The Merofynian invasion had impoverished Rolencian nobles and merchants alike, but they would be rich again. The vicomtissa was deep in negotiations, arranging loans so that the nobles and merchants could restock. Florin found it fascinating to watch a woman who looked like someone’s elderly aunt drive hard men to their knees as she bargained. She had never seen lords and markizes defer to a woman before.
She’d been moving in the wrong circles.
Meanwhile, Cobalt was deep in conversation with the new markiz and the abbot, leaving Varuska to her own devices.
The girl tugged on Florin’s arm. ‘Can I go now?’
Florin glanced around. No one appeared to be listening to the minstrel. The feasters chattered on, their tongues loosened by rich red wine. There was so much smoke from the many scented candles that Florin doubted if the people at the far end could even see the rest of the royal table. Would anyone notice if they left?
She tapped Amil’s shoulder. ‘Piro is tired. I’ll escort her up to bed.’
He leaned forward to whisper to Cobalt, who bid Varuska a fond good night. Turning back to his companions, he made a comment about her sleeping now because she wouldn’t get much once they were married. This roused the kind of vile male laughter that made Florin want to punch someone.
Varuska glanced to Florin. Clearly, the thought of marrying Cobalt terrified her.
Florin helped the girl to her feet. ‘Hide your true feelings.’
Varuska nodded. Florin had seen that pinched expression on other women’s faces. For every woman who single-handedly ran a castle or merchant house, there were a dozen men ready to teach her her place. Florin grimaced. Back when she served alongside Byren’s honour guard, she’d had trouble with Winterfall. On more than one occasion, he’d tried to slide his hands into places they didn’t belong, and when she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested, he’d turned nasty.
While the guests chattered on oblivious, Florin led Varuska down to the end of the table.
They’d just reached the steps of the royal dais, when Varuska hesitated. ‘I can’t do this, Leif. The thought of his hands on me—’
‘Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter,’ an old woman called as she hobbled towards them. Her white hair was bound up in a bun and she wore a widow’s gown.
Florin felt Varuska tremble with fear.
‘Just as I thought.’ The old woman looked Varuska up and down, her top lip curling with contempt. ‘This girl is not Piro.’ She gestured to the guests on the royal dais, inviting them to look. ‘Are you all blind?’
The closest guests had fallen silent, but others further back chattered on.
‘I held Piro when she was born.’ The aged voice cracked with emotion. ‘I saw her take her first step. I loved her as my own...’
‘Seela?’ Florin hadn’t seen Byren’s old nurse since she’d left the hidden mountain camp. Seela had aged so much that Florin barely recognised her.
‘Who?’ Varuska breathed.
‘Piro’s old nurse,’ Florin whispered. ‘She came from Merofynia with Queen Myrella.’
Varuska tried to take a step back, but Florin stopped her.
‘Are you blind?’ Seela repeated, voice carrying.
The musicians missed the beat and the singer faltered before falling silent. Everyone turned to look at Varuska and Florin, and the frail old woman who confronted them.
‘What is this?’ Cobalt asked, rising to his feet.
‘If you admit the truth, we’re both dead,’ Florin whispered in Varuska’s ear. ‘Go hug Seela. Claim her sight is going. She’s gotten so frail and thin, perhaps it has. You—’
‘What’s going on?’ Cobalt demanded.
Florin glanced over her shoulder. Amil was already moving. She prodded Varuska.
‘S-Seela? Is that you?’ The girl’s hesitation sounded natural, although Florin knew it sprang from terror. ‘You’ve grown so thin, I hardly knew you.’
The old woman blinked, shocked.
‘Run to her,’ Florin urged. ‘Piro is impetuous.’
Lifting her skirts, Varuska ran down the three steps and across the floor, to throw her arms around Piro’s old nurse.
By the time Florin reached them, Seela had pulled out of the embrace. She drew breath to speak, then recognised Florin and a flash of understanding passed over the old nurse’s face. Her manner changed instantly.
She caught Varuska’s face in her hands. ‘Is it really you?’ Seela searched the imposter’s face. ‘It is you. My dear, sweet Piro.’ The nurse pulled her into another hug. ‘They told you me you were dead, but I never believed it. Never!’
Varuska wept with relief.
‘Ah, Seela,’ Cobalt said, striding over to join them. ‘I did not recognise you at first.’ He gave her a hard look, his black eyes glittering as his hand settled possessively on Varuska’s shoulder. ‘See how our little Piro has grown. We are to be wed—’ He broke off, then smiled, although it never reached his eyes. ‘You are all the family she has left. Now that you are here, why wait for midsummer? We will marry on the first day of summer.’
Florin saw Varuska’s mouth open in dismay.
‘How exciting!’ Seela said quickly. ‘Everyone loves a wedding, especially a royal wedding. But it’s customary for girls to wait until they are fifteen to marry.’
‘Customary, but not obligatory,’ Cobalt said smoothly. ‘And we need to unite Rolencia. I’ve already spoken with Abbot Firefox. He’ll give us special dispensation. He understands that our marriage will heal the kingdom and herald a new age of peace and prosperity.’
‘In that case...’ Seela slid her arm around Varuska’s shoulders, drawing her away from Cobalt. ‘Come, child, let’s go find your mother’s wedding gown. We must see if it needs altering.’ She gave Cobalt the quick obeisance of an old retainer. ‘With your permission.’
‘Yes, go.’ But first he planted an affectionate kiss on Varuska’s cheek.
The girl went white at his touch and Seela swept her off.
As Florin went to follow, Cobalt caught her arm. ‘Watch the old woman. She may just want her cosy life back, but I don’t trust her. Report to Amil.’
Florin nodded. Contempt filled her. She would never sell out her friends for the favour of a powerful man. She caught up with Varuska and Seela, who maintained a stream of inconsequential chatter as they headed up the steps to Piro’s chambers, where the guard nodded and opened the door for them.
Once inside, Seela lifted a finger to her lips, still rattling on. ‘Now, let me hear you play your dolcimela, Piro. Have you been keeping up your lessons?’ She removed the stringed instrument from a chest and, after checking that it was in tune, began to play a child’s nursery song.
Under cover of the music, she beckoned Varuska and Florin to the window seat.
‘Well, Florin?’ Seela’s face might be seamed with age, but her mind was sharp as ever. Her fingers did not miss a note.
‘Florin?’ Varuska repeated. She glanced from Florin to the old nurse. ‘How does a mountain girl know the royal nurse? How did you know that Piro was impetuous? What lies have you told me, Leif?’
Florin marshalled her thoughts and began to explain. Telling how she came to be serving the false Piro meant revealing her plan to assassinate Cobalt. She would have to somehow assure Varuska that she would not be harmed.
‘You’re going to kill Cobalt?’ Varuska asked, torn between hope and terror.
‘I knew you were up to something.’ Seela nodded. ‘You’ll need my help.’
Florin felt a surge of relief. The old nurse was familiar with every twist and turn of the castle, and she’d had a lifetime’s observation of royal politics.
‘I’m not a willing imposter,’ Varuska told Seela, even though Florin had already made this clear. She plucked at the fancy gown. ‘I never wanted this. I tried to run, but—’
‘I found her and brought her back,’ Florin confirmed. ‘She wouldn’t have gotten out of the castle alive. As it was, I nearly didn’t save
her sister.’
‘What?’ Varuska jumped to her feet. ‘What happened to Anatoley?’
‘Nothing. Your sister’s safe, she escaped the castle. But I wasn’t quick enough to save old Mirona. Cobalt’s men got to her first. Death is the best way to ensure silence. That’s why you must tread carefully, Varuska. Our lives depend on you.’
The girl lifted her fingers to her mouth. ‘I can’t do this. I feel sick all the time.’
‘It will be over soon.’ Seela stopped playing the dolcimela long enough to give the girl’s trembling hands a squeeze. ‘We’ll work out a plan.’
‘I’m not marrying him,’ Varuska told Florin. ‘I’m not marrying him just so you can get close enough to kill him.’
‘Would you marry him if he never made it to your bed?’ Seela asked. ‘The wedding night would be the perfect opportunity to kill him. What man doesn’t let down his guard and take wine on his wedding day?’
‘I won’t put Varuska’s life at risk,’ Florin said.
‘Knowing Cobalt, he’ll want to surround his marriage with pomp and pageantry,’ Seela said, eyes bright. ‘We could suggest the wedding take place in the town square, like King Rolen and Myrella’s. If it is held outside the castle, it’ll be easier to escape.’
Florin felt hopeful. ‘You’ll have to get cosy with the castle-keep, Seela. Yegora rules this place, and she thinks Cobalt can do no wrong.’
‘I can deal with her.’
‘Oh, and another thing,’ Florin said. ‘Cobalt’s manservant, Amil, is a corax.’
‘An assassin?’ Varuska gasped. ‘But... but he wears perfume and curls his hair.’
Florin laughed. She couldn’t help it.
Seela stopped playing and nudged Varuska. ‘Laugh. Laugh loudly. This is a happy day. We want the guard to tell Cobalt his betrothed laughed with joy while planning her wedding.’
Somehow Varuska summoned a laugh, and Florin laughed along with her. Soon Varuska’s laughter turned to sobs. Seela sent Florin to tell the guard to fetch hot water for a bath.
When Florin came back, the old nurse’s worried eyes sought her. So much rested on Varuska. If she faltered...
The girl caught them. ‘I won’t let you down.’ She wiped her flushed cheeks. ‘But I do wish I’d never come to the castle looking for work.’
‘Well, you did, so we have to make the best of it,’ Seela told her. ‘Count yourself lucky, for if we hadn’t come along, Cobalt would probably have gotten rid of you after you delivered him an heir. Many’s the woman who’s conveniently died of child-bed fever. For now, all you have to do is to play along until the wedding day.’
‘He has such sharp eyes. What if he suspects?’ Varuska objected. ‘I’m not a fair-ground player.’
‘You’re a pretty girl. Smile and act simple,’ Seela said. ‘Most men don’t look beyond a pretty girl’s face. Meanwhile, Florin and I will go unnoticed.’
Florin’s cheeks burned.
So what if men looked right through her? There had only ever been one man she’d hoped would notice her, and he’d never seen her as anything other than a useful source of information about the mountain passes.
ORRADE STIRRED. ‘THIRSTY.’
Byren was so relieved he was ready to weep.
Orrade grimaced. He eyes flickered open and he winced, even though the room was only lit by one candle. ‘M’throat feels like it’s been scraped raw.’
Not trusting himself to speak, Byren reached for the watered wine and lifted Orrade’s head so he could take a sip.
His friend gulped greedily, then groaned as he lay back.
‘Not so fast,’ Byren told him, putting the watered wine aside. ‘Your chest and shoulder are all torn up. Trust you to take on a wyvern with only a hunting knife. You had to try and match me.’ He grinned, then pulled back the furs and unwrapped the bandages.
Orrie winced. ‘Could you be any rougher?’
Byren laughed.
Orrade caught his hand. ‘You came back for me.’
‘Of course I did.’ Byren couldn’t meet Orrade’s eyes, and instead studied the wounds. There’d been no bleeding while he sewed Orrade up, but there’d been bleeding since, which he took to be a good sign. ‘Need to get you cleaned up and freshly bandaged. Wyvern wounds can turn bad in the blink of an eye.’
Orrade watched as he stood to fetch warm water. ‘Your back’s been cut to shreds.’
‘Barnacles on the side of the ship.’ Byren shrugged, feeling the skin pull. He added alcohol to the warm water, then returned to kneel at his friend’s side. ‘This’ll sting.’
Orrade rolled his eyes.
As Byren sponged the crusted blood from Orrade’s chest wounds, his friend stared up at the ceiling, frowning in concentration. ‘Last I remember is gutting the wyvern and crawling inside him. I didn’t expect to live. Didn’t expect anyone to come after me. Last I saw of you, the captain had you pinned under half a dozen men. I should have known they couldn’t keep you down. What happened?’
Byren told him, voice faltering as the crusted blood peeled away to reveal scars that looked ten days old even though only a single day had passed.
‘What?’ Orrade asked. ‘Is it festering?’
Byren shook his head.
Orrade lifted his head. ‘Days old. Byren, what did you do?’
He shrugged, not sure how to put it into words.
‘Not that I’m complaining,’ Orrade assured him. ‘I’m not about to denounce you for having healing Affinity.’
‘I’m not an Affinity-healer. All I did was try to repeat what happened when I was in the seep with the ulfrs. You’re the one with Affinity. In fact…’ He leant closer and concentrated. ‘The wyvern’s power has gone.’ He saw Orrade was confused. ‘You killed the beast but didn’t settle its—’
‘Affinity. I’m guessing you tapped into that power to hasten my healing. Well, I’m grateful. Here, lend a hand.’
Byren helped him sit up.
‘I ache all over,’ Orrade muttered. ‘Feels like I’ve been in the battle to end all battles.’ He sucked in a shaky breath. ‘Guess I have. Back there in the water, I was shivering so bad it’s a wonder I didn’t chip a tooth.’
‘Speaking of teeth.’ Byren showed him the wyvern’s tooth. It was almost as long as his little finger. ‘I dug this out of your shoulder. You should get it set on a chain. Wear it with honour.’
‘You didn’t bring the body back? I fancy a wyvern coat.’
Byren shuddered, remembering the wyvern falling into the dark, cold sea. ‘Not possible.’
Orrade reached for him. ‘I’m alive, thanks to you.’
Byren met his eyes. Last night, thinking Orrade would die, was the worst night of his life. Going on without him had seemed pointless. Somehow, he summoned a grin. ‘Shoulda known you were too tough to kill.’
‘If this was my after-life in Halcyon’s Sacred Heart, I wouldn’t be in so much pain and I wouldn’t have to pee.’
‘I’ll bring a chamber pot.’
‘I might feel like a grandfather, but I’m not going to act like one. Help me up.’
Byren helped him to his feet.
Orrade cursed fluently and staggered, falling against Byren’s chest; that was when Byren realised they were both naked.
They’d grown up together, swimming in the lake, sharing a bed-roll during hunting parties and spar raids, but it was different now. Byren stepped back as soon as Orrade was steady on his feet.
‘Can you—’
‘I can manage.’
He watched Orrade make his careful way across the cabin. Of course he could manage; Orrie was proud and fiercely determined. But he was only flesh and blood, and he’d been as good as dead.
Byren’s knees shook. He stumbled to the bunk, sitting abruptly. Tears of relief burned his eyes.
After a moment, Byren wiped his face, pulled on a pair of breeches and began heating the food that had been delivered earlier. He broke the crusty bread rolls apart and sat them on the e
dge of the brazier to warm up.
Orrade came back into the cabin and joined him by the brazier, standing too close to the metal. ‘Felt like I’d never be warm again.’ He inhaled. ‘Smells good. Beef and red wine stew.’
‘You’re shaking.’ Byren gestured to the bed. ‘Lie down. I’ll bring it to you.’
‘Hate feeling weak.’ Orrade crept back to the furs and lowered himself with care.
‘You’ll be better in a day or two.’
He nodded. ‘Hungry now.’
‘Be ready soon. Keep warm.’
Orrade pulled up the furs.
By the time the food was hot, he was fast asleep. Byren nudged him awake.
He took a few mouthfuls, then shook his head.
‘More wine?’ Byren didn’t wait for an answer. He stood, put the bowl back on the brazier and reached for the watered-wine.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden on you,’ Orrade whispered.
‘You never—’
‘S’true. Because of me, you lost both your father and your twin’s trust. You shoulda sent me away when I offered to go.’ Exhausted, Orrade slurred his words like a drunkard. ‘Don’t know why you put up with me. Jus’ wanted ta say I’m grateful.’
‘It’s not...’ Byren spooned stew into his bowl. He owed Orrie this much honesty. ‘When I thought you were dead, I didn’t see how I’d go on without you. So don’t talk of...’
Orrade was fast asleep.
Chapter Seventeen
PIRO TRIED DISMISSING the maid, but the woman wouldn’t leave. So she undressed herself and climbed into bed; satisfied, the maid left her alone.
Piro promptly climbed out of bed.
Dinner had been interminable. She’d had to listen to Nefysto recite—apparently ‘Natteo’ was a renowned poet—and then she’d had to sit through Kaspian’s latest composition for the dolcimela. To escape her turn, she’d pleaded ignorance of music, which only made the comtissa promise her lessons, since ‘a kingsdaughter should not be without a musical instrument.’ Her poor mother would have been mortified.
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