Then she took his face in her hands and her sobs turned into kisses of consolation. Clumsy, desperate kisses. Next thing he knew, he had driven her down onto the blanket in the belly of the boat and his bare chest pressed on hers. He kissed her face, her throat, her breasts...
His hands went to his breeches, freeing himself with practised ease. He tugged at her trousers and she lifted her hips. With a tug, he pulled them off, and tossed them away.
Hot skin, smooth and silken—her beauty stole his breath. Her body, so strong and eager, drew him. She tilted her hips to meet him. He felt the heat of her, knew with one thrust he would be home. At the thought, he nearly lost it right then, like an untried lad, but somehow he managed to hold back.
Drawing him down, she welcomed him. He felt resistance and realised she had never known a man.
Realised he was on the verge of repeating the mistakes of King Byren the Fourth, and look what a mess his grandfather had made, scattering his bastards across Rolencia.
There were ways to avoid pregnancy, but the moment he thought his, he realised he didn’t want to treat Florin like one of his dalliances. He wanted...
He could never have what he wanted, not when he’d given his word to Isolt. Sanity returned.
With a groan he pulled back.
She came after him, hair wild, lips swollen, lost in passion in a way that made him wish he was free to love her as she deserved.
‘Don’t.’ His hand met her chest. He felt her heart racing, and the rise of her breast. ‘I can’t...’ He shuddered, because there was nothing he wanted more. ‘I just can’t...’
She whimpered like a wounded animal and seemed to shrink into herself as she hugged her knees, naked in the dimness, waist-length hair dark against her skin. So pale and perfect...
‘For god’s sake, get dressed.’ If she didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to stop and then he’d hate himself.
She turned away, searching for her clothes. As she bent forward, her wet hair fell over her shoulder, revealing the line of her spine, her waist and the flare of her hips...
He had to put his back to her.
Leaning over the side of the boat, he dipped a hand in the lake and splashed icy water on his face, his chest and his raging erection. The painful cold brought clarity.
He was not the kind of man his grandfather and Lence had been. He might have the same appetites, but he could exercise self-control.
Byren felt for his breeches, tucked himself in and did up the laces. No shirt. It was going to be a cold night. And he dare not cuddle Florin to keep warm.
He glanced over his shoulder. She wore her torn tabard, but her long thighs were bare. ‘Why—’
‘I can’t find my pants.’ She sounded aggrieved. ‘I think you threw them overboard.’
He slammed his palm to his forehead. He was not taking his breeches off to give to her. That way lay ruin for them both.
‘Wrap the blanket around you,’ he said, voice raw with desperation.
FLORIN DID AS he instructed. Byren couldn’t bear to look at her. He despised her. She’d thrown herself at him but, just like Cobalt, he found her repulsive. She huddled down in the boat, heart-sick and racked with a bone-deep sadness that went beyond tears.
While she’d been making a fool of herself, they’d drifted across the lake, leaving the smoke behind. She could see by the brilliant stars above that it was going to be a cold night.
‘Here.’ He offered her a leg of roast chicken, hardly looking in her direction.
She accepted it without a word, and forced herself to eat, curled up at her end of the boat.
‘We’re drifting west,’ he said. ‘That’s good. We’ll take to the woods, find Orrie and—’
‘I’m going home.’ Even as she said the words, she remembered she had no home. With Narrowneck burned and Da dead, there was only Leif.
‘Your brother’s safe with Warlord Feid,’ Byren said. ‘What is Leif now, nine?’
‘Ten,’ she corrected, noting that Byren did not ask her to stay with him.
Of course not. She was an embarrassment, a woman who was no good at womanly things. Winterfall had warned her that Byren would never look at her. She’d denied her feelings back then, but there was no point lying to herself now.
She’d only ever wanted to be accepted for who she was, and she’d thought Byren accepted her. More than that, she’d thought he respected her. But she’d been fooling herself.
‘Here.’ He tossed her a water sack. ‘You sleep. I’ll keep watch.’
‘All night? I don’t think so. You sleep first. I’m not tired.’
He hesitated. ‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’ She was too heart-sore to sleep.
He took her at her word and huddled down in the stern. Before tonight’s disaster, she would have seen this as a sign that he respected her.
Now she couldn’t wait to leave.
Chapter Thirty-Three
BYREN STUDIED THE set of Florin’s shoulders as she strode ahead of him. He could tell she was furious and he didn’t blame her. Because of him, she’d been forced to wear the blanket as breeches. A strip of cloth did duty as a breast-band. He caught glimpses of it when her damaged tabard gaped. At least she had boots. Just as well he hadn’t noticed them last night when he dragged off her breeches or he’d have thrown them overboard, too.
Just the thought of how close he’d come to dishonouring her and himself made the blood rush to his face. Even so, he still yearned for her.
He had it bad. The sooner he was away from her, the better.
‘I know how to avoid Cobalt’s men and reach the secret pass over the mountains on my own.’ She barely glanced over her shoulder, her long legs taking such great strides he had to push himself to keep up.
‘Good, you can help Chandler take Varuska to Feid’s stronghold. She’ll be safe on Foenix Spar.’ He owed the girl that much.
Florin shot Byren a dark look. A thrill raced through his body, forcing him to admit that he was keeping her near him because he didn’t want to part with her.
‘We’ll meet up with the others,’ he said, ‘spend the night in the abandoned mill-house. We can separate tomorrow.’
‘Now that Cobalt has blackened your name by saying you murdered your own sister, what’s your next step?’
He laughed. ‘No one in their right mind is going to believe that.’
What was his next step, though? It was a good question, but he couldn’t think; not when Florin jumped down from a fallen log in front of him, her strong pale thighs flexing.
GARZIK STOOD ON the reardeck, watching the ospriet far above. With its Affinity-enhanced vision, the bird could spot its prey at a great distance. The ospriet dropped like an arrow, skimmed the water, then rose, huge wings labouring as something writhed in its beak. Garzik raised the farseer and caught a flash of iridescent serpent skin as the ospriet carried off a scytalis.
This time of year, the ospriet probably had a mate waiting on its nest, keeping the eggs warm. That, or it might be trying to win a mate with this offering.
Garzik resumed his scan of the surrounding sea. After Port Mero, the ship had made good time, thanks to a distant storm that had brought strong winds.
‘Over the starboard prow,’ Olbin said, joining him. ‘The Skirling Stones.’
Garzik spotted tall spires of rock surrounded by a mantle of foaming sea. Some of the spires were topped with stunted bushes. The stones reflected the setting sun, as if they were made of black glass. ‘I’ve heard they sing.’
‘When the wind is in the right quarter.’
He frowned. ‘Are those birds circling them?’
‘Winged serpents. We don’t venture near the Skirling Stones. Between the rocks and the Affinity beasts, it’s too dangerous.’
‘You finished with Wynn?’ Rusan asked Olbin, joining them. ‘We can squeeze in a reading lesson before the night watch.’
Olbin retrieved the farseer. ‘Do any of your fancy books mention the Skirling
Stones, Wynn?’
Rusan glanced to Garzik.
‘No, but there would probably be something on them in the abbey libraries. The abbeys hoard knowledge like treasure.’
Olbin snorted. ‘I bet those hot-land books have nothing good to say of us Utlanders.’
Since this was true, Garzik could not deny it. He swore then that when he went home, he would write the truth about the Utlanders.
AS THE SETTING sun illuminated the Landlocked Sea, Fyn stood in the crow’s nest searching the foothills of the Dividing Mountains. There was no sign of a messenger on the shore.
His belly churned with frustration. The Merofynian lords had agreed to send news by fast rider, so he’d spent all day searching for a signal. Neiron should have caught up with Wythrod yesterday, or even the day before, and Yorale would have been in position. So why was there no word?
Fyn cursed softly. Too much could go wrong in the heat of battle. If this attack failed, it would make him look incompetent; but he had no control over the Merofynian lords. He had to trust to the abbot’s cool head to guide Wythrod.
The wind carried Isolt’s voice to him and he spotted her on the prow, throwing treats out over the water for the Affinity beasts. Both the foenix and the wyvern vied for the sea-fruit, getting in each other’s way, and the treat dropped into the sea. Loyalty dived, skimmed the waves, then returned to Isolt’s side and shook herself, spraying the queen.
Isolt laughed, spotted Fyn and waved to him.
As he joined her, she asked, ‘Have they sent a messenger?’
‘No, we just have to hope...’ Distracted by the way her damp gown clung to her body, he looked past her towards Wythrontir Estate. What he saw made him frown and shade his eyes. ‘Does that look like smoke to you?’
Isolt studied the horizon. ‘It could just be a forest fire.’
‘All the fires we’ve seen recently have been associated with spar attacks,’ Fyn said. ‘I should have stayed with the army. Even if we turn back now, we won’t reach Wythrontir Estate until tomorrow.’ Too late to help them.
TIRED, HUNGRY AND footsore, Byren crept to the treeline to study the water-wheel. Florin joined him. In the branches above them, birds bickered over roosts.
As dusk closed in, a light rain had begun to fall, chilling them both. Despite this, Byren took his time. The old mill-house sat at the top of a small pond fed by a narrow stream.
The mill-house appeared to be deserted, but if the roof hadn’t fallen in since last summer, it would be dry.
‘There’s no one around,’ Florin whispered. The night birds gave their hunting cries. ‘What are we waiting for?’
‘I’m not walking into a trap.’
‘The birds are not disturbed. It’s safe.’
Even so, Byren waited a little longer before he waved them on.
They crept through the thigh-high ferns through the doorless opening of the mill-house. Inside, the churning of the water-wheel kept up a soft, steady rush of noise. Someone dropped through the hatch from the grain loft, landing lightly. It was gloomy inside the mill-house, but Byren recognised Orrade by the way he moved.
‘Orrie!’ Taking two steps, Byren embraced him.
‘I knew you’d escape.’ Orrade’s voice was a trifle rough. ‘Knew you’d come here.’
Byren grinned and nodded to the floor above. ‘Are the others—’
‘No. We split up. That milliner is a canny one. She disguised Varuska by packing rags in her cheek then tied a bandage around her face, as if she had a tooth ache. They should be in Rolenton already.’
‘If the girl looks so much like Piro, she can’t stay—’
‘Salvatrix is going to send her to the mage.’ Orrade turned away and busied himself with something on a low shelf.
‘And Chandler?’ Byren heard flint strike, a spark flared bright in the dimness.
‘I sent him up to Foenix Pass.’ Orrade turned, shielding the flame of a candle stub. ‘He should get through before Cobalt can close the pass...’
Orrade ran down as he took in Florin and Byren’s state—Byren shirtless, Florin in a torn tabard and blanket instead of breeches. Byren felt his face grow hot. It was obvious what had happened. Only it hadn’t, and he had the blue-balls to prove it.
Florin flushed and looked away.
‘I...’ Orrade’s voice faltered, then recovered. ‘I see you lost your clothes in the fire. Thank Halcyon you survived. There’s a blanket upstairs. I’ll go get some horses and supplies.’
He passed the candle to Byren and went to leave.
Byren caught his arm. ‘You can’t go to the great house. It’s—’
‘It’s necessary. We have nothing, no food, no...’ He paused as Byren’s stomach rumbled loudly, as if to prove his point. ‘They’re my people, Byren. Cobalt might have given Dovecote to his Merofynian lackeys to buy the captain’s loyalty, but he can’t buy the loyalty of Dovecote’s people.’
‘What if his men see you?’
‘I know my way around. No one will see me.’
Byren nodded and let Orrade go.
After a moment, Florin shifted slightly behind him.
‘Come here,’ Byren said. ‘I’ll give you a boost up to the attic.’
‘I don’t need your help.’ Striding past him, she peered up at the hatch, sprang onto the stone block, then jumped up to catch her weight on her arms.
Florin’s long legs hung right in front of him. She swung one leg, lifting her knee through the hatch. Who would have thought she was so flexible?
Byren’s mouth went dry and he had to adjust himself.
‘Pass me the light.’ She peered down through the opening.
He handed her the candle, then stood on the block and lifted himself up in one easy movement.
She held the candle high, examining the loft. The roof was low and sharply angled, but Byren was pleased to see none of the shingles were missing.
Florin pointed. ‘There’s Orrie’s blanket. You sleep first. I’ll keep watch.’
‘I’m too hungry to sleep. I’ll watch. Better put out the candle.’ The flame was guttering in the wax.
She blew out the candle.
Darkness... And her within arm’s reach. His heart raced as his body hardened. He knew what would happen if he stayed here alone with her. ‘I think it’s better if I keep watch outside.’
She didn’t argue.
Dropping through the hatch, he went out into the cold, wet night. Clouds obscured the stars. It was a good night for the hunted. He climbed a tree and stretched out on a branch. From here he could observe the path up to the great house.
Half the night had gone before Orrade returned with travelling packs.
Byren lowered himself from the tree. ‘Nothing happened with Florin.’
Orrade had been reaching for his knife. Now he put it away. ‘That’s a good way to get yourself killed.’
‘Nothing happened between Florin and me.’
‘None of my business.’ Orrade tossed a pack to Byren.
They walked on for a bit.
‘It was after we escaped. I nearly—’
‘I don’t want to know.’
Byren glanced to Orrade, but the night was dark and he could barely make out his silhouette on the path. ‘Fair enough.’
They walked on.
‘I couldn’t get any horses. The Merofynian replaced my stable-master.’ They were approaching the old mill-house, and Orrade’s step slowed. ‘So what’s the plan?’
‘Make sure Florin reaches the secret pass to Foenix Spar, and then...’ And then he would be able to think straight.
‘Your mountain girl can make her own way back to Feid’s stronghold.’
‘Cobalt’s men are not the only ones on the hunt in the foothills.’ The mundane predators were dangerous enough, but there were also Affinity beasts and both would be eager to feed their young.
‘Florin will see the sense in that,’ Orrade agreed.
And she did. Florin thanked Byren, even
though it cost her. He had to bite his tongue to hide a smile.
They dressed warmly, ate a cold breakfast and were on their way before dawn.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘WHAT DO YOU see?’ Fyn asked, fearing that Wythrontir’s great house would be a blackened ruin.
‘There’s no sign of fire,’ Dunstany said. They leaned against the rail of the Dunsior.
Silently, he passed Fyn the farseer. To Fyn’s relief, the house on the distant rise stood undamaged in the morning sunshine.
Fyn passed the farseer to Isolt.
‘No sign of spar warriors?’ Captain Elrhodoc asked. When Isolt didn’t deny it, he nodded. ‘So there was no need to rush back.’
He’d been saying the same thing since yesterday evening, and Fyn was heartily sick of him.
Isolt lowered the farseer slowly. Abbess Celunyd watched for the queen’s reaction. Fyn was heartily sick of her too, but at least she held her tongue.
Not Elrhodoc. ‘We should have waited to hear from Lord Yorale, my queen.’
Isolt glanced to Fyn. They’d sailed through the night, because she trusted him, and now it seemed he’d panicked.
Loyalty nudged Isolt as if to reassure her.
‘I’m going to the crow’s nest for a better look.’ Fyn took the farseer and made for the main mast. As he left the high rear deck, Elrhodoc said something and several of the queen’s guards laughed.
Anger burned inside Fyn, and he felt his face grow hot. When he reached the crow’s nest, he found Rhalwyn in the lookout.
‘Can I?’ The lad gestured to the farseer.
‘Sure.’ Fyn handed it over. Maybe they should let the boy return to the sea. After all, Cortomir had proven such an excellent Affinity beast handler, he’d been disappointed when they’d left him back in Port Mero.
‘That’s odd...’ Rhalwyn said softly.
‘What?’
‘I don’t remember the lake coming right up to the great house.’
Fyn checked. The boy was right. Wythrontir’s great house sat on a terraced island. ‘There must have been a breach in the sea-wall.’ But when he checked, the wall was undamaged.
King Breaker Page 33
