Read Online King of Mist (Steel and Fire Book 2) by Jordan Rivet - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jordan Rivet
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of autumn in the air. The run warmed her, and the buzz from the ale dissipated. It was a relief to know the warmth came from pure exertion when she thundered across little-used Garden Bridge. It was built of wood and rope, its pathways sparsely lit. She was too far away from the stones of the mountain to worry about pulling any Fire into her body.
That Firebulb had definitely gravitated to her in the tavern. She had to get control of her newfound ability—and soon. It was easier to draw on the Fire when she had steel in her hand to help her focus. The trouble was she carried a sword all the time now, and sometimes the Fire came when she didn’t want it to. She needed to figure out how the magic worked so she could train herself to avoid such incidents. Despite being around the Fire her whole life, she wasn’t sure where to start. Most Fireworkers trained with a master who guided them through the first dangerous moments while they were still children. Those with the Spark could handle the Fire without being burned, but if they lost control it would still hurt them. The Fire could even kill, as Dara knew all too well. And if she lost control, people might find out what she could do. That would raise more questions than she was prepared to answer right now.
The streets of Square Peak were even emptier than Lower King’s. The chill and the mist had driven people indoors, where they’d sit around Fire Gates, warm their hands with Heatstones, and wrap themselves in wool blankets. It was not a night to be out alone.
The dueling school rose before her, a hulking shape in the darkness. The last of the students would have gone home by now, or into the warm arms of a neighboring pub. Dara felt a twinge of sadness as she thought of her friends Kel and Oat, who were no doubt holding forth in one of those pubs. She hadn’t seen them in weeks, and she missed them.
Berg opened the door of the dueling school and stepped out as Dara neared. He wore a cloak of mountain bear fur, making him look a bit like a bear himself, apart from the sword buckled at his hip.
“Coach,” she said.
He grunted a greeting. “You are armed?”
Dara flung back her cloak to reveal the Savven.
“Good. We must be silent. Tell no one what I will show you. Enemies of the Amintelles have ears. Trust no one.”
“Yes, Coach.” Dara hesitated and then asked, “Why do you trust me?”
Berg lowered his eyebrows and gave her an appraising look.
“There is a reason you ask this, young Dara.”
“It’s . . . it’s possible my parents are involved,” she said. “Do you know anything about that?”
Berg blew out a long breath and cracked his large knuckles one by one.
“You know,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I figured it out too late,” Dara said. “I . . . I think my father . . .” She didn’t finish the thought, hoping Berg would fill in the details that she hadn’t been able to say out loud.
“Yes,” Berg said. “But he did not act alone. You are against your father and mother in this, Dara?”
“They’re wrong,” Dara said. A sharp wind blew over the peak, whistling through the alleyways and rattling the shutters on the dueling school. She shivered. “I wish it could be different, but King Sevren didn’t deserve to die.”
Berg inclined his head solemnly. “No. The king was good. Come.”
He led the way toward the far northern side of Square Peak, heading in the direction of the Burnt Mountains beyond Vertigon. They walked in silence at first, keeping to the shadows between buildings. A feral cur-dragon snuffed and sneezed in an ally, but nothing else moved.
“Coach,” Dara said after a while. “Have you told anyone about my parents?”
“I will tell no one unless I trust them,” Berg said. “I trust no one.”
“What about King Siv?”
Berg looked at her from beneath lowered brows. “You must tell him. When you are ready. There is much to do before then.”
“I know,” Dara said. Of course she
That Firebulb had definitely gravitated to her in the tavern. She had to get control of her newfound ability—and soon. It was easier to draw on the Fire when she had steel in her hand to help her focus. The trouble was she carried a sword all the time now, and sometimes the Fire came when she didn’t want it to. She needed to figure out how the magic worked so she could train herself to avoid such incidents. Despite being around the Fire her whole life, she wasn’t sure where to start. Most Fireworkers trained with a master who guided them through the first dangerous moments while they were still children. Those with the Spark could handle the Fire without being burned, but if they lost control it would still hurt them. The Fire could even kill, as Dara knew all too well. And if she lost control, people might find out what she could do. That would raise more questions than she was prepared to answer right now.
The streets of Square Peak were even emptier than Lower King’s. The chill and the mist had driven people indoors, where they’d sit around Fire Gates, warm their hands with Heatstones, and wrap themselves in wool blankets. It was not a night to be out alone.
The dueling school rose before her, a hulking shape in the darkness. The last of the students would have gone home by now, or into the warm arms of a neighboring pub. Dara felt a twinge of sadness as she thought of her friends Kel and Oat, who were no doubt holding forth in one of those pubs. She hadn’t seen them in weeks, and she missed them.
Berg opened the door of the dueling school and stepped out as Dara neared. He wore a cloak of mountain bear fur, making him look a bit like a bear himself, apart from the sword buckled at his hip.
“Coach,” she said.
He grunted a greeting. “You are armed?”
Dara flung back her cloak to reveal the Savven.
“Good. We must be silent. Tell no one what I will show you. Enemies of the Amintelles have ears. Trust no one.”
“Yes, Coach.” Dara hesitated and then asked, “Why do you trust me?”
Berg lowered his eyebrows and gave her an appraising look.
“There is a reason you ask this, young Dara.”
“It’s . . . it’s possible my parents are involved,” she said. “Do you know anything about that?”
Berg blew out a long breath and cracked his large knuckles one by one.
“You know,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I figured it out too late,” Dara said. “I . . . I think my father . . .” She didn’t finish the thought, hoping Berg would fill in the details that she hadn’t been able to say out loud.
“Yes,” Berg said. “But he did not act alone. You are against your father and mother in this, Dara?”
“They’re wrong,” Dara said. A sharp wind blew over the peak, whistling through the alleyways and rattling the shutters on the dueling school. She shivered. “I wish it could be different, but King Sevren didn’t deserve to die.”
Berg inclined his head solemnly. “No. The king was good. Come.”
He led the way toward the far northern side of Square Peak, heading in the direction of the Burnt Mountains beyond Vertigon. They walked in silence at first, keeping to the shadows between buildings. A feral cur-dragon snuffed and sneezed in an ally, but nothing else moved.
“Coach,” Dara said after a while. “Have you told anyone about my parents?”
“I will tell no one unless I trust them,” Berg said. “I trust no one.”
“What about King Siv?”
Berg looked at her from beneath lowered brows. “You must tell him. When you are ready. There is much to do before then.”
“I know,” Dara said. Of course she
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