The Usurper

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  'Byren?'

  'Caged, but safe for now.'

  'We must free him.'

  'When we are ready.'

  Piro felt the force of furious eyes and turned to see the Utlander glaring at them. At Lord Dunstany.

  The Utland Power-worker left Palatyne's side and joined them. 'So you have come back to us, Lord Dunstany.'

  'As soon as I could, I came to serve my king.' He gave a gracious bow.

  'Not soon enough, I fear.' The Utlander pretended sympathy. 'Your patron has not long to live and soon my patron will be king.'

  As if to confirm this they heard Isolt's clear voice. 'You are right, Duke Palatyne. We must marry soon. I see all of Merofynia's noble families are present. Since they are here, why not marry tomorrow?'

  'Tomorrow?' Palatyne was surprised, but willing.

  'It would take time to prepare such a grand occasion,' Lord Dunstany spoke up. 'There is the food for the feast, the decorations -'

  'It can be done. I can do it!' the Utlander insisted. He turned to the duke. 'Give me a day to organise the joint wedding and coronation.'

  Palatyne laughed. 'Very well. Make it the day after tomorrow. I want this to be a grand occasion for my bride.'

  With a flourish, Palatyne kissed Isolt's hand. Her face betrayed nothing as the nobles, healers, nuns and monks all offered their congratulations.

  Isolt excused herself as soon as she could, claiming she had preparations to complete. The kingsdaughter swept from the room, Piro at her heels.

  When they were out in the almost deserted corridor Piro whispered, 'Why did you suggest marrying him so soon? You hate him.'

  'I do. But I hate seeing my father suffer even more. As soon as I am queen I shall dismiss those healers and the Utlander -'

  'You forget, you will be queen, subject to your king. Palatyne!'

  'As queen, I will be subject to no one.' Isolt's eyes blazed. 'For Palatyne will not live long enough to be king. You must find out where he keeps the poison he meant to use on my father. Before the wedding you must slip it into his food while I distract him.'

  'It's in the ring he wears on the little finger of his left hand. The stone lifts off.' Piro fought a surge of panic. It did not worry her that Isolt had ordered her to commit murder. Palatyne deserved to die. Like Cobalt, he was corrupt and nothing would make him whole. What worried her was carrying this off under the Utlander's nose. 'I don't see how I can get the ring off his finger.'

  'Then we must ask Lord Dunstany for some poison of our own,' Isolt whispered. 'Slip it in Palatyne's food.'

  That was when Piro remembered Palatyne owned a unistag horn. Poison would not get past it. They'd have to come up with another idea. Before she could mention this, they reached Isolt's chambers, where they were greeted by three of Duke Palatyne's own warriors, battle-scarred veterans from his time on the spar.

  'You may go. I have my own guards,' Isolt told them.

  'We cannot leave your door, kingsdaughter,' the oldest said. 'The Utlander uncovered a plot to kidnap you and if you are taken we lose our lives.'

  'It is good of the duke to care for my safety.' Isolt caught Piro's eye. 'Seela, bring my dressmaker. I need a new gown for my wedding. The seamstress and her girls will have to sit up all night.'

  If Isolt could not reach Dunstany, Piro could. But, when Piro turned to go, one of the men fell in step with her. Seeing her expression he explained. 'My instructions are not to let you out of my sight, Mistress Seela.'

  Piro hid her dismay. And by the time she had run her errands she had decided not to tell Isolt about the unistag horn. As long as her friend had hope, she would not do something desperate.

  'My spymaster tells me you've brought home a stray, Fyn?' Tyro challenged, as he entered the chamber. Fyn noted that he'd put aside his Lord Dunstany disguise before appearing.

  'Tyro, this is Orrie, he...' Fyn hesitated. How was he to explain? 'He grew up with us.'

  The mage's agent studied Orrade, who had stripped off his disguise and bathed, and was now dressed in borrowed clothes that were too short for him. His clothing might be slightly absurd but his expression was intense.

  Tyro glanced to Fyn. 'But can he be trusted?'

  'I would die for Byren.' Orrade took a step forwards, his voice rich with repressed emotion.

  Tyro was not impressed. 'So you say, but Fyn is asking me to make you privy to secrets that could be the death of us all.'

  Orrade made an impatient gesture. 'What can I say to convince you?'

  'Nothing you say could convince me. Normally the mage would have me test his tools, but...' Tyro studied him. 'I sense you have Affinity, so I can use a shortcut. Lower your walls and let me taste your essence. If it is pure, I'll trust you.'

  Orrade swallowed audibly.

  Fyn shifted. Since when had Orrade had Affinity? But he kept his mouth shut.

  'Very well.' Orrade dropped his arms. 'Do it.'

  Tyro gestured to a chair. 'Sit, otherwise you may fall. Fyn, come hold him.'

  'No one needs to hold me.' Orrade went to the chair and sat down. 'I won't resist.'

  Tyro ignored this and caught Fyn's eye. Following his unspoken instructions, Fyn came around to stand behind the chair, hands resting on Orrade's shoulders.

  He felt the tension in Orrade's muscles and the force of his repressed Affinity. As Tyro approached, Orrade's body tightened further.

  'Who says I can trust you?' Orrade asked, his voice light. At odds, Fyn could tell, with how he really felt.

  The agent hesitated.

  'I jest. Just do it.'

  Tyro placed his fingers on Orrade's temples, much as a monk might do when he searched for Affinity. Fyn felt a rush of awareness. His mouth watered, his eyes stung, his breath felt sharp as winter air in his nostrils. And he recognised Orrade's essence. Byren's friend would die for him because he loved him.

  Naturally, they all loved Byren.

  Tyro stepped back.

  'Satisfied?' Orrade asked, voice bitter.

  'You've chosen a hard path.'

  'We don't choose our paths, they choose us.'

  'Too true.'

  Fyn didn't understand. 'What -'

  The agent turned away. 'Isolt is to be married to Palatyne the day after tomorrow.'

  Fyn cursed. 'Couldn't you... couldn't Lord Dunstany stop it?'

  Tyro glanced to Orrade, then back to Fyn. 'With the king near death, Dunstany has lost power. He tried to delay the wedding but the Utlander stepped in and took over.' Tyro smiled grimly. 'He should have encouraged a quick marriage and then the Utlander would have delayed it just to spite him.'

  Fyn stepped in front of him. 'We must contact the mage to ask his advice. Send one of your Pica birds.'

  'By the time the bird reached him, Isolt would be married,' Tyro said. 'We are on our own.'

  Fyn stared at him.

  'I am the mage's agent and apprentice. He trusts me. You should too.'

  Fyn nodded. But Tyro was not much older than Byren.

  He went to run his hand through his hair and discovered he had none. That's right, he'd had to assume a monk's disguise, at Tyro's suggestion.

  What could he do to save Isolt? Knees weak, Fyn sank into a carved cedar-wood chair beside Orrade. Everything was richly decorated, from the mosaic floor to the gilt and plaster ceiling. But what good was wealth if they did not have the mage to guide them? 'What about King Merofyn? Couldn't Lord Dunstany warn him about Palatyne's plans?'

  'The king barely knew his own daughter. I fear the Utlander has weakened his mind to such an extent that Merofyn will never recover his wits.'

  'Then we have no choice.' Fyn sprang up and prowled the length of the room. He came to the window, which looked up at the palace far above. The wyvern padded after him, her claws scraping on the mosaic floor. She rested her chin on the window sill and whimpered, almost as if she knew Isolt was at the palace. Fyn empathised with the Affinity beast and rubbed behind her horn knobs. The wyvern had nearly died to save Iso
lt. He would do no less.

  A rush of conviction filled him. 'We can't let the marriage go through.'

  'We can't let Palatyne execute Byren, and he will if we make a move against him,' Orrade said. 'That cage -'

  'I already have a copy of the key. That's not the problem.' Tyro crossed to take a chair at the table, opposite Orrade.

  Fyn joined them. 'Freeing Byren isn't enough, Orrie. Palatyne has been feeding the Merofynians a pack of lies. They believe he is their saviour and Byren is a threat.'

  Orrade bristled. 'It's Palatyne who's the ambitious coward, not Byren.'

  Tyro lifted his hands. 'The mage says what is written in history books is only the victor's version of the truth.'

  Orrade laughed. 'I like this mage, already.'

  Tyro looked away.

  The foenix flew over to settle next to Tyro's chair.

  'He misses Piro,' Fyn said.

  The Affinity beast turned his head inquisitively to one side, much as Piro often did.

  Tyro stroked the foenix's neck.

  'Can't you foresee a way to reveal Palatyne's real nature?' Orrade asked Tyro.

  'The past is like a road unfolding behind us, but the future is unwritten. The day of the wedding has solidified as a nexus point, the focus of many possible paths. Piro's Affinity gives her visions at nexus points.' Tyro's fists closed in frustration. 'Palatyne made sure Lord Dunstany can't get near her.'

  Orrade cleared his throat. 'Ah... I get Affinity visions. Mostly they are just flashes of danger that seem to make no sense. They make my head ache so badly I can hardly think.'

  'Any headaches now?' Tyro asked with a half-smile.

  'None.'

  'Then we are lost,' Fyn whispered.

  'Not at all,' Tyro corrected. 'We must force Palatyne to reveal his true self. Fyn, I'll give you the key to Byren's cage. Dress as a player, so you can get close enough to free him. Tell him not to move, until he gets the sign. We'll have sea-hounds throughout the crowd, ready to act.

  'Fyn, your part is crucial. After Palatyne marries Isolt, there will be speeches. Lord Dunstany will speak. When he rises, throw off your disguise to reveal yourself as one of Halcyon's monks, eager for revenge. Attack King Merofyn, but don't kill him. Palatyne will be right beside the king. We need to give people the time to see what Palatyne does. He'll make no attempt to defend Merofyn, because I know for a fact that Palatyne means to kill him. Isolt will spring to her father's defence. Take her captive, Fyn. Threaten, but don't hurt her. Byren can save her from you.

  'This will give Byren a chance to win the people's love, while revealing Palatyne's true nature.'

  Fyn nodded to himself. It seemed like a good plan.

  Orrade cleared his throat. 'In my experience, plans never go the way you expect. There are too many factors beyond our control.'

  'I know,' Tyro conceded. 'We'll have to adapt as things happen. But we must reveal Palatyne's true nature and give Byren a chance to clear his name.'

  'Agreed.' Orrade glanced to Fyn, then back to Tyro. 'What of Fyn? You say his part is crucial. He could be killed.'

  'Lord Dunstany will be there. He'll protect Fyn.'

  'I don't mind taking a risk for Byren,' Fyn insisted. As long as Isolt was safe. He licked his lips. 'But what of the Utland Power-worker and the mystics from Cyena and Mulcibar Abbeys?'

  'They are the factors we have no control over,' Tyro admitted. 'It could get interesting.'

  Orrade laughed. 'That's one way of putting it.'

  Fyn smiled. He'd missed Orrie.

  'Right.' Orrade sat forwards. 'I'll watch Byren's back. Lord Dunstany will watch Fyn's. Who will make sure Piro is safe?'

  'As far as Palatyne knows, Piro is a lowly slave girl,' Tyro said. 'If she keeps her head down, she's safe.'

  Fyn said nothing. Since when could you rely on Piro's discretion?

  It was dusk and Byren's stomach rumbled. It was always rumbling. He was grateful for the food Fyn had slipped him.

  From the insults the townsfolk had hurled at him, he knew Isolt married Palatyne tomorrow, legitimising the ambitious murderer's claim to the Merofynian crown. Meanwhile, Byren hung here in a cage, impotent.

  It was getting dark. Over the wall, he heard the market hawkers offering the last of their wares at bargain prices. The smell of roast chicken carried to Byren, making his stomach cramp painfully.

  'Half a dozen roast potatoes going a begging,' a hawker called, wheeling his barrow into the courtyard.

  'Be off with yer,' the guard nearest the entrance told him.

  'Have one on me and tell me if they're not the tastiest tatties you ever had? Here, I'll top it off with onion and bacon.'

  Several more guards came over, lured by the smell and the offer of free food.

  Byren's stomach tied itself in knots.

  As the potato hawker opened his barrow doors to prepare the guards' food, a figure slipped out from under the barrow.

  Byren recognised Orrade, who darted over, taking advantage of the twilight to shove a couple of hot potatoes into his hands. 'We make our move at the wedding. Be ready.'

  Then he was gone, before Byren could ask if there had been news of Florin. He hoped not, no news was good news. He hugged the potatoes, letting them warm him from the outside, before eating them to warm his innards.

  His heart raced. Tomorrow, they freed him. He was more than ready.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  As Piro woke on the morning of the wedding, a brooding dreamscape faded, leaving her with a sense of menace. If it was a vision, it was hardly useful, since she had woken before she knew the details.

  Untangling her legs from the bedclothes, she padded over to the door to Isolt's chamber. Her thigh muscles trembled as if she had been running all night. That triggered a memory of running in her dreams.

  Opening the door to the next chamber, she checked on Isolt, who lay fast asleep on the silk sheets. Squares of early morning sunlight came through the balcony doors casting patterns across the floor and the bed. Everything looked safe and normal, but Piro knew otherwise.

  She didn't need Tyro to tell her that today was a nexus point and her dream a warning. All day yesterday Isolt had been overrun with officious persons trying to arrange the marriage and coronation. There had been no sign of Lord Dunstany, although Palatyne's guards may have excluded him.

  'What's the matter, Piro?' Isolt asked, sitting up, her cheek creased from the pillow.

  'For someone who's about to marry a man she hates, you look to have slept well!'

  'I'm not going to marry him. And if I do, I'll kill him on our wedding night, before he can touch me. So I'm not worried.'

  Piro studied Isolt. Was she delusional or just desperate? Palatyne could easily overpower her.

  'What's wrong?' Isolt asked.

  'I had a dream,' Piro said.

  'A vision?'

  Piro nodded.

  Isolt patted the bed. 'Come, tell me.'

  Piro climbed onto the high bed. Leaning against the headboard, she set about diverting Isolt. 'Before Palatyne took my father's castle, I was troubled by dreams of wyverns prowling the corridors, terrorising servants and hunting me. This became reality when Palatyne's soldiers did just that. But this time...' And she had a dream flash so vivid, her whole body jerked with fright.

  'What is it?' Isolt reached for her.

  'I had to escape. A grown foenix stepped in front of me.' Piro shuddered. 'It had clever cruel eyes and it hated me. Terror filled me. I couldn't move.'

  Isolt rubbed Piro's arms. 'Your skin's gone cold and clammy.'

  Piro turned to her. 'Don't you see? If the wyverns represent Palatyne, then the foenix represents a threat from Rolencia. That means one of my brothers is a traitor!'

  'No, Piro. I refuse to believe Fyn a traitor. As for -'

  'Byren is the best of brothers. He'd never hurt me or Fyn,' Piro insisted. 'The dream makes no sense. If only I could ask Tyro.'

  'Well, we'll see him soon enough. The w
edding starts at noon.'

  'But we'll be surrounded by courtiers, and the Utlander will be watching.' Just then there was a knock at the door.

  'What is it?' Piro called.

  'Breakfast. Fresh-baked apple tarts and cream, and hot chocolate.'

  Piro slid off the bed, getting to her feet. She struggled to smile. 'Come, kingsdaughter, this is your wedding day, and my last day as your maid. I'll run your bath and scent it with starkiss perfume.'

  Isolt wrinkled her nose. 'Wasted on Palatyne, I fear.' But she called for the servants to enter and set the table.

  Fyn peered into the mirror. After painting his face with the traditional jester's white, he exaggerated his eyes, drawing his eyebrows as big arcs of surprise. Everything was going according to plan, if you ignored the fact that they had only the barest of plans.

  'All set?' Tyro asked, entering the chamber.

  'Yes.' Fyn turned as Orrade came to his feet. He wore unremarkable clothes, so he could blend in the crowd.

  'Where will you be during all this?' Orrade asked Tyro.

  'Hidden, watching.'

  Orrade nodded. 'How will we see your signal?'

  'Fyn will know.' Tyro dropped a large key in Fyn's hand. 'In that costume you'll be able to get close enough to Byren to unlock the cage and slide him this sword.' He drew the weapon from under his robe.

  Orrade took the sword, testing its weight. 'You're a good judge. It feels just like Byren's old sword.' He laughed. 'Byren would say a man makes his own future.'

  Tyro gave him a grim smile. 'And so he will, with a little help from us.'

  Byren tensed as the guards came towards him. They carried buckets of water. Ice-cold, he did not doubt.

  'Come to clean you up for the wedding,' his chief tormentor said. 'Can't have you stinking up Duke Palatyne's coronation.'

  'Be King Palatyne by sunset,' another said. 'And about time too.'

  'Palatyne can't be king while the old king lives,' Byren pointed out, then dredged up his mother's lessons on royal protocol. 'Kingsdaughter Isolt will be regent, and her husband becomes her consort.'

  'Oh, he'll be king soon enough,' one guard said, with an exaggerated wink.