King Breaker

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  He felt the pull on the harness, felt himself turn around so that he was dragged on his back through the sea, with Orrade’s back strapped to his chest.

  A wave engulfed them both. Spluttering, he concentrated on keeping their heads above water.

  The trip back seemed interminable. Then his shoulder collided with the ship’s hull. He was so cold he was barely aware of his back scraping across the barnacles as the sailors hauled them both out of the water up the ship’s side.

  Arms reached for him, dragging them onto the deck.

  His legs shook so much he barely could stand. The sailors cheered and the captain unbuckled the harness. All he could do was grin like a fool. The moment the sailors took Orrade’s weight, his knees gave out.

  Byren sank to the deck, and the captain reached for Byren’s harness.

  ‘See to Orrie. I’m all right.’ It’s what he’d meant to say, but his teeth were chattering so much, he was unintelligible.

  Somehow the captain understood. Byren fumbled free of the rope and harness, then crawled across the deck to his friend. They’d already wrapped Orrade in a blanket, and now they tried to force warmed wine down his throat.

  One of the sailors pressed his ear to Orrade’s chest, listening for a heartbeat.

  ‘Is—’ Byren didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. ‘Can you hear his heart?’

  The man lifted his head. ‘It barely beats.’

  ‘Will he live?’ the cabin boy asked.

  ‘If his heart beats, he’ll live,’ Byren insisted.

  ‘It was a brave thing you did, going after him like that,’ the captain said. He put a hand on Byren’s shoulder. ‘But I’ve seen men like this before. It looks like they’re going to come good, but then they die.’

  ‘He’s going to live.’

  ‘He might, if we take it slow.’ The captain nodded. ‘Try not to warm him too fast.’

  Byren nodded his understanding, then slid his arms under Orrade’s body and drove himself to his feet. He staggered, and one of the sailors steadied him. ‘I need to patch up his chest. I need warm food and more blankets.’

  ‘All prepared in your cabin,’ the captain said.

  Byren sent him a nod of thanks, turned and headed for the reardeck cabins. Orrade’s cold body felt like a dead weight in his arms.

  ‘Your back and shoulders...’ The captain called after him. ‘You were cut to shreds on the ship’s barnacles.’

  Byren ignored him.

  Two shadows passed over the deck, followed by another, and Byren heard the cry of a hunting wyvern. A whirring clatter came from the crow’s nest as the lookout tried to drive off the Affinity beasts. Sailors clasped their amulets, calling on their gods for protection, and the captain bellowed orders to set a new heading.

  Byren entered the cabin to find the brazier burning fiercely. He assumed the air was warm, but he was too cold to tell.

  His knee joints popped as he knelt to place Orrade on the bedroll in front of the brazier. First, he peeled off his own wet breeches then he set to work on Orrade.

  Stitch his wounds. Do what needed to be done. No room for doubts.

  Warm water steamed on the brazier’s hotplate. Byren added wine to it and cleaned Orrade’s wounds. There were two sets of long cuts in his chest where the wyvern had raked him, and there were teeth marks in his shoulder. Byren had served in the mountain patrols since he was fifteen and knew how to deal with Affinity beast wounds. Clean the injury, stitch it, bind it, and hope it didn’t fester.

  ‘Lucky for you, you’re out cold,’ he told Orrade, as he stitched the long wounds across his friend’s chest. ‘These scars’ll impress the girls.’ Realising what he had just said, Byren shook his head. ‘I just don’t get it. All those times we shared the lasses, you never...’ He glanced to Orrade’s pale face, frustration driving him on. ‘You certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself.’ He tied off the last stitch. ‘All those times the girl slipped away and we woke up sleeping naked in the furs...’ There’d been times when they were younger, before the girls... ‘But that was just playing around. Showing off.’

  Byren cleaned Orrade’s shoulder, finding a broken tooth in the deepest wound. ‘Eh, lucky you’re out cold.’ He dug the tooth out and dropped it in the bowl.

  When he bound the wounds, lifting Orrade’s chest to pass the bandages under him, his friend did not react, remaining chill and limp.

  ‘Don’t do this, Orrie. Don’t you dare leave me!’ Byren wanted to shake him. Slap him. Anything to get some reaction. Anything to give him reason to hope.

  Instead, he stretched out and pulled Orrade’s back against his chest, so that they both faced the brazier. ‘Don’t give up.’ Furious, he tugged the furs over them. ‘Don’t you dare give up!’

  But there was no response, just the residual hum of the wyvern’s Affinity. This reassured Byren. If Orrade died, the power would leave his body.

  Byren’s shivers returned as the cold from Orrade’s body seeped deep into his bones. The last time he’d been this cold...

  Was the night he’d escaped the brigands. The ulfr pack had led him to a seep before curling up around him, enveloping him in warmth and predator Affinity.

  The feel of their great bodies nestled around him and the deep, purring sound that came from their chests as they breathed in unison returned to him. He found himself breathing like that now—a soft, deep growl on each exhalation, vibrating in his chest.

  He would not let Orrade die.

  GARZIK WOKE TO find himself stretched out next to Trafyn. The squire had kicked the covers off, and his faded jerkin was damp with sweat. Unaware of Garzik, Trafyn twitched and shifted as though he couldn’t get comfortable, pleading for water.

  Garzik picked up the sack of watered wine. It was almost empty. He offered the squire a drink. Trafyn’s skin was still too hot.

  The squire gulped greedily, then hiccupped and groaned. His gaze cleared for a heartbeat. ‘Where’ve you been? I called out for you, but you didn’t come. You’re the worst servant I’ve ever had. Wait till I tell Father. He’ll...’

  ‘Trafyn?’

  But there was no light of reason in the squire’s face.

  Garzik consideredasking for more of the Utland medicine, but Olbin had made it clear Trafyn was on his own now.

  Leaving the squire on the bunk, feverish and fretful, Garzik went below deck to refill the sack of watered wine and get something to eat. When he returned to the cabin, he found the squire lucid for the moment.

  Trafyn’s frowned. ‘I’m sick, and it’s all your fault.’

  Garzik almost preferred him delirious. He helped him lift his head. ‘Here, sip this.’

  Trafyn swallowed then frowned. ‘This is watered wine. I need dreamless-sleep. My old nurse used to give me dreamless-sleep in honeyed milk when I was sick.’

  ‘You were lucky to get the herbal drink the Utlanders gave you last night. Slaves are usually ignored and left to live or die.’

  Trafyn gulped another mouthful then sank back. ‘Everything aches.’

  ‘Get better. We’re sailing for Port Mero. When we’re close to shore, we’re going to slip overboard and swim for it.’

  ‘But my father will pay—’

  ‘The Utlanders don’t want your father’s gold. Besides, they wouldn’t live long enough to collect it. No, our best bet is to go over the side. So you need to get well.’ He picked up the plate of beans. ‘Are you hungry?’

  No answer. Trafyn had fallen asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  FLORIN ACCEPTED THE breakfast tray and returned to Varuska. There was enough food—berries and cream, fresh bread and mushrooms cooked in butter—for both of them, even if the mushrooms were a little cold by the time the tray reached their chamber.

  They sat on the window seat to eat.

  ‘Whipped cream, strawberries and blueberries,’ Varuska marvelled. ‘I like this part of being a kingsdaughter.’ She frowned. ‘How did they get the berries to ripen? It isn’
t even summer’s cusp yet.’

  ‘Gardens under glass, warmed by Halcyon’s bounty.’ Byren had told her how the water was piped up from the hot spring far below the castle. Such luxury. ‘Even with all of this, I wouldn’t swap my life for that of a kingsdaughter.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I was just saying.’ Varuska clearly felt she had to justify herself. ‘Many’s the time we went hungry waiting for the first crops to ripen.’

  ‘I know. My mother was a mountain girl.’ That’s what Byren had called her: Mountain Girl. Now he would never tease her again. Anger and sorrow made it impossible for her to eat. ‘I’ll put the tray out in the hall. Time to get dressed.’

  It was a process fraught with frustration and giggles as neither of them was used to grand clothes. There were embroidered breeches, a chemise and two underskirts before the gown went over the top.

  ‘Why would anyone wear breeches under a skirt?’ Varuska marvelled.

  Florin shrugged. All the while, she listened for shouts in the courtyard below, or running steps in the corridor outside. If Anatoley was discovered and Florin’s role in her escape revealed, Cobalt would not hesitate to order her execution. Not by so much as a blink did she betray the fear churning in her stomach. Instead, she dropped the second petticoat over Varuska’s head and tugged on the drawstring to tighten it. The girl pulled her waist-length hair out of the way. A shout from the courtyard made Florin tense.

  ‘What is it?’ Varuska whispered.

  Florin went to the window. A carter making a delivery had spilled his load, blocking the courtyard entrance. She let out her breath. ‘It’s nothing.’ Florin returned her attention to Varuska. The girl looked flushed and pretty, but her hair was a mess. ‘We have to do something about your hair.’

  Varuska fiddled with the drawstring on her borrowed chemise a moment, then looked up. ‘Do you think if I promised to tell no one, Lord Cobalt would let me go?’

  ‘Varuska!’ Florin took her by the shoulders. In some ways, this girl seemed younger than Piro. The kingsdaughter had been raised in court and knew that power could bring out the worst in people. Florin held Varuska’s eyes. ‘Whatever you do, don’t mention this again, and keep your voice down.’

  ‘Why? Why are you so scared? What aren’t you telling me?’ She gestured to the chamber door. ‘Do you really think someone is listening?’

  Florin shrugged. ‘There’s a man-at-arms standing just on the other side of that door. He’s as much your guard as your protector. These are not good people, Var—Piro. I must call you that all the time now, or I’ll slip up when it matters.’

  Varuska’s eyes widened and Florin felt a shiver of fear run through her body. Florin hugged the younger girl, whispering in her ear. ‘We must bide our time and go along with this charade for the time being. Then, when they drop their guard—’

  ‘We escape!’

  Then she killed Cobalt. The plan had never been to escape, but now... Florin frowned. Varuska looked to her with such trust, yet Florin was only five years older and almost as new to castle politics.

  Florin reached for the over-gown, the same one Varuska had worn last night. She hesitated. Would a kingsdaughter wear this gown now? Perhaps it was only suitable for evening feasts?

  Someone rapped on the door.

  Varuska jumped.

  Florin signalled for her to sit and handed her a hair brush. ‘Do your hair. Never show fear.’

  Varuska nodded and Florin went to the door.

  Cobalt’s manservant, Amil, swept in, carrying a grand gown and a small lacquered box. He draped the gown over a chair and opened the box on the bed to reveal jewellery, scent bottles, powders and face paints—all things alien to Florin’s life. What made them think she would be a good lady’s maid?

  ‘His lordship is taking his betrothed for a carriage ride through Rolenhold today,’ Amil announced, then frowned. ‘Don’t brush your hair like that, girl, you’ll flatten the curl. Ah, I see I’ll have to curl it again.’ He took the brush from her and snapped his fingers at Florin. ‘Come here.’

  She stepped up behind him, thinking a knife through the ribs would shut him up. He might be one of Ostron Isle’s renowned assassins, but he wasn’t on his guard right now. ‘It’s Leif.’

  ‘Leif? A barbaric name...’ Amil looked her up and down. ‘Still, my lord thinks you can be trained, so watch.’ He separated Varuska’s hair into long sections, wound them around a hot iron, then counted to ten. ‘You unravel the hair gently so the curl doesn’t come out while the hair is still warm.’ He finished a third ringlet. ‘Think you can do this?’

  Florin nodded.

  ‘Take over.’ He pulled Varuska to her feet and eased the new gown over her head, giving it a tug to settle it into place. This one was a deep plum red, trimmed with seed-pearls.

  As Florin curled Varuska’s hair, Amil pulled the lacings tight under her breasts.

  ‘You will be seated in an open carriage,’ he told Varuska. ‘You will smile and wave.’

  Varuska nodded.

  ‘Good.’ He sat her down, pushed Florin aside and began pinning up Varuska’s hair. ‘Here and here, see. Now the cap with the pearl netting. It sits just so. A maiden’s cap.’ He darted around to the front and selected a bottle of Ostronite myrrh. ‘One dab here, between the breasts.’ His hands were business-like. ‘Another behind each ear. More is vulgar, you understand?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘Now the features. Such a pretty face.’ But his eyes held only consideration. ‘A little kohl on the lids... What?’

  Florin had been about to say that Piro never bothered to paint her face, but Florin should not have known this, so she asked, ‘How do you avoid smudges?’

  ‘A steady hand and an artist’s eye.’ He mixed oil with the kohl and began to apply it with a small brush. As Florin watched him elongate Varuska’s tilted black eyes, she had to admit he had a flair for it. ‘Now the lip paint, deep red to match the gown.’ He handed the girl a small pot. ‘You need to take this with you. If his lordship kisses you, you’ll have to re-apply it.’

  Varuska looked like a trapped, frightened bird.

  ‘I should go with her,’ Florin offered, fearing the girl might panic.

  Amil considered then sighed. ‘Wait here.’ He darted out.

  Varuska peered at herself in a polished glass. ‘I look odd.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘My lips feel funny, like I can’t talk without worrying about smudging them. How do women do this?’

  Florin had no idea. ‘You smile. You look pretty and vulnerable, and you never give them reason to look past your face. Men always underestimate pretty girls.’ And they ignored plain ones, which suited her.

  Varuska nodded. ‘Anatoley would have been better at this.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Florin conceded. ‘But you’re the one who looks most like Piro.’ In fact, now that she thought about it, Varuska was more classically beautiful than Piro. The real kingsdaughter had a sharper chin, and her mouth was larger. But only someone who saw the two side by side would notice.

  ‘Wear this, Leif.’ Amil returned carrying a man-servant’s thigh-length tabard, decorated with gold brocade. ‘If we are to accompany his lordship in public, we must add to his magnificence.’

  Varuska covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

  Amil ignored her. He wore the same style of tabard but Florin noticed, as he leant forward, that there was a knife strapped to his upper thigh.

  She turned her back, removed her simple tabard and dropped the fancy new one over her head. Then she tugged her plait free and settled the male servant’s skullcap in place. ‘Ready.’

  Amil looked her up and down. ‘As you’ll ever be.’ Florin ignored the jibe.

  The Ostronite assassin offered Varuska his arm. ‘Come, kingsdaughter.’

  Varuska went to take it as a country girl would, then remembered and placed her arm along his.

  ‘Good girl.’ His voice held appr
oval, but Florin knew he would slit her throat without hesitation on Cobalt’s orders. ‘We’ll make a kingsdaughter of you yet.’

  They found the lord at the top of the stairs, deep in conversation with the castle-keep. She was accompanied by a youth, who Florin assumed was her new assistant. He looked overwhelmed. She had probably worn the same expression yesterday herself. When his gaze fell on the false Piro, he gave a little start of surprise.

  Had he known the real Piro? Florin tensed, expecting him to denounce Varuska, but he stared at her as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Florin took another look. With the seed pearls gleaming in her dark hair, the red gown contrasting with her pale skin, her eyes enhanced by the kohl and her painted lips, Varuska was enough to turn any man’s head.

  The castle-keep looked Florin up and down. ‘A day ago you were begging for work. Now look at you in your fine feathers. Mark my words, Leif, fail his lordship and you’ll be out on the street just as quickly.’

  Fail his lordship and she’d be dead. But Florin bowed and said, ‘I live to serve.’

  Yegora sniffed and bustled off, with the youth in tow. Meanwhile, Cobalt turned and held out his arm to Varuska.

  ‘Little Piro, how lovely you look.’ He leant down to place a chaste kiss on each cheek. ‘Cold, my dear?’ Lifting her hand to his mouth, he breathed warm air over her fingers and pressed her palm to his chest. ‘Do not fear. The people will be delighted to see you’ve escaped the Merofynian invasion. My servants tell me commoners have been gathering in the square since dawn, in the hope of catching a glimpse of you.’

  With that, they descended the stairs. Servants clustered at every balcony and in every doorway, whispering, pointing and marvelling. One youth was bold enough to cheer, setting them all off. Excited cheering followed the royal party out into the courtyard, where the stable hands waited to catch a glimpse of the kingsdaughter. Florin spotted the tall, skinny boy who’d been hired at the same time as Varuska and her sister. Her stomach clenched with fear, but he gazed on the false Piro with the same adoration as the rest of the stable lads.