‘I know, curse her. She was vindictive even in death!’
‘But he’s also won many hearts.’
‘It is ever the way. The higher we rise, the more we are hated by some and loved by others.’
Rusan caught Garzik’s arm, and they stepped aside. The others kept walking, leaving them alone, high on the hill-side looking out over the narrow bay. Mist lay on the water, but the sun would soon burn it off.
‘Who were you, back in the hot-lands?’ Rusan asked softly.
‘What?’ Garzik had been expecting Rusan to comment on Pramoza’s death, or the way he’d left the basket for the Affinity-touched.
‘I saw how you approached my mother, like she was the queen. Are you the missing Rolencian king, the one the usurper offered a reward for?’
A laugh escaped Garzik. The idea that anyone could mistake him for Byren was astounding. ‘How do you know about Rolencia’s politics?’
‘Feo told me. He heard it from an Ostronite captain.’
‘Now is not a good time to be laughing, lads,’ Feodan said as he made his way back to them. ‘What’s so funny, anyway?’
Rusan glanced to Garzik, who asked, ‘What did the captain tell you about the missing Rolencian king?’
‘Just that his people believe he will return and save them from oppression.’ Feodan shrugged. ‘But that was back at the end of winter. Who knows what the situation is now?’
So Garzik did not learn anything new.
FLORIN SAT ON the floor beside her brother’s bed. He’d woken before dawn, calling for Da, and she’d calmed him with stories of the mountain legends her mother used to tell her. The worst of the fever had passed, but Leif was still weak; even as she watched, he fell asleep.
Nun Anise passed by his bed with a willow-bark tisane for one of the worst-effected fever victims. More were coming down with it all the time. Luckily, Byren hadn’t taken sick.
Florin’s stomach rumbled. She came to her feet and stretched, joints popping. She’d had very little sleep these last two days, and Cinna had had even less, but she never complained.
As if thinking of Cinna had conjured her, she appeared in the door way, one hand cupping her belly as if she’d been running.
Florin crossed the solarium floor in three long strides. ‘What’s wrong? Is the baby—’
‘No.’ Cinna drew her out into the hall and glanced quickly in both directions before whispering, ‘I’ve had a message. There’s trouble in Merofynia. Byren is to report to Lord Dunstany.’
‘What kind of trouble?’
‘Spar uprisings.’
‘If Merofynia has to battle its spar warlords just to survive, Byren could lose everything. We must get word to him, but he’s off hunting manticores.’ Florin cursed. There’d been reports of a pack terrorising travellers over the pass. Feid had asked Byren and Orrade to go hunting and had also invited the Snow Bridge men. The party had left the morning Florin had discovered Leif was sick.
‘I’ve already sent word by fast rider,’ Cinna said. ‘They’ll be back as soon as they can.’
‘Byren mustn’t appear weak before the Snow Bridge ambassador.’
‘I told the messenger only that they were to come straight here. Even so, Vlatajor will know that something’s going on.’
‘Not if you take to your bed now,’ Nun Anise said, surprising them both. ‘I’ll put it about that you’re going to have the baby. When the men turn up, we’ll say it was a false alarm.’
‘Oh, thank you...’ Cinna gave a sigh of relief, then went very pale and swayed. Florin had to steady her.
‘Come to think of it, a day or two in bed will do you good, my lady,’ Anise said. ‘Help her up to her chamber, Florin. I can manage here.’
HOPING TO CATCH a few moments alone with Isolt, Fyn went straight from the yacht to the queen. He found her in the war-table chamber, and she was not alone. Luckily she had Dunstany at her side, for ranged on the other side of the table were Captain Elrhodoc and his brother, Lord Elcwyff, as well as Lords Neiron and Rhoderich.
‘...turned the warlord back. Chased him and his men all the way up the Divide to the pass and lowered the fort gate, but it won’t hold them,’ Elcwyff was saying. ‘For the last two hundred years, the fort’s been used as a way-house.’
Frown frowned. As he recalled, Elcwyff’s estate backed onto Wyvern Spar. Now it seemed the warlord had mounted an attack. Sefarra was right. As soon as they put down one warlord, another replaced him.
‘It’s the same with the fort pass to Ulfr Spar,’ Rhoderich said, his deep voice carrying. ‘We’re lucky that the warlord hasn’t attacked.’
‘It’s only a matter of time,’ Neiron insisted. ‘I’ve rebuilt the fort on the pass to Lincis Spar and made sure it was manned, but somehow a raiding party slipped through.’
‘I thought the might of Lincis and Amfina Spars’ warriors had been crushed in the Battle of Wythrontir,’ Fyn said.
All heads turned towards him. He saw Isolt go to welcome him, but Dunstany took her arm and squeezed, reminding her to sustain the fiction that they’d fallen out.
Seeing him in the doorway, the Merofynian nobles shifted closer together. This left Fyn alone at the end of the war-table, alone and isolated, which was where he needed to be if he was to lure out those who sought to remove him and undermine Byren.
‘We did crush the warlords and their men,’ Neiron said.
‘Yet you say Lincis Spar warriors have been mounting raids?’
Neiron grimaced. ‘I don’t know how—’
‘Secret passes. Byren used one to escape Cobalt’s men. Since there are secret passes over the Dividing Mountains in Rolencia—’
‘What of the Benetir girl?’ Elrhodoc demanded. ‘Is she suitably chastened and ready to retreat to Cyena Abbey? We can’t mount an attack to save her estate until we’ve secured our own.’
‘You don’t need to. Lady Sefarra is reinforcing the defences of her estate and great house even as we speak.’
Elrhodoc frowned. ‘But how—’
‘Queen Isolt, there’s a dozen seven-year slaves requesting an audience with you, and at least a hundred making camp on the terraces,’ a frantic servant reported.
Blustering with anger, the Merofynian nobles dashed to the tall windows to peer down onto the terrace.
Neiron turned to Elrhodoc. ‘Call out the queen’s guards. Round up these escaped slaves. Hang the dozen brazen enough to request an audience with the queen and—’
‘They are not escaped slaves,’ Fyn said. ‘They fought to recapture Benetir Estate in exchange for their freedom. They want the queen to negotiate safe passage to Rolencia. Some have remained on Benetir Estate in Lady Sefarra’s employ to help build defences, but the rest—’
‘Pay seven-year slaves good Merofynian coin?’ Rhoderich muttered. ‘What’s the girl thinking?’
‘They’re not escaped slaves,’ Fyn repeated. ‘They’re free men, hiring out their services!’
‘How could you free the Benetir seven-year slaves?’ Neiron demanded. ‘If our seven-year slaves hear of it, they’ll revolt. Slave revolts on top of Utland raids and spar invasions!’ He turned to the others. ‘Save me from meddling amateurs.’
‘What do you expect?’ Elrhodoc’s voice was thick with contempt. ‘He’s Rolencian. He has no love for Merofynia.’
Isolt opened her mouth to protest, but held her tongue.
Fyn needed to appear vulnerable, but not cowed. ‘If you offered your seven-year slaves their freedom in exchange for fighting off spar raids—’
‘Never! I’m not putting weapons in the hands of our enemy.’ Rhoderich’s deep voice cut him off. ‘My queen, we came to you for help. Is this the best you can offer?’
Isolt lifted her hands. ‘Apart from the palace guards and my honour guard, you lords are my captains, and your men-at-arms are my army.’
‘You brought this on yourselves,’ Fyn said. ‘If Merofynia had not sent Palatyne to invade Rolencia, and the lords had not ridd
en on his coat-tails to rake in the rewards, the nobles’ estates would not be ripe and rich, bloated with seven-year slaves. Now you can’t defend yourselves because you sent the best of your men-at-arms to die, spilling Merofynian blood on Rolencian soil. And for what? Red wine, grain and velvet cloth!’ Fyn’s voice shook with anger. ‘You sacked Halcyon Abbey. I saw boys and old masters murdered. Potential and knowledge, lost forever. You call Rolencians barbarians, yet thirty years ago, when my father turned back the last Merofynian invasion, he did not sack Cyena and Mulcibar Abbeys. He respected the seats of learning.’ Tears of fury stung Fyn’s eyes. ‘So don’t come whining to your queen, not when you let greed guide your decisions.’
‘My queen, are you going to put up with this Rolencian upstart criticising Merofynian royalty?’ Rhoderich demanded.
As Dunstany caught Fyn’s eye, he realised Isolt had to side with the nobles. He’d backed her into a corner.
Fyn bent from the waist. ‘Your pardon, my queen. I let the memory of the deaths of my fellow monks and tutors overcome my judgement. I came to report that Benetir Estate is once again in Lady Sefarra’s hands and—’
‘Hundreds of lawless seven-year slaves have been freed!’ Elrhodoc cut in.
‘Exactly.’ Neiron backed him up. ‘Before you know it, they will be roaming the streets, robbing and raping. Call out the city-watch, my queen. Call on your queen’s guards. Double the palace guards.’
‘The young lord’s right,’ Dunstany said. ‘It would be wise to put Captain Aeran on alert, Queen Isolt.’
‘At last someone speaks sense,’ Rhoderich muttered.
‘Double the palace guards and send word to the captain of the city-watch,’ Isolt told Elrhodoc.
He gave the queen a quick bow, before striding out.
‘I’m sailing home,’ Rhoderich said. ‘For it’s clear we lords are on our own. Neiron, Elcwyff, are you with me?’
Both lords assured him they were, and all three marched out.
Isolt turned to the servant who had been waiting all this time. ‘Give the ex-slaves food and tell them to wait. They are not to be hounded or provoked.’
As soon as he was alone with Isolt and Dunstany, Fyn signalled for silence, checked the hall and shut the doors.
‘That certainly set the cat among the pigeons,’ Dunstany said.
Fyn flushed. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Everything Fyn said was true,’ Isolt insisted. ‘Unwelcome, but true. I wish I could have supported—’
‘You played your part well, my dear,’ Dunstany told her. ‘And Fyn, you were right. The Merofynity Stone is a spectacularly large sorbt stone, the kind that focuses power. Your ancestors must have had Affinity, for the stone to welcome them, but not the knowledge to understand its true potential. It’s priceless.’
‘Should we lock it up?’ Piro asked, intrigued. ‘Or is it impossible to move?’
‘Not impossible, just difficult,’ Dunstany said. ‘It’s been there for hundreds of years. I don’t think anyone is going to run off with it, and people would ask questions of the Merofynity Stone disappeared. In fact...’—he turned to Isolt—‘I think you should marry Byren under the linden tree while standing on that stone.’
Fyn didn’t want to make plans for Byren to marry Isolt. He changed the topic. ‘The lords are right about one thing. Once the rest of the seven-year slaves hear that the Benetir Estate slaves were freed, they’ll revolt. We should put them on ships and send them back home as quickly—’
‘If you send them home, they’ll return to their farms and shops, and Byren will only have to gather them all over again in order to retake the throne,’ Dunstany said. ‘Much better to keep them here until Byren is ready to move.’
‘Keep them camped on the terrace?’ Isolt muttered.
Fyn hated to say it, but... ‘The queen’s guards are loyal to Elrhodoc. You may have need of a hundred and twenty fighting men, Isolt.’
‘Rolencians protecting me from my own queen’s guards?’ Isolt reached for a chair and sat down abruptly.
Fyn felt responsible. How had it all gone so wrong?
‘Don’t worry, lad.’ Dunstany put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ve already sent for Byren.’
‘Already sent for?’ A vicious surge of anger ripped through Fyn. It felt like a slap in the face, after all his hard work.
‘Oh, Fyn, that reminds me.’ Isolt sprang to her feet and came over to join them. She didn’t appear to realise that he had been insulted. ‘Piro is here. She’s coming to the palace as soon as she’s well enough to travel.’
‘Piro here? Wait...’ Fyn wasn’t thinking clearly. ‘She’s sick?’
Isolt glanced to Dunstany who answered. ‘Your sister was wounded, but she’s recovering.’
‘Good.’ But if he stayed, he was going to say something he’d regret. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to clean up.’
And he left them, still burning with anger. Dunstany had sent for Byren without consulting him. He went to his chambers, meaning to gather his thoughts, but he found a servant waiting for him.
‘Who are you?’ Fyn asked.
‘Sebron,’ the man said. ‘Kyral was sick, so he sent me.’
Since Fyn had managed to convince his former servant that he did not want help, he knew this for a lie. His mind raced. Was this Elrhodoc’s answer, a manservant sent to kill him? Just let him try...
‘My lord?’
‘Hmm?’ Mind racing, Fyn rubbed his face as if tired. He wished he was armed, but he’d discarded his sword and knife before going to see the queen. ‘Think I’ll have a bath.’
He looked down as if to unlace his shirt, deliberately giving the assassin an opening.
Sensing movement, Fyn sidestepped. The manservant stumbled past him, regaining his feet with liquid ease.
The manservant had produced a small, wicked blade. He was all economical movement and total concentration.
Fyn frowned. ‘You’re a corax.’
A flicker of surprise crossed the assassin’s face.
‘I don’t have any enemies on Ostron Isle...’ But that was where Cobalt had spent the last thirteen years. And Cobalt had burnt ‘Fyn’s’ body in Rolenton Square. ‘My cousin Cobalt sent you.’
But if he had hoped for confirmation, he was out of luck.
The assassin remained silent as he circled Fyn, trying to pin him between the bed and the wall.
Instead, Fyn backed away, drawing the corax into the bathing chamber.
Heart thundering, Fyn felt his Affinity surge and the stone on his ring gleamed. The corax’s gaze flicked down to his hand.
Fyn stepped forward, caught his attacker’s knife hand and pivoted, pulling the man off balance in a half-circle, then letting him go.
The assassin skidded on the bathing chamber tiles and fell headfirst into the sunken bath.
With the corax’s knife now in his hand, Fyn stood over the tub ready to strike, but the corax lay unmoving. He’d broken his neck when he struck the far end of the bath.
Fyn’s legs gave way and he knelt on the tiles. He’d been lucky. But with coraxes after him, from now on he would have to be careful.
Chapter Forty-Five
‘HERE WILL DO,’ Piro said, pointing to a shaded spot under the sweetly-scented lemon tree.
Gwalt nodded to the stable master, who had helped carry the day-bed into the courtyard of Dunstany’s townhouse. She hated not being able to do things for herself.
‘Thank you.’ Piro sank onto the bed with relief.
Gwalt put a glass of lemon and barley water on a small table beside her. ‘There we are. Now, you let me know if you need anything else.’
She nodded. He was so different from the ship’s surgeon who had terrorised her when she was at death’s door. Tears stung her eyes.
‘Don’t cry.’ Gwalt patted her arm. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Y-you’ve been so k-kind.’
He smiled indulgently. ‘And why wouldn’t I be?’
‘The cook..
.’ The cook had recognised Piro as Dunstany’s ex-slave, and refused to speak to her. Piro wasn’t sure if it was because she had been a slave, or because she had travelled with Dunstany dressed as a boy.
‘Don’t give her a thought.’
‘I’m not usually like this,’ Piro confessed, brushing away the tears.
‘I know. The best thing you can do is rest and get better. That’ll please his lordship.’
Piro nodded, although she didn’t understand why he thought she’d want to please Siordun.
Gwalt left and Piro lay back to watch the sun gleaming through the foliage. It was mid-afternoon, and her fever had abated for the time being. The servants’ chatter as they brought in the laundry was strangely comforting. After facing death, the ordinary concerns of running a home reminded her how precious life was.
She’d almost dozed off when she heard Dunstany’s voice.
With an effort, she pulled herself up on one elbow and watched as the carriage with the Dunistir crest—a star within a circle, symbolising purity and fidelity—entered the courtyard. As a stable boy closed the gate, Dunstany climbed down and the carriage continued around the lemon tree into the stables.
‘My lord?’ Piro called.
He turned and saw her there. ‘You’re up?’ He hobbled over, leaning heavily on the cane. ‘I don’t think that’s wise.’
‘I’ve been shut in a dank, dark cabin for five days with a bad tempered ship’s surgeon who smelled of alcohol and despair. If I didn’t get out in the sunshine, I’d go mad.’
His lips twitched and his eyes smiled. In the past she’d been delighted every time she’d made Lord Dunstany smile. Now she wasn’t sure how she felt.
He sat down as if his bones ached.
‘Why do you...’ She gestured to the staff and cane.
‘Disguise is in the detail. Isolt has invited Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter to stay with her at the palace.’
Piro wrinkled her nose. ‘Would I have to be polite and listen to old noblemen tell me things I already know?’
His lips twitched again.
She felt a surge of pleasure, which she ruthlessly suppressed—this was not her Lord Dunstany. ‘What news of Fyn?’
King Breaker Page 43
