Fire strapped a knife to each ankle and did not smile at that. Brigan couldn't give gifts until he'd returned to court, and that was a thing, two hours before the gala, he had not yet done.
ONE OF SEVERAL staging areas reserved by the royal siblings for the night was a suite of rooms on the fourth floor with a balcony overlooking the large central courtyard. Fire stood in the balcony with three of her guard, deflecting the attention of hundreds of people below.
She had never seen a party before, let alone a royal ball. The courtyard sparkled gold from the light of thousands upon thousands of candles: walls of candles behind balustrades at the edges of the dance floor so the ladies wouldn't set their dresses on fire; candles in wide lamps hanging from the ceilings by silver chains; candles melted to the railings of every balcony, including her own. Light flickered over the people, turned them beautiful in their dresses and suits, their jewellery, the silver cups they drank from. The sky was fading. Musicians tuned their instruments and began to play over and through the tinkle of laughter.
The dancing began, and it was the perfect picture of a winter party.
How absolutely the look of a thing could differ from its feel. If Fire had not had such an intense need to concentrate, if she hadn't been so far from humour, she might have laughed. For she knew herself to be standing above a microcosm of the kingdom itself, a web of traitors, spies, and allies in fancy costumes, representing every side, watching each other with calculation, trying to hear each other's conversations, and keenly aware of everyone who entered or exited. It began with Lord Gentian and his son, the focal centre of the room even though they stood at its edges. Gunner, medium size and nondescript, had a way of blending into the corner, but Gentian was tall with bright white hair and too famously an enemy of this court to be inconspicuous. Surrounding him were five of his 'attendants', men with the look of vicious dogs stuffed into formal clothing. Swords were not the fashion at balls such as this; the only visible weapons were on the palace guards stationed at the doorways. But Fire knew that Gentian, Gunner, and their thinly disguised body-guards had knives. She knew they were wound tight with distrust; she could feel it. And she saw Gentian tugging his collar, repeatedly, uncomfortably. She saw him and his son turning sharply at every noise, their social smiles false, frozen almost to the point of crazedness. She thought that Gentian was a nice-looking man, finely dressed, seemingly distinguished, unless you were in a position to feel his screaming nerves. Gentian was regretting the plan that had brought him here.
It overwhelmed Fire to keep track of everyone in this courtyard, and stretching herself beyond this courtyard was positively dizzying. But as best as she could, and using whatever minds gave her access, she was compiling a mental list of people in the palace she thought might be sympathetic to Lord Gentian or Lady Murgda, people who were not to be trusted, and also people who were. She communicated the list to a secretary in Garan's offices who took down names and descriptions and communicated them to the master of the guard, whose many jobs this night included knowing where everyone was at all times and preventing any unplanned appearances of weapons, or disappearances of significant people.
The sky was dark now. Fire sensed archers moving into the shadows of the balconies around her. Both Gentian and Murgda had been housed on the palace's third level overlooking this very courtyard, the rooms above, below, across, and to either side of them empty of guests, and temporarily occupied with a royal military presence that made Fire's guard seem quite shabby.
These had been Brigan's orders.
Fire wasn't certain which she was dreading more: what it would mean for her and his family personally if he did not arrive in time, or what it would mean for their night's work and the war. She thought these might be pieces of the same fear. If Brigan didn't come, he was probably dead, and with that, all things would fall apart anyway, whether they be big, like tonight's plans, or small, like her heart.
And then, only a few minutes later, she stumbled upon him as he materialised at the edges of her range on the nearest city bridge. Almost involuntarily she sent him a surge of feeling that began as fury but turned immediately to worry and also relief at feeling him, so uncontrolled that she couldn't be sure some of her deeper feeling hadn't seeped through.
He sent back assurance and exhaustion and apology, and she reached back to him with apology of her own, and he apologised again, more insistently this time.Brigan has arrived , she thought hurriedly to the others, and pushed their own expressions of relief out of her mind. Her focus was unravelling. She scrabbled to regain control of the courtyard.
Lady Murgda was keeping a lower profile than Gentian. Like Gentian, she'd arrived with attendants, at least twenty of them, 'servants' who had the feeling of persons used to fighting. A number of these persons were in the courtyard below. Others were spread throughout the palace, presumably watching whomever Murgda had instructed them to watch; but Murgda herself had gone straight to her rooms at her arrival and had not emerged since. She was holed up there now, a level below Fire and across from where Fire stood, though Fire could not see her. She could only feel her, sharp and intelligent, as Fire had known she would be, harder than her two enemies below and more guarded, but buzzing with a similar edginess, and burning with suspicion.
Clara, Garan, Nash, Welkley, and several guards entered Fire's room. Sensing them, but not turning from the balcony view, Fire touched their minds in greeting and, through the open balcony door, heard Clara muttering.
'I've figured out who Gentian's got tailing me,' Clara said, 'but I'm not so sure of Murgda's tail. Her people are better trained.'
'They're Pikkian, some of them,' Garan said. 'Sayre tells me she saw Pikkian-looking men, and heard their accents.'
'Is it possible Lord Gentian could be daft enough to have no one watching Lady Murgda?' Clara said.
'His entourage is pretty obvious, and none of it seems trained on her.'
'There's no ease in watching Lady Murgda, Lady Princess,' Welkley said. 'She's barely shown her face. Lord Gentian, on the other hand, has asked for your audience three times, Lord King, and three times I've brushed him off. He's quite eager to tell you in person all kinds of made-up reasons why he's here.'
'We'll give him the opportunity to explain, once he's dead,' Garan said.
Fire listened to the conversation with one fraction of her attention and monitored Brigan's progress with another - he was in the stables now - dancing all the while around Gentian, Gunner, and Murgda. So far she had only played around their minds, searching for ways in, approaching but not taking hold. She instructed a servant below - one of Welkley's people - to offer wine to Gentian and Gunner. Both men waved the serving girl away. Fire sighed, wishing the elder were not so plagued with indigestion and the younger so austere in his habits. Young Gunner was a bit troublesome, actually, stronger-minded than she'd like. Gentian, on the other hand - she wondered if it was time to enter Gentian's mind and begin pushing. He grew more and more anxious, and she got the sense that he had wanted the wine he'd refused.
Brigan pushed into the room behind her. 'Brother,' Fire heard Garan say. 'Cutting it a bit close this time even by your standards, don't you think? Everything in place at Fort Flood?'
'Poor boy,' Clara said. 'Who punched up your face?'
'No one relevant,' Brigan said shortly. 'Where's Lady Fire?'
Fire turned from the courtyard, went to the balcony door, stepped into the room, and came face to face with Nash, very handsome, very smartly dressed, who froze, stared back at her unhappily, turned, and strode into the next room. Garan and Welkley stared also, mouths agape, and Fire remembered that she was dressed up. Even Clara seemed struck dumb.
'All right,' Fire said, 'I know. Pull yourselves together and let's get on with things.'
'Is everyone in position?' Brigan asked. Mud-splattered and radiating cold, he looked like he'd been fighting for his life not ten minutes ago and had nearly lost, his cheekbone scraped raw, his jaw bruised, and a bloody bandage across his knuckles. He directed his question at Fire, searching her face with gentle eyes that did not match the rest of his appearance.
'Everyone's in position,' she said.Do you need a healer, Lord Prince? He shook his head, peering down at his knuckles with mild amusement. 'And our enemies? Anyone we weren't expecting? Any of Cutter's foggy friends about, Lady?'
'No, thank the Dells.'Are you in pain?
'All right,' Clara said. 'We have our swordsman, so let's get moving. Brigan, could you attempt, at least, to make yourself presentable? I know this is a war, but the rest of us are trying to pretend it's a party.'
THE THIRD TIME Fire instructed Welkley's serving girl to offer Gentian wine, Gentian grabbed the cup and downed it in two gulps.
Fire was fully inside Gentian's mind now. It was not a stable place. He kept glancing at the balcony belonging to Murgda. When he did this, his entire handsome being flashed with anxiety, and with a peculiar wishfulness.
Fire began to wonder why, if Gentian was so anxious about Lady Murgda's balcony, he'd assigned none of his men to monitor Murgda. For Clara had figured right. Fire knew the feeling of every person in Gentian's entourage, and with a small effort, she could locate each of them. They were lurking around the doors and the persons of various gala guests; they were lurking near the guarded entrances to the royal residences and offices. None of them were lurking around Murgda.
Murgda, on the other hand, had spies on everyone. Two of them were milling around Gentian this moment.
Gentian took another cup of wine and glanced once more at Murgda's empty balcony. It was so odd, the emotion that accompanied these glances. Something like a frightened child looking for reassurance from an adult.
Why would Gentian look to the balcony of his enemy for reassurance?
Suddenly Fire wanted very much to feel what would happen if Murgda came onto her balcony and Gentian saw her. But Fire was not going to be able to compel Murgda onto her balcony without Murgda knowing she was being compelled. And then it would be only one more step to Murgda figuring out why.
It seemed to Fire that if she couldn't sneak up on Murgda, she might as well be direct. She sent a message.
Come out, lady rebel, and tell me why you're here.
Murgda's response was both immediate and startling: an ironic, hard pleasure at being so hailed; an utter lack of surprise or fear; a desire, unmistakable, to meet with the lady monster in person; and a blatant and unapologetic mistrust.
Well, Fire thought, her tone deliberately careless.I'll meet with you, if you'll go to the place I specify.
Amusement and contempt in response to this. Murgda was not fool enough to be led into a trap.
And I'm not keen enough to see you, Lady Murgda, that I would let you choose the meeting place.
Stubborn refusal to leave her self-created fortress.
You don't imagine I'd come to you in your rooms, Lady Murgda? No, I begin to think we are not meant to meet after all.
A determination - aneed - to meet Lady Fire, to see her.
It was intriguing, this need, and Fire was content to use it for her own purposes. She breathed to calm her nerves, for her next message must be perfect in tone: amused - delighted, even - to the point of mild acquiescence, and somewhat curious, but rather indifferent as to where all of this might lead.