around and staring at me.”
“Sounds like she’s a Kelad Korran fan, not an actual dueling fan,” Dara said. Kel had a rather mysterious effect on spectators—female ones in particular—but Dara had spent a bit too much time sweating it out with him in the dueling school to see the appeal. He had a wiry strength, but he was also a full head shorter than her.
“That’s my favorite kind of fan,” Kel said, “just not when I’m trying to eat in peace.”
“Rordin’s, then?” Oat suggested.
“Rordin’s it is.”
They made their way through the crowds toward the little pie stall at the far end of the market. The shops displayed fresh-cooked foods, garments, imported wares from the Lands Below, and Fireworks of all kinds. The more established Workers kept their own shops, like the Ruminors, so most of the Fireworks on display in the market stalls were the cheaper kind: Everlights, slim Firesticks for warming hands and beverages, simple Firebulbs, Heatstones, and even small Fireblossoms, which exploded into beautiful, ephemeral flowers to decorate special occasions. There were also metalworks in a hundred varieties. These had been forged using the Fire, like most dueling rapiers, but they didn’t continue to burn once completed unless they were Fire-infused.
Dara slowed when they passed Morn Brothers Dueling Supply Shop three quarters of the way down the market. A new line of dueling gloves was on display in the window, each intricately embroidered with a different design. The windows were bedecked in the colors of Bilzar Ten, an accomplished duelist sponsored by the Morn brothers. A painting of Bilzar hung on the wall inside the shop, clad head to toe in his sponsor’s gear.
Oat stopped beside her. “I need to get myself some fans,” he said. “And one of those equipment deals. Bilzar gets all his gear for free.”
“They probably don’t make jackets long enough for those gangly arms of yours,” Kel said.
Oat sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know. But custom gear is expensive.”
“You have fans,” Dara said. “What about those three brothers who always wait for you after tourneys?”
“That’s true,” Oat said, brightening a bit. “They think I’m the greatest thing since spiced salt cakes.”
“Speaking of which,” Kel said. “Can we move along here? Rordin’s cakes go fast.”
They purchased goat pies and salt cakes and found a free spot on the rocks to eat. A few people recognized them from competitions, but they were nowhere near as well known as some of the older duelists in the city. Bilzar Ten was just one of the athletes who had managed to parlay their fame into lucrative sponsorship deals with local businesses and noblemen. Kel’s patron, Lord Bolden Rollendar, was the son of one of the more powerful nobles in Vertigon. These arrangements were many times more valuable than the prize purses at any given competition. They were essential if you didn’t want to work another job in addition to training. Dara had her eye on one patron in particular who signed a female duelist every season.
“What were you and Berg whispering about the other day, Dara?” Kel asked as he licked pie juice off his fingers. “He was looking mighty grim.”
“Berg is always serious,” Dara said.
“Yeah, but he’s been acting suspicious lately too. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Suspicious how?” Oat asked.
“I’ve seen him around on King’s,” Kel said. “Last time, he pretended he didn’t see me and snuck away down an alley by the Fire Guild.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Dara said. Berg had asked her not to mention her duel with the prince. But he had left her before she crossed the bridge after the duel that morning. What other business did he have on King’s Peak?
“Maybe he’s thinking about setting up a King’s Peak branch of his school,” Oat said.
“Or maybe,” Kel said, “he’s spying on one of the schools that’s already there. I wouldn’t mind finding
“Sounds like she’s a Kelad Korran fan, not an actual dueling fan,” Dara said. Kel had a rather mysterious effect on spectators—female ones in particular—but Dara had spent a bit too much time sweating it out with him in the dueling school to see the appeal. He had a wiry strength, but he was also a full head shorter than her.
“That’s my favorite kind of fan,” Kel said, “just not when I’m trying to eat in peace.”
“Rordin’s, then?” Oat suggested.
“Rordin’s it is.”
They made their way through the crowds toward the little pie stall at the far end of the market. The shops displayed fresh-cooked foods, garments, imported wares from the Lands Below, and Fireworks of all kinds. The more established Workers kept their own shops, like the Ruminors, so most of the Fireworks on display in the market stalls were the cheaper kind: Everlights, slim Firesticks for warming hands and beverages, simple Firebulbs, Heatstones, and even small Fireblossoms, which exploded into beautiful, ephemeral flowers to decorate special occasions. There were also metalworks in a hundred varieties. These had been forged using the Fire, like most dueling rapiers, but they didn’t continue to burn once completed unless they were Fire-infused.
Dara slowed when they passed Morn Brothers Dueling Supply Shop three quarters of the way down the market. A new line of dueling gloves was on display in the window, each intricately embroidered with a different design. The windows were bedecked in the colors of Bilzar Ten, an accomplished duelist sponsored by the Morn brothers. A painting of Bilzar hung on the wall inside the shop, clad head to toe in his sponsor’s gear.
Oat stopped beside her. “I need to get myself some fans,” he said. “And one of those equipment deals. Bilzar gets all his gear for free.”
“They probably don’t make jackets long enough for those gangly arms of yours,” Kel said.
Oat sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know. But custom gear is expensive.”
“You have fans,” Dara said. “What about those three brothers who always wait for you after tourneys?”
“That’s true,” Oat said, brightening a bit. “They think I’m the greatest thing since spiced salt cakes.”
“Speaking of which,” Kel said. “Can we move along here? Rordin’s cakes go fast.”
They purchased goat pies and salt cakes and found a free spot on the rocks to eat. A few people recognized them from competitions, but they were nowhere near as well known as some of the older duelists in the city. Bilzar Ten was just one of the athletes who had managed to parlay their fame into lucrative sponsorship deals with local businesses and noblemen. Kel’s patron, Lord Bolden Rollendar, was the son of one of the more powerful nobles in Vertigon. These arrangements were many times more valuable than the prize purses at any given competition. They were essential if you didn’t want to work another job in addition to training. Dara had her eye on one patron in particular who signed a female duelist every season.
“What were you and Berg whispering about the other day, Dara?” Kel asked as he licked pie juice off his fingers. “He was looking mighty grim.”
“Berg is always serious,” Dara said.
“Yeah, but he’s been acting suspicious lately too. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Suspicious how?” Oat asked.
“I’ve seen him around on King’s,” Kel said. “Last time, he pretended he didn’t see me and snuck away down an alley by the Fire Guild.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Dara said. Berg had asked her not to mention her duel with the prince. But he had left her before she crossed the bridge after the duel that morning. What other business did he have on King’s Peak?
“Maybe he’s thinking about setting up a King’s Peak branch of his school,” Oat said.
“Or maybe,” Kel said, “he’s spying on one of the schools that’s already there. I wouldn’t mind finding
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