As Garzik’s skiff rose and fell, cutting through the waves, the taller of the rowers spotted his sail. Tearing off his shirt, an old white-haired man waved the garment above his head, shouting for all he was worth. His companion joined in.
The second rower was shorter and also white-haired: an old woman, or a small man.
With Garzik’s approach, the ospriets saw their chance of a feast fast escaping and grew more daring, swooping ever lower. All it took was a strike to incapacitate one of the defenders and the other would not be able to hold the birds off.
Garzik readied an arrow, watched the ospriets, then let fly. He thought he’d missed his target until one of the birds faltered. The ospriet laboured, fighting to maintain height. As one wing brushed the crest of a wave, something leapt from the sea, its jaws closing around the bird’s leg. The ospriet flapped madly, trying to break free.
At first Garzik thought it was a flying fish that had caught the bird, but then he spotted the distinctive sea-horse head. ‘Nennirs!’
The ospriet attacked the nennir with its razor-sharp beak, and other ospriets screeched and came to its rescue. As if this was a signal, more nennirs leaped from the sea. Shooting straight up, driven by their powerful tails, they snatched birds from the air with ease.
Garzik was fascinated and horrified. Approaching the boat was madness now, unless... He nocked another arrow and took aim at the ospriets. They were closely packed and he loosed three arrows in quick succession, hoping to incapacitate more of the birds and keep the nennirs occupied.
It worked. Freed from attack, the rowers put the oars to work and the boat began to make headway towards Garzik. He swung the tiller, turning to meet them. Between keeping an eye on the Affinity beasts’ battle, watching the way the skiff responded to the seas and wind, and gauging the speed of their relative boats, Garzik was fully occupied.
He came alongside the boat, and the smaller oarsman scrambled onto the skiff about a body-length from Garzik. The old man passed him the oars then climbed aboard. The first seaman seemed the spritelier of the two, and joined Garzik at the bow to tie his boat to the skiff. Hand on the tiller, Garzik glanced over his shoulder to see the rowboat bobbing along behind.
‘You saved us. Thank you.’ It was a boy’s voice.
Garzik looked into a young, sunburnt face with strange, ice-blue eyes. ‘You’re Affinity-touched!’
The lad could be no more than twelve or thirteen. He nodded and went to see to the old man, who lifted his head revealing his own pink-purple eyes. In the Utlands, any deformity usually denoted innate power. No wonder the Affinity predators had been so eager.
Knowing how the Utlanders revered the Affinity-touched, Garzik couldn’t think why these two would be out on the open sea.
‘Get us into a bay,’ the old man urged. ‘There’s a storm coming.’
Garzik checked the sky. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course he’s sure,’ the lad snapped. ‘He’s Inac Storm-warner!’
‘I didn’t know Affinity-touched could—’
‘It’s going to be a bad one,’ Inac said. ‘Take us to the nearest safe anchorage. Your island’s closest.’
Garzik nodded. If he went back he might not escape until next spring, but he stopped fighting the wind and turned the prow north. The skiff flew through the sea, as if happy to be going home.
‘Will the nennirs come after us, Grandfather?’
‘How many ospriets did they get?’
‘Three.’
‘Then they’re probably too busy fighting over the birds.’
‘There’s food and water. Help yourself.’ Garzik gestured to his supplies. By the way the lad fell on the food, he figured they’d been adrift for a couple of days.
‘Go slow,’ Inac warned. ‘Or you’ll give yourself a belly ache.’
The lad sniffed the cheese. ‘What is this?’
‘Hot-land cheese,’ Inac said, eyeing Garzik thoughtfully. ‘You’re one of Wyvern People, right?’
Garzik nodded. ‘How did you know?’
The old man gestured to the wyverns embroidered on the cuffs and hem of his red shirt. He’d forgotten.
‘Wyvern People are rich.’
Garzik wouldn’t have thought so, but then he hadn’t seen how other Utland settlements lived, and Rusan’s people did have five ships.
The lad took a nibble of the cheese. He wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar taste.
‘There’s smoked fish,’ Garzik said.
The boy’s strange blue eyes studied him. ‘You’re not one of us.’
‘I was a slave. I won my freedom.’
‘How—’
‘Mind your tongue, Favkir.’ The old man sent Garzik an apologetic look.
‘If you’re Affinity-touched, why were you out on the open sea?’ Garzik asked.
‘We’re Dalfino People.’ The old man took a mouthful of watered wine. His voice was weak with exhaustion. ‘Your oracles are not the only Affinity-touched Vultar’s taken. When our lookout spotted the renegades, our people sent us to hide in another inlet, but the tide turned and we were swept out to sea with only a water sack. Five days we tried to get back, then the ospriets spotted us...’ He shuddered.
The lad slid an arm around the old man. ‘Lie down, Grandfather.’
He resisted. ‘You have not told us your name, or why you were alone in a three-man skiff.’
‘Wynn,’ Garzik said, mind racing. ‘The elders refused to let us race to Dalfino Isle, so I—’
‘Took the skiff to make a name for yourself, then discovered you’d bitten off more than you could chew.’ Inac eyed him shrewdly. ‘You came to our rescue despite the danger.’
Garzik shrugged, his mind on other things. If he turned up after Rusan told the others he’d run off... But he had no choice, if there was a storm coming.
Inac slumped, head in hands. ‘I fear for our people. Vultar will be in a temper—’
‘Whatever Vultar did to your people, it was done five days ago, and there’s nothing we can do about it now.’ Garzik realised he was growing hard like an Utlander.
Then he concentrated, fighting weariness, as the wind picked up and the skiff flew across the sea.
IMPATIENCE GNAWED AT Fyn. It was nine days since Byren had arrived in Merofynia. They were both working their way around the Landlocked Sea to drive out the spar invaders: Byren from the west, him from the east.
Yet Fyn was stuck here on Travantir Estate. The last thing he wanted was for Byren to ride in and to save the day. He wanted—needed—to meet his brother halfway around the Landlocked Sea, as an equal.
The frustrating thing was that he’d done everything right. Rather than moor the boats in full sight of the great house, he’d dropped anchor in a cove, intending to free the seven-year slaves and attack as they’d done on Benetir Estate. But he’d been spotted by a large party of spar warriors.
By the time he’d returned to the great house, Lord Travany had arrived, moored his boat in full view of the defenders and botched the attack. The spar warriors had fortified the great house. Thanks to Travany, who would not countenance anything that might damage his house or get his men killed, it looked like being a protracted siege. Where possible, Fyn had used the terrain to shield his men, but elsewhere he had ordered them to dig ditches. Of course Travany had objected to having his lawns dug up.
Movement down by the wharf attracted Fyn’s gaze.
Sunlight sparkled on the Landlocked Sea as Isolt threw the tin plate out over the water for Loyalty and Resolute to chase. But she was really watching out for Camoric, who had sailed the day before to check on Rhodontir Estate.
The prow of his boat came around the headland. If the western estates of the Landlocked Sea were anything to go by, Rhodontir Estate would also be in spar hands.
They should be moving on, yet they’d been stalled by an incompetent lord. As far as Fyn could tell, Travany’s eldest son was the only sensible member of the family. So he strode through the camp in search
of Travrhon.
Mitrovan came out of Lord Travany’s tent, carrying a bowl of soap suds.
‘Travrhon?’ Fyn asked.
Mitrovan shook his head and went to speak, but Trafyn’s voice reached them.
‘I don’t see why you don’t just send in the seven-year slaves, Father,’ the fifteen-year-old said. ‘It doesn’t matter how many of them die breaking down the barriers.’
‘We can’t trust them, that’s why. They’ll loot the house, run off with the silver, and...’
Fyn shook his head and backed away.
Mitrovan gestured. ‘Try the tower.’
Travany had ordered a tower built to observe the great house. Fyn didn’t know what Travany hoped to achieve. A siege tower on wheels that they could haul up to the house would have been more useful. This tower gave the appearance of doing something while accomplishing nothing.
‘Fyn,’ Travrhon called, coming down the hill. ‘You’ll be glad to know the tower’s completed. I was going to let Father know.’
Fyn nodded. ‘We have enough men to storm the house. Speak to your father, convince him.’
Travrhon looked uncomfortable. ‘We don’t know how many spar warriors are inside. Father fears what will happen to the women they hold hostage.’
‘We know what is happening to them right now, and we know the cellars are packed with wine and stores. The spar warriors can sit in there for a year, if they want to. We have to attack, Trav.’
‘You’re asking me to ignore my father’s orders.’ Travrhon met his eyes. ‘Would you have done that, Fyn?’
‘I wouldn’t have had to. My father knew how to lead.’
Travrhon flushed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Fyn said. ‘But the longer we sit here, the longer we have to feed our men. The spar warriors stripped the estate. We’re having to range farther and farther afield. We—’
‘Fyn?’ Isolt called.
He turned to see her coming up the rise with Camoric and both Affinity beasts. The men-at-arms watched her pass by, their expressions ranging from admiration to caution.
Camoric tempered his stride so Isolt could keep up with him.
‘Cam,’ Fyn greeted him. ‘What news? Has Rhodontir—’
‘—fallen? Yes. And it looks like we’re in for another siege. Lord Rhoderich had the place surrounded.’
Fyn cursed roundly. The last thing he needed was another lord who wanted to reclaim his estate without spilling his men’s blood or damaging the crockery.
Isolt sent him a look of sympathy. ‘What if you packed up camp and sailed off? The spar warriors might make a run for the pass. Why would they stay and fight when they’re outnumbered and there’s no hope of rescue?’
‘Because it’s cowardly to run,’ Travany said, joining them.
‘Besides, why would we leave?’ Trafyn chimed in. ‘This is our home.’
‘It might draw them out,’ Isolt said. Loyalty nudged the queen and she stroked the wyvern, which towered over her now. ‘If you offered them safe passage to the spar, would they surrender?’
‘We would never accept their surrender. It’s a matter of honour.’ Travany shook his heavy jowls. ‘Not that I expect a woman to understand.’
Isolt bristled. Loyalty lifted her head, wings flexing.
‘The tower’s completed,’ Fyn said quickly. ‘Let’s go up and see what we can learn.’
It took a while for everyone to climb the ladder. The tower was only two storeys high, but it was positioned on a rise, so that it looked down on the great house and outbuildings.
On reaching the platform, Fyn was disappointed. He’d been hoping archers could pick off the defenders, but they could not see the inner courtyard from here.
The wyvern and foenix circled the tower, their great wings cutting the air.
‘You shouldn’t spend so much time with the beasts, my queen,’ Travany said. ‘Bring them out for state occasions, but keep them at a distance. It’s not seemly.’
Isolt turned to him, eyes flashing.
‘We need to lure them out. Or drive them out,’ Fyn said. ‘We could set fire to one end of the great house.’
‘What?’ Travany spluttered. ‘I’m not setting fire to my home. It’s been in the family for generations.’
‘Only a little fire,’ Fyn said. ‘More smoke than flames. We could use green grass. We need to panic them.’
‘Sounds like a good idea to me,’ Travrhon said. ‘What do you think, Father?’
Everyone watched Travany as he considered this. ‘No...’ He shook his head. ‘The flames could get out of control.’
‘Look, some of the spar warriors are coming out.’ Isolt pointed to the third floor balcony. ‘Maybe they want to negotiate.’
‘We don’t negotiate with the likes of them,’ Travany said.
But the four spar warriors hadn’t ventured onto the balcony to surrender. They dropped their breeches and waved their arses at the tower.
Travany flushed and shook his fist at them. ‘How dare you?’ he shouted. ‘This is the queen of Merofynia!’
They laughed and told him what they’d do with the queen if they got the chance, with appropriate hand gestures.
Rage poured through Fyn. He wanted to...
‘You shouldn’t see this, my queen,’ Travrhon said. ‘Take her back to the ship, Trafyn.’
‘But I want to discuss strategy.’
‘Come, my queen.’ Fyn offered his arm. Isolt’s talk of luring the defenders out had given him an idea, and he tossed a comment over his shoulder as he left. ‘Spar warriors don’t have the same code of honour as you do, Lord Travany. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did try to escape. Spar warriors would rather live to fight another day.’
Fyn climbed down the steps with Isolt. Now that he’d planted the idea, he could circumvent Travany by leading an assault on the pretext that he’d caught the defenders trying to escape and Travany would not be able to prove otherwise.
When they reached the base of the tower, Isolt turned to him. ‘Do you need a distraction?’
Fyn blinked. She was a distraction.
‘Do you need something to distract the defenders so you can get into the house?’
‘Yes. A fire would have been perfect.’
She nodded, looking pleased with herself.
He’d seen that look on Piro’s face and it never boded well. ‘What are you up to?’
Loyalty and Resolute landed.
‘Isolt?’
She smiled and walked off with the Affinity beasts in tow.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
FLORIN STRODE DOWN the corridor. She hadn’t thrown up since the day after they’d arrived, and the nausea had faded until she was hardly aware of it. She was ready to join Byren, but he hadn’t sent a message since that first one, and she didn’t know where he was. She walked so fast Piro had to take two steps for every one of hers.
Impatience gnawed at Florin’s belly. ‘If Byren...’
Loud cries of distress reached them from the Istyntir women’s chambers.
‘Fetch help,’ Florin told Piro. Then she drew her knife and took off down the corridor.
Throwing the door open, Florin prepared to defend the women from attackers. Instead she found Lady Travenna and her five daughters all weeping. The eldest girl stood alone in front of the fireplace. The other four clustered around the mother, who had collapsed on the day-bed.
All of them stared at Florin, startled by her sudden appearance with a naked blade.
‘I heard cries. I thought we were under attack.’
‘So you’re Piro’s bodyguard,’ the mother said, as if she’d been trying to figure out Florin’s position in the household.
Florin let this pass. ‘What’s wrong? I thought someone was being murdered.’
‘It’s Isfynia.’ The youngest girl gestured to the eldest. ‘She—’ One of her sisters elbowed her.
Piro ran into the chamber with Soterro and three sturdy footmen, all armed.
‘
False alarm,’ Florin said but she caught Piro’s eye.
Taking her cue from Florin, Piro dismissed the men and turned to the mother. ‘Can I help, Lady Travenna?’
‘No.’ The mother wept while the four younger daughters tried to console her. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do. We’re ruined.’
‘Byren will recapture your estate,’ Florin told her. ‘Then you can go home.’
The woman glared at Florin. ‘What would an ignorant Rolencian girl know? My son’s dead and my husband’s dying. Even if the Rolencian king retakes Istyntir, it won’t be our home for long. There’s no male heir. One of the other lords will claim it for his younger son.’
‘You could appeal to the queen,’ Piro said. ‘She could recognise Isfynia’s right to inherit, and arrange for her husband to change his name...’
She ran down as Lady Travenna wept inconsolably.
Piro turned to Isfynia for an explanation.
The eldest daughter lifted her hands. ‘I—’
‘She’s gone and gotten herself pregnant,’ the sixteen-year-old said. ‘She’s ruined herself and ruined us, too.’
‘Tari is right,’ the mother said. ‘No man will have her—’
‘I was trying to tell you but you wouldn’t listen,’ Isfynia said. ‘Rishardt loves me. He was going to go to Father, but the spar warriors attacked.’
The mother shook her head. ‘If he’s anything like his uncle, he’ll sail off—’
‘Rishardt would never desert me.’
‘Why should he marry you, when you’ve already given yourself to him for nothing?’ the mother demanded, voice shrill and hard.
‘It was only the once, right after Father collapsed.’ Isfynia spoke calmly, despite the hectic colour in her cheeks. ‘I was weeping in his arms and it just happened.’
Florin flushed, remembering how it had almost ‘happened’ with Byren.
The mother covered the youngest daughter’s ears. ‘How can you speak of such things in front of your sisters?’
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