"Three weeks ago in the king's palace," Brigan was saying, "a stranger was found in the king's rooms and captured. The king asks you to come to King's City to meet the prisoner, Lady, and tell whether he's the same man who was in the king's rooms at the fortress of my mother."
King's City. Her birthplace. The place where her own mother had lived and died. The gorgeous city above the sea that would be lost or saved in the war that was coming. She'd never seen King's City, except in her imagination. Certainly, no one had ever suggested before that she go there and see it for real.
She forced her mind to consider the question seriously even though her heart had already decided. She would have many enemies in King's City, and too many men who liked her too much. She would be stared at, and assaulted, and she would not ever have the option of resting her mental guard. The king of the kingdom would desire her. And he and his advisers would wish her to use her power against prisoners, enemies, every one of the million people they did not trust.
And she would have to travel with this rough man who didn't like her.
"Does the king request this," Fire asked, "or is it an order?"
Brigan considered the floor coolly. "It was stated as an order, Lady, but I won't force you to go."
And so the brother, apparently, was permitted to disobey the king's orders; or perhaps it was a measure of how little Brigan wanted to deliver her to his weak-headed brother, that he was willing to refuse the command.
"If the king expects me to use my power to interrogate his prisoners he'll be disappointed," Fire said.
Brigan flexed and clenched his sword hand, once. A flicker of something – impatience, or anger. He looked into her eyes for the briefest of moments, and looked away. "I don't imagine the king will compel you to do anything you don't want to do."
By which Fire understood that the prince considered it within her power and her intention to control the king. Her face burned, but she lifted her chin a notch and said, "I'll go."
Archer spluttered. Before he could speak she swung to him and looked up into his eyes. Don't quarrel with me in front of the king's brother, she thought to him. And don't ruin this two months' peace.
He glared back at her. "I'm not the one who ruins it," he said, his voice low.
Brocker was accustomed to this; but how must they look to Brigan, staring at each other, having one side of an argument? I won't do this now. You may embarrass yourself, but you will not embarrass me.
Archer drew in a breath that sounded like a hiss, turned on his heel, and stormed out of the room. He slammed the door, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.
Fire touched a hand to her headscarf and turned back to Brigan. "Please forgive our rudeness," she said.
Not a flicker in those grey eyes. "Of course."
"How will you ensure her safety on the journey, Commander?" Brocker asked quietly. Brigan turned to him, then sat in a chair, resting his elbows on his knees; and his whole manner seemed to change. With Brocker he was suddenly easy and comfortable and respectful, a young military commander addressing a man who could be his mentor.
"Sir, we'll ride to King's City in the company of the entire First Branch. They're stationed just west of here."
Brocker smiled. "You misunderstand me, son. How will you ensure she'll be safe from the First Branch? In a force of five thousand there'll be some with the mind to hurt her."
Brigan nodded. "I've hand-picked a guard of twenty soldiers who can be trusted to care for her."
Fire crossed her arms and bit down hard. "I don't need to be cared for. I can defend myself."
"I don't doubt it, Lady," Brigan said mildly, looking into his hands, "but if you're to ride with us you'll have a guard nonetheless. I can't transport a civilian female in a party of five thousand men on a journey of nearly three weeks and not provide a guard. I trust you to see the sense in it."
He was talking around the fact that she was a monster who provoked all the worst kinds of behaviour. And now that her temper was done flaring, she did see the sense in it. Truly, she'd never pitted herself against five thousand men before. She sat down. "Very well."
Brocker chuckled. "If only Archer were here to see the powers of rational argument."
Fire snorted. Archer wouldn't consider her allowance of the guard to be evidence of the powers of rational argument. He'd take it as proof that she was in love with whichever of her guards was most handsome.
She stood up again. "I'll ready myself," she said, "and ask Donal to ready Small."
Brigan stood with her, his face closed again, impassive. "Very good, Lady."
"Will you wait here with me, Commander?" Brocker said. "I've a thing or two to tell you."
Fire scrutinised Brocker. Oh? What do you need to tell him?
Brocker had too much class for a one-sided argument. He also possessed a mind so clear and strong that he could open a feeling to her with perfect precision, so that it came to her practically as a sentence. I want to give him military advice, Brocker thought to her.
Mildly reassured, Fire left them.
When she got to her bedroom Archer was sitting in a chair against the wall. Taking a liberty with his presence, for it wasn't his room to enter without invitation. But she forgave him. Archer couldn't abandon the responsibilities of his house and farms so suddenly in order to travel with her. He would stay behind, and they would be a long time apart – almost six weeks to get there and back, and longer if she stayed any time in King's City.
When Brocker had asked her, in her fourteenth year, just how much power she had over Cansrel's mind when she was inside it, Archer had been the one to defend her. "Where's your heart, Father? The man is her father. Don't make her relationship with him more difficult than it already is."
"I'm only asking questions," Brocker had responded. "Does she have the power to shift his attitudes? Could she change his ambitions permanently?"
"Anyone can see these are not idle questions."
"They're necessary questions," Brocker had said, "though I wish they were not."
"I don't care. Leave her be," Archer had said, so passionately that Brocker had let her be, at least for the moment.
Fire supposed she would miss Archer defending her on this trip. Not because she wanted his defence, but simply because it was what Archer did when he was near.
She unearthed her saddlebags from a pile at the bottom of her closet and began to fold underclothing and riding gear into them. There was no point in bothering with dresses. No one ever noticed what she wore, and after three weeks in her bags they would be unwearable anyway.
"You'll desert your students?" Archer said finally, leaning over his knees, watching her pack. "Just like that?"
She turned her back to him on the pretense of searching for her fiddle, and smiled. He had never been quite so concerned for her students before.
"You didn't take long to decide," he added.
She spoke simply; to her it was obvious. "I've never seen King's City."
"It's not so wonderful as all that."
It was a thing she'd like to determine for herself. She dug through the piles on her bed and said nothing.
"It'll be more dangerous than any place you've ever been," he said.
"Your father took you away from that place because you weren't safe there."
She set her fiddle case beside her saddlebags. "Shall I choose a life of bleakness, then, Archer, just to stay alive? I won't hide in a room with the doors and windows shut. That is not a life."