King Breaker

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  After several moments of fruitless exertion, she tucked the pendant back into her nightgown. That was when she heard Isolt’s soft weeping.

  Piro padded into the queen’s bedchamber, climbed up onto Isolt’s bed and stroked her back. ‘I’ll stay if you want me to. Or, better yet, come with me. Byren...’ Piro hesitated. Fond as she was of Byren, she knew he saw Isolt as a duty.

  ‘I can’t leave the palace now that the lords are returning.’ Isolt sat up, wiping her cheeks. ‘I have to support Fyn, and I have to prepare the betrothal documents.’

  Was that the real reason she’d been crying? Was the thought of marrying Byren enough to make her cry herself to sleep?

  Isolt had never admitted her feelings for Fyn. Piro suspected Isolt’s strong sense of duty would see her married to a man who did not love her. Where would that leave Fyn?

  Piro did not want the three people she loved most in the world making the biggest mistake of their lives. ‘Why were you crying?’

  Isolt looked away, mouth working. After a moment she said, ‘I miss Loyalty. Now that she lives in the grotto, I’m afraid she’ll grow apart from me and we won’t be able to bond.’

  ‘Come on.’ Piro slipped off the bed. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.’

  Isolt smiled fondly. ‘You’re not making sense.’

  Piro laughed and pulled her to her feet. ‘I can act as a channel to help you bond with Loyalty.’

  ‘You can?’

  She nodded. ‘I did it for Nefysto’s cousin back on Ostron Isle. Come on.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Why not? I’m leaving tomorrow.’

  They grabbed their slippers, threw shawls around their shoulders and left the bedchamber, running on bare feet through the palace corridors and courtyards.

  Piro felt light-hearted. She might not be able to save Isolt from a marriage neither she nor Byren wanted, but she could do this one thing, and if it turned out that this was all her Affinity was good for, then so be it.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  PIRO STEPPED OFF the yacht to find four servants lined up on the jetty. Dunistir House stood on a rise behind them. Lights gleamed in a row of first floor windows. Siordun had told her these were Lord Dunstany’s private chambers, and this was where the old scholar shut himself away when he was supposedly suffering one of his recurring illnesses.

  A richly dressed manservant stepped forward. ‘His lordship insisted—’

  Piro blinked. ‘Soterro?’

  He stiffened. ‘House-steward Soterro.’

  Piro realised she should not have admitted to recognising the Ostronite servant, but the surprise had loosened her tongue. Soterro had been his lordship’s head servant during the Merofynian invasion, when she’d served as Dunstany’s slave.

  The other three servants looked curious, obviously wondering how Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter knew their steward.

  ‘Soterro was kind to me when Lord Dunstany helped me escape Rolencia,’ Piro explained. He had been nothing of the sort. He’d considered her beneath him. ‘I recall him with great fondness.’

  Soterro had the grace to flush. He bowed low in the Ostronite fashion and gestured to the end of the jetty. ‘The carriage will take you up to the great house as soon as Lord Protector Merofyn is ready.’

  ‘My brother remained in the palace. The queen has need of him,’ Piro said. She had been about to protest that it was only a short walk to the great house, but the servants looked so eager that she did not have the heart.

  As she approached the carriage, the footman opened the door and unfolded the step, then helped her climb in. The vehicle swayed with her weight, then settled. She complimented him on the suspension.

  ‘The best leather straps,’ he said proudly, climbing up behind the carriage.

  Piro beckoned Soterro to the window. ‘Will I see Grysha and Cook?’

  He grimaced, obviously remembering how Grysha had grabbed her bottom more than once and Cook had bullied her. ‘Grysha ran away to sea, but Cook still rules the kitchen.’

  ‘Please give him my compliments.’ Piro was enjoying herself. When Soterro had been in a position of power over her, he had been brusque and high-handed. Now that their positions were reversed, she could be gracious. ‘Ride with me, steward.’

  ‘I am honoured.’ He climbed into the carriage and sat opposite her. The coachman urged the horses forward. ‘Before you say anything, Kingsdaughter, let me apologise. If I had known who you were—’

  ‘You thought I was a slave, and you were not kind.’

  ‘It was not my job to be kind. If Lord Dunstany had thought fit to reveal your true identity, I would have served you as well.’ He bristled. ‘Never let it be said that I am not loyal.’

  They had arrived at the great house’s main entrance and he helped her step down from the carriage. A dozen servants waited to greet her. As she was introduced to each one, she memorised their names and positions. Most were elderly, but not as elderly as Lord Dunstany. She guessed they were in their sixties and seventies.

  The silver-haired house-keep greeted Piro, eyes bright with tears. ‘Welcome to Dunistir House, Kingsdaughter. And if I may say, you’re every bit as lovely as your grandmother. She often came here as a young woman, on account of her older brother and Lord Dunstany being such good friends. I remember her well.’

  Piro felt a sense of loss and reached out to the house-keep. ‘I never met my grandmother. I hope you can find the time to tell me about her.’

  The woman beamed. ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, kingsdaughter. Now, I’ll show you to your chamber.’

  As Piro was escorted to her room, she had to explain about Fyn all over again. The house-keep was disappointed to hear he would not be coming and bustled off to strip Fyn’s bed and put the furniture under dust covers again.

  Piro had a message from Gwalt for his father. He was the only person on Dunistir Estate who knew the true state of affairs. ‘I’d like to see his lordship now, Soterro.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The steward escorted her along the passage to Dunstany’s wing of chambers. Light came from under the door, and someone was playing softly on a dolcimela.

  The moment Soterro knocked, the music stopped. A tall white-haired man opened the door. The father was the opposite of his son, who was short and stocky. Old Gwalt wore a high ranking servant’s tabard. Silver thread had been used to embroider the Dunistir star and circle on the indigo cloth. When he bowed, Piro experienced a strong sense of familiarity.

  ‘His lordship has been looking forward to your visit all day,’ Old Gwalt said.

  ‘As have I.’ Piro stepped into the chamber. When Old Gwalt closed the door, she saw a flash of jealousy cross Soterro’s face. She dropped her voice. ‘I think the steward resents you.’

  ‘My family have served Dunistir House for generations.’ Old Gwalt made sure anyone listening at the door would overhear. ‘The steward is a foreigner.’

  Piro hid a smile and looked around. She glimpsed the Landlocked Sea through the curtains. Under the windows was a desk, and nearby were several musical instruments, including an upright clavichord. One wall was completely lined with books. ‘What a lovely chamber.’

  ‘His lordship has always loved music and learning.’ Old Gwalt tilted his head. They both heard the steward’s receding footsteps.

  ‘Fyn did not come because—’

  ‘I know. I keep a pica pair.’

  Of course he did, otherwise how could he communicate with Siordun when the agent was in Ostron Isle? She gestured to the private chamber and the room beyond, where she could see the end of a tall bed. ‘Is it difficult to maintain the illusion that Lord Dunstany is lying sick in that bed?’

  ‘Only on two occasions has Soterro managed to get into the music room. And both times I was able to divert him by telling him his lordship was in the bath.’

  Piro grinned. ‘Young Gwalt sent you this.’ She handed him a folded message. ‘And he sends his love.�
�

  To give the old man some privacy, she went over to the shelves to study the books. To think, Siordun had grown up here. She heard a noise and caught Old Gwalt watching her.

  ‘Does Dunstany’s heir suspect?’ Piro asked.

  ‘That wastrel?’ Old Gwalt’s top lip twisted. ‘My lord always despised him, and would not have him in the house. Once a year, on his lordship’s birthday, Duncaer would bring a gift, only to be turned away at the door. Since Siordun took over, he has kept up the custom. I don’t think Duncaer and his lordship have exchanged a word in over twenty years.’

  ‘What about when they’re both at the palace?’

  ‘Duncaer is from a minor branch of the family. He might have seen Dunstany across a crowded feast chamber, but that is as close as he’d get.’

  ‘None of the servants suspect Siordun is Dunstany?’

  ‘Not one.’ He gave her a wry half-smile.

  It made her realise why he was familiar and why he was so loyal to the Dunistir house.

  ‘You’re one of Dunstany’s by-blows!’ Piro said, then blushed furiously and cursed her tongue. ‘I’m sorry. I—’

  ‘You’re absolutely right. I am related to Dunistir House but I’m not Dunstany’s son. We shared the same grandfather.’

  ‘So you’re related to Siordun?’

  ‘I look on him as a son.’

  FLORIN WAS EXHAUSTED. Byren had driven them in a brutal forced march. Despite the cloudless sky, every fifth man had carried a flaming torch. From the Affinity bird’s skittish behaviour, it had been clear the pack kept pace with them. Every now and then, the male ursodon would roar and the females would answer with short, huffing barks.

  Florin had breathed a sigh of relief when the path finally left the foot-hills and they left the pack behind, crossing open fields dotted with walled farmhouses.

  Now it was almost dusk, but there was still enough light to see the bluish tone of the Silfroneer’s skin. At first, she’d thought he travelled without food or blankets because he’d lost them, and that was why he’d slept under the Affinity beast’s wing, but after watching him eat nothing all day, she had realised his bond with the beast sustained him, and his bluish colouring was caused by his link with the silver-eating beast.

  ‘I think I’m finally over the sky-sickness.’ Orrade fell into step beside Florin. ‘I haven’t thrown up since this morning. How about you?’

  ‘Lunch time.’

  ‘You’re feeling better?’

  ‘Yes,’ she lied, determined it would be true by tomorrow.

  Orrade sent her a perceptive look. They were the same height and their strides matched perfectly, which made it hard to avoid his eyes.

  ‘There’s things the ambassador isn’t telling us.’ Florin changed the subject. ‘I overheard him telling Hristo to organise ursodons for us when we get to the city.’

  ‘Tame beasts.’

  ‘According to Bozhimir, ursodons are never truly tamed. The only way to capture them is to trick them into eating a carcass seeded with sorbt stones. If they eat too many stones, they die. If they don’t eat enough, they’re still too wild. But—’

  ‘—if they eat just the right number, the stones absorb their Affinity,’ Orrade guessed, ‘making them malleable. Clever.’

  Florin nodded. ‘Except for one thing. If they vomit up the stones, they revert to their true nature. You never know if they are going to turn on you.’

  ‘Does this often happen?’

  ‘More often than you’d think. Thieves will feed the beasts purges to take the stones.’

  ‘Why would they want the stones?’

  ‘They’re much sought after. While in the beasts’ stomachs, the stones soak up Affinity and become beautifully polished. Stones from the male bears are particularly prized. Rich men wear them to enhance their virility. The stones from the females are supposed to make women insatiable.’ She blushed.

  Orrade laughed. ‘I can’t imagine Bozhimir telling an eight-year-old that detail.’

  ‘I used to listen at the door when he told my father stories.’ It hadn’t made much sense at the time, but now... She flushed and hurried on. ‘The point is that the beasts can revert to their true nature.’

  ‘If ursodons were too dangerous, the Snow Bridge people wouldn’t—’

  ‘I guess the nobles consider the loss of the occasional ursodon handler worth it. After all, the beasts are much bigger and stronger than horses.’

  They’d stopped a short distance from the walls of the southern-most city of the Snow Bridge. The walls and buildings of Dezvronofaje were constructed of mottled white-grey stone, with steep-pitched red roofs. Even though the setting sun still painted the distant peaks, the gates were closed and guards watched warily from the towers.

  As soon as Byren called a stop, his honour guard sank to sit under the aspen trees by the side of the road, heads bowed.

  The silfroneer dismounted and stroked his bird’s neck. He kept an eye on the ambassador, who sent the younger of his two companions to the gate, presumably to arrange lodgings for the night.

  Two of the men staggered further into the aspen grove to empty their stomachs. Florin was relieved to see she was not the only one still suffering from the sky-sickness. This time she managed not to throw up, but her legs trembled from exertion. She found a fallen tree trunk just off the road and sat down, leaning forward to catch her breath. Orrade kept her company.

  Byren strode through the aspens to join them. ‘Tired, Mountain Girl? Don’t worry, the ambassador tells me he’s going to organise transport for tomorrow.’

  Before Florin could tell him to beware of the ursodons, the ambassador joined them with Hristo.

  Vlatajor gestured discreetly to the silfroneer. ‘You should bind this arrogant Power-worker to you before we enter the city. If you don’t, he’s likely to run away. They—’ He broke off as the Silfroneer joined them and switched languages. ‘Have you no honour, silver-sucker? This man saved your life and that of your Affinity beast, yet you do not offer service in gratitude?’

  ‘He saved us, this is true, but he is an ignorant foreigner. I owe him nothing.’

  ‘Did Nilsoden not tell you? This is King Byren of Rolencia.’

  The silfroneer shrugged. ‘What do I care for flat-land kings? From what I hear, there is more than one Rolencian king.’

  ‘This is the one who will make an alliance with my brother, King Jorgoskev.’

  The silfroneer glanced around and Florin followed his gaze, wondering what he was looking for. The men were scattered through the aspen grove. ‘Tell your brother that Power-workers will never bow to him!’ The man gestured and the bird’s leg lashed out, its razor sharp talons slashing Vlatajor’s torso wide open.

  Florin stared in horror.

  The silfroneer leapt onto his beast’s back and the bird ran off, long legs flashing.

  ‘My lord?’ Hristo tried to hold Vlatajor’s innards in place as the ambassador crumpled.

  Fighting nausea, Florin dropped to her knees and tried to stop the bleeding, but it was a huge wound, from shoulder to hip. Orrade knelt to help her.

  ‘The king will have our heads for this,’ Hristo muttered, unaware that Florin could understand him.

  Byren leaned over her shoulder, took one look at the wound and cursed. ‘We can’t move him. It’ll kill him. We’ll have to camp here.’

  Chandler and the Snow Bridge men-at-arms came running, wanting to know what was going on.

  Pulling Hristo to his feet, Byren pointed to the city and mimed wrapping bandages. ‘Go fetch a healer.’

  Hristo shook his head as if there was no hope, but ran off, calling to Nilsoden. The Snow Bridge men-at-arms stood together muttering, pale with shock.

  ‘No healer can save the ambassador,’ Florin whispered.

  ‘We’ll see.’ Byren looked grim. ‘Do what you can for him.’

  He strung blankets from branches to give them privacy, and hung a lamp directly above them.

  Flo
rin met Orrade’s eyes across the ambassador. They were both wrist deep in blood, and Vlatajor was white as a sheet. Having done all he could for now, Byren knelt beside her.

  ‘If the king’s brother dies, Hristo fears Jorgoskev will execute them,’ she whispered. ‘But...’ There was no hope.

  Orrade met Byren’s eyes. ‘We have to try to save him.’

  Byren nodded. ‘Are you up to this?’

  ‘What choice do we have?’

  Byren came to his feet. Florin could hear him at the entrance to the make-shift tent, telling Chandler to keep everyone away and let them know when Hristo returned with the healer.

  When Byren returned Florin looked from his grim face, to Orrade’s tight lips. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I have Affinity. Byren can channel my power to heal, but every other time we’ve done this it’s taken all night and the wound has not been so severe.’

  Byren grimaced. ‘If we don’t try, he’ll be dead before they return with the healer.’

  Orrade unlaced his own shirt, placing Byren’s bloody left hand over his heart.

  Byren covered Florin’s bloodstained hands with his free hand. ‘Don’t let Hristo catch us like this, Mountain Girl. If the king hates Power-workers...’

  She nodded.

  Orrade closed his eyes. ‘I’ve stopped fighting it.’

  He fought his Affinity? Florin hadn’t realised. She felt the gathering of power like the approach of a summer thunderstorm.

  Byren closed his eyes and began to hum.

  No, not a hum. It sounded more like a cat’s purr, deep, rhythmic and soothing, and it came from his broad chest. The deep vibration travelled through his hand, through both of hers and into the injured man.

  Florin’s mind raced. How long did they have? Hristo would have to send a messenger into the town, locate the healer and wait while they packed their herbs. If healing normally took all night, they didn’t have enough time, but if Byren was only trying to keep Vlatajor alive...

  Normally, Affinity made Florin uncomfortable, but this rhythmic vibration was strangely soothing. She relaxed, letting herself go with it. For the first time in days, she felt no nausea. Exhaustion swamped her and she drifted into a sort of trance.