‘That’s...’
‘Dreamless-sleep incense,’ Orrade said. ‘Brings visions.’
‘I thought it brought dreamless sleep.’
‘If you drink it. The incense brings visions.’
‘Orrie?’ a hoarse voice called. ‘Is that you?’
Byren took an instant dislike to the speaker. For one thing, his accent was Ostronite, for another, he had not earned the right to call Orrade Orrie.
‘It’s me. Are you sick, Palos?’
Byren heard the familiarity in Orrade’s voice and noted the use of the alias. Palos was the legendary Rolencian warrior who had almost united the kingdom. He had been a lover of men, and it had been Palos Orrade had spoken of when he confessed his feelings to Byren after returning from port.
A light flared as Orrade lit a lamp, adjusting the wick to reveal the long, steep-ceilinged attic. The dwelling was an exotic piece of Ostron Isle, transplanted to Rolencia. Just inside the door was a shelf with some cups and plates, preserves in jars and several wine bottles. Further down, belongings spilled from carved camphorwood chests. Under a window to the left stood an elegant cedar desk, littered with books. A silk-draped sandalwood screen hid the far right-hand corner of the room. And directly ahead was a large bed, littered with cushions, pillows and eider-down quilts. It was a decadent nest indeed.
By the bed, an incense burner glowed, revealing a dishevelled man with several days’ growth on his chin. He lay propped against the pillows.
Orrade cursed and crossed the chamber to pull back the window coverings. The man on the bed winced at the light, which revealed streamers of incense hanging on the air. Orrade opened a window. All the while the man watched him as if torn between amusement and annoyance.
‘What have you done to yourself?’ Orrade demanded, turning to the man in the bed. ‘Don’t you know too much dreamless-sleep will rob you of your wits?’
‘I know what I’m doing.’ His sharp gaze settled on Byren as he levered himself up to lean against the headboard, covers pooled around his naked hips.
Orrade gestured to Byren. ‘This is—’
‘Oh, I know who it is.’ From the tone of the man’s tone, he liked Byren about as much as Byren liked him. ‘You have me at a disadvantage, Byren Kingsheir. Orrie, see if there’s any food. If not, just open a bottle of wine.’
He swung his feet to the floor and walked behind the screen, where he lit a lamp. Byren heard him pouring water.
Meanwhile, Orrade opened a cabinet. He seemed perfectly at home as he tossed some beans and onion in a pan on the brazier. After inspecting the bread for mould, he fried it in butter.
Byren edged closer, whispering. ‘We’re supposed to be approaching merchants to—’
‘I’m not approaching anyone until I know who remains loyal. Palos—’
‘Palosino, you mean.’ Byren used the Ostronite version of the name. ‘How do you know we can trust him?’
‘As you guessed, he’s an Ostronite. He owes Merofynia no loyalty.’
‘And he owes you?’
Orrade did not answer.
‘He’s loyal to only one thing if he’s addicted to dreamless-sleep.’
‘He’s not an addict. At least, he wasn’t when I last knew him.’
Byren was not convinced. He went over to study the books scattered on the desk. Amongst them, he noted Comtes Merulo’s treatise on the nature of power and leadership, and another on the nature of the stars, which argued that their world travelled in an elliptical orbit around the sun, explaining the extreme seasons.
Byren had been hoping to identify which of the great merchant houses the man belonged to, but what he’d discovered dismayed him. The Ostronite was better read than he and clearly as smart as Orrade.
‘Food’s ready.’
Their host came over to the table, which was really only big enough for two. He’d shaved, dressed in velvet and brocade and combed his long hair, which he wore Ostronite style, in waist-length ringlets. Now that Byren could see him clearly, he realised the man could be no more than thirty.
There were only two chairs, and the Ostronite offered them to Byren and Orrade with a flourish. When they were seated, he upended a chest and sat down. ‘It’s a long time since I entertained.’
Byren didn’t like his manner. ‘Let me guess, you belong to one of the five great merchant houses of Ostron Isle. You fought a duel with the wrong man and your family had to pack you off. They still send you gold, but you can never go back.’
‘Close.’ He poured wine for them with effortless elegance. ‘But not close enough. I was dedicated to House Nictocorax. I was Lady Death’s protégé until I refused to kill a certain man.’
Orrade looked up swiftly and Byren realised this was news to him.
‘If you were truly a corax, they would have hunted you down and killed you,’ Byren countered. ‘When you swear allegiance to House Nictocorax, you’re a corax for life.’
‘True...’ Their host’s dark eyes gleamed with sly amusement. ‘But you can’t kill a dead man.’
Orrade grinned.
Annoyed, Byren gestured to the dwelling. ‘Someone sends you money. Someone knows you still live.’
‘By the time the gold reaches me, it is untraceable.’ The corax gestured to Byren. ‘Is he always this rude, Orrie?’
Byren caught the Ostronite’s wrist, pulling him off balance and around the small table so that their faces almost touched. ‘I don’t trust you.’
Orrade went very still.
‘No reason why you should... but I haven’t killed you, when I could have.’
Byren felt something dig into his groin and looked down. A wicked blade rested next to his inner thigh. One cut and he’d bleed out within heartbeats.
‘Now that you have both proven you have balls for brains,’ Orrade said, ‘can we eat?’
Byren released the man’s wrist.
The corax pulled back with a laugh. ‘He does not deserve you, Orrie.’
‘But there it is.’ Orrade topped up their wine. ‘We need your help, Palos. If I know merchants, they’ll be paying lip-service to Cobalt and his Merofynian ruffians so they can continue to trade. Do you know which of them are still loyal to Byren?’
One corner of the corax’s mouth lifted. ‘A merchant’s true loyalty is always to gold.’
‘You can find out. You have spies.’
The corax feigned hurt. ‘So this is not a social visit?’
‘You knew that the moment you recognised Byren.’ Orrade’s voice was sharp. ‘Just speaking with us could get you killed.’
‘I’ve missed our little chats, Orrie.’
In the lane below, a belligerent man yelled in Merofynian. The three of them went very still.
‘Is there another way out?’ Byren asked softly.
‘Of course.’ The corax nodded to the far screen. ‘Through the window and across the roofs, if you’ve a head for heights and are nimble enough to make the jumps.’
In the lane below there was a thump, several grunts and then running feet, which faded into the distance.
As the corax poured more wine, Byren told himself Orrade had every right to take lovers, and that his dog-with-a-bone attitude towards him was unworthy. But the corax rubbed him the wrong way.
Like now, as the corax eyed them both over his wine glass. ‘Why should I set my spies to work for Rolencian royalty? Deposed royalty at that?’
Byren had been wondering the same thing.
Orrade drew breath to answer, but the corax held up his hand. ‘Don’t tell me Byren is the rightful king. Too much blood has been spilled in the pursuit of power by men who justify their actions because of an accident of birth.’
‘If you knew Byren—’
‘But I don’t. So let him talk for himself.’ The corax turned those sharp black eyes on Byren. ‘Does it matter which of King Byren the Fourth’s grandsons rules Rolencia, as long as we can get on with our lives? Why should I help you defeat your cousin?’
Why indeed? ‘Illien of Cobalt married some poor girl from one of Ostron Isle’s five great families, then murdered her to win our sympathy by staging a fake Utland raid on his father’s keep. This raid removed the wife he didn’t want, and the father who stood between him and throne.’
‘You’re right!’ Orrade turned to Byren. ‘Why didn’t I see it sooner?
‘There was a lot happening, but I had plenty of time to think while awaiting execution in Merofynia.’ Byren did not take his eyes off the corax. ‘The tragic death of Cobalt’s bride and father won my mother’s sympathy and prompted my father to welcome Illien back into the family. First thing Cobalt did was turn my twin against me. He fed Lence a pack of lies, claimed I wanted the throne and was working behind his back to win supporters.’
The corax looked at him as if he’d said something interesting. ‘So you didn’t want the throne?’
Once, Byren would have laughed and told him it was too much like hard work. Now he spoke the truth. ‘Never knowing if a man was my true friend, never knowing if the woman in my bed wanted me for myself or my crown, having to marry to consolidate the throne—’
‘All this is still true,’ the corax countered. ‘Why do you want that throne now?’
‘Cobalt betrayed my father after he welcomed him into our family. He conspired with Palatyne, letting him take Rolencia, and I’ve no doubt he would have betrayed the Merofynians when they no longer served his purpose. Cobalt will do anything—’
‘—for power. Sounds like he’d make an ideal king.’ The corax watched Byren closely. ‘Ruthless and strong.’
‘It is true that a king must be strong enough to suppress threats from ambitious nobles and deter foreign invaders, but a good king serves his people, not himself.’
The corax tilted his wine glass this way and that. ‘Was your father a good king, Byren?’
The questions surprised him. He took a moment to consider. ‘In some ways.’
‘And in some ways not?’
Byren gestured to Orrade. ‘He would have banished Orrie twice over.’
Byren expected the corax to ask him why.
But instead he turned to Orrade. ‘You have Affinity now, Orrie?’
Orrade’s thin cheeks flushed.
‘Enough!’ Byren cut in. ‘I don’t need to discuss Merulo’s theories on power and leadership. I need to arrange a meeting with the loyal merchants so I can raise an army to oust Cobalt.’
The corax met his eyes. ‘That will be hard to do once he marries your sister and legitimises his claim to the throne.’
Byren cursed. ‘Piro’s in Rolencia?’
‘Apparently, Cobalt had her hidden all this time.’
‘Captured her, more like,’ Byren muttered, glancing to Orrade. They both knew his sister was a law unto herself. ‘She must have convinced the ship to drop her in Rolencia.’
‘When does Cobalt plan to marry Piro?’ Orrade asked.
‘It was to be midsummer’s day, but now it is the first day of summer.’
Orrade turned to Byren. ‘We still have time to raise an army and retake the throne.’
‘Aye.’ Byren rubbed his jaw. ‘And spending some time as Cobalt’s captive might teach my headstrong sister to do what she’s told for a change!’
Chapter Twenty-Two
PIRO PACKED HER old travelling bag. When she’d left Rolencia, she’d been Lord Dunstany’s slave, and she hadn’t acquired much in the way of personal possessions since then. As she folded the rich fabric of the red dress, she was grateful to the old comtissa. It would not do for Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter to appear in her father’s castle dressed in rags, not when she was there to denounce an imposter.
Her bag packed, she was about to run down to the wharf, but she thought better of it. It would be more convincing if she arrived in a carry-chair. Now she waited for the chair to arrive, her heart pounding. Any moment, she expected someone to stop her.
But Siordun wasn’t here, which meant she was accountable to no one.
Not questioning her orders, the servants carried her across the short bridge from Mage Isle and around the skirt of Ostron Isle to the wharf where the Wyvern’s Whelp was docked.
Seeing the ship, her heart lifted. With a good wind she’d be back in Rolencia in seven or eight days.
Feeling more confident already, Piro marched up the gangplank and onto deck. A young sea-hound she didn’t recognise hurried over to her. He was about Fyn’s age and carried himself as if he was used to ordering people around.
‘This is the Wyvern’s Whelp, sailing under Captain Nefysto’s command.’
‘I know. I’m not stupid.’
The youth bristled and went to say something.
But the cabin boy bounded over like a happy puppy and cut him off. ‘Piro!’
‘Runt.’ Piro ruffled the lad’s hair then turned to the servants. ‘Take my things to Agent Tyro’s cabin.’
The sea-hound watched sourly. ‘We weren’t expecting a passenger.’
By his accent he was well educated, probably from a minor branch of Nefysto’s family. She looked him up and down. ‘You’re new. What’s your name?’
‘Cormorant. And who might you be?’
‘This is Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter,’ Runt said.
Cormorant blinked then flushed. ‘Be that as it may, the captain’s not here and—’
‘I know he’s not here and I know why.’ She held the sea-hound’s eyes for a moment to be sure he understood. ‘Where’s Bantam?’
‘Ashore. He’s...’ The youth hesitated, colour creeping up his cheeks.
‘In that case, send Jaku to me,’ she told him, then went down the passage to Siordun’s cabin.
She was unpacking her things when Jakulos tapped on the cabin door.
‘There you are,’ Piro greeted him. ‘The mage is sending me to Rolencia.’
Jakulos held out his hand.
She glanced down to his calloused palm, then up to his face.
‘Orders,’ he said
From the mage, of course. Furious with herself, Piro’s mind raced. ‘He didn’t give me any orders. As soon as he got the pica bird’s message, he sent for me. He was in a terrible temper, said I had to sail for Rolencia this very day.’
Jakulos hesitated. He was a big man. Not slow by any means, but not as cunning as Bantam.
‘You can send up to Mage Tower for confirmation if you like.’ Piro shrugged as if she wouldn’t want to be the one delivering that message.
‘Cap’n’s not here.’
‘I know. He’ll be held up, sorting things out in House Cinnamome now that the old comtissa is dead.’ She saw Jakulos blink and realised that while he might have had his suspicions, he hadn’t known the captain’s true identity. Good. If she had inside information it made her request appear more legitimate. ‘I have to leave today, right now.’
‘The tide won’t be with us until later. And—’
‘That’s fine.’ Her stomach rumbled, but she focused on what was important. ‘Let Bantam know we have to sail.’
‘We can’t sail until we find a new surgeon’s apprentice,’ Jakulos said. ‘The last one ran off.’
‘I’ll help the ship’s surgeon. I can sew wounds, stop bleeding.’
Jakulos rubbed his jaw then ducked his head into the passage, where Piro caught a glimpse of the cabin boy. ‘Fetch Master Wasilade.’ Jakulos turned back to her. ‘The ship’s surgeon can decide if you’re up to it.’
Piro relaxed. By tradition, the women of the royal family were skilled in the healing arts. But what if a shade-ray stung one of the men? She knew nothing about the Affinity beast’s poison. What if the surgeon found her lacking?
She hadn’t had much to do with him on the other voyages. Now she tried to recall everything she knew. His name was Rolencian, but he spoke Ostronite like a native. He was firm but good-natured.
Wasilade arrived to quiz her. His hair was almost white and his sun-browned skin wrinkled from exposure to the wind and sea. Desp
ite this, he moved with a spring in his step. Piro recognised his type. He had the same kind of wiry strength as Orrade.
‘So you think you can saw off a man’s leg to save his life?’
‘If I have to.’ Piro thought about it then added. ‘If someone holds him down.’
‘We strap him to the table.’
Piro flinched.
‘What settles nausea?’
‘Peppermint tea.’
‘Even a shallow wound can putrefy and kill a man. How do you prevent this?’
‘Clean out all dirt, wash the wound in watered wine, make a paste from rosemary and bind it. Change the bandage once a day.’
He nodded to Jakulos. ‘If she works as well as she talks, she’ll do fine.’ He turned back to Piro. ‘Hopefully, there will be no injuries and I won’t need to call on your skill, kingsdaughter.’
‘Piro,’ she said. ‘And I’m sure there is much I can learn from you, Master Wasilade.’ She saw him flinch ever so slightly. Had she offended him? ‘I’m sorry, I...’
He shook his head. ‘When you say my name the Rolencian way, you remind me of my dear wife, dead these thirty years.’ With a curt nod, he left them.
Jakulos closed the door after the surgeon. ‘I’ve never heard him speak of a wife before.’
Runt’s stomach rumbled loudly.
Piro laughed. ‘Come on, let’s go see Cook.’
A little later Bantam arrived in the galley to find her perched on a stool, polishing off a second serving of cold meat and hot beans.
‘Do you want some?’ Piro offered as the little quarter-master took the stool opposite her. ‘It’s very good.’
‘What’s this I hear about the mage wanting us to sail for Rolencia?’
‘The pica arrived this morning,’ Piro said, glossing over much. ‘We’re to set sail with the afternoon tide.’
Bantam’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where Agent Tyro will be waiting for you?’
‘Of course not. He’s already bound for Merofynia.’ Piro took a gamble. ‘I’m meeting Agent Salvatrix.’ She saw she’d guessed correctly and held out her bowl to the cook. ‘More please.’
King Breaker Page 22
