Fire closed her eyes. "I suppose I should say yes."
He hesitated. "Would you prefer me to arrange for a different escort?"
"Goodness, no," she said, "it's not that. It's only that every one of your siblings is pressuring me to stay at court and use my mental power to help with the spy work. Even Prince Garan, who hasn't decided yet if he trusts me."
"Ah," he said, understanding. "Garan doesn't trust anyone, you know. It's his nature, and his job. Does he give you a hard time?"
"No. He's kind enough. Everyone is, really. I mean, it's no harder for me here than it's been anywhere else. Just different."
He thought about that for a moment. "Well. You mustn't let them bully you; they see only their side of it. They're so embroiled in the matters of the kingdom that they can't imagine any other way of living."
Fire wondered what other way of living Brigan imagined; what life he dreamed of, if he hadn't been born to this one. She spoke carefully. "Do you think I should stay and help them as they ask?"
"Lady, I can't say what you should do. You must do whatever you think is right."
She caught something defensive in his tone, but she wasn't certain which one of them he was defending. She pressed him again. "And do you have an opinion as to what is right?"
He was flustered. He looked away from her. "I don't wish to influence you. If you stay, I'll be terribly pleased. You'll be such invaluable help. But I'll also be sorry for what we would ask of you, truly sorry."
It was a rare outburst – rare because he wasn't one for outbursts, and rare because it wasn't likely to occur to anyone else to be sorry. Rather at a loss, Fire gripped her bow tightly and said, "Taking someone's mind and changing it is a trespass. A violence. Can I ever use such a thing without overstepping my right? How will I know if I'm going too far? I'm capable of so many horrors."
Brigan took a minute to think, staring intently into his hands. He tugged at the edge of his bandage. "I understand you," he said, speaking quietly. "I know what it's like to be capable of horrors. I'm training twenty-five thousand soldiers for a bloodbath. And there are things I've done I wish I'd never had to do. There are things I'll do in future." He glanced at her, then looked back into his hands. "No doubt this is presumptuous, Lady. But for whatever it's worth, if you'd like, I could promise to tell you if I ever believed you to be overstepping the rights of your power. And whether or not you choose to accept that promise, I'd very much like to ask you to do the same for me."
Fire swallowed, hardly believing that he was entrusting her with so much. She whispered, "You honour me. I accept your promise, and I give you my own in return."
The lights in the city houses were dimming one by one. And part of avoiding thoughts about something was not encouraging opportunities for that something to make itself felt.
"Thank you for the fiddle," she said. "I play it every day."
And she left him, and walked with her guard back to her rooms.
It was in the great hall the next morning that she came to understand what had to be done.
The walls of this cavernous room were made of mirrors. Passing through, on sudden impulse, Fire looked at herself.
She caught her breath and kept looking, until she was beyond that first staggering moment of disbelief. She crossed her arms and squared her feet, and looked, and looked. She remembered a thing that made her angry. She'd told Clara her intention never to have children; and Clara had told her of a medicine that would make her very sick, but only for two or three days. After she recovered, she'd never have to worry again about the chance of becoming pregnant, no matter how many men she took to her bed. The medicine would make her permanently unable to bear children. One of the most useful discoveries of King Arn and Lady Ella.
It made Fire so angry, the thought of such a medicine, a violence done to herself to stop her from creating anything like herself. And what was the purpose of these eyes, this impossible face, the softness and the curves of this body, the strength of this mind; what was the point, if none of the men who desired her were to give her any babies, and all it ever brought her was grief ? What was the purpose of a woman monster?
It came out in a whisper. "What am I for?"
"Excuse me, Lady?" Musa said.
Fire shook her head. "Nothing." She took a step closer and pulled off her headscarf. Her hair slid down, shimmering. One of her guards gasped.
She was fully as beautiful as Cansrel. Indeed, she was very like him.
Behind her Brigan entered the great hall suddenly and stopped. In the mirror their eyes met, and held. It was clear he was in the middle of a thought or a conversation – one that her appearance had interrupted completely.
It was so rarely he held her eyes. All the feeling she'd been trying to batter away threatened to trickle back.
And then Garan caught up with Brigan, speaking sharply. Nash's voice behind Garan, and then Nash himself appeared, saw her, and stopped cold beside his brothers. In a panic Fire grabbed at her hair to collect it, steeling herself against whatever stupid way the king intended to behave.
But it was all right, they were safe, for Nash was trying very hard to close himself. "Well met, Lady," he said with considerable effort. He threw his arms around both of his brothers' shoulders and moved with them out of the hall, out of her sight.
Fire was impressed, and relieved. She pushed her feelings back into their cell. And then, just before the brothers disappeared, her eyes caught the flash of something at Brigan's hip.
It was the hilt of his sword. The sword of the commander of the King's Army. And all at once, Fire understood.
Brigan did terrible things. He stuck swords into men in the mountains. He trained soldiers for war. He had enormous destructive power, just as his father had had – but he didn't use that power the way his father had done. Truly, he would rather not use it at all. But he chose to, so that he might stop other people from using power in even worse ways.
His power was his burden. He accepted it.
And he was nothing like his father. Neither were Garan or Clara; neither, really, was Nash. Not all sons were like their fathers. A son chose the man he would be.
Not all daughters were like their fathers. A daughter monster chose the monster she would be.
Fire looked into her face. The beautiful vision blurred suddenly behind her own tears. She blinked the tears away. "I've been afraid of being Cansrel," she said aloud to her reflection. "But I'm not Cansrel."
At her elbow, Musa said blandly, "Any one of us could have told you that, Lady."
Fire looked at the captain of her guard and laughed, because she wasn't Cansrel – she wasn't anyone but herself. She had no one's path to follow; her path was her own to choose. And then she stopped laughing, because she was terrified of the path she suddenly knew herself to be choosing. I can't do this, she thought. I'm too dangerous. I'll only make things worse.
No, she said back to herself. Already I'm forgetting. I'm not Cansrel; at every step on this path I create myself. And maybe I'll always find my own power horrifying, and maybe I can't ever be what I'd most like to be.
But I can stay here, and I can make myself into what I should be. Waste is criminal. I'll use the power I have to undo what Cansrel did. I'll use it to fight for the Dells.
Part Two
Spies
Chapter Seventeen
As much as Fire had known about the play of power in the Dells, her knowledge had been drawn in broad strokes. She understood this now, because now she held a minute and specific map in her mind. The focal points were King's City; Mydogg's holding on the Pikkian border; and Gentian's land in the southern mountains below the river, not far from Fort Flood. There were places in between: Brigan's many other forts and outposts, the estates of lords and ladies with tiny armies and shifting alliances, the Great Greys in the south and west, the Little Greys in the north, the Winged River, the Pikkian River, the high, flat area north of King's City called Marble Rise. Rocky patches of poverty, flashes of violence, plundering, desolation; landscapes and landmarks that were bound to be keystones in the war between Nash, Mydogg, and Gentian.