King Breaker

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Isolt frowned. ‘We didn’t order...’

  ‘Siordun.’ Fyn recognised the mage’s agent, despite his servant disguise. They really needed to create a new identity for him so he could visit them without subterfuge. ‘Did Gwalt provide the costume—’

  ‘What were you thinking?’ Siordun demanded. ‘How could you betray Byren?’

  The intensity of his anger surprised Fyn. He came to his feet, stepping in front of Isolt.

  She moved around him. ‘Please understand. We love each other.’

  ‘Love? Royalty doesn’t have the luxury of love! Didn’t your mothers teach you that?’

  ‘My mother hated my father so much she took her own life!’ Isolt was pale as a sheet.

  Even from across the chamber, Fyn could feel Siordun’s Affinity. He slid his arm around Isolt’s shoulder. ‘This—’

  ‘This marriage has undone thirty years of work to bring peace between Rolencia and Merofynia.’

  ‘There is still peace between our kingdoms. Rolencia is still my home. Byren is still my brother.’ Anger flashed through Fyn. ‘Tell him, even though he brought his lover into the palace and flaunted her in front of Isolt, we bear him no ill will.’

  ‘What?’ Isolt turned to Fyn, shocked. ‘Who?’

  Siordun echoed her. ‘Who—’

  ‘Florin the mountain girl. She travels as part of his honour guard and pretends to be Orrade’s lover.’

  ‘I would never have thought it of him...’ Siordun ran his hands through his hair then turned to Isolt. ‘I’m sorry he insulted you this way, but it doesn’t change things. Fyn, Byren left you to protect—’

  ‘Byren left me in an impossible situation. Between the spar warlords and traitorous Merofynian nobles, we needed Lord Dunstany, yet he repeatedly deserted us.’

  ‘The mage needed me back on Ostron Isle. Two of the great merchant houses believed they’d been overlooked for the electorship. House Nictocorax became involved. There were duels, assassinations and poisonings.’

  ‘Couldn’t the mage have dealt with this?’ Fyn asked.

  Siordun’s mouth opened and closed.

  ‘What’s done is done.’ Isolt went to the table and poured wine for them.

  Fyn joined her and raised his glass. ‘Be happy for us, Siordun.’

  ‘I am happy for you, but now I’ll have to take the fastest ship I can find and hope to reach Piro by midsummer’s day.’

  ‘You’ll smooth things over with Byren?’ Isolt asked.

  Siordun nodded. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Tell him we bear him no ill will, despite the insult. We want only peace between our two kingdoms.’ Fyn raised his glass. ‘To peace!’

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  PIRO ARRIVED IN Rolencia with two days to spare. The ship dropped her at the wharf below Sylion Abbey, which was built high on the eastern headland, overlooking the bay. If her father had lived, she would have been forced to serve the cold god of winter. Back then she’d seen her Affinity as an affliction, but now she knew better.

  Piro clutched her bag, which contained her best gown and jewellery suitable for a kingsdaughter to wear when denouncing a usurper. She climbed the seven flights of stairs. At the top, she saw why Cobalt had not attempted to pry the abbess out of Sylion Abbey. A sheer white wall greeted her.

  The only entrance was a narrow tunnel, closed off at each end by a barred gate. Curious, Piro peered down the tunnel. Beyond the second gate, she saw afternoon sunlight on white flagstones and heard sweet singing. She rang the bell.

  After a moment, the outer gate rose. Piro had the impression she’d been inspected and deemed safe.

  Even so, the inner gate did not open.

  A novice nun, wearing a pale blue robe the colour of thin ice, stepped in front of the gate to study Piro. She was joined by an incredibly old woman who wore the white of pure snow.

  ‘I’ve come to serve.’ Following instructions, Piro presented herself as an aspiring novice.

  The old woman told the girl to open the gate and take Piro to the abbess. The novice led her across the courtyard, through a maze of corridors and buildings. They went past other courtyards, where Piro saw novices tending vegetables, and yet other courtyards where they were spinning and weaving.

  She remembered her mother saying Halcyon and Sylion Abbeys were wealthier than all but the king. They owned land and businesses and had tithes coming in from all over Rolencia. Cobalt’s confiscation of Sylion Abbey’s properties must have hit the abbess hard. They were lucky she had remained loyal.

  The novice let Piro into a greeting chamber. She’d heard the earthly palace of the winter god was furnished with every possible luxury. Piro walked on white marble floors, and two statues embedded with semi-precious stones stood to each side of the great double doors. The doors were covered in silver and embossed with Lord Sylion in all his guises: the lizard that could extinguish flames with his breath, the man-lizard, and the man with the pure white skin and eyes like winter skies. Along one wall was a tapestry so brilliantly coloured it seemed about to come to life.

  ‘Fifty nuns laboured for twenty years to produce that tapestry,’ the abbess said.

  Piro jumped. ‘Abbess Afanazia.’

  ‘Pirola Rolen Kingsdaughter.’ The abbess was a short, plump woman who Piro had always thought should have been making pastries rather than running the winter god’s abbey. But the last half-year had not been kind to Afanazia. She’d lost weight. Her face was lined with worry and there were white streaks at her temples. The abbess gestured to the tapestry. ‘The stitches are so fine several of the nuns went blind.’

  ‘How...’ Piro had been about to say how awful, but restrained herself. ‘How sad for them.’

  ‘They should be honoured to serve Lord Sylion.’ A second woman joined them. She was half a head taller than Piro, with wide cheekbones and a pointed chin like a cat. She should have been beautiful, but her mouth was thin and hard.

  Surely Piro would have remembered a face like that. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

  ‘This is the new mystics mistress, Zoraya,’ the abbess said.

  ‘Mystics mistress.’ Piro dipped her head. The last mystics mistress had been very old.

  ‘Come, through here.’ The abbess led Piro into her private chamber. It was even more richly appointed. The only touch of colour was the torc made of red carnelian stones that the abbess wore around her neck to signify her status.

  There was no sign of the mage’s Rolencian agent. Not wanting to give the woman away, Piro did not ask after her.

  The abbess settled herself in a chair that was almost a throne. Piro noticed how she paused to catch her breath. Without warning, Piro’s sight shifted to the unseen and she saw a skull beneath the abbess’s face.

  The mystics mistress made a soft noise of surprise and Piro’s gaze was drawn to her. She radiated cold power, like a finely honed blade. It made Piro wonder how the mystics mistress saw her.

  With an effort, Piro reined in her Affinity.

  ‘You have Affinity,’ Zoraya accused.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me. Why didn’t King Rolen dedicate you to Sylion?’

  ‘It only came on me recently.’

  The mystics mistress did not look pleased.

  ‘Well, she’s here now, Zoraya, so no harm’s done.’ The abbess gestured to the mistress, who removed a neatly folded blue robe from a cabinet. ‘You will wear the blue.’

  Piro nodded. ‘A novice’s costume.’

  ‘It is not a costume.’ Zoraya stroked the material reverently. ‘It is a sacred robe.’

  ‘My apologies.’ Piro did not miss the abbess’s slight grimace of annoyance.

  ‘We sail tomorrow,’ the abbess said. ‘That way we’ll be rested for the ceremony, the day after.’

  Piro had seen plenty of midsummer ceremonies. No woman could set foot in Halcyon Abbey. They got around this by holding the ceremony in the huge courtyard. Her family used to stay in the apartments on one
side of the courtyard, but she had never thought to ask... ‘Where do Sylion’s nuns stay?’

  ‘There are bedchambers in the wall above the gate.’ The abbess’s lips twitched. ‘Strictly speaking, that is not within Halcyon Abbey.’

  Piro smiled, surprised to discover she liked the abbess.

  The mystics mistress made a soft noise of censure.

  There was a tap at the door.

  ‘That’ll be the novices mistress. She will show you to your room. As far as she is concerned, you are here to become a novice.’ The abbess raised her voice. ‘Enter, Lizavet.’

  The novices mistress was tall and broad–shouldered, and looked like a farmer’s wife.

  Piro had hoped to have more time with the abbess to go over their plans for midsummer’s day. She nodded to the novices mistress and clutched her bag.

  ‘Leave that,’ Mistress Lizavet said. ‘You can collect it in a year and a day, if you decide not to give your vows.’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’

  ‘Come along, girl.’

  Again Piro was led through a maze of corridors and buildings, while the novices mistress told her all the things she could and could not do, interspersed with complaints about the journey tomorrow and the poor quality of the lodgings for the mistresses at Halcyon Abbey.

  ‘...at least at Rolenton Castle, Queen Myrella knew how to look after us.’

  Remembering her mother preparing the bedchambers for the influx of guests each feast day, Piro felt tears sting her eyes.

  They’d arrived at a narrow novice’s cell, consisting of a low bunk and a thin blanket and not much else.

  ‘Don’t sniffle, girl. That’s not the way to start your service to Sylion,’ the novices mistress snapped. The evening bells rang out. ‘Time for prayers, then the evening meal. Novices help in the kitchen. As this is your first day, you can make yourself useful by washing dishes. Hurry up.’

  Piro did as she was told. Stripping off her gown, she dropped the novice’s robe over her head. Her waist-length hair was already in a long plait, so the mistress took her to the kitchen.

  For the rest of the evening, Piro washed dishes. It seemed an unnecessary length to go to for her disguise, but she kept her mouth shut and was doubly thankful that she hadn’t ended up dedicated to Sylion Abbey working as a drudge.

  AS THE SUN rose on the day before midsummer’s day, Florin rode to the top of the hill with Orrade at her side. Long shafts of dawn light shot over Florin’s shoulders, illuminating the lakes, fields and woodlands of Rolencia. On mornings like this, she used to go to the tip of Narrowneck to watch the dawn sun burn the mist off Lake Sapphire. Back then, her heart would lift with joy, but she would never be that girl again.

  ‘Merofynia, with its Landlocked Sea, never felt right to me,’ she said. ‘It’s good to be home.’

  Orrade pointed to Lake Viridian, glimpsed through the tree tops. ‘We still have to cross the lake or travel around it to reach Halcyon Abbey. In some ways, travelling in midwinter is easier. At least then we can skate across the lakes.’

  A horse whinnied behind them and they both turned to look down to the valley floor, to where Jorgoskev’s warriors were breaking camp.

  ‘Do you think it will matter that the Snow Bridge king could only spare four hundred warriors?’ Florin asked.

  Orrade shrugged. Not one of the warriors was taller than Florin’s shoulder. Orrade had pushed them mercilessly across the Snow Bridge, over the pass and through Rolencia, but they never complained.

  ‘Their endurance is amazing,’ Orrade said. ‘It must be because they’re used to the thin air. Even so—’

  ‘We aren’t going to reach Byren in time, are we?’ Thanks to the kingsdaughter, they were running late. She travelled veiled inside a closed carriage, the body of which had been manhandled over the pass with her in it. As soon as there was a decent path, her retinue had reassembled the carriage. Orrade had hired four horses, great big things with shaggy hooves, but the carriage had been built for ursodons, and the farmhorses laboured to pull it.

  ‘Tomorrow is midsummer’s day,’ Orrade said. ‘I can’t fail Byren.’

  ‘Leave me with the kingsdaughter. We’ll meet you at Halcyon Abbey, when all the fighting is done and Byren is victorious.’

  There was no alternative to victory. If Byren lost this battle, they would be hunted down and executed. It struck Florin that King Jorgoskev had a great deal of faith in Byren, or his warriors—or both—to put his daughter in such a precarious position.

  ‘You don’t mind me leaving you behind?’ Orrade asked.

  ‘I would not suggest it if I did not mean it.’

  He grinned.

  ‘What?’

  He shook his head. ‘Come on.’

  They went down the slope towards the camp. When they were about halfway down and still illuminated by the rising sun, Orrade reined in his horse and stood in the stirrups. He lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled. It was hardly the equivalent of an ursodon horn, but it worked. Everyone looked towards them.

  ‘We leave the kingsdaughter with thirty warriors to protect her, under the leadership of my sweet lady-wife.’ He caught Florin’s hand and kissed it, a wicked grin lighting his eyes.

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘We take only our weapons and the food we can carry,’ Orrade announced. ‘We make for Halcyon Abbey and battle!’

  The men cheered.

  MIDAFTERNOON ON MIDSUMMER’S eve, Byren stood on the high rear deck as his men disembarked from the Wyvern’s Whelp. There were two ports in Rolencia Bay. Port Marchand had the larger docks, and most of the wealthy merchants lived there. But Port Cobalt lay closer to the abbey, and belonged to Cobalt Estate. It amused Byren to make use of it.

  ‘Won’t the people of Cobalt’s estate resist you?’ Bantam asked.

  ‘Cobalt’s been back half a year. Before that, he spent the last thirteen years in Ostron Isle. Why, he even dresses like an Ostronite. I’m returning with Rolencia’s freed men-at-arms. Who do you think the people are going to cheer for?’ Byren asked, hoping he was right.

  ‘Someone may ride ahead to warn Cobalt.’

  ‘I certainly hope so. I want everyone to know Byren Kingsheir marches to reclaim his father’s throne. That way, when Piro appears on the dais and unmasks Cobalt for the liar he is, all the nobles and merchants will know it’s time to decide who they support, Cobalt the Usurper or Byren the True King.’

  Bantam grinned. ‘I wish you luck.’

  Byren clasped his arm, wrist to elbow. ‘I thank you.’

  He was going to need luck. Talk of justice might sway the old nobles, and the fact that his father had given them thirty years of peace and profits might convince the merchants, but there were five companies of Merofynian men-at-arms, and the newly made nobles who would support Cobalt out of self-interest.

  ‘Looks like Wafin’s found a mount for you.’ Bantam gestured to the wharf, where the youngest of Byren’s honour guard led a sturdy, shaggy hoofed beast.

  With his size, there were not many horses Byren could ride.

  ‘What’ll you do now?’ Byren asked Bantam. ‘Go back to Ostron Isle?’

  ‘No. Agent Tyro told me to stay here, in case we were needed. Here’s your Affinity beastie.’

  A sailor arrived with the foenix.

  ‘We’re home, Resolute.’ Byren reached out and stroked the bird under the jaw.

  As he walked down the gangplank, the foenix took to the air, circling overhead, and the people of Port Cobalt pointed and whispered.

  ‘The one true king has returned,’ young Wafin cried. ‘Byren the True King has returned!’

  The people took up the cry.

  And Byren had come home.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  PIRO HELPED THE abbess to climb the steps of Halcyon Abbey’s gatehouse. The other mistresses had remained below at the dinner table, but the abbess was exhausted. This was Piro’s first chance to be alone with her.

  Now sh
e opened the door to a simple chamber overlooking the large courtyard. Directly opposite, Halcyon Abbey was built into the mountain. Three rows of arched windows gleamed in the night. Somewhere in there, Abbot Firefox was preparing for tomorrow’s ceremony.

  In the centre of the courtyard was the fountain, with its pond that never froze, even in winter, as a sign of Halcyon’s blessing. Piro smiled, remembering how she’d laughed when Fyn explained the water never froze because it was pumped up from the hot pools below.

  To the left were the stables and store rooms, and to the right were the apartments where Cobalt, and the nobles and merchants, had taken up residence, ready for the ceremony tomorrow.

  As Piro watched, a rider came through the gate below, and galloped across the courtyard towards the stables. A moment later, he left the stables and ran towards the apartments on her right.

  ‘A messenger has just arrived,’ Piro said softly. ‘I bet he carries the news that Byren is marching for the abbey.’

  She closed the shutters and turned to find the abbess slumped on her bunk, lips blue.

  With a cry of dismay, Piro ran to her. She helped her settle more comfortably on her bed and adjusted the pillows. ‘There, that’s better.’ But Piro had foreseen the abbess’s death, and any healer would have recognised the signs. The woman’s heart was failing. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  ‘Dora... Dorafay.’

  Ducking her head through the door, Piro spotted a novice and told her to fetch the healing mistress. Then she returned and took the abbess’s hand.

  ‘So cold.’ Piro rubbed her skin, trying to warm her.

  ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to see you confound Cobalt.’ The abbess’s colour was a little better. ‘You’re a good girl, like your mother. The old mystics mistress and I knew she had Affinity, but she did so much good that we made sure no one realised.’ The abbess smiled at Piro’s surprise. ‘When I die, Zoraya will take over from me. I fear she’ll be much stricter than I ever was...’ The abbess paused to catch her breath. ‘Should Cobalt turn on you, Zoraya will whisk you away, and the mage’s agent will see to it that you’re safe. But we’re hoping your presence will reveal Cobalt for the liar he is, and only a few supporters will remain with him when he marches out the gate to confront Byren.’