Fire wasn't enjoying the Winter Solstice. For a starter, she wasn't allowed outside the Palace doors to actually enjoy the celebrations going on in the city – and it was her favourite of the fairs – or even to visit her dear grandmother before nightfall. The streets were lined with hundreds of stalls, and every pocket of air around each stall smelled of something different – sugary sweet marzipan animals; thick, syrupy scent of roast apples being freshly dipped in delicious, gloopy toffee - Fire's mouth watered at the thought. Mila had ordered a box of sugar plums to Fire's rooms that morning, with a note saying that Mila hoped Fire would at least try to be happy, but Fire had left them on her bed, untouched. But the worst, the very worst thing, was that Fire was alone. Brigan was still in the North, sorting out Ivan's estate and affairs, and time had slowed into a grey, monotonous stream of boring events without Brigan to share them with. Hanna was her only source of comfort, but she was out making mischief at the fair too. Fire was alone with her guard, and she was not inclined to talk. However, she was very much inclined to sulk.
"I know it's no consolation, Lady," Musa ventured cautiously, almost certain that she was overstepping her position "but at least you're not giving the evening up for nothing, Lady. There will be other Solstices."
"Yes," Fire agreed grumpily. She couldn't possibly express how cheated, how trapped and alone she felt. Of course, she had been receiving gifts of flowers and home remedies from the citizens to whom she was popular with, but that was down to pretence; all but a select few in the whole of the Dells thought she was near-fatally ill with some mysterious illness, bedridden and weak. And for every other gift of kindness sent, another intended to kill her faster was sent her way also. Needless to say, Fire was feeling especially unloved.
They were walking in the gardens. Technically, Fire wasn't allowed outside, but her guard didn't stop her – not that night. Anyway, it was dark enough to mostly hide her weight gain, and she was wearing a thick, frumpy jet-black cloak over her dress; she was safe enough.
"Musa, do you –"
"GET DOWN, LADY!" Fire was cut off by a yell. For a minute, the world was a dark mass of movement and noise. She was tackled to the floor, and there was a sharp stinging in her thigh. There were yells of a struggle – the thump of flesh on flesh, and Fire's own breathing, erratic and panicked, in her own ears.
"What's happening?" Fire choked out as the noise subsided "What's going on?"
"Stay calm, Lady." It was Neel, protecting her with his own body "Two men in black, Lady – they jumped from the tree."
"I didn't hear them," Fire cursed thickly, shaking her head "I'm sorry, this is my fault."
"Nonsense, Lady." Neel reassured haggardly, still looking around for danger "Keeps us on our toes. Are you hurt, Lady?"
"My thigh aches." Fire confessed – she had learned long ago that lying to her guard about anything was pointless and, when she did, she often regretted it.
"You landed on the corner of a stone, Lady – you'll probably have a bruise." Neel replied, finally clambering off Fire and pulling her to her feet.
"My Lady," Musa came up to her urgently – behind her, Fire saw two strangely obedient men being led away by four of her guard "Lady Princess Fire, speak to me. Are you well?"
"I'm fine," Fire replied tiredly. She suddenly realised that it was near midnight and she was traipsing around carrying a heavy growing baby and wearing an itchy headscarf.
"I'm tired," Fire announced, her eyelids drooping "bed, I think. We'll talk about this in the morning."
"But, Lady, if these slips are becoming more frequent, I think we should –" Musa insisted.
"In the morning, Musa." Fire snapped "I wish to go to bed." Fire stalked off, and by the time she reached the staircase to her rooms, Musa had to help her up them. Her feet dragged with exhaustion – that was how it was with Fire, one second she felt ready to climb the Forgotten Cliffs, the next she was hardly able to get up from her chair, and felt she would collapse without taking a nap. Usually, however, these feelings were followed by an unignorable need to use the bathroom.
Fire fell into bed, fully dressed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt Musa tug her shoes and cloak off, and another person untie her headscarf, but her eyes were already closed.
When she opened them again, she was no longer in the Palace.
Brigan surveyed his old friend's rooms emotionlessly, his face impassive and cold. Ivan had been a fine friend – a little too loose with the mead tankard, it was true, but that was what made him so fun at times. And when he was sober, he was level-headed and wise in his advice; he had been one of the few people Brigan had told about Hanna. Brigan had been jealous when Ivan had moved North to run his Father's farm, while Brigan was stuck in the army, but he had understood Ivan's need to escape the falsity of Palace life. Ivan had sent Brigan fresh supplies of his famous wild garlic mustard on a regular basis, too, which was prized for its expense and flavour in every high-up household; to Brigan, it was as good as a letter asking how he was (in response, he would send back the empty jars to show his thanks).
"Prince Brigan," a nervous man with a bad leg – Igor? Ian? – entered and bowed low to Brigan "the Lawsman is waiting in the Study, Commander Prince."
"Thank you," Brigan said dully "I will be right with him." The man backed out, still bowing, and Brigan sighed. I mean, really, Brigan thought, what did he need a Study for? Rocks knows he was no great reader, and he spent half of his time in the fields. Brigan was just about to walk out when his eye caught on something lying on a table. It was not shiny, or jewel-encrusted, or visibly valuable in any way – it was just a small leather-bound notebook, no different from any others, except this one was sealed with a length of frayed string and the Royal wax seal. Brigan knew exactly what it was, because he had given it to Ivan when he left – it was a completion of all of the wishes each King of the Dells had made the night before he was coronated, including Nash. It was worth thousands. Brigan had been told Ivan was killed by thieves, who were raising his house while he was out; Ivan had come home early and fought them, but had got stabbed in the fight and died of blood loss. It had seemed strange to Brigan at the time – Ivan was soldier-trained in all types of combat, and wouldn't have been easily beaten by two thugs – but Brigan didn't know where Ivan had come back from; it could have been the pub, and then who knew what could have happened. But this. . . any self-respecting thief knew that any ledgers in a Lord's house were always worth something, especially ones marked with the Royal seal. Something was wrong here.
Suddenly, Brigan's mind was on fire – everything snapped together like pieces to a puzzle. The strange timing of Ivan's death, just before the Winter Solstice, when most of the Palace staff would be off at the celebrations, leaving the Palace like a graveyard, deserted – they knew Brigan would rush to the North to his friend's funeral, which meant. . . which meant. . .
"Jamo!" Brigan roared, his voice thundering through the house "Captain Jamo! Get your horse, we're leaving immediately!"
"Commander, what about the Lawsman –" Jamo protested, running in step with Brigan.
"To the Rocks with the Lawsman – Fire is in danger!"
