He shrugged. ‘Some dusty old hall.’
She lifted the latch and pushed the door open. It was as though she had stepped back over two hundred years, to the days when Ostron Isle had been racked by civil war. Shafts of light lit the hall, descending from the high, narrow windows. Now this was defensible; Byren would approve. She laughed with delight, startling Feratore.
‘Don’t you see?’ Piro spun on her toes, stirring up dust. ‘This is where House Cinnamome came from. It’s their very first hall.’ And she ran across the flagstones to the far corner, where cloths covered what turned out to be nothing more than a pile of sturdy old furniture.
Disappointed, she studied the walls. To each side of the massive fireplace, weapons hung from hooks. Evidence of the days before the original Mage Tsulamyth convinced the great merchant houses to vote for an elector.
Piro eyed the swords on display. Her lessons with the sea-hounds had ended before she could make much headway. She sent Feratore a calculating glance. He looked uneasy.
She found a stool and dragged it over to the wall display.
‘Here, what’re you doing?’ Feratore demanded, sounding more like a man-at-arms than a refined house servant.
She climbed onto the footstool and reached for a sword about the size of the one her mother had used on Cobalt. But when she lifted it off the hook, the weight was so great she overbalanced and had to jump to the floor.
‘What do you want with that?’ Feratore asked.
Piro swung the blade, putting her shoulders and upper body into the action. It was too heavy to stop, and Feratore stepped in to steady her. Then he tried to take the sword away.
She resisted fiercely. ‘They killed my mother.’
‘What?’
‘They killed her in front of me. I couldn’t stop them.’ Piro’s voice shook with anger and suppressed tears. She would not cry, but she could face the bitter truth. She’d been a coward. ‘I didn’t even try to help. I hid so they wouldn’t kill me.’
‘Very wise. Now, give me the sword.’
‘I need to learn to protect myself!’
‘Little thing like you? Your man’ll protect you.’
Why did they always think some man would protect her? Piro glared at him. ‘When the Merofynians invaded, my father and oldest brother were killed, my mother was executed and I was taken as a slave. I have to learn to use a sword.’
‘Well, it won’t be this one. It’s too heavy for you.’ He gave a grunt of surprise, as she finally let him take the sword from her.
‘You’re right.’ She positioned the footstool under a much smaller sword. ‘This one looks about right.’
‘That’s...’
‘That’s what? Just right?’
His gaze slid away from hers.
She took the sword, or perhaps it was a long dagger, then jumped down and weighed it in her hand. ‘This is much better. It doesn’t make my arms ache.’ Stepping into a patch of light, she tilted the small sword this way and that. ‘There’s a symbol on the pommel. A nictocorax.’
The bird that killed in the night. The bird that symbolised Ostron Isle’s infamous assassins.
‘Put it back,’ Feratore urged. ‘It’s bad luck to—’
‘Why does this blade hang in House Cinnamome?’
‘Because in each generation, one of our children is dedicated to House Nictocorax,’ the old comtissa said as she hobbled into the chamber. ‘It is the same with all the other merchant houses.’
‘I thought anyone, from noble to baker’s apprentice, could pledge their service and become coraxes?’
‘Many aspire, but few survive to become fully-fledged assassins.’
Piro wondered who had wielded the blade. House Cinnamome would benefit from having a trained assassin ready to serve them. She looked up. ‘But the coraxes pledge their service to House Nictocorax. Wouldn’t that create a conflict of interest for assassins from noble houses?’
The comtissa studied her, much as Piro had studied the blade. Before the old woman could respond, a child’s voice carried from the courtyard.
‘The wyvern has escaped! The wyvern...’
Piro reached the courtyard one step behind Feratore, leaving the old comtissa trailing behind.
‘Where is the beast?’ Feratore demanded of the boy.
‘It’s all—’ Piro started to reassure them.
But Feratore cut her off. ‘Where did it go?’
‘I don’t know,’ the boy confessed. ‘I went to feed it, but found the cage door open. They sent me to warn everyone.’
Piro tried to explain again, but the comtissa arrived and issued orders. ‘Feratore, collect a dozen men. Arm them and hunt—’
‘Comtissa, Comtissa?’ A pretty serving girl ran across the courtyard and fell to her knees in front of the old woman. ‘The comtes is missing. Kaspian wasn’t in his bedchamber.’
The comtissa staggered. Piro steadied her. ‘It’s all—’
‘Abducted,’ she whispered. ‘Not again, our enemies—’
Piro rolled her eyes. ‘If you would just listen!’
A rush of sound and a great whoosh of air hit them, driving them back several steps, and they looked up to see the wyvern descending. The downbeat of its great wings raised small eddies of dust around them as it landed.
The serving girl screamed and threw herself into Feratore’s arms. The wyvern’s claws scrabbled on the paving as it settled onto its haunches.
Feratore shoved the girl aside, raising the old sword in defence of the comtissa. Piro had to admit he was both brave and loyal.
‘It’s all right.’ Piro darted between him and the wyvern. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you...’ She could already feel her Affinity responding to the beast. Power slid down her arms, settling in her hands until they itched and tingled. Approaching the wyvern, she held her hands out and spoke gently. ‘Where’s Kaspian, Valiant?’
The beast ducked his head, jaws opening, long blue tongue flickering as he explored what Piro offered.
‘Watch out,’ Feratore warned.
She ignored him. ‘Where’s Kaspian?’
‘I’m here,’ the youth called from a ledge on the first floor of the nearest building. He jumped lightly to the ground. He’d removed the bandage from his forearm, and as he strode towards them, it seemed he had also shed his reticence. ‘Val wanted to sleep up high. It’s natural for wyverns. They like to be able to watch for enemies.’ He gestured to the nearest tower. ‘We spent the night up there.’
‘Grandson, what is the meaning of this?’ Comtissa Cinnamome asked.
In answer, Kaspian lifted his hand and the wyvern went to him. Kaspian slid an arm around the beast’s neck. They made a stunning pair—the wyvern with its jewel-like scales gleaming and Kaspian bare-chested, long hair loose on his shoulders.
No one spoke. Beast and boy tilted their heads as one. Piro beamed, delighted with her handiwork.
‘Kaspian...’ The old comtissa blanched and reached for the serving girl.
‘It’s all right, Comtissa,’ Piro said. ‘Now that they’re bonded, the wyvern won’t have to be killed.’
With a gasp, the comtissa clutched her chest and collapsed.
‘Grandmother!’ Kaspian crossed the courtyard, but the old women shook her head and brushed him away.
‘Grandmother...’ Confusion and hurt coloured his voice.
Feratore discarded the old sword. Sweeping the old comtissa off her feet, he carried her inside with the serving girl following.
The kitchen boy backed off, then took to his heels.
Left alone with Kaspian and the wyvern, Piro turned to them. ‘It was the shock. The comtissa’s happy, really.’
Kaspian nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely reassured. Then he shrugged as if slipping off a coat and reaching for another. ‘I suppose I should get dressed.’
The wyvern made a soft noise in his throat.
‘And eat,’ Kaspian added.
‘You do that, while I go check on
the comtissa.’
Before she could find the grand staircase, Piro rounded a corner and collided with Siordun.
He steadied her. ‘What’s going on? I heard shouting.’
‘The comtissa collapsed.’ Piro clutched his arm. ‘It was awful. Last night at dinner, I saw a skull behind her face. She’s going to die, I know it. You have to do something.’
‘I’ve done all I can.’ He covered Piro’s hand then saw she did not understand. ‘The night her niece was murdered, she suffered a seizure that nearly killed her. I’ve kept her alive since, but...’ He shrugged. ‘By rights, she should be dead already.’
‘That would mean—’
‘Kaspian would lead House Cinnamome, but he’s not ready. If she dies, Nefysto will have to abandon his sea-hounds. I’d better send for him in any case.’ The agent ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, no lessons for you today, Piro.’
‘There’s always tomorrow—’
‘I have to leave today. That’s why I came to see you. I’ve had word that Lord Dunstany is needed in Merofynia.’
‘Word from Fyn? Is he all right? Has Isolt been hurt?’
‘They’re both well. It’s spar trouble. One of the warlords has come over the Divide and attacked an estate. He has to be put in his place before the other warlords get ideas. Lord Dunstany is needed to advise the young queen.’
‘Of course you must go.’ She nodded, then smiled. ‘And I’ll go with you. I can be Lord Dunstany’s page again.’ But he was already shaking his head. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s not appropriate.’
‘Why is it not appropriate now?’
He did not answer, backing up a step. ‘You’ll stay here.’
‘But I could help.’
‘No, Piro.’
‘But...’ Something occurred to her. ‘If Nefysto is here, how will you—’
‘The mage has arrangements with other ships.’
Of course he did. ‘I want to come with you. I don’t see—’
‘Enough, Piro! I must go to the comtissa.’ Siordun strode past her and she had to run to keep up with him.
‘But you already said you can’t help her.’
‘That doesn’t mean I won’t try.’
But when they climbed the steps and rounded the corner, they found the servants weeping outside the comtissa’s chamber. Even Feratore sobbed.
Siordun caught Piro’s arm, leading her away. A patch of leaf-dappled morning sunlight came through the window at the far end of the corridor. Light danced on the parquetry floor, but they stood in shadow.
‘She’s gone?’ It had to be true, but still Piro found it hard to believe. The comtissa was so sharp, so determined. ‘Kaspian will be devastated.’
‘He didn’t know how serious her condition was. She kept it from him. Only Nefysto knew.’ Siordun squeezed her hand. ‘Piro?’
She looked up at him.
‘You must be very careful. I thought you’d be safe here. House Cinnamome is powerful, and because it provided the last elector, it will not be in contention until the new elector serves out their time. But if the other merchant houses sense a weakness, they’ll move on Cinnamome and all its assets. Whether you like it or not, you are a piece in the game of Duelling Kingdoms. You—’
‘I’ll be fine. But I shouldn’t be here when there’s been a death in the family.’
‘That’s true.’ His intense, dark eyes fixed on her.
She tried not to look pleased. This was her chance to escape. ‘I should go stay with the mage.’
‘Yes... but wouldn’t you be miserable all alone there?’
‘There’s always little Ovido and his brother for company.’
Siordun’s lips twitched. ‘Ovido likes you, but I don’t think Cragore approves of you.’
‘That’s his problem, not mine.’
But he had already moved on. ‘I can do no more here. When I get back to Mage Isle, I’ll send a carry-chair for you.’
Once Siordun left, Piro ran to her chamber to pack. She had known the old comtissa for less than a day, but she was genuinely sorry to lose her. She didn’t think the old comtissa would mind if she took the good red dress. Apart from her sea-hound breeches, she only had one other dress, which had been hers when she had been Isolt’s maid. It was as fine as anything a merchant’s daughter would wear back home in Rolencia.
That reminded her. She’d meant to tell Siordun about her vision. She would tell him as soon as she reached Mage Isle. Decision made, she slung her bundle over her shoulder.
As she went down the hall, a terrible howl made her heart race. Glancing along the corridor towards the comtissa’s chamber, she saw Kaspian and his wyvern. Feratore must have just given him the news. Kaspian looked devastated. The wyvern threw his head back and howled again.
The servants covered their ears.
Tears stung Piro’s eyes. She put her head down and slipped away.
When she reached the stable, the carry-chair had not yet arrived, but the news had. The servants gathered in the tack-room, where she could hear them singing a sad dirge. One little lad wept inconsolably. Not wanting to disturb them, Piro went along the stalls.
The inner island was small, but heavily built upon. The great merchant houses kept a few horses for show on special occasions, small ponies or goats were used to pull drays, the poor walked and, most of the time, the wealthy went by carry-chair. The stables contained several ornate chairs suitable for one, two or four people. Each was carved with the House Cinnamome coat of arms, an abeille in a stylised cinnamome tree. Each carry-chair was painted and gilded and each was a work of art.
Piro climbed into one and curled up on the velvet cushion. Recalling her own parents’ deaths, she felt a deep sadness. She was nothing, just a piece of flotsam carried on the sea of events. Her brothers were fond of her, but they thought her a nuisance. No one really cared about her except for Lord Dunstany.
And he hadn’t been real.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. Her old nurse would have scolded her. How dare she cry for herself when the comtissa was dead? Poor Kaspian... at least he had his wyvern.
She didn’t even have her foenix.
Real sobs shook her and she didn’t fight them, because there was no one to see. She cried until she had nothing left.
A little later, Nefysto’s voice woke her. She rubbed her cheeks and climbed out of the chair to look for the sea-hound captain.
He was with the stable hands. She ran over and hugged him, surprising both him and herself.
‘Are you alright, little one?’ He searched her face. The swaggering sea-hound was gone, along with the finicky poet. Who was the real Nefysto? ‘Tears for the comtissa? Ah, Piro.’
‘Kaspian...’ She could not go on.
‘I know. It will be a shock for my poor little cousin.’ He hugged her again, then lifted her chin. ‘I hear you are going to stay with the mage. If you need anything, let me know.’
She nodded, but she had no intention of troubling him. Just then, the mage’s carry-chair arrived and Piro went back for her bundle. By the time she returned, Nefysto was surrounded by servants. He sent them off one by one with orders, as efficient on land as he was at sea. Kaspian would be in good hands.
Piro climbed into the carry-chair and hugged her bundle to her. Two strong men lifted the chair and she was soon swaying as they walked down the road.
From between the carry-chair curtains, she caught glimpses of buildings and people, flashes of white stone, sunlight on striped awnings, flowering vines spilling from balcony pots and matrons laughing as they met on street corners.
Life went on.
Ostron Isle seemed to have recovered from the street battles after the last elector died. That time she had foreseen the elector’s death because it was a...
Nexus point—that’s what Siordun had called a moment of change. Pleased, she sat up, tapping her feet with impatience.
A glance through the curtains told her she had come to th
e long street that led down to Mage Isle. There it stood on a separate island in the Ring Sea, connected to Ostron Isle by a stone bridge. There were chambers on Mage Isle that she hadn’t dared to explore back when she had believed the old mage was in residence. Now she had every intention of satisfying her curiosity.
They crossed the bridge, passed under the gate tunnel and came out in the large courtyard where the peppercorn tree grew. It was just like coming home.
She climbed down, thanked the chair-men, then asked the gate keeper where she could find the agent.
‘You’ve missed him. He’s already sailed for Merofynia.’
‘Already?’ Shocked, Piro crossed the courtyard, blinking away angry tears. She had something important to tell Siordun, but he’d made it abundantly clear she wasn’t important to him. She didn’t give any credence to his excuse for leaving her behind. Looking back, she’d been happy as Lord Dunstany’s servant. They’d been a team.
Illogical as it was, she felt jealous of Fyn. He and Isolt would have Lord Dunstany to help them hold Merofynia. Byren had Orrade to help him win back Rolencia.
No one wanted or needed her. She was a spare game piece. All they thought she was good for was being married off to cement alliances.
But she was not that person, and never would be.
Chapter Twenty
GARZIK LEFT TRAFYN complaining that he was hungry. At least the squire was sitting up and clear-headed, which was just as well. They’d be in Port Mero by tomorrow evening.
On the middeck, the bright morning sun made Garzik squint. Half a dozen of the Utlanders left the starboard rail.
‘What happened?’ Garzik asked Luvrenc.
‘Lookout spotted what he thought was a shipwrecked man. Turned out it was only a half-grown dalfino. Rusan got his pipes to see if he could make it sing for us, but...’ Luvrenc caught his arm as he headed for the side. ‘It’s gone now. The mother came and they dived down below.’
Garzik was disappointed. ‘Do they really sing?’
Luvrenc nodded. ‘That’s what I’ve been told. And they fight off wyverns to rescue men lost at sea.’
Something struck Garzik as odd. ‘Why would Utlanders save a shipwrecked sailor, when he might be an enemy?’
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