Duel of Fire (Steel and Fire Book 1) (33 page)

“Please, Sivarrion,” Bandobar said, using his name the same way his father always had. “Do it.”

Siv stared at Bandobar for a long time. Then he lowered the blade to the stones.

“Go,” he said. “I will spare your life. Leave Vertigon before first light.”

Siv walked past the man on his knees without waiting for his reaction and entered his castle. The entrance hall loomed eerily, unfamiliar now that everything had changed. Decorations from the feast still adorned the walls, and foliage wilted in vases by the windows. The lighted space was at odds with the mist surrounding the castle, but it held no comfort. An unearthly keening came from somewhere deeper in the castle. The queen.

Shuffling footsteps sounded, and Zage Lorrid hurried into the entryway from the Great Hall. Pool raised his sword as if he wasn’t sure whether or not Zage was a threat. Dara tensed too, clutching her Savven blade.

Siv didn’t move. He recognized the stricken expression on Zage’s normally impassive face: grief. The man looked as distraught as Siv felt.

“My prince,” Zage said. “I am so sorry.”

“Where is my mother?” Siv said, fighting to keep his voice calm.

“A few of my trusted associates are escorting the queen to her royal chambers. I’ve asked them to administer a sleeping draught. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes,” Siv said. “Sora, Sel. Will you go to her?”

“What about you?” Sora asked.

“I have work to do,” he said. “Stay in Mother’s rooms tonight. I’ll join you when I’m done.”

He hugged each of his sisters quickly, hardly able to look at their heartrending faces. They went with a pair of guards, who were personally dispatched by Pool. His side was still bleeding, and he looked ready to drop. There would be time enough for that later.

Siv turned back to Zage, who waited like a looming bat.

“Tell me.”

“Your father’s body has been moved to the dais in the Great Hall,” Zage said. The man’s dry, whispering voice was a comfort as the damp of the mist chilled Siv’s bones. “A spark of Fire was visible in each iris for a few moments after his death.” Zage took a shuddering breath, like a death rattle. “Cause of death was a concentrated dosage of Firetears.”

Dara shifted her feet on the tile floor.

“Firetears take effect within anywhere from one to four hours, depending upon the strength of the dosage,” Zage said. “Your father had several meetings this morning with assorted dignitaries, nobles, and Fireworkers. Any one of them could have been responsible for the poisoning, if it wasn’t one of the servants. Everyone who handled your father’s meals today has already been taken into custody.”

“Understood. We will make sure Vertigon is secure before beginning the investigation. Send me General Pavorran. Bandobar is gone. Pool now leads the Castle Guard.”

“Very well. And there’s the other matter—”

“I know.” Siv felt an iron band tightening around his chest. Vertigon’s kings were always crowned immediately in the presence of their deceased predecessor’s body. They could not leave the mountain without a ruler even for a day. As the next king, he would pledge himself to the service of Vertigon that very night. “We’ll uphold the tradition. Call for the required number of noble witnesses. No Rollendars, no Zurrens, and no one who met with my father today.”

“Sir.” Zage drew his cloak closer around him like a blanket, suffering still evident on his face. He had served the king for years. He loved him. Any suspicions Siv briefly held of Zage faded as the grief-stricken man swept away into the shadows.

Siv turned to Dara. “Wait for me?”

She inclined her head, eyes burning with sorrow. Siv wanted to hug her, to seek out her warmth, but he could not allow his own sorrow to reign. It was time to take up his crown.

Siv straightened his back and strode into the Great Hall.

30.

Castle Guard

DARA
waited in the castle entryway as midnight neared. Beyond the double doors, the tables of the Great Hall were draped in black. On the dais where King Sevren had so recently offered his hand to his wife for a dance, his body lay, cold and lifeless.

Dara knew her father was responsible. She knew it as surely as her own name. Farr’s words on the boardwalk had been unmistakable. Farr, Lima, and Rafe had been working on something big at the Fire Guild for weeks. Dara had been too wrapped up in her own schemes to pay attention to what they were doing. And they had stopped asking her to be involved when word got out that she had protected the prince. They hinted more than once that something was going on, but she had assumed they were working against the Fire Warden, not that they themselves were the ones planning to take down the king.

That morning her father had said things would be different after today. He wasn’t talking about the Cup at all. It was Rafe Ruminor, not Zage Lorrid, who plotted treason. He was the one with the most to gain from the demise of the Amintelles and their long-held policy of restricting the Fire. He still resented the king for pardoning Zage Lorrid, for not bringing him to justice for Renna’s death. He must have decided that rather than killing Zage and having another Amintelle-appointed Warden take his place, he would change the whole balance of power in the kingdom. He had started with King Sevren and his children.

Dara thought back to that morning in the kitchen. Her father had carried an object in his pocket that glowed with concentrated Fire. She’d thought it was something innocuous, like a Firestick, and she’d worried about letting on that she could draw the Fire from it. But what if it wasn’t so harmless after all? Dara had seen a bottle of Firetears once. It had been as bright as the core of a Fire Lantern.

Whether her father had been the one to deliver the poison or not, there was no denying he was involved after what Farr had said. It made sense that he and Lima would be at the core of the plot. But part of his plan had gone awry. Dara had arrived in time to prevent the capture and murder of the king’s children. The Fireworkers’ efforts to remove the entire royal family in one day had failed. If the royal children had fallen, he might have made his next move. He might have shaken the very stones of the mountain with Fire and thunder.

Instead, Sivarrion Amintelle was being crowned king that very night.

Siv had asked Dara to wait for him. She couldn’t go home and face her father after what she had discovered. Everything would be different after this night. And so she waited. She sat cross-legged outside the Great Hall as servants, guards, and nobles darted back and forth, their voices echoing around the cavernous entry hall. Fear and frenzy reigned. Nothing like this had happened in a hundred years. Siv directed the chaos from the dais where his father’s body lay, taking charge of the castle and the crown. And Dara waited.

When the preparations were complete, a handful of nobles gathered to witness the coronation of their new ruler. The rite only required the presence of ten members of noble houses, and they arrived without ceremony. Lords Roven and Nanning. Lady Denmore. A few others. Vine Silltine was one of them, resplendent in black. Her aged father hobbled beside her. She acknowledged Dara waiting in the corridor with a nod, but she didn’t speak to her.

Dara stayed in the entrance hall until the ceremony was over. Vertigon tradition required that the new king be crowned immediately beside the body of the old. It was not their way to waste too much time with pomp and circumstance. The king was dead. Long live the king. Dara couldn’t help but think it a cruel tradition. She wondered what Siv was feeling as he stood before the body of the father he loved and accepted his crown.

When it was all over and the nobles had left, Pool came for her. His face was pale, and blood had crusted over the bandaged wound in his side. Dara had learned that several old Guardsmen were killed when the new recruits turned against them. Pool was luckier than some.

“He is ready for you, Miss Ruminor.”

“How is he?”

Pool shook his head sadly. “He is our king.”

Dara gripped the hilt of her Savven blade for strength and followed Pool into the Great Hall.

Siv sat on the steps of the dais with his back to his father’s body. He twirled the Amintelle crown between his long fingers, a ring of burnished gold set with Firejewels. The hall was still. Moonlight peeked through the tall windows. It was a clear night above the low veil of mist, unusual for this time of year.

“Your Majesty.” Dara bowed before the new king, turning her feet at right angles so it was more like a dueling salute than a curtsy. “I . . . I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I have something to ask you,” Siv said. His eyes were dry, his face the most serious Dara had ever seen it. It was heartbreaking.

“Anything, Your Majesty.”

“You saved me again today. Me and my sisters.”

“Your Majesty—”

“Please don’t call me that,” he said softly, sounding sad and restrained. “Siv is still fine, even though everything else has to be different.”

King Sevren’s body seemed to glow in the moonlight. It loomed behind the prince—the new king. Dara remembered how King Sevren had clapped an affectionate hand on his son’s shoulder at the Cup Feast, how Siv always spoke so warmly of his father. And now he was gone.

“What can I do?” she whispered.

“The Castle Guard is compromised. I don’t know how deep the treachery goes. I want you to be one of my guards, to help me protect my family and my . . . my kingdom.” Siv looked up and met her eyes steadily. Somehow, she knew this wasn’t what he had been planning to ask her in those bright, happy moments before the final bout at the competition. It was hard to believe it was still the same day. “I need you, Dara. I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything else now.”

A terrible guilt cut into Dara at the sight of the naked grief in Siv’s eyes. Whatever she had hoped they would have together had been stolen from them along with his father. She wanted to tell him how she felt about him, how she would do anything to bring him the same joy he had given her over the past few months. But the guilt held her back. Her father had caused this. Her father had taken away the man Siv loved and admired more than anyone in the world. Sevren, The Good King. The good man.

But why? That was the real question. Was it pure vengeance for Renna’s death, or did he want to rule the mountain like the Firewielders of old? An image of her father striding through the castle, his eyes brimming with Fire and blood, flashed before her, filling her with dread. What would he do next?

“The job wouldn’t leave much time for sport dueling,” Siv said when she didn’t answer him. “I know how important that is to you, but I need someone I can trust at my side.”

Dara’s heartbeat caused her physical pain. Her father had taken the joy and humor from Siv’s eyes. She would do anything to keep anyone, even her father, from taking his life. She had been selfish for too long, wrapped up in her own desires and goals. She should have seen it coming, should have paid more attention. She would give up the world to atone for it now.

“I’ll do it.” Dara knelt on the cold floor and presented the hilt of the Savven blade. “I pledge my life to protect you and your family.”

Siv stared at her for a moment.

“Are you sure, Dara? You can say no. Dueling is your dream.”

“I’m sure. I will serve on your Guard.” She swallowed but kept her voice steady. “I swear to defend you against all threats. I will give my life to guard yours. You won’t do this alone.”

“Thank you.” Siv put one hand on top of the Savven hilt and the other over Dara’s hand, holding it firm around the grip. His fingers tightened on hers, and gratitude and sadness and determination fought their way across his face. “I accept your service and appoint you, Dara Ruminor, Castle Guardian.”

Siv released Dara’s hand. She stood and saluted with the Savven blade. Moonlight flashed on the night-black steel. She would protect this man, the Fourth Good King. And she would find out the truth about King Sevren’s death.

No matter what it took, she would pay for what her father had done.

Epilogue

BERG
Doban waited in the shadows outside the castle. He listened to the rumbling in the streets as news and rumors, grief and anger made their way through the people of Vertigon. Berg clenched his fists as if he could beat back the descending darkness. He had lived on the mountain for nearly twenty years. It was his refuge, his place of peace after the fractured, war-torn life he had led before fleeing his homeland. But the man who had made it so was dead.

A dark figure stumbled down the steps from the castle, weaponless and reeling. As Berg watched, the man tore off his coat, marked with the Amintelle sigil, and threw it to the ground. His shape was familiar, even slumped in grief.

Berg stepped out of the shadows and into his path.

“Bandobar,” he growled.

The man looked up, anguish and despair on his face.

“Doban?”

“Tell me true.”

“Sevren is gone,” Bandobar said. Berg nodded, accepting the weight of the mountain as it settled on his big, square shoulders.

“And the children?”

“All three survived. Your student was with them. You were right about her.”

“Yes,” Berg said shortly. Dara wouldn’t let him down. Despite her parents, despite her faults, Dara was good. Putting her in the company of the prince was the only way he knew to save him. And to save her.

“But what of the king?”

“Firetears,” Bandobar said bitterly. “I didn’t catch them in time. The children were taken by some of my guardsmen, aided by imposters. I did not inspect the men thoroughly enough. I failed.”

“I saw one of the dead attackers,” Berg said. “He was one of those we saw training in the caverns. It is as we feared.”

“A true swordsman?”

“Yes,” Berg said. “I saw the wounds. My students bested him.”

Bandobar nodded. Mist and darkness swirled across his craggy face. He had grown old in the past few hours.

“But will they be strong enough for what is coming?”