Graceling Realm: Fire. Part 7

Fire swallowed. 'He's never been this angry with me before.'

Roen bent her face and considered her hands on the stall door. Then she came in and crouched before Fire. Just once she reached out and smoothed Fire's hair. She held a bit of it in her fingers, contemplating it carefully, very still on her knees in the hay, as if she were trying to work out the meaning of something. 'Beautiful girl,' she said. 'You did a good thing today, whatever Archer thinks. Next time, mention it to someone beforehand so we're better prepared.'

'Archer never would have let me do it.'

'No. But I would have.'

For a moment their eyes met. Fire understood that Roen meant what she said. She swallowed. 'Any word from Grey Haven?'

'No, but the Third has been spotted from the lookout, so we may see our fifty men back as soon as this evening.' Roen brushed off her lap and rose to her feet, all business again. 'Incidentally, we found no one in the king's rooms. And if you insist on doting on your horse in this manner I suppose the least we can do is bring you pillows and blankets. Get some sleep in here, will you? Both of you, girl and horse. And I hope you'll tell me someday, Fire, why you did it.'

With a swirl of skirts and a click of the latch, Roen was gone. Fire closed her eyes and considered the question.

She'd done it because she'd had to. An apology for the life of her father, who'd created a world of lawlessness where towns like Grey Haven fell under the attack of looters. And she'd done it to show Roen's son that she was on his side. And also to keep him alive.

FIRE WAS ASLEEP in her room that night when all fifty men clattered back from Grey Haven. The prince and the king wasted no time, departing south immediately with the Third. When Fire woke the next morning they were gone.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

CANSREL HAD ALWAYS let Fire into his mind to practise changing his thoughts. He'd encouraged it, as part of her training. She went, but every time it was like a waking nightmare.

She'd heard tales of fishermen who grappled for their lives with water monsters in the Winter Sea. Cansrel's mind was like an eel monster, cold, slick, and voracious. Whenever she reached for it she felt clammy coils wrapping around her and pulling her under. She struggled madly, first simply to take hold of it; then to transform it into something soft and warm. A kitten. A baby.

The warming of Cansrel's mind took enormous burning energy. Then calm, to soothe the bottomless appet.i.te, and then she would begin to push at its nature with all her strength, to shape thoughts there that Cansrel would never have on his own. Pity for a trapped animal. Respect for a woman. Contentment. It required all her strength. A mind slippery and cruel resists change.

Cansrel never said so, but Fire believed his favourite drug was to have her in his mind, manhandling him into contentment. He was used to thrills, but contentment was a novelty, a state Cansrel seemed never to achieve except by her help. Warmth and softness two things that rarely touched him. He never, ever refused Fire when she asked permission to enter. He trusted her, for he knew that she used her power for good and never to harm.

He only forgot to take into consideration the broken line separating good from harm.

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TODAY THERE WAS no entering Archer's mind. He was shutting Fire out. Not that it particularly mattered, for she never entered Archer's mind to alter it, only to test the waters, and she had no interest in the nature of his waters today. She was not going to apologise and she was not going to capitulate to the fight he wanted to have. Not that she would have to stretch far to find something to accuse him of. Condescension. Imperiousness. Obstinacy.

They sat at a square table with Roen and a number of Roen's spies discussing Fire's trespa.s.sing archer, the men the archer had shot, and the fellow Fire had sensed in the king's rooms yesterday.

'There are plenty of spies out there and plenty of archers,' Roen's spymaster said, 'though perhaps few as skilled as your mysterious archer seems to be. Lord Gentian and Lord Mydogg have built up whole squadrons of archers. And some of the kingdom's finest archers are in the employ of animal smugglers.'

Yes, Fire remembered that. The smuggler Cutter had bragged of his archers. It was how he caught his merchandise, with darts tipped with sleeping poison.

'The Pikkians also have decent archers,' another of Roen's men said. 'And I know we like to think of them as clannish and simple, interested in nothing but boat-building, deep sea fis.h.i.+ng, and the occasional sack of our border towns - but they follow our politics. They're not stupid, and they're not on the king's side. It's our taxes and our trade regulations that have kept them poor these thirty years.'

'Mydogg's sister Murgda has just married a Pikkian,' Roen said, 'a naval explorer of the eastern seas. And we have reason to believe that lately Mydogg has been recruiting Pikkians into his Dellian army. And having some success at it.'

Fire was startled; this was news, and not of the happy variety. 'How big has Mydogg's army grown?'

'It's still not as big as the King's Army,' Roen said firmly. 'Mydogg has said to my face that he has twenty-five thousand soldiers at the underside, but our spies to his holding in the northeast put the count at only twenty thousand or so. Brigan has twenty thousand patrolling in the four branches alone, and an additional five thousand in the auxiliaries.'

'And Gentian?'

'We're not certain. Our best guess is ten thousand or so, all living in caves below the Winged River near his estate.'

'Numbers aside,' the spymaster said, 'everyone has archers and spies. Your archer could be working for anyone. If you'll leave the arrow and bolt with us we may be able to eliminate some possibilities or at least determine where his gear comes from. But I'll be honest with you: I wouldn't hold out too much hope. You haven't given us much to go on.'

'The man who was killed in your cages,' Roen said. 'The one you call the poacher. He gave you no hint of his purpose? Even you, Fire?'

'His mind was blank,' Fire said. 'No evil intent, no honourable intent. He had the feel of a simpleton, someone's tool.'

'And the man in the king's rooms yesterday,' Roen said. 'Did he have that feel?'

'No. He may certainly have been working for someone else, but his mind was consumed with purpose, and with guilt. He thought for himself.'

'Nash said his belongings were disturbed,' Roen said, 'but nothing was taken. We wonder if the man was looking for a number of letters that I happened to be carrying on my own person in Nash's absence - and good thing, too. A spy - but whose? Fire, you would recognise the man if he crossed your path again?'

'I would. I don't believe he's in the castle now. Perhaps he left under cover of the Third.'

'We wasted a day,' the spymaster said. 'We could have used you yesterday to find him and question him.'

And then Fire was reminded that even when Archer wouldn't look her in the face he was her friend, for he said crisply, 'Lady Fire was in need of rest yesterday, and anyway, she is not a tool for your use.'

Roen tapped her fingernails on the table, not attending, following her own thoughts. 'Every man is an enemy,' she said grimly. 'Mydogg, Gentian, the black market, Pikkia. They've got people sneaking around trying to learn Brigan's plans for the troops, steal our allies from us, figure out a good place and time to do away with Nash or Brigan or one of the twins, or even me.' She shook her head. 'And in the meantime, we're trying to learn their numbers and their allies and their allies' numbers. Their plans for attack. We're trying to steal their spies and convert them to our side. No doubt they're doing the same with our spies. The rocks only know whom among our own people we should trust. One of these days a messenger will come through my gates to tell me my sons are dead.'

She spoke unemotionally; she wasn't trying to elicit comfort or contradiction, she was only stating fact. 'We do need you, Fire,' she added. 'And don't look all panicked like that. Not to change people's thoughts. Only to take advantage of the greater sense of people that you have.'

No doubt Roen meant her words. But with the kingdom in this unstable state the lesser expectation would grow to include the greater, sooner rather than later. Fire's head began to throb harder than she thought she could bear. She glanced at Archer, who responded by avoiding her eyes, frowning at the table, and changing the subject abruptly.

'Can you spare me any more soldiers, Lady Queen?'

'I suppose I can't deny you my soldiers when yesterday Fire saved their lives,' Roen said. 'Brigan has helped by leaving me ten dozen men from the Third. You may take eight of the soldiers from my original guard who went to Grey Haven.'

'I would prefer eight of the ten dozen from the Third,' Archer said.

'They're all in the King's Army,' Roen said, 'all trained by Brigan's people, all equally competent, and the men who went to Grey Haven already have a natural allegiance to your lady, Archer.'

Allegiance wasn't quite the word for it. The soldiers who'd gone to Grey Haven seemed to regard Fire now with something akin to wors.h.i.+p; which was, of course, why Archer didn't want them. A number of them had sought her out today and knelt before her, kissed her hand and pledged to protect her.

'Very well,' Archer said grumpily, somewhat mollified, Fire suspected, because Roen had referred to Fire as his lady. Fire added immaturity to the things she could accuse him of in the fight they weren't going to have.

'Let's go over the encounter one more time,' the spymaster said. 'Every one of the encounters, in minute detail. Lady Fire? Please begin again in the forest.'

ARCHER SPOKE TO her finally, an entire week later, when the raptors had gone and so had much of her soreness, and their own departure was imminent. They were at the table in Roen's sitting room, waiting for Roen to join them for dinner. 'I cannot bear your silence any longer,' Archer said.

Fire had to stop herself from laughing at the joke of it. She noted the two servants standing beside the door, their faces carefully blank while their minds spun excitedly - probably with gossip to bring back to the kitchen.

'Archer,' she said. 'You're the one who's been pretending I don't exist.'

Archer shrugged. He sat back and regarded her, a challenge in his eyes. 'Can I ever trust you now? Or must I always be prepared for this brand of heroic madness?'

She had an answer to that, but she couldn't say it aloud. She leaned forward and held his eyes. It was not the first mad thing I've ever done for this kingdom. Perhaps you who know the truth of things should not have been surprised. Brocker won't be, when we tell him what I did here. It was not the first mad thing I've ever done for this kingdom. Perhaps you who know the truth of things should not have been surprised. Brocker won't be, when we tell him what I did here.

After a moment his eyes dropped from hers. His fingers realigned the forks on the table. 'I wish you were not so brave.'

She had no response to that. She was desperate sometimes, and a little crazy, but she was not brave.

'Are you determined to leave me in this world to live without my heart?' Archer asked. 'Because that's what you very nearly did.'

She watched her friend play with the fringe of the tablecloth, his eyes avoiding hers, his voice carefully light, trying to look as if he were speaking of something small, like an appointment she'd forgotten that had inconvenienced him.

She reached across the table and held her hand open to him. 'Make peace with me, Archer.'

At that moment Roen swept through the door and slid into a chair between them. She turned on Archer, eyes narrow and unamused. 'Archer, is there a servant girl in my fortress you haven't taken to bed? I announce you're leaving and within minutes two of them are at each other's throats, and another is crying her eyes out in the scullery. Honestly. You've been here all of nine days.' She glanced at Fire's open hand. 'I've interrupted something.'

Archer considered the table for a moment, his fingers caressing the edge of his gla.s.s, his mind clearly elsewhere. He sighed in the direction of his plate.

'Peace, Archer,' Fire said again.

Archer's eyes settled on Fire's face. 'All right,' he said reluctantly, taking her hand. 'Peace, because war is unbearable.'

Roen snorted. 'You two have the strangest relations.h.i.+p in the Dells.'

Archer smiled slightly. 'She won't consent to make it a marriage.'

'I can't imagine what's stopping her. I don't suppose you've considered being less munificent with your love?'

'Would you marry me, Fire, if I slept in no one's bed but yours?'

He knew the answer to that, but it didn't hurt to remind him. 'No, and I should find my bed quite cramped.'

Archer laughed and kissed her hand, then released it ceremoniously; and Fire picked up her knife and fork, smiling. Shaking her head in disbelief, Roen turned aside to take a note from an approaching servant. 'Ah,' she said, reading the note and frowning. 'It's good that you're going. Lord Mydogg and Lady Murgda are on their way.'

'On their way?' Fire said. 'You mean they're coming here?'

'Just for a visit.'

'A visit! Surely you don't visit each other?'

'Oh, it's all a farce, of course,' Roen said, waving her hand tiredly.

'Their way of showing that the royal family doesn't intimidate them, and our way of pretending that we're open to dialogue. They come and I have to let them in, because if I refuse them, it'll be taken as a hostile gesture and they'll have an excuse to come back with their army. We sit across from each other, we drink wine, they ask me nosy questions that I don't answer about Nash and Brigan and the royal twins, they tell me secrets their own spies have supposedly learned about Gentian, information that either I already know or they've fabricated. They pretend that the king's real enemy is Gentian, and that Nash should ally with Mydogg against Gentian. I pretend it's a good idea and suggest that Mydogg pa.s.s his army over to Brigan's use as a show of faith. Mydogg refuses; we agree we've reached an impa.s.se; Mydogg and Murgda take their leave, poking their noses into as many rooms as they can on the way out.'

Archer's eyebrows were looking skeptical. 'Isn't this sort of thing a bit more risky than it's worth? For everyone?'

'They're coming at a good time - Brigan just left me all those soldiers. And when they're here, we're all so heavily guarded every minute that I don't suppose either side would ever try anything, for fear of all of us getting killed. I'm as safe as I ever am. But,' she added, studying both of them gravely, 'I want you to depart tomorrow at first light. I won't have you meeting them - there's no reason to get you and Brocker tangled up in Mydogg's nonsense, Archer. And I don't want them to see Fire.'

IT WAS ALMOST achieved. In fact, Fire, Archer, and their guards had travelled some distance from Roen's fortress and were just about to turn off onto a different path when the party from the north approached. Twenty rather fearsome soldiers - chosen because they had the aspects of pirates, with broken teeth and scars? Big and paleish, some of them. Pikkian? And a tough-looking man and woman who had the aura of a winter wind. Easily brother and sister, both squat and thin-lipped and icy in their expressions, until their eyes combed Fire's party and settled, with genuine and uncalculated amazement, on Fire herself.

The siblings glanced at each other. Some silent understanding pa.s.sed between them.

'Come,' Archer muttered, motioning to his guards and Fire to move on. The parties clattered past each other without even a greeting.

Oddly rattled, Fire touched Small's mane, stroking his rough hair. The lord and lady had been only names before, a dot on the Dellian map and a certain unknown quant.i.ty of soldiers. Now they were real, and solid, and cold.

She had not liked the glance they'd shared at the sight of her. Nor did she care for the feeling of their hard eyes on her back as Small carried her away.

CHAPTER NINE.

IT HAPPENED AGAIN: only days after Fire and Archer returned home, another man was found trespa.s.sing in Archer's forest, a stranger. When the soldiers brought him in, Fire sensed the same mental fog she'd sensed with the poacher. And then before Fire could even begin to consider whether and how to use her power to w.a.n.gle information from him, an arrow came through the open window, straight into the middle of Archer's guard room, and struck the trespa.s.ser between the shoulder blades. Archer threw himself on top of Fire, dragging her down. The trespa.s.ser toppled and fell beside her, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. His empty mind fizzled into no mind at all, and from her crushed position on the floor, soldiers' feet yanking at her hair and Archer yelling orders above her, she reached for the archer who'd made the shot.

He was faint, a good distance away, but she found him. She tried to grasp hold of him but a boot trod on her finger and the explosion of pain distracted her. When she reached for him again he was gone.

He's run west into Trilling's woods, she thought to Archer, because she had no breath to speak. And his mind is as blank as the others. And his mind is as blank as the others.

HER FINGER WAS not broken, only beastly sore when she moved it. It was the second finger on her left hand so she put off playing harp and flute for a day or two, but she refused to spare herself when it came to her fiddle. She'd been without the instrument for too long. She simply tried not to think of the pain, because every stab of pain was accompanied now by a stab of vexation. Fire was tired of being injured.

She sat in her bedroom one day, playing a cheerful tune, a song for dancing, but something in her mood slowed the tempo and discovered sad parts in it. Eventually she found herself switching to a different song altogether, one that was manifestly sorrowful, and her fiddle cried out its feeling.

Fire stopped and lowered the instrument to her lap. She stared at it, then hugged it against her chest like a baby, wondering what was wrong with her.