Fire - Kristin Cashore [95]
‘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
IT 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.