Yosiv translated. ‘The king appreciates your care for the welfare of his brother and he would have you meet his second son. Chedojor Kingson, soon to be wed to the daughter of Dezvronofaje’s greatest family.’ A man in his mid-twenties bowed. The scholar indicated the younger man. ‘And Dragojor, the king’s grandson.’
The lad looked to be no older than fifteen, and he gave Byren the smallest bow of all.
‘The king’s heir, Jorandrej, is dealing with an uprising in Karpafaje.’
The second son said something, gesturing to Hristo.
The king asked after Nilsoden.
Hristo shaded his eyes to search the crowded courtyard where Chandler and the rest of Byren’s honour guard waited, but Nilsoden was nowhere to be seen.
The unfortunate escort apologised.
The king gestured to Byren as he replied and Byren felt Florin tense.
Yosiv turned to him. ‘King Jorgoskev asks what you would do with a body guard who fails in his duty.’
Byren rubbed his jaw, playing for time. ‘I would not presume to tell a fellow king how to rule his kingdom.’
Yosiv translated. The king exchanged looks with his eldest son.
Jorgoskev seemed to consider, then he spoke to Hristo and Yosiv translated for Byren’s benefit. ‘I placed my trust in you, Hristo, yet you failed to bring my brother home in good health. Decide your own punishment.’
Hristo swallowed. He glanced to the six men-at-arms who served under him. He could sacrifice one of them to take the blame. Instead, he drew his knife, said something that included the king’s name then drove the knife up under his ribs, into his heart.
It was a waste of a good man, and it infuriated Byren, who asked, ‘What did Hristo say, scholar?’
‘Long live King Jorgoskev.’
Florin made a sound in her throat and stumbled away to throw up. Jorgoskev’s grandson laughed.
Byren’s men muttered, and he sent Chandler a warning look. He turned back to Yosiv. ‘Please give the king my apologies. My shield-maiden has been sky-sick since we arrived.’
‘That is how it is with some people,’ the scholar said and translated for the king.
Then they were escorted into the palace, leaving Hristo’s body on the steps.
FLORIN’S CHAMBER HAD been completed so recently that she could smell the linseed paint. Since they thought she did not understand them the servants communicated with her by gesture and spoke freely amongst themselves. There were three of them, all youths, all richly dressed and beautiful, if you overlooked their odd colouring. And they were all soft of cheek, even though they appeared full grown.
She brushed away their helping hands to open her travelling bag. Cinna had insisted on packing one pretty gown, but Florin ignored it, laying out clothes befitting a shield-maiden. When Tutor Yosiv had translated this term as warrior-virgin, the king had said, ‘no wonder the giantess is a virgin.’
One of the youths wrinkled his nose. ‘What ugly clothing they all wear!’
‘What do you expect of great clumsy giants?’ the second muttered. ‘Clearly, their souls have no poetry.’
‘Yet, they call this one the king’s warrior-virgin!’
They all tittered.
‘The king is a giant even amongst his own people,’ the first whispered. ‘He must be hung like an ursodon.’
They giggled and laid bets as to which of them would be the first to glimpse the object of their curiosity.
Florin had to compose her features before she turned around and mimed bathing. They opened a second door to reveal a bathing chamber made of gleaming white stone. Gold-plated taps delivered water to a deep sunken tub. One of the servants sprinkled a mixture of petals in the water. Florin smelled roses and violets. When they tried to undress her, she sent them away.
Disappointed, they backed out.
The bathing chamber was finer than anything in Rolenhold. She suspected it was as grand as those found in the great houses of Ostron Isle or Merofynia. It would have been wonderful, if she hadn’t felt so weak. No matter how deeply she breathed, there was never enough air and nausea was her constant companion. Her hands shook, had not stopped shaking since she’d seen Hristo take his own life. What kind of king forced a man to do that?
Florin stripped and stepped into the tub. If she could not be well, at least she could be clean.
The door behind her opened and Byren strode in. Tugging his shirt over his head, he tossed it aside. ‘...was no need to drive a man to kill himself.’
‘We don’t know their customs.’ Orrade followed. ‘He used Hristo’s death to make a point, we...’ Noticing Florin, he broke off. ‘Byren...’
‘What?’ He turned and saw Florin. ‘What are you doing in my bath?’
‘This is my bath.’ But even as she said it, she realised the servants had assumed warrior-virgin was a title, not a description. ‘They must think...’
He looked fixedly down at his feet. ‘My apologies.’
And he left with Orrade, without a backward glance.
Cheeks flaming, she retreated to her chamber, but not before throwing up again. How was she going to get through the feast tonight?
Chapter Fifty-One
TO BYREN, THE food of the Snow Bridge smelled odd and tasted odder, the conversation was impenetrable and the music irritating. He had expected to meet the king’s daughters at the feast, but there was not one local woman at the table, or among the servants. Instead, silk-wearing, soft-cheeked youths served the food. More of them played music and sang and danced while several moved along the tables for no reason other than to flirt with the feasters.
After watching some none-too-subtle fondling, Byren turned to the old scholar who sat between him and King Jorgoskev. ‘Why do the boys flirt like girls?’
The old man took his time, apparently searching for the right word. ‘They are not boys, but half-men.’
‘Half-men?’ Byren’s balls contracted at the thought.
Orrade nudged him under the table and tried to divert the conversation. ‘Have the healers treated Lord Vlatajor?’
‘The healers are with him now.’
Since this reminded Byren of Hristo, he moved the conversation on. ‘I thought we would meet the king’s daughters over dinner?’
Scholar Yosiv turned to the king and said something.
Byren glanced to Florin, wishing she wasn’t on the other side of Orrade. She stared at her plate, looking pale and unhappy. Upon entering the feasting hall, she had been given a robe which, according to Yosiv, made her a man for the evening. It seemed the Snow Bridge people had a rather fluid attitude towards gender.
Jorgoskev said something to Byren.
Scholar Yosiv explained. ‘The king has sent for his three daughters. You will have your pick.’
Byren glanced to Orrade.
‘We must tell him,’ Orrade whispered. ‘The longer this goes on, the worse it gets.’ He leaned forward, addressing the translator. ‘Please convey our apologies to the king. We discussed this with Lord Vlatajor, but due to his injury I fear there has been a misunderstanding. Byren Kingsheir wishes to make an alliance, but he is not free to...’ Orrade ran down. An old half-man had returned, leading three cloaked figures, presumably the three kingsdaughters. Two were the same height, but the third appeared to be little more than a child.
With a flourish, the half-man removed the first one’s hood to reveal a woman who was not in the first blush of youth. She had the broad cheek bones and pale colouring typical of her people. Her eyes and lips had been painted. By their standards, she would have been pretty, but she stared straight ahead, her mouth set in a thin line of anger.
‘Skevlaza.’ The king gestured to her.
The half-man undid the clasp at her throat, removing her cloak to reveal...
‘She’s naked,’ Byren muttered. No wonder she was furious. He had to fight the instinct to go over and replace her cloak. Knowing she hated their scrutiny, he could not look at her.
‘Sk
evlaza is thirty-two, but she has already produced one son, so we know she is fertile,’ the tutor said. ‘Her mourning period ended long ago, and she is free to marry.’
Byren glanced to Orrade, who was as stunned as him.
The king gestured to his eldest daughter. Small by Byren’s standards, she was perfectly made, and graceful as she turned around on bare feet. Byren caught himself watching the sweet curve of her bottom and averted his eyes.
This meant he noticed Florin’s expression. If he wasn’t careful, she would jump up to her feet and say something that would get them all in trouble.
‘Next we have Skevlixa,’ the tutor said. ‘Even though she is nineteen, she has never known a man. Because of her beauty, many have approached the king with offers, but he has denied them, knowing he could make a great match for her.’
Byren kept his eyes on the girl’s face. She was a beauty, even with those strange shallow eyes and odd, red-gold hair. Clearly, she did not mind standing there for all to admire her. She turned on her toes, deliberately alluring. He felt like shaking her. She should be offended by these proceedings, not flattered.
‘And next there is Skevlonsa. She is not yet twelve, but you can marry her now and bed her when she turns fifteen.’
This time Byren did not lift his eyes. The thought of Piro being paraded like this infuriated him. He sprang to his feet and gestured somewhat wildly to the three kingsdaughters, who were once again cloaked. ‘Your customs are not my customs. I mean no offence, but I cannot do this. Please tell King Jorgoskev I am already betrothed.’
‘Betrothed?’ Yosiv looked worried.
‘Please translate this, scholar.’ Orrade came to his feet, gesturing grandly. ‘My king is honoured to meet King Jorgoskev’s beautiful daughters, each more lovely than the last. But according to our customs, when his brother died, he became betrothed to Queen Isolt.’ Orrade gave Yosiv time to translate, then went on. ‘Byren Kingsheir most humbly offers his sister, Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter, as a match for the king’s grandson, Dragojor.’
Orrade sent Byren a look of apology. They had to offer the Snow Bridge king something as a sign of good faith.
As Yosiv translated, everyone turned to the youth.
Dragojor looked startled, then grimaced and made a comment that elicited a laugh. Byren wanted to give the smirking youth a good thrashing.
Jorgoskev barked out something that made everyone fall silent. Young Dragojor flushed and came to his feet. He bowed low in Byren’s direction and spoke with regret. Jorgoskev echoed him.
Byren looked to the scholar.
‘The king apologises for his grandson, and asked you to forgive the rashness of youth.’
‘Apology accepted.’ Byren bowed stiffly, then had to take his seat again. If he left the table now, they would think he had taken insult.
The king asked a question via the scholar. ‘My liege asks if this betrothal to Queen Isolt is not of your making, then surely you do not have to honour it?’
‘I gave my word,’ Byren said.
When Jorgoskev heard this, he stood and lifted his goblet, making a toast.
‘To men of honour,’ Yosiv translated.
Relieved, Byren came to his feet. ‘To honour.’
FLORIN SLIPPED INTO her room. With its pillows and duck-down quilt, the bed looked very inviting but Byren was waiting for her report. She went through to the adjoining bathing chamber, where he was already running the water to cover their conversation.
Byren turned to her. ‘What jest did that pup make about Piro?’
‘As Orrade said, their customs are different from ours. You insulted the king. Instead of studying Jorgoskev’s daughters and complimenting him on their beauty and child-bearing hips, you could hardly bring yourself to look at them. Then you offered your sister without first presenting her for inspection. All Dragojor said was that he would not buy a horse sight unseen, why should he take a wife without seeing her, and...’ Colour raced up Florin’s cheeks. ‘He added if she looked anything like me, he’d rather have a half-man in his bed.’
‘That’s it.’ Byren flushed. ‘We leave tomorrow,’
‘We can’t leave so soon,’ Orrade protested.
Florin covered her mouth and ran to the basin to throw up.
‘We’ll tell them Florin can’t take any more of the thin air and we must leave for her sake.’
‘That could work,’ Orrade conceded.
Florin rinsed her mouth and turned to him. ‘Glad I can be of use, my king.’
Byren grinned and went over to her. ‘Go to bed. Play up the sky-sickness. I’ll send for Scholar Yosiv.’
So Florin ended up in bed, wishing her part in the proceedings was over. All she wanted to do was sleep, but Yosiv had taken one look at her and sent for the healer. Now he and Byren stood by the bed, while the healer bustled about with his assistant. Both were half-men. One was old and plump, and the other was young and plump.
Byren did not look happy. ‘Half-men, Scholar Yosiv?’
‘They make the best healers. They cannot be tempted by a man’s wife or daughter,’ the scholar said. ‘I’ll turn away and translate. Do you wish to stay while the healer examines your shield-maiden?’
Byren backed out so hastily he bumped into the apprentice.
Florin suffered the indignity of being prodded and poked, and went through the charade of needing the tutor to translate the healer’s questions. How often did she throw up? How long since she was able to keep down a meal?
Finally the old healer announced that she was one of those people who might never adjust to the Snow Bridge, and agreed the only cure was for her to leave. He offered to prepare a draught to help her sleep.
When Yosiv went off to tell Byren, Florin lay back on the bed. Over by the fire, the healer and his apprentice ground herbs, adding them to warmed wine, speaking softly.
To think she had been dreading meeting the Snow Bridge kingsdaughter, yet all she felt was pity. She still dreaded meeting Queen Isolt.
The two healers returned to the bed with the draught.
She sipped, hoping it would not upset her stomach.
‘Will this help her?’ the apprentice asked.
‘It won’t do her any harm. I put in enough powder to knock out an ursodon. Did you sense Affinity on her?’
‘Not in the slightest.’
Florin kept her eyes lowered.
‘And you’re sure their king had no Affinity?’
‘I felt nothing when I touched his skin.’
‘Then the advisor must be the one who kept the king’s brother alive.’
‘Will Lord Vlatajor live?’
‘If he’s unlucky. Thanks to that silfroneer, he’ll be in pain for the rest of his life and no use to the king. That’s two brothers and three sons he has lost to win his kingdom. I wonder if he considers it worthwhile.’
Florin finished the drink and thanked them in their own language. She’d deliberately asked Yosiv to teach her a few basic words.
‘The giantess shows courtesy,’ the apprentice said. ‘It seems a shame to reveal the advisor’s secret, when he saved the king’s brother. What will happen to him?’
‘That’s up to Jorgoskev, but whatever our king decides, the barbarian king is in no position to argue.’
Her stomach clenching with fear, Florin pretended to fall asleep.
‘Do we have to tell our king?’
‘Foolish boy. Nilsoden will go to the king. If we don’t go with him, it will look like we have sympathy for the Affinity-touched. In the coming days, that will be almost as bad as having Affinity.’
‘Why, what will happen to them?’
The old healer leaned close to his apprentice. ‘I’ve seen how Jorgoskev roots out his enemies. He’ll offer a reward for any Affinity-touched and pay it out of their confiscated property. Before long, neighbours will be denouncing neighbours.’
The apprentice gasped.
‘Get our things. We must return to Nilsoden before he goes to the
king without us.’
Their soft talk washed over Florin in waves, and she realised the draught was working. The moment they left, she sprang out of bed, staggered to the bathing chamber and stuck her fingers down her throat. Tears burned her eyes as she emptied her stomach.
Once she’d rinsed her mouth and face, she darted into the adjacent chamber. ‘Byren, we... where’s Byren?’
Orrade had been unlacing his shirt. ‘I don’t know. I just got back from telling Chandler we leave tomorrow.’
‘Nilsoden’s going to betray your Affinity to win favour with the king. We have to stop him.’ Florin went to the door and peered out, just in time to see the old healer and his apprentice turn the corner at the end of the passage. ‘They’re going. Quick.’
‘You can’t run about the palace in a night gown.’
‘Don’t lose them, I’ll catch up.’
She darted through to her chamber and pulled on her breeches and shirt, sliding a knife into her belt.
She sped down the length of the hall to join Orrade.
‘They went into the next passage,’ he whispered. ‘They were arguing.’
Florin signalled for silence and peered around the corner. The apprentice and the healer were about two body-lengths along the corridor, whispering fiercely.
The old healer took the youth’s arm. ‘Why do you want to go home now...’ His eyes widened. ‘Someone in your family has Affinity.’
‘Yes, my brother. Please, I must warn them.’
‘No. If you’re caught with them—’
‘Let me go!’ He tried to break away from the old healer.
As they wrestled, the old healer tripped and fell backwards, hitting his head on the base of a statue. He lay still.
The apprentice dropped to his knees. ‘Master?’
He was so horrified he did not hear Florin come up behind him. She hauled him to his feet. ‘Go warn your family, but first, where is Nilsoden?’
He gaped. ‘You speak our language.’
‘Where is Nilsoden?’
He pointed to the next door, just as Nilsoden opened it and looked out. Seeing Florin and Orrade, Nilsoden took off. Orrade gave chase.
King Breaker Page 50
