to the Firewielders.” Then the wall of Fire snapped shut in front of her as firmly as a steel door.

Dara didn’t wait to see what Zage would do. She didn’t look at the severed head or the blood sizzling on the hot stones. Her mother was right: her father wouldn’t bow to another nobleman. He would be at the center of power. And though his allies may hold Square hostage, the center of power was still at the top of King’s Peak.

Dara turned on her heel and ran back toward the castle. Her father wasn’t going to move the crown to a different head. He was going to take it for himself.

And Dara had left Siv behind to wait for him.

31.

The Castle

SIV
’
S
footsteps echoed as he paced across the Great Hall. The vines decorating the walls blazed harshly, no longer as ethereal now that the vast room was nearly empty. The Fireworkers had all gone to the Guild, so there was no one to turn down the lights.

Siv paced and paced, from the dais where the remnants of his dinner still sat before the throne to the doors of the Great Hall and back again. The four Guards watched the exits, swords at the ready. Siv hoped Zage and Dara would learn something at the Guild that could end this without provoking the wrath of whoever controlled the Wall of Fire around Square Peak. If not, there was precious little he could do.

He didn’t need until dawn to give his answer. He didn’t want to leave his people in Von Rollendar’s hands, but that was clearly the lesser evil. He couldn’t let so many of them die tonight on Square. He hated that he would have to give up his father’s crown, the legacy of three generations of Amintelle kings, without so much as a fight. But he was supposed to be the Fourth Good King, heir to a peaceful kingdom. He would not sacrifice that long-held peace just to keep his title.

Siv took the crown from his head and twisted it between his hands, wondering what his father would do in these circumstances. Did he have some secret wisdom that would get him out of this situation, something he meant to teach Siv before he was murdered? Siv’s insides twisted as he thought of all the lessons he had skipped, all the times he’d assumed he would have plenty of time with his father. He’d thought he would have years to become serious and wise too. Instead, he had failed before his reign had really started.

Siv turned at the dais and paced back toward the ornate double doors. Perhaps if he lived to be an old man, somewhere in exile in the Lands Below, he would figure out what the correct decision was supposed to be in this moment. Perhaps one day answers would come easily, and he could look back with something resembling wisdom. All he knew right now was that he had to protect his people, even if that meant handing over his birthright to the Rollendars.

Pool guarded the doors to the entrance hall. He stepped forward when Siv reached them, before he could turn around and pace back the other way.

“Your Majesty?”

“You don’t need to call me that anymore, Pool,” Siv said. “I won’t be king for much longer.”

“I’m afraid, Your Majesty, I find myself quite unwilling to accept that outcome. We may yet discover an adequate solution to this predicament.”

“Got any ideas?”

Pool sighed. “Regrettably, no. I find this situation problematic.”

“You and me both.” Siv rubbed his fingers along the sharp ridges of the Firejewels in his crown. They glittered, as if he held the Orange Star in his hands.

“I wish to state something,” Pool said. “Although the current state of affairs is dire, you have acted uncommonly kingly today, Sire.”

“What?” Siv looked up.

Pool’s expression was as dour as ever, but his voice was gentle. “You remained calm and ensured that your sister, employees, and court were escorted to safety, even though it has left you relatively vulnerable. You displayed wisdom and assurance in the way you conducted yourself, both tonight and over the past few months. Even as you prepare to abdicate your throne, I find myself impressed and—if I may say so—proud of your demeanor.” Pool cleared his throat. “Your father would be proud too.”

Siv swallowed hard. His grip tightened on the crown, and he studied the toes of his boots. It wouldn’t do to give away how much Pool’s words meant to him by letting his voice waver.

“Thank you, Pool.”

“You’re welcome, Siv.”

Surprised at the use of his first name, Siv looked up—just in time to see a masked swordsman burst through the double doors and run a blade through Pool’s back. Pool’s eyes widened in surprise. The tip of the sword glinted, protruding through the front of Pool’s coat.

Siv shouted something, he wasn’t sure what. Behind him, Oat yelled too, as more swordsmen charged through the doors at the opposite side of the hall. Blades clashed, and the Guards shouted, but all Siv could see was the surprise on Pool’s face. The swordsman pulled his blade free as Pool slumped to the floor.

Without pausing to think, Siv threw the crown directly at the man’s masked face. The sharp point caught him on the cheek, buying Siv enough time to pull his own sword from its sheath. Then the swordsmen pouring through the doors were upon him.

Blind shock radiated through Siv as he fought. Two, three, four swordsmen joined the man who had stabbed Pool. They were armed with sharpened rapiers, and their actions were unnaturally fast. Fire Blades. Here, at last, were the Fire-Blade-wielding swordsmen Dara had predicted.

Siv met parry after parry, lunging in and out of range, jabbing savagely at the enemy swordsmen. The actions came instinctually, and he was grateful he’d been training over the past few weeks.

And Siv had a Fire Blade too. Dara didn’t want him to endanger himself, but he had come prepared. He may not have been a wise or long-living king, but he would go down fighting.

One of his opponents fell with a strike to the upper thigh. He scrambled away, trying to stop the blood flowing from his leg. Siv lunged for the next man, thrusting his blade deep into his stomach. He went down too—and didn’t rise.