She happened to be with Hanna and Blotchy at the time, in the morning sun of a quiet courtyard corner. The little girl was examining the raptor scars on Fire's neck and trying to wheedle from her, not for the first time, the story of how she'd got those scars and saved Brigan's soldiers. When Fire declined, the girl wheedled at Musa.
"You weren't even there," Fire objected, laughing, when Musa began the tale.
"Well," Musa said, "if no one who was there will tell it – "
"Someone's coming who knows it to tell it," Fire said mysteriously, causing Hanna to freeze, and stand bolt upright.
"Papa?" she said, turning in circles now, spinning to look at each of the entrances. "Do you mean Papa? Where?"
He came through an archway on the other side of the courtyard. Hanna shrieked and bolted across the marble floor. He caught her up and carried her back the way she'd come, nodding to Fire and the guard, smiling through Hanna's stream of chatter.
And what was it with Brigan every time he reappeared? Why this instinct to bolt? They were friends now, and Fire should be beyond this fear of him. She forbade herself to move and focused on Blotchy, who offered his ears to be petted.
Brigan put Hanna down and crouched before the child. He touched his fingers to her chin and moved her face one way and the other, surveying her still-bruised and bandaged nose. He interrupted her quietly. "And tell me what happened here?"
"But Papa," she said, changing subject in mid-sentence. "They were saying bad things about Lady Fire."
"Who were?"
"Selin and Midan and the others."
"And what? Then one of them punched you in the nose?"
Hanna scuffed her shoes at the ground. "No."
"Tell me what happened."
Another scuff at the ground, and then Hanna spoke dismally. "I hit Selin. He was wrong, Papa! Someone had to show him."
Brigan was silent for a moment. Hanna rested one hand on either of his bent knees and dropped her eyes to the floor. She sighed dramatically behind her curtain of hair.
"Look at me, Hanna."
The girl obeyed.
"Was hitting Selin a reasonable way to show him he was wrong?"
"No, Papa. I did badly. Are you going to punish me?"
"I'm going to take away your fighting lessons for now. I didn't agree to them so that you might misuse them."
Hanna sighed again. "For how long?"
"Until I'm convinced you understand what they're for."
"And will you take away my riding lessons?"
"Have you ridden over anyone you shouldn't?"
A small giggle. "Of course not, Papa!"
"Then you'll keep your riding lessons."
"Will you let me ride your horses?"
"You know the answer to that. You must grow bigger before you ride warhorses."
Hanna reached her hand out and rubbed her palm on the stubble of his face with an ease and affection Fire found hard to bear, so that she had to look away and stare fiercely at Blotchy, who was shedding silky hairs all over her skirt. "How long do you stay, Papa?"
"I don't know, love. I'm needed in the north."
"You have a wound, too, Papa." Hanna took Brigan's left hand, which was wrapped in a bandage, and inspected it. "Did you throw the first punch?"
Brigan twitched a smile at Fire. Focused on the lady more closely. And then his eyes went cold and his mouth formed a hard line; and Fire was frightened, and hurt by his disregard.
And then reason returned, and she understood what he saw. It was the lingering square mark of Nash's ring on her cheek.
It was weeks ago, Fire thought to him. He's behaved himself since.
Brigan stood, lifting Hanna with him. He spoke to the girl quietly. "I did not throw the first punch. And right now I must have a chat with your uncle the king."
"I want to come," Hanna said, wrapping arms around him.
"You may come as far as the hall, but there I must leave you."
"But why? I want to come."
"It's a private chat."
"But – "
Firmly: "Hanna. You heard me."
There was a sullen silence. "I can walk for myself."
Brigan lowered Hanna to the floor. Another sullen silence as they regarded each other, the taller side much more calmly than the shorter.
Then a small voice. "Will you carry me, Papa?"
Another flicker of smile. "I suppose you're not too big yet."
Brigan carried Hanna back across the courtyard and Fire listened to the receding music of Hanna's voice. Blotchy was doing as he always did – sitting, and considering, before following his lady. Knowing it was unethical, Fire reached out to his mind and convinced him to stay. She couldn't help it; she needed him. His ears were soft.
Brigan had been unshaven, in black clothing, his boots spattered with mud. His light eyes standing out in a weary face.
She'd very much come to like his face.
And of course she understood now why her body wanted to run whenever he appeared. It was a correct instinct, for there was nothing to be got from this but sadness.
She wished she hadn't seen his gentle way with his child.
Fire was spectacularly good at not thinking about a thing when she chose, if the thing was hurtful, or just plain stupid. She manhandled, pummelled, packed this thing away. His own brother in love with her, and she Cansrel's daughter?
It was not to be thought of.
What she did think of, more urgently now, was the question of her purpose at this court. For if Brigan's next responsibility took him north, then surely he meant to deposit her home. And she was not ready to go.
She had grown up between Brocker and Cansrel and she was not naïve. She'd seen the parts of the city with the abandoned buildings and the smell of filth; she understood the look and feel of city people who were hungry, or lost to drugs. She understood what it meant that even with a military force in four large pieces, Brigan couldn't stop looters from knocking a town off a cliff. And these were only the small things, these were mere policing. War was coming, and if Mydogg and Gentian overran this city and this kingdom with their armies, if one of them made himself king, how much lower would that push those already at the bottom?
Fire couldn't imagine leaving, going all the way back to her stone house where the reports came slowly and the only variance in her routine was the occasional empty-headed trespasser whom no one knew the significance of. How could she refuse to help when there was so much at stake here? How could she go away?
"You're wasting something you have," Clara had said to her once, almost with resentment. "Something the rest of us could only imagine possessing. Waste is criminal."
Fire hadn't responded. But she'd heard, more deeply than Clara had realised.
Tonight, while she was fighting with herself on the roof, Brigan appeared beside her and leaned on the railing. Fire took a steadying breath and watched the glimmer of torches in the city, trying not to look at him, or be pleased of his company.
"I hear you're crazy for horses," she said lightly.
He broke into a smile. "Something's come up and I'm leaving tomorrow night, following the river west. I'll be back two days later, but Hanna won't forgive me. I'm in disgrace."
Fire remembered her own experience of being five. "I expect she misses you terribly when you go."
"Yes," he said, "and I'm always going. I wish it weren't the way of things. But I wanted to check with you before I left, Lady. I travel north soon, this time without the army. It'll be faster, and safer, if you'd like to return home."