The Ursuper cokrk-3

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  'He used your own Affinity to trap you. The wyverns are your fears given form. The only way to defeat them is to face them.'

  Snuffling came from behind them. The wyverns were nearly on them. 'But it seems so real.'

  'Look.' Piro held up her lamp. Only it wasn't a lamp. It was a ball of golden light, hovering over her skin. 'We are both in your mind. That's why I can make light.'

  Fyn stared at the glowing ball.

  'Face your fears, Fyn. Defeat them and we can escape.'

  She turned him to face the wyvern. The golden glow picked up every chip in the stone floor, every vein of coloured rock in the walls. Beyond there was only darkness, and in that darkness the wyverns waited to tear him apart.

  Fyn could imagine wyverns crouching just out of the light, eyes glinting, muzzles pulling back from their teeth.

  'Face your fears.' Piro took a step forwards, her circle of light moving with her.

  No wyverns were revealed. Fyn peered into the shadows. He imagined the beasts leaping to attack, pouncing on them…

  Piro took his hand, lifting it. The ball of light jumped from her hand to his. 'Face them and free yourself.'

  'What happens if I fail to face them down?'

  'You die and I die with you.'

  Heart hammering, Fyn lifted his arm higher. The light revealed only bare walls and floor. He took a step. Still no wyverns.

  'What wyverns live underground?' Piro said.

  She was right. They loved the fresh air, nesting on cliffs over the water. Why hadn't he remembered that? Because he'd been too frightened to think.

  Sucking in a breath, Fyn forced himself to stride forwards. No wyverns.

  At his heels, Piro laughed.

  He felt lighter.

  Piro tugged on his hand. 'Come on.'

  And he was running with Piro next to him, running with his light. Running into the light.

  Piro woke with a gasp. She'd fallen asleep with her head on Fyn's shoulder, his hand in hers. Tyro leant over her.

  'Are you all right?'

  Piro sat up. 'Fyn?'

  Her brother's eyelids flickered open.

  'Piro?' His voice creaked from lack of use.

  'Here.' Tyro offered him a sip of something.

  Fyn took a mouthful then coughed. When he caught his breath he looked up at Piro wonderingly. 'We were in the caverns under the abbey. You came to me with a light.'

  'And you escaped. You beat the trap the Power-worker placed on your Affinity.'

  Fyn shook his head, tears filling his eyes. 'Byren. Have you heard — '

  'Fyn?' Isolt opened the door. 'You're awake?'

  'You were listening at the door,' Piro accused.

  'Of course.' Isolt hurried across the chamber. She studied Fyn critically. 'You're too pale and thin. You need building up. I've mixed a tonic for you. Ovido is bringing it.'

  Piro fought down a wave of resentment. Fyn was her brother and she was just as good a healer as Isolt.

  'Tyro?' Fyn pulled himself onto one elbow, fixing on the mage's supposed agent. 'Has there been word of my brother?'

  'Nothing. The mage has no spies among Cobalt's men and the spy from Feidton knows nothing. Byren was meant to meet up with the others there.'

  Fyn sank back to the pillow. 'I failed him.'

  'Nonsense,' Isolt said briskly. 'From what I heard you tried to save the whole camp.' She broke off as Ovido backed into the chamber with a tray of medicines and jars. 'Good boy. Put it here next to the bed.' Isolt turned back to Fyn. 'Now listen to me. You must get better. Piro and I need you.'

  An odd smile tugged at Fyn's lips.

  'Lift his head,' Isolt ordered and, while Tyro held him, she tipped a spoonful of broth into his mouth. Fyn swallowed. 'As soon as you finish this, I have something to make you sleep. You are safe with us now.'

  When he had finished it was clear just drinking the soup and the tisane had exhausted Fyn. He sank back onto the cushions and fell asleep even as they watched.

  'I'll stay with him,' Piro said.

  'I'll stay too.' Isolt pulled the chair nearer to the bed and sat down, her face close to Fyn's. She watched him sleep with total concentration.

  Tyro caught Piro's eye and nodded towards the door. They left quietly.

  'Get some sleep while you can. It will be a long night,' he told Piro, once they were out in the hall. 'With Elector Cera soon to be crowned there is peace in Ostron Isle, but the news of Byren's defeat may make her wonder about the alliance. I have much to do.'

  Piro nodded. But when Tyro left her, she opened the door and leant against the door jamb, watching Isolt with Fyn. The Merofynian kingsdaughter held Fyn's hand in both of hers.

  Noticing Piro, Isolt sent her a fierce smile. 'Don't worry. We'll soon have him strong again!'

  She loves him, Piro thought. I wonder if Fyn knows? How could he, when Isolt does not even realise it?

  And, understanding this, Piro was able to leave her brother in Isolt's care.

  Despite his chains, they escorted Byren out of his cabin at sword point, then walked him down the gangplank onto the wharf at Port Mero. The chain between his ankles was so short he could only shuffle. By the light of many torches he saw Duke Palatyne on his horse, looking grand in full battle armour, wearing the manticore chitin chestplate that Byren had given his father. A skinny, silver-haired Utland Power-worker hovered at Palatyne's side.

  'Kneel before the duke!' A soldier kicked Byren in the back of the knees so that he fell to the wharf.

  Palatyne walked his horse closer. Sliding a leg over the saddle, he jumped to the ground and grabbed a handful of Byren's hair, hauling his head up. 'Let's see what King Rolen's traitor looks like. This is the son who ran off, leaving his brother and father to fight his battles, leaving his mother and sister to die. Then he tried to claim the kingdom for himself. Is this the sort of man we want as the king of Rolencia?'

  People jeered.

  'Who killed King Rolen under a flag of truce?' Byren yelled. 'Who killed Queen Myrella in her own hall? Not I. It — '

  Palatyne backhanded him with such force he saw stars. Men hauled him away, unlocked the chains at his wrists and ankles, picked him up and threw him into a cage on a cart. Head ringing, Byren stared out through the bars at angry faces.

  Fyn woke to find himself in a strange bed. Sunlight streamed through the window panes, making rainbow patterns. For one perfect moment he was glad just to be alive and free of fear, before it all came back to him.

  Master Catillum was dead, his body possessed and his Affinity used to betray Byren. If his brother still lived, he would have made it back to Feidton by now, so he must be dead. How could everything go so wrong?

  Fyn turned his head away from the window. On the other side of his bed Isolt curled up, asleep in a chair. The shawl had slipped from her shoulders, silk tassels hanging on the floor.

  With Byren and Lence dead, Isolt was officially betrothed to Fyn. His mouth went dry with longing and his heart hammered against his ribs.

  Terribly thirsty, he tried to lift the mug by his bed, but it slipped through his clumsy fingers and fell to the floor, rolling on the carpet.

  Isolt woke with a start, springing from the chair. 'Oh, you're awake!' She picked up the mug. 'Now you'll need some more broth and — '

  'Broth? I'm not a toothless old man.'

  She laughed. 'Certainly not. You just bit my head off!'

  He wanted her for his own. Heat flooded Fyn as realisation swept him. He had wanted her all along but refused to admit it, because she'd belonged to Byren.

  Byren… How could he feel glad his brother was dead? His eyes burned with unshed tears and he turned his face away from Isolt.

  'What's wrong, Fyn?'

  Now was not the time to tell her that he loved her, not when she had been feeding him like a baby. Besides, what if she laughed at him? He could not bear it.

  The door swung open. Piro raced into the chamber, face glowing with happiness. 'Good news, Byren live
s! He was sent to Palatyne to be executed. Lord Dunstany's spies saw him arrive.'

  Fyn closed his eyes, overwhelmed.

  For a moment he could not bear to think.

  Isolt belonged to Byren. She would never be his.

  Thank the goddess he had not revealed his true feelings. A morass of emotion swelled in his chest.

  His duty was clear. He must rescue his brother.

  When he tried to sit up, his elbows trembled with the effort. Frustration raged through Fyn. How could he save Byren when he was so weak? 'When is Byren to be executed?'

  'Palatyne has him in a cage. He accused Byren of treason against his own family. It's very clever the way he worded it. I think Cobalt had a hand in that,' Piro admitted. 'The traditional means of execution is death by starvation, but Lord Dunstany's servants will slip him food and water if they can.'

  'I must get up.' Fyn tried to swing his legs to the floor, groaning as his head swam.

  Isolt held him down without trouble. 'You've been all but dead for days. You need time to recover.'

  He brushed her hands off him. 'I don't have time. Why doesn't the mage send Lord Dunstany's people to free Byren, Piro?'

  She looked away. 'I don't know the mage's plans. Maybe he will.'

  'I must get up,' Fyn muttered.

  'And I say you must stay in bed.' Isolt glared at him.

  She looked so adorable when she made that fierce expression, Fyn had to turn away.

  He came face to face with a wyvern. It stood on its hind legs, with a paw on the high bed. Fyn's heart missed a beat. 'Freezing Sylion. Where did that Affinity beast come from?'

  'Hush, you'll hurt Loyalty's feelings,' Isolt said. 'She was the last elector's pet and now she's mine. Speaking of which, they will crown the new elector tonight. Will you be well enough to come? You look flushed. Are you running a fever?'

  She felt his forehead. Fyn knew it was the touch of a healer for her patient, but he ached for more. He sank into the pillow, heart-sore and weary beyond belief.

  He would have to leave Mage Isle as soon as he could, for he couldn't bear to be near Isolt, knowing she belonged to his brother.

  Piro watched Fyn close his eyes, a bitter twist to his mouth. He was in pain. Suddenly, he lifted onto one elbow and fixed on her.

  'Go to the agent, Piro, find out when he's sending someone to save Byren. I'll go with them.'

  Isolt cast Piro a swift worried look.

  'Of course,' Piro said. 'I'll ask him now.'

  Out in the corridor, she headed straight for the war table room, where she found Tyro studying the pieces.

  'Is Fyn well enough to come to the elector's inauguration tonight?' he asked her. 'He can rest all day. We can take the carriage and he can sit down while we're there.'

  'Fyn wants to save Byren. He wants to know if the mage is sending a rescue party. Is he? Are you?'

  'Your brother is being held in the heart of the enemy's stronghold. How many men would you send to their deaths to rescue Byren, Piro?'

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. 'There must be some stealthy way, some way that uses subterfuge.'

  'I'm working on it,' Tyro muttered, as if he'd never cupped her cheek and tried to reassure her. 'I'll have formal clothes sent to Fyn's chamber. He must dress appropriately for the celebrations tonight. As must you and Isolt.'

  'Strangely enough, I don't feel like partying when my brother is being starved to death,' Piro snapped. 'How can these Ostronites feast with war hanging over their heads?'

  'Would you deny the Ostronites their butterfly existence? Their symbol is the abeille, after all. The beautiful but industrious butterfly-bee.'

  She stiffened. 'The people of Ostron Isle play games while people are dying.'

  'Could a butterfly stop the serpent from devouring its prey?'

  'No.'

  Tyro smiled and his dark eyes glittered. 'Then why not enjoy the butterfly? Don't deny its right to exist, leave the serpent-slaying to the mongoose.'

  A shiver moved over Piro's skin. 'You mean to see Palatyne dead!'

  Tyro nodded. 'He is a dangerous man. If he becomes king, he will not accept Lord Dunstany's guidance.'

  'Why not free Byren and let him kill Palatyne for you? At least tell Fyn your plans.'

  'What happens if a cook takes the cake from the oven before it is ready?'

  'It sinks,' she answered automatically.

  He nodded and would not elaborate.

  She fumed. Tyro thought he was so clever, but he could not think of everything. Besides, she didn't like her fate to be in anyone's hands but her own.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Byren had slept well, considering he was lying on the bars of a cage, hanging in the square in front of the palace. After forced marches to deal with spar upstarts he'd learned to sleep anywhere. He'd tried licking the condensation from the bars to slake his thirst. Now he was hungry.

  Merofynian ceremonial guards stood at intervals along the courtyard walls. They wore brilliant azure cloaks and blue and black feather crests on their helmets, but the swords they carried were not just for show.

  Byren's stomach rumbled. He could smell baked potatoes and cinnamon cakes in the market beyond the courtyard. Already the market was busy. Voices carried, as did the pipes of a performer.

  Byren heard a shout, several curses. Something was knocked over and crockery smashed. A child screeched. No, it was a dancing monkey, which had broken free of its chain and run into the courtyard. The guards along the wall above him laughed as a pretty young woman ran around the courtyard after the monkey, trying to catch it. It managed to stay just out of her reach, scampering back to the market.

  The guards began laying bets on whether the monkey would escape her altogether. While their attention was distracted a beggar boy scurried into the courtyard, coming over to Byren's cage. The floor was level with his chest.

  He tossed something at Byren who ducked, used to rubbish and abuse being hurled at him after last night. At the last moment he caught the object, which was clean cloth and tied with string.

  Byren hid it under his cloak, picking at the ties. By the smell, it contained hot cinnamon buns. His mouth watered.

  With his back to the guards he snuck mouthfuls of bun and silently thanked his unknown benefactor. It seemed some of his men had managed to infiltrate Port Mero. Things were not hopeless!

  Fyn strode back and forth across the orchard courtyard, driving himself. His arms and legs were weak and strangely numb, but the more he used them, the better he felt. He had slept for most of the day and now it was late afternoon. Depending on the winds, it would take four to five days to sail to Port Merofyn. He feared Palatyne would change his mind and order Byren's execution by a more immediate method such as beheading.

  He ducked under a mandarin tree, its branches bending under the weight of early-ripening fruit. All around him other trees were blossoming and the whole courtyard was awash with their fragrance, but he could not enjoy it. Not when Byren's life hung in the balance.

  'Fyn, that is enough pacing. You'll bring on a fever,' Isolt warned.

  'Twice more,' he said, not looking her way.

  He knew Piro and Isolt were exchanging looks. They sat under a cherry tree, their hair and clothes speckled with pale pink blossoms. He had been sitting there with Piro until Isolt joined them, bringing hot pastries fresh from the kitchen. He'd eaten three, then had to get up to pace. He knew his withdrawal had hurt Isolt.

  'Fyn,' Piro called. 'You are taller than me. Pick one of those passion fruit for Isolt. They are her favourite.'

  He stopped his pacing and went to the trellis. Plucking several, he offered Isolt one with a quick smile. 'Sweets for the sweet.'

  'Don't start sprouting poetry, Fyn.' Isolt laughed. 'Next you'll be singing like Captain Nefysto.'

  'So, you are well enough to pick fruit,' Tyro said, coming up behind him. 'Good, Mage Tsulamyth wants you to attend the elector's ceremony tonight as Fyn Kingson.'

  Fy
n frowned. 'If the mage would only give me Captain Nefysto and the Wyvern's Whelp, I'd lead a raid deep into Merofynia to rescue Byren.'

  'The mage doesn't want you both dead. He has his own plans. Byren is safe for now.'

  'Safe? In a cage at Palatyne's mercy?' Fyn exploded. His head swam and he staggered. Isolt rose to help him. He brushed her aside. 'Freezing Sylion, Tyro. You can tell your mage, Byren is not a piece in his Kingdoms game. If Fyn Kingson appears in Ostron Isle tonight, Palatyne will find out. He knows about the alliance, he might kill Byren!'

  'Or he might offer to ransom him to you.'

  'He might,' Fyn conceded slowly. 'But I don't want to gamble with my brother's life.'

  'Fyn's right,' Piro spoke up. 'Who would pay this ransom? We are destitute. The food we eat and the clothes we wear come from the mage.'

  'He would gladly pay,' Tyro revealed. 'He wants to restore the balance of power in the three kingdoms.'

  Piro seemed convinced, but Fyn was not.

  'You can tell the mage I am too weak to attend the ceremony tonight,' he told Tyro. 'I'm going back to bed.'

  'I'll help you,' Isolt said.

  'I can manage.'

  'I am a healer, Fyn.'

  'Rest is all I need.' He marched off. It was only when he got out of sight that he leant against the wall to catch his breath and wait for the grey specks to vanish from his vision. He cursed himself for being rude to Isolt.

  She would hate him. Good.

  That was better than her ever guessing how he really felt. And he needed privacy for he was going to rescue Byren. As soon as the others left for the elector's coronation he would slip off Mage Isle.

  Piro watched Isolt climb into the mage's carriage, lifting her ankle-length silk skirt and revealing the jewelled clasp on her slippers.

  'What took you so long?' The mage thumped the roof of the carriage with his cane and it lurched, sending Isolt onto her seat with a thud.

  Piro hid a smile. Tyro was good at this.

  'I had to check on Fyn,' Isolt said primly, slipping back into her Merofynian court persona. 'He was sleeping. I think he overdid it in the garden today.'

  'The arrogance of youth,' Mage Tsulamyth muttered. 'Now you two keep your ears open. Any interesting gossip, report back to me.' His deep-set eyes gleamed. 'Many men make the mistake of thinking power comes from the sword, but real power comes from information. Remember that. One day you will both be queens.'