Her mother's distracted gaze drifted across the carriage as if she was seeing something beyond its panelled walls.
'Why can't I go?' Piro insisted. 'I would love to see a leogryf. I'd be no trouble.'
The queen blinked.
Piro frowned. What was wrong with her mother? By now she should be lecturing her on the proper behaviour for a kingsdaughter.
It was that renegade Power-worker.
Startled and dismayed, Piro slid off her seat, dropping to her knees on the floor of the carriage and taking her mother's hands in hers to offer comfort. 'Don't worry, Mother, that… that…'
But she could not do it. She could not form the words to speak of the old seer.
The queen's luminous, obsidian eyes focused on Piro. A sense of imminence filled Piro and her heart quickened.
'That…' her mother stumbled then, as she forged on, Piro felt a shiver of relief. 'That seer!'
'Yes!' Piro nodded. 'She pretended to be a seer but she had no idea. Everything she said was wrong.'
Distress tightened her mother's features. The queen's lips worked and her chin trembled as if she was holding back tears or fury.
'What is it?' Piro whispered, empathy making her skin prickle. She felt as if her mother was about to reveal something vitally important.
The queen pressed her fingers to her mouth, took a shuddering breath then shook her head. She tucked a strand of hair behind Piro's ear. 'It's nothing.'
But it wasn't. Piro pulled back to sit on her seat. Something the old seer had said had disturbed her mother deeply.
Surely nothing could threaten Rolencia, not while her father held the kingdom together. At nearly fifty he was getting old, but in Lence and Byren he had strong warriors to defend Rolencia from beasts, spar warlords and Utland raiders.
It was probably the part about loved ones dying that worried her mother. After all, anyone could fall from a horse and break their neck like poor Uncle Sefon had, or catch a cold that went to the chest. And Lence and Byren were always facing danger. If their ongoing joke about who was due to save the other's life could be believed, they could have died a dozen times these last five years.
An image came to Piro, a body in the snow. In her mind's eye she dropped to her knees turning the body over, fearing the worst. But it was not Byren or Lence. It was Fyn.
She almost retched.
Stop it, she told herself. Fyn is safe with Halcyon's monks. It would break her heart if anything happened to any of her brothers but, despite the time he had spent at the abbey, she was closest to Fyn.
That image had to be the product of her over active imagination. She was not a seer — her growing Affinity had shown no sign of developing in that direction. Thank the goddess!
Suddenly afraid she'd betrayed herself, Piro focused on her mother. The queen stared distractedly out the window as the carriage climbed the steep road that repeatedly turned back on itself before reaching the gates of Rolenhold. Good, her mother hadn't noticed.
As if sensing her scrutiny, the queen met her eyes.
'Why do you look so worried, Piro?' she asked. 'Is something wrong?'
'What? No.' Piro looked down, adjusting the blanket over her knees. If she admitted her unwanted Affinity her parents would have to gift her to Sylion abbey. She'd be shut up with hundreds of other women, forced to worship the cold god of winter when she loved the sun and laughter. 'Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all.'
That seer was mistaken, Piro told herself. She must have been wrong about everything else because she was wrong about me being like Mother!
'We're home.' The queen sounded relieved.
Piro looked up at the castle's steep walls. Its domes and towers gleamed in the winter sun but instead of feeling a sense of homecoming, she fought a sense of entrapment. Piro put it down to wanting to hunt the leogryf, rather than sit and study.
Why couldn't her life be simple, like Byren's?
Chapter Five
Byren rode into Rolenhold's stable courtyard on a borrowed horse. With everyone about to leave to hunt the leogryf, he had to grab his father and explain Orrade's disinheritance. He stood in the stirrups. Where was King Rolen?
There, speaking with Captain Temor and Lence on the far side of the courtyard. Good.
'Come on, Orrie. Now's the best time.' Byren swung his leg over the mare and dropped to the cobbles. Orrade and Garzik followed suit. They were right behind him as he approached his father.
A group of new arrivals rode in between them, six or seven men on horseback, followed by a wagon-load of servants and belongings. They were led by a handsome man whose grim, rigid features seemed vaguely familiar. He rode one-handed, the other arm caught in a sling. His warriors wore the vivid blue surcoat of the Cobalt estate, with the coat of arms emblazoned on their chests. In the lower corner was the original Cobalt House symbol, the silver dalfino, a winged, warm-blooded fish. In the upper corner was the inverted crown, added when King Byren the Fourth's bastard married into Cobalt House.
'You, sir.' The injured man fixed on Byren, who stood a head taller than everyone else. He spoke Rolencian with a slight accent and his voice carried despite the din in the courtyard. 'Direct me to the king.'
'Who wants me?' King Rolen turned.
Orrade leant close to Byren to mutter in his ear. 'Who is that? I feel I should know him.'
The man dismounted gracefully, handing his reins to Byren, who accepted them without protest. Dressed in his stained travelling clothes Byren could easily be mistaken for one of his father's men-at-arms. Lence sent him a rueful look, one corner of his mouth lifting. Byren grinned and beckoned a stunned stable boy, who ran over and took the reins, apologising profusely. All around them the new arrivals were dismounting and handing over their reins as the stable lads took the horses away.
The general hubbub died down and everyone gathered to hear what the stranger had to say.
'King Rolen.' Even with one arm in a sling, the man managed to give an elaborate bow, reminding Byren of the Ostronite ambassador. That helped him place the accent. One thing was certain, the mannered style of clothes the stranger affected would not catch on at court. You'd never see Byren wearing a coat with shoulder pads, a nipped-in waist and lace at the cuffs and throat.
'My king.' The injured man straightened up, standing almost as tall as King Rolen. That was when Byren saw the resemblance. 'I have come to swear fealty and to demand justice.'
'Justice?' the king repeated with a frown, then it cleared. 'Why, you're young Illien, Spurnan's boy!'
His cousin, Illien? Byren stiffened. Illien's father, Spurnan, was King Byren the Fourth's bastard son by a travelling minstrel he'd bedded when he was only sixteen. The boy had been fostered out to Lord Cobalt, who'd married him to his daughter. After the old lord died, King Byren's bastard had inherited the Cobalt title and estates. Had he been legitimate, Spurnan would have been king, not Rolen, which would have made Illien kingsheir, not Lence. It had never meant anything to Byren when he was a boy. He'd adored Illien because, in those days, his cousin was everything a warrior should have been.
Now Byren studied Illien's face, trying to find the youth he used to admire in this elegant foppish man. He'd been seven and Illien twenty-two, when the old Lord Cobalt had sent Illien to Ostron Isle. There'd been an argument, something the adults never mentioned in front of the seven-year-old twins. As far as Byren knew Illien and his father had not reconciled.
'Weren't you living on Ostron Isle these thirteen years?' King Rolen asked, although their ambassador to Ostron Isle would have kept him informed.
'Yes,' Illien said, unabashed by the reference to the argument with his father. 'I've been serving my family's interests on Ostron Isle but, just this last summer, I swallowed my pride and contacted father because I was marrying into one of the great Ostronite merchant families and I wanted his blessing. Five days ago, I came home so that he could meet my bride when…' His voice wavered and he shook his head, face flushing with deep emotion, unable to
go on.
Byren's throat tightened in sympathy.
'Raiders, my king,' a grizzled warrior in Cobalt-blue explained, one hand going to the injured man's shoulder. 'Old Lord Cobalt came to meet my master's ship when — '
'Raiders attacked us!' Illien ground out.
'Utland raiders dared to sail into the Lesser Sea?' King Rolen demanded. 'They haven't done that for twenty years!'
'Is that how you were injured, lad?' Captain Temor nodded to the sling.
'Yes, captain. And I am Lord Cobalt now.' He gave the slightest of bows, a dip of the head as befitted a lord addressing an old and respected man-at-arms. 'My father is dead.'
'Spurnan's dead?' King Rolen muttered. He stared hard into the middle distance, then shook himself. 'That leaves only the Old Dove.'
Garrade of Dovecote and Spurnan of Cobalt had stood by Byren's father, when he had come into the kingship. He'd only been eighteen and it had looked like Merofynia would crush Rolencia, which was still reeling from the attempt by the Servants of Palos to usurp the throne in Spurnan's name. The bastard had sworn he was not involved and his subsequent support of Rolen had proven his loyalty.
'This is bad news, indeed,' King Rolen said.
'Worse still, my bride…' Illien of Cobalt could not go on.
'Dead?' King Rolen whispered.
Cobalt nodded.
The thought of Elina in the hands of Utland raiders made Byren's heart thunder. He ached for action.
Lence stepped forwards. 'I'll lead a punitive attack on the Utlanders.'
The men around him cheered and Byren's heart lifted as Lence turned to Illien to assure him that his bride and father would be avenged. King Rolen smiled with pride and waited for the cheering to die down.
Byren had heard the stories of how his father spent the first seven years of his reign ensuring the safety of the kingdom by leading punitive raids against the savage Utlanders. There were four large clusters of islands and many small scattered ones.
'But which Utlanders?' Byren asked, turning to the new Lord Cobalt. 'Which Utlanders attacked Port Cobalt, Illien?'
Cobalt frowned at him.
'You remember Byren,' King Rolen said. 'He and Lence used to give you no peace.'
A smile lightened Cobalt's expression but only briefly. 'Which Utlanders?' He ran a hand through his long black curls. 'I don't know. It was dark, the fires, the screaming…' He fixed on Byren. 'I didn't stop to ask their names and affiliations, I was fighting for my life!'
'Of course.' Lence glared at Byren.
Byren nodded. 'But there are many Utland isles, we could attack innocent — '
'It doesn't matter which Utland isle sent the raiders,' King Rolen decided. 'All that matters is that we teach them the Greater and Lesser Seas are out of bounds.'
Lence nodded. 'If we set off now — '
'You'll miss the midwinter ceremony and insult Halcyon,' Captain Temor interrupted gently.
Their father nodded. 'Better to go after spring cusp when the seas are not so dangerous. That gives me time to call for ships and captains, get the support of the warlords. If we sail out in strength we can deal these Utlanders such a blow they'll crawl back to their hovels and not come out for another twenty years!'
Everyone cheered.
But Byren couldn't put his heart into it. From what he'd heard it was hard enough to claw a living from the Utlands at the best of times. If Lence's ships burnt innocent Utlanders' homes and food stores they would starve before their crops could be harvested the next autumn.
At the same time, if the Utland raiders had united under a charismatic leader they could cripple Rolencia's sea trade, the very trade that had bought them so much prosperity these last two decades.
'…go with Lence and Byren?' his father was saying to Cobalt. Captain Temor had moved off, leaving the king alone with his sons and nephew. 'Of course you're welcome to hunt the leogryf, Illien, but — '
'The arm? I cannot fire a bow or throw a spear. Still, I would be honoured.' Cobalt glanced to Lence. 'That's if you can think an injured man won't slow you down?'
Lence straightened. 'You'll always be welcome, Illien.'
A smiled tugged at Cobalt's mouth but his eyes remained shadowed. He stepped aside to give directions to his men-at-arms.
'Fancy seeing Illien again,' Lence muttered. 'Say, Byren, d'you remember the time he let us sit astride his stallion?'
Byren grinned. 'We were only six. Our feet couldn't reach the stirrups.'
'What, you rode Black Thunder?' their father demanded, then chuckled. 'Eh, I'm glad I didn't know. It's good to have him back, though I wish it could have been under better circumstances. At least Illien and his father made up their differences before he died.'
That reminded Byren. 'Father, there's something I must — '
'My father has disinherited me, King Rolen,' Orrade interrupted.
'What?' The king looked startled, then inclined to laugh. 'Always said the Old Dove's temper would get the better of him one day. I felt the hard edge of his tongue often enough when I was a lad. Don't worry, Orrie, he'll come 'round. Spurnan did.'
'What did you do that was so bad, Orrie, forget to give Halcyon her due last Feast Day?' Lence teased.
Orrade shook his head. 'It's not — '
'Not something to be laughed at,' Cobalt said, rejoining them. He acknowledged Orrade with a nod. 'If I had not been such a hot-headed youth, my father and I would have reconciled years ago. I should have admitted I was wrong but I was too proud.' He broke off, frowning at Orrade. 'Swallow your pride, lad.'
Orrade shook his head. 'It's not that simple.'
Lence frowned. 'Why did he disinherit you, Orrie?'
'That is between my father and I, kingsheir.' Orrade retreated into formality.
Byren watched his twin stiffen. Young Garzik went to say something in Orrade's defence, but Byren elbowed him.
'King Rolen, I've come to offer my sword in your service,' Orrade said, dropping to one knee and drawing his sword, a serviceable one he'd taken from the estate's armoury, not the blade which had been wielded by lords of Dovecote for over three hundred years. He offered the weapon, blade across his open palms. 'Please accept — '
But the king was already shaking his head. 'Your father will change his mind, wait and see.'
Orrade remained on his knees. 'Not this time, King Rolen. I am without land or allegiance. Please accept me.'
As Byren watched his father wrestle with this, he saw the larger ramifications. King Rolen did not want to offend the old lord, who had been his staunchest ally.
The silence stretched uncomfortably.
'A man has to live or die by his word of honour,' Cobalt said softly. 'I know what it's like. Go to your father, apologise and — '
'Impossible,' Orrade cut him off, eyes on King Rolen.
Cobalt looked grim. Lence glanced from him to the king.
'Orrade nearly died trying to save me,' Byren spoke up. 'I would trust him with my life.'
'Then have him in your honour guard,' Lence snapped.
'That's it!' King Rolen muttered, relieved. 'You twins are old enough to form your own honour guards. Let Orrade serve the kingsheir.'
He strode off leaving Orrade on his knees.
'I'm sorry.' Lence stood over Orrade, whose lowered, bandaged head hid his expression. 'But a king must trust his men implicitly. Mend the break with your father and all will be well, Orrie.'
He turned and walked off, with their cousin falling into step beside him. Cobalt's voice carried back to Byren. 'Your father's right. What are you now? Twenty? A kingsheir should have his own honour guard — '
'We ride in half an hour!' the hunt-master shouted. Immediately, the level of noise in the stables doubled.
On his knees, Orrade shuffled until he faced Byren. 'I offer my fealty, Byren Kingson.'
Byren was both embarrassed and annoyed. His first impulse was to tell Orrade to get up, but he understood that to preserve his dignity, his friend
had to complete the ritual of service given and received. 'I accept your fealty, Orrade Dovecotesheir. Now, get on your feet. We ride in — '
'Not Dovecotesheir,' Orrade corrected as he sheathed his sword, rising to confront Byren, his face flushed and his eyes glassy. 'I have no name other than my given name.'
Byren realised he had unwittingly rubbed salt in Orrade's wounded pride. 'Then I'll give you another. Orrade Byrensman.'
Orrade's eyes glittered with unshed tears. His mouth opened but Byren did not want to hear what he was about to say.
'Can I join your honour guard too, Byren?' Garzik shoved between them. 'Can we have our own surcoats with our own symbol like King Rolen's honour guard? Can we — '
Byren laughed. 'Enough, Garza, run to the kitchen, fetch food for us.'
Eager as a puppy, he darted off, dodging the castle youths, the hunt-master's apprentices and the castle's Affinity warders, who were checking their supplies. Naturally both Sylion and Halcyon's warders insisted on accompanying them, neither wanted the other to gain an advantage. It was annoying because young Nun Springdawn would insist on having her own snow-cave and Monk Autumnwind was growing frail.
'Thank you, Byren,' Orrade whispered, recalling him to the present.
Byren shrugged. 'I'm sorry about Lence, Orrie. For him everything is black and white, always has been.'
'True, but this time he's right,' Orrade admitted. 'If you can't take a man at his word, he's worthless.'
He went to move away, but Byren caught his arm. 'Actions speak louder than words. Spurnan proved that when he supported father against the very men who would have put him on the throne.'
But nothing could lessen the bleak gleam in his friend's tilted black eyes.
Byren glanced at Lence, who was checking his saddle girth, with Cobalt at his side. Between them, half a dozen youthful warriors, sons of the great lords and merchants, clamoured to join the kingsheir's honour guard. Byren knew a moment's jealousy. He should be there with Lence, sharing in this moment as they planned their honour guards.
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