Fire - Kristin Cashore [36]
‘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.
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 glass, 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 relationship 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