‘Mother...’ Isfynia pleaded.
Florin wanted to shake Lady Travenna. She glanced to Piro, who looked to be out of her depth. ‘I don’t see what the problem is. This Rishardt should be grateful he’s getting a wife who can bear children.’
Lady Travenna gave a slightly hysterical laugh. ‘She’s ruined!’
‘All this talk of ruin!’ Florin threw up her hands. ‘You noble women make life hard for yourselves.’
She walked out. If she didn’t get away from weeping women and rejoin Byren, she’d do something violent. At least the eldest daughter had a man who wanted her.
Byren couldn’t even bring himself to... Florin refused to think about him.
FYN AND CAMORIC studied the great house. It was dusk and the camp fires were lit, but the sky still held the afterglow of the setting sun.
‘See that portico?’ Fyn nodded to a door that had been boarded shut. ‘I’ll climb the trellis onto the portico roof, force the grate, slip inside and open the door. Once I do, I’ll signal my men. As soon as you hear us shouting, run to Travany’s tent. Tell him the spar warriors are trying to escape. Grab Travrhon and come to my aid.’
‘And Travany will be none the wiser.’ Camoric grinned. ‘If you get any craftier...’
‘The queen!’
Fyn sprinted towards the front of the house, where men were gathering, looking up into the sky. Loyalty came into sight, circling above the besieging army. There was something odd...
‘Isolt Wyvern Queen!’
Isolt was astride her wyvern.
Fyn cursed. ‘What does she think she’s doing?’
‘Distracting the defenders.’ Camoric indicated a third floor balcony where a dozen spar warriors pointed and marvelled. As Fyn watched, another three joined them. But his gaze was drawn to Isolt. She looked so small up there on the wyvern’s back.
Camoric signalled a dozen of his men. ‘Come on, Fyn. We’ll never get a better chance.’
He ran back the way they’d come, the men following. Fyn had no choice but to make for the great house, where Camoric gave him a boost up onto the portico roof. He pushed in the grate, wriggled through and dropped down onto a chest that had been wedged up against the door.
It was dark inside. No lamps had been lit, and the house smelled of wine and stale food.
Heart pounding, Fyn dragged the chest aside, unlocked the door and forced the planks out with several well placed kicks. The sound echoed through the ground floor, but no one came.
Camoric and his men tore off the rest of the planks and poured in.
‘Clean out the ground floor,’ Fyn said. ‘I’m going after the warlord.’
He ran up the stairs, followed by a dozen men. In one of the best bedrooms, he found a huddle of frightened women and sent them to safety.
The upper floor seemed mostly deserted. Isolt’s antics had drawn the spar warriors to the top floor balconies at the front of the great house. As yet, the besiegers had not taken advantage of the distraction. Fyn’s men poured out onto the first balcony, attacking the spar warriors from behind. They barely had time to draw their weapons.
Fyn’s heart nearly stopped when he caught a bowman taking aim at Isolt. With a roar, he shouldered the man aside, tipping him over the balustrade. The bowman’s terrified scream was cut short as he hit the terrace. Fyn looked over the balcony in time to see Travrhon lead a charge against the front of the house.
‘This way!’ Fyn led his men into the dim hall, where they found a dozen spar warriors had rallied. ‘To me!’
Shoulder to shoulder, they hacked and slashed in the failing light. As more defenders raced up the hall, they were driven back into a chamber. The spar warriors followed, swords swinging. Furniture splintered, vases smashed and bed curtains collapsed on struggling men, but the tide was turning.
The moment the last defender dropped, Fyn darted out onto the balcony to check on Isolt.
He was in time to see Loyalty swoop down to land. The wyvern stumbled and lost her footing. The queen was thrown forward, turned a somersault in the air and hit the ground hard. She lay still.
He was running before he knew it, running down the corridor, leaping over the bodies of fallen warriors.
Passing Travrhon on the grand staircase, he yelled, ‘Check the third floor.’
He didn’t wait for a response, but took the steps two at a time, kicked his way through a half-boarded door and ran up the slope towards Isolt, who was surrounded by worried men-at-arms and the two Affinity beasts.
They parted so that the abbot and his four monks could carry Isolt. She looked so pale and small, Fyn’s heart twisted with anguish. He caught up with Murheg. ‘How is she?’
‘Hit her head. No obvious broken bones. I’ll take her down to the boat.’
Ahead of them, Trafyn backed out of his father’s tent, drawing his sword. ‘Hurry up, or we’ll miss the fighting.’
Travany stepped out with the scribe, still strapping on his armour. He took in the monks and their burden.
‘Fell, did she? I’m not surprised.’ Travany turned on Fyn. ‘What were you thinking, putting her up to this? Call yourself her lord protector?’
Fyn took two steps towards Travany. He didn’t know he was going to punch him until the lord lay flat on his back. Trafyn stared, stunned.
Murheg took Fyn’s arm. ‘Enough of that! The queen needs you.’
They hurried after the monks.
On the boat, Fyn told the Affinity beasts to wait on deck. Then he paced outside in the passage, as Murheg checked Isolt for injuries.
Finally, the abbot came out of the cabin. ‘She must have been born under a lucky star. Apart from a few bruises and a lump on her head, she’s fine. You can...’
But Fyn had already brushed past him.
He found Isolt sitting on the bunk, looking pale and dishevelled but pleased with herself.
‘Did you recapture the great house, Fyn?’
He caught her by the shoulders. ‘You’re all right?’
She laughed. ‘Of course, I’m—’
‘What were you thinking? You could have been killed.’
‘I’ve flown before.’ She saw his surprise. ‘Back home. I’ve been practicing since I saw Cortomir fly. Loyalty and I are getting pretty good, although we do need to work on our landings.’
‘You never told me.’
‘I didn’t want to worry you. I’ll teach you, if you like. With your Affinity, Loyalty should accept you on her back. That’s if you’re not scared of heights.’
It was a deliberate ploy to divert him. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. He pulled her close and...
Loyalty barrelled into the cabin, knocking the door off its hinges. Resolute followed and the beasts jostled Fyn aside.
Loyalty knelt, placing her head in Isolt’s lap. As the queen stroked the wyvern’s beautiful, horned head Fyn understood. ‘You’ve bonded with her.’
‘Yes. Piro helped us bond the night before she left.’ Isolt smiled as the foenix nudged her, wanting attention. Loyalty snapped at Resolute, but there was no malice in it. After a moment, she allowed Resolute close enough to Isolt to be stroked.
‘My queen?’
They turned to find the abbot in the doorway. ‘You’re both needed up at the great house. Lord Travany has captured the warlord of Ulfr Spar.’
‘He’ll want you to witness the man’s execution,’ Fyn told Isolt. ‘You don’t have to go. I can say you are recovering from your fall.’
‘If I don’t go, Travany won’t respect me.’ She stood, then swayed a little.
He steadied her. ‘Are you up to this?’
‘Of course.’
Admiration filled him. He yearned to claim her, wanted everyone to know that she was his.
‘Fyn?’ Isolt tilted her head.
‘My queen.’ He offered his arm.
She took it. ‘My lord protector.’
And they went up to the great house together.
FLORIN PUSHED
THE board game aside so Piro could climb up onto the bed to read the message. Lord Dunstany nodded his thanks to Florin. She really had grown fond of the old man. Perhaps it was because he didn’t look down on her. But she still had every intention of sailing with the captain of the Wythrontir pleasure yacht when he returned to Byren.
‘That’s odd,’ Piro said, tilting the message towards the lamp. ‘This is Orrade’s writing. I wonder—’
‘Has Byren been injured?’ Florin fought the urge to snatch the message from her.
Piro eyes darted down the page.
‘Read it aloud, child,’ Lord Dunstany urged, ‘before we die of curiosity.’
‘Byren hurt his hand, but Orrade says it’s already healing,’ Piro said.
Florin suspected Orrade had been cooperating with Byren to speed up his healing.
‘They march for Nevantir Estate with the freed slaves. Orrade says... “By the time we reach the palace, Byren will have a loyal army.”’
‘He’s a clever lad, your brother,’ Dunstany said. He gestured to the kingdoms’ board. ‘It looks like they’ll meet at either Istyn or Elcwyff’s estate.’
‘I must tell Fyn.’ Piro went over to the desk to write.
Florin retrieved the message and pored over it, looking for her name. Seeing it, her heart skipped: I trust Florin is feeling better and look forward to seeing you both in port.
Devastated, she replaced the message. Byren didn’t want her to join him.
GARZIK FELT LIKE a failure as he returned to the settlement. He’d failed Byren, and now he’d failed Rusan. Yet he’d only ever tried to do the right thing. He couldn’t have turned his back on Favkir and Inac.
He’d hoped to slip in quietly and find Rusan first, but the moment they entered the narrow bay, the storm struck with a vengeance. Rain lashed them, hitting so hard it stung their bare skin. The wind extinguished his lantern, and Garzik had to judge distance and speed by the glimpses revealed by the lightning.
He ran the skiff aground, planted the anchor and helped Favkir with the old man. Now that they were safe, Inac had stiffened up and could hardly move.
A gust of wind knocked the old man off his feet. Garzik lifted Inac across his shoulders. Despite his height, the old man didn’t weigh much. Garzik forged uphill in the driving rain and wind, with Favkir stumbling along at his side, trying to help.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the long-hall. Favkir thrust the door open, and Garzik staggered in, followed by a swirl of wind and rain, and a clap of thunder. So much for slipping in quietly.
Everyone turned. Garzik flicked wet hair from his face and eased Inac from his shoulders. Olbin strode over, taking the old man from him. Favkir swayed and shivered.
‘Wynn!’ Luvrenc greeted him with relief. ‘Who—’
Garzik turned to Lauvra. ‘They’re from Dalfino. This is Inac Storm-warner, he—’
‘Everyone has heard of the storm-warner,’ Lauvra said.
The crowd gasped and whispered excitedly. Children, raiders, the old and the beardless all gathered around. Lauvra ordered them to bring blankets. Then she drew Favkir and Garzik over to the fireplace, where Olbin had placed Inac in a chair. She saw to the old man’s needs first.
Ilonja and Luvrenc pounced on Garzik. Ilonja thumped him on the arm. ‘You set sail without us!’
‘How could you?’ Luvrenc also thumped him, then hugged him. ‘Then this storm came up. We thought you lost for sure!’
In a flash, Garzik understood how Rusan had covered his escape. They would have assumed he’d been lost at sea, trying to reach Dalfino Isle.
‘Enough.’ Feodan shepherded Ilonja and Luvrenc aside, then turned to Garzik. ‘You haven’t been gone long enough to reach Dalfino Isle, and they would never part with two Affinity-touched. How is it that you brought them back here?’
‘They were trying to escape Vultar and his renegades,’ Garzik explained, aware of Rusan watching him intently. ‘Apparently, Vultar’s been kidnapping other Affinity-touched. They were swept out to sea and—’
‘And you rescued them!’ Olbin shook his head, amazed.
Garzik nodded.
‘You’ve done us proud,’ Feodan said. ‘They owe us seven years of service.’
‘He didn’t tell you the whole of it.’ Lauvra joined them. ‘Inac says Wynn sailed into a battle between nennirs and ospriets, to pluck them from certain death.’
‘Clever little Wynn!’ Olbin lifted Garzik off his feet, hugging him so tight he saw stars.
Rusan laughed. ‘Put him down before you crack a rib.’
Olbin released him, and Garzik staggered.
‘He’s exhausted. Come here.’ Lauvra swung an arm around him. ‘Luvrenc, get him something to eat before he drops.’ She sat Garzik down next to Inac and wrapped a blanket around him.
Then she sent everyone but the elders away.
Inac struggled to stand. ‘By the Utland code, you have our service for seven years and we do not begrudge it. But there are two of us, and our people are now without a Power-worker. Can you send my grandson home?’
Lauvra glanced to the elders. ‘We can’t do that, Storm-warner. You’ve seen too many winters. If we sent the lad home, we might lose you within a year. We have a duty to our people.’
Inac nodded as if he’d expected it. As he sank into the chair, Garzik noticed Favkir studying Olbin and Rusan.
‘You stare at my sons?’ Lauvra said.
‘Why are they almost beardless?’
Lauvra and Olbin laughed.
Rusan rubbed his jaw. ‘We shaved off our beards to disguise ourselves as hot-landers and ventured into Port Mero—’
‘You sailed into the hot-landers’ port?’ Favkir was astounded.
‘And escaped with a full hold,’ Olbin said, slinging an arm around Rusan. ‘So don’t let this lack of beard fool you. We’re men, not boys!’
Garzik grinned. It was good to be back, and thanks to Rusan, he hadn’t disgraced himself.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
BYREN STEPPED OVER a bloody patch on the marble. No wonder these elegant Merofynian great houses had fallen like ninepins. All the lords’ wealth had gone into display, not defence. His mountain girl would not have been surprised to learn this was the second time since spring that Nevantir Estate had been overrun by spar warriors. Maybe, this time, the lord would learn.
Without Florin’s no-nonsense presence at his side, Byren felt like half of him was missing, which only confirmed he’d been right not to send for her.
‘Up here,’ Orrade called from the balcony.
Byren ran up the grand staircase, flexing his hand. Despite the healing, it ached. Now that the battle was over, he felt all his old wounds.
‘Neiron is planning to free Elenstir Estate.’ Orrade met him at the top of the stairs.
‘Istyntir is closer.’
‘They’re about the same distance, but Istyntir juts into the Landlocked Sea.’ Orrade lowered his voice. ‘And I gather Elenstir’s lord is a friend of Neiron’s, while Lord Istyn supports Dunstany.’
Byren shook his head in disgust. ‘If they can’t put aside internal politics to face a common enemy, they deserve to lose their kingdom.’
‘It’s your kingdom they’re throwing away. He’s in here.’ Orrade slowed his steps as they approached a door.
Byren could hear male voices and he recognised the tone of men making plans to kill and claim or, in this case, reclaim.
Orrade caught his arm. ‘Don’t expect heartfelt thanks. Neiron’s furious with you for freeing his seven-year slaves.’
‘I freed men whose only crime was to defend their homes,’ Byren said, making sure his voice carried. ‘I freed them to help reclaim this estate. While his lordship was sitting on his arse, those freed slaves swept over the rise and broke down the barricades.’
He strode into Neiron’s war-table chamber to find the Merofynian lord stood behind his desk, illuminated by a single lamp as he studied a large Duelling Kingdoms board.
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‘I had everything planned,’ Neiron said. ‘Then you marched in and threw everything out.’
Byren was not about to apologise. With the ex-slaves and Yorale’s men, Byren’s followers outnumbered Neiron’s three to one. And he was sick of wasting his time in Merofynia, while Cobalt still sat on his father’s throne.
Byren held Neiron’s gaze. ‘I’m thinking you need to rephrase that.’
Neiron stiffened, and both his captains reached for their sword hilts.
Orrade took a step closer to Byren.
Chandler arrived to report. ‘The outbuildings are all secured and the men are breaking open the food and wine. Should I try to stop them?’
Byren met Neiron’s eyes across the desk. ‘Men who’ve fought and bled to free a lord’s estate deserve a reward. Wouldn’t you agree, Neiron?’
The lord swallowed as if he’d tasted something bitter and gestured to one of his captains. ‘Tell Cook to prepare a victory feast. Tonight we celebrate in the great hall.’
The man nodded and ran off.
‘Now what’s this I hear about marching for Elenstir Estate?’ Byren went over to the kingdoms board and indicated Istyntir Point. ‘We can’t leave the enemy at our backs.’
Neiron rubbed his jaw. Byren waited, ready to marshal more arguments.
But Neiron conceded. ‘You’re right. Come join me in the great hall. This is a night for celebration.’
As Byren fell into step with Neiron, he caught Orrade’s eye. His friend nodded once. The Merofynian noble had capitulated too easily. They’d have to watch their backs.
GARZIK STOOD ON the upper floor of the long-hall, watching for Rusan’s signal. For two days, Inac had been bed-ridden, exhausted by his deprivations. But today the old man was well enough to get up, and tonight the settlement planned to formally welcome the two Affinity-blessed and accept their oaths of service.
Through the crowd in the hall below, Garzik saw Lauvra signal Rusan, who sent Garzik the signal he had been waiting for. He returned to the room where Inac and Favkir waited. They looked ill-at-ease in the fine clothes Rusan had given them.
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