Fire (29 page)

‘I still can’t get him to say anything useful about Mydogg,’ Fire said. ‘But truly, we’re in luck, for he happens to know a great deal about Gentian, and he’s less unwilling to spill Gentian’s secrets.’

‘He’s Mydogg’s ally,’ Clara said. ‘Why should we trust what he thinks he knows about Gentian? Couldn’t Gentian be sending out false messengers for Mydogg to catch, just as he does with us?’

‘He could,’ Fire said, ‘but I can’t quite explain it - the certainty with which Hart speaks. The confidence in his assertions. He knows the tricks Mydogg and Gentian have been playing on us. He’s quite positive his knowledge of Gentian is not of that ilk. He won’t tell me his sources, but I’m inclined to believe his information.’

‘All right,’ Clara said. ‘Tell us what you’ve learned, and we’ll use whatever means we can to confirm it.’

‘He says Gentian and his son, Gunner, are coming north to attend the palace gala that happens in January,’ Fire said.

‘That’s nervy,’ Clara said. ‘I’m impressed.’

Garan snorted. ‘Now that we know about his indigestion, we can torture him with cake.’

‘Gentian will pretend to apologise to the court for his rebel activities, ’ Fire said. ‘He’ll talk of renewed friendship with the crown. But in the meantime his army will move north-east from his estate and hide in the tunnels of the Great Greys near Fort Flood. Sometime in the days after the gala, Gentian intends to assassinate both Nash and Brigan. Then he’ll ride like blazes to the location of his army, and attack Fort Flood.’

The twins’ eyes were wide. ‘Not nervy after all,’ Garan said. ‘Stupid. What kind of commander starts a war in the middle of winter?’

‘The kind that’s trying to catch his enemy by surprise,’ Clara said.

‘In addition to which,’ Garan continued, ‘he should send someone anonymous and expendable to do his assassinating. What’ll happen to his clever plan when he gets himself killed?’

‘Well,’ Clara said, ‘it’s no news Gentian’s stupid. And thank the Dells for Brigan’s foresight. The Second is already at Fort Flood, and he’s taking the First quite near there as we speak.’

‘What of the Third and the Fourth?’ Fire asked.

‘They’re in the north,’ Clara said, ‘patrolling, but in readiness to fly wherever they’re needed. You must tell us where they’re needed.’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Fire said. ‘I cannot get him to tell me Mydogg’s plans. He says Mydogg intends to do nothing - sit back while Gentian and the king reduce each other’s numbers - but I know he’s lying. He also says Mydogg’s sending his sister, Murgda, south to the gala, which is true; but he won’t tell me why.’

‘Lady Murgda to the gala as well!’ Clara exclaimed. ‘What’s got into everyone?’

‘What else?’ Garan said. ‘You must give us more.’

‘I’ve nothing more,’ Fire said. ‘I’ve told you everything. Apparently Gentian’s plans have been in place for some time.’

Nash was clutching his forehead. ‘This is very grim. Gentian has a force of some ten thousand, supposedly, and we’ve ten thousand at Fort Flood to meet him. But in the north we’ve ten thousand scattered far and wide—’

‘Fifteen thousand,’ Fire said. ‘We can call on the auxiliaries.’

‘All right then, we’ve fifteen thousand scattered far and wide, and Mydogg has what? Do we even know? Twenty thousand? Twenty-one thousand? To attack wherever takes his fancy - my mother’s fortress, or Fort Middle, Fort Flood if he wishes, the city itself - with days, possibly weeks, before our troops can organise to meet him.’

‘He can’t hide twenty thousand soldiers,’ Clara said, ‘not if we’re looking for them. Even in the Little Greys, he can’t hide them, and he could never get all the way to the city without being seen.’

‘I need Brigan,’ Nash said. ‘I want Brigan here, now.’

‘He’ll come when he can, Nash,’ Garan said, ‘and we’re keeping him informed.’

Fire found herself stretching out with the feelers of her mind to soothe a king who was frightened. Nash perceived what she was doing. He reached for her hand. With thanks, and with something else he couldn’t help, he kissed her fingers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I
T WAS A curious matter of Dellian politics, the yearly gala at court to which everyone of any significance was invited. The seven courtyards were converted to ballrooms, and loyalists and traitors came together to dance, to sip from goblets of wine while pretending to be friends. Almost everyone capable of travel attended, though Mydogg and Gentian generally didn’t dare, a pretense of friendship on their parts being a mite too incredible; and for a week or so the palace was bursting with the servants and guards and pets, and the endless requirements of guests. The stables were too crowded, and the horses fidgety.

Brocker had explained to Fire once that the gala was always held in January, to celebrate the lengthening of days. She learned now that December was a month of preparation. On every level of the palace, Fire saw workmen engaged in repairs. Window-washers hung from the courtyard ceilings and wall-washers from the balconies, polishing glass and stone.

Garan, Clara, Nash, and Fire were also preparing. If Gentian intended to kill Nash and Brigan in the days after the gala and then ride to Fort Flood to start a war, then Gentian and Gunner must be killed the day
of
the gala - and Lady Murgda might as well be disposed of, too, as long as she was around. Then Brigan must fly to Fort Flood and start the war himself, surprising Gentian’s armies in their tunnels and caves.

‘Tunnel fighting,’ Garan said, ‘and in January. I don’t envy them.’

‘What’ll we do about the north?’ Nash kept asking.

‘Maybe we can learn something about Mydogg’s plan from Lady Murgda at the gala,’ Garan said, ‘before we kill her.’

‘And how exactly are we going to pull off these assassinations?’ Nash said, pacing, wild-eyed. ‘They’ll be constantly guarded, they’ll let no one near them, and we can’t start a war in the court. I can’t think of a worse time or place to have to murder three people in secret!’

‘Sit down, brother,’ Clara said. ‘Calm down. We’ve time yet to sort it out. We’ll think of something.’

BRIGAN PROMISED TO return to court by the end of December. He wrote, from wherever he was, that he had sent a force north to collect Lord Brocker and bring him south, for apparently the old commander had offered his assistance to the younger in the event of actual war. Fire was stunned. She had never known Brocker to travel further than the neighbouring town.

At night with her guard on the roof, and missing Brigan’s company, she stared at the city before her, trying to comprehend what was coming.

In the north, troops of the king’s soldiers searched the mountains and tunnels and all of Mydogg’s usual stomping grounds for his army. Spies searched Pikkia and the south and west. All to no avail: either Mydogg was hiding his men very well or he’d vanished them with magic. Brigan sent reserves to fortify Roen’s fortress, Fort Middle, and the southern gold mines. The number of soldiers stationed in the city rose noticeably.

For her part, Fire had taken to grilling Captain Hart about the animal trader Cutter and his young fog maker with mismatched eyes. But Hart claimed to know nothing of it, and finally Fire had to believe him. After all, the boy didn’t seem to fit in to the war plans, and neither did the poacher or stranger in her woods up north, nor the archer who’d wanted a look at her view. As to where they did fit in, Fire was alone in her speculations.

‘I’m sorry, Fire,’ Clara said flatly. ‘I’m sure it’s as creepy as you say, but I’ve no time for it if it’s nothing to do with the war or the gala. We’ll focus on it afterwards.’

The only person who cared was Archer, who was little help, for true to his nature, he only assumed that at the base of the matter was someone’s intention to steal Fire from him.

A SIT TURNED out, Clara’s preoccupation did extend beyond the war and the gala, on one point. She was pregnant.

The princess brought Fire to Cellar Harbour to tell her, so that the roar of the falls would keep everyone, even Fire’s guard, from overhearing the conversation. Clara was dry-eyed and straight about it. And once Fire had adjusted to the news, she found that she was not particularly surprised.

‘I was careless,’ Clara said. ‘I’ve never liked those herbs; they nauseate me. And I’ve never fallen pregnant before. I suppose I convinced myself I couldn’t. And now I’m paying for my stupidity, for everything nauseates me.’

She hadn’t seemed nauseated to Fire; in recent weeks she’d seemed nothing but calm and well. She was a fine actress, Fire knew this, and probably the best woman for this accident to befall. She was not lacking in money or support, and she would do her work up to the very day the child was born, and start again right after, and she would be a strong mother, and practical.

‘Archer is the father,’ Clara said.

Fire nodded. She’d assumed this. ‘He’ll be generous once you tell him. I know he will.’

‘I don’t care about that. What I care about is your feeling. Whether I’ve hurt you, by jumping into his bed, and then being stupid enough for this to happen.’

Fire was startled by this, and touched. ‘You’ve certainly not hurt me,’ she said firmly. ‘I have no hold on Archer, and no jealousy where he’s concerned. You mustn’t worry on my account.’

Clara’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re very strange.’

Fire shrugged. ‘Archer has always had enough jealousy of his own to turn me off to the feeling of it.’

Clara looked into Fire’s face, into her eyes, and Fire looked back, quiet and matter-of-fact, determined that Clara should see that she meant it. Finally Clara nodded. ‘This is a great relief to me. Please don’t tell my brothers,’ she added, sounding anxious for the first time. ‘They’ll all rise up determined to hack him to pieces, and I’ll be furious with them. We’ve too much else to be thinking about. This couldn’t have been more ill-timed.’ She paused for a moment, then spoke plainly. ‘And besides, I don’t want any harm to come to him. Perhaps he didn’t give me everything I hoped he would. But I can’t help thinking that what he did give me is rather marvellous.’

IT WAS NOT the type of gift everyone could welcome in such a way.

Fire’s guard Margo slept in Fire’s bedchamber, and Musa and Mila did too on alternating nights. One dawn Fire woke to the feeling of someone out of place, and perceived that Mila was vomiting in the bathing room.

Fire rushed to the girl and held her pale hair away from her face. She rubbed Mila’s back and shoulders, and as she came fully awake, began to understand what she was seeing.

‘Oh, Lady,’ Mila said, beginning to cry. ‘Oh, Lady. What you must think of me.’

Fire was, indeed, thinking a great many hurried thoughts, and her heart was bursting with compassion. She put an arm around Mila. ‘I have nothing but sympathy for you. I’m going to help you however I can.’

Mila’s tears turned to sobs and she wrapped both arms around Fire. She held on to Fire’s hair, speaking raggedly. ‘I ran out of the herbs.’

Fire was horrified at this. ‘You could have asked me for them, or any of the healers.’

‘I could never, Lady. I was too ashamed.’

‘You could have asked Archer!’

‘He is a lord. How could I trouble him?’ She was crying so hard she was choking. ‘Oh, Lady. I’ve ruined my life.’

And now Fire was furious over Archer’s lack of trouble, for most certainly, all of this had happened at little inconvenience to him. She held the girl tight and rubbed her back and made hushing noises to soothe her. It seemed to comfort Mila to hold on to her hair.

‘There’s something I want you to know,’ Fire said, ‘and you must remember it now more than ever.’

‘Yes, Lady?’

‘You may always ask me for anything.’

IT WAS IN the coming days that Fire began to feel the lie in her words to Clara. It was true she was not jealous of Clara or Mila for anything they’d done with Archer. But she was not immune to the feeling of jealousy. Though she was brainstorming, plotting, planning with the royal siblings, her outward self focused on the details of the coming gala and the war, inside, in her moments of quiet, Fire was grievously distracted.

She imagined what it would be like if her own body were a garden of brown soil sheltering a seed. How she would warm that seed if it were hers, and feed it, and how ferociously she would protect it; how ferociously she would love that dot, even after it left her body, and grew away from her, and chose the way it would wield an enormous power.

When she became nauseated and fatigued, her breasts swollen and sore, she even began to think of herself as pregnant, even though she knew it was impossible. The pain was a joy to her. And then, of course, her bleeding came, and tore her pretending apart, and she knew it had only been the usual symptoms of her pre-bleeding time. And she found herself crying as bitterly to know she wasn’t pregnant as Mila had cried to know she was.

And her grief was frightening, because it had its own will. Her grief filled her mind with comforting, terrible ideas.

In the middle of December planning, Fire made a choice. She hoped she chose right.