Piro agreed, but she feared the Utlander's cunning eyes. If he and his twin were powerful enough to kill Mage Tsulamyth, what chance did she have against him?
Isolt stood. 'I am ready.'
Piro squeezed her hand.
Palatyne's guards escorted them down to the terrace, where favoured nobles of Merofynia had already taken their places on the stage overlooking the gardens and the Landlocked Sea.
The Utlander had been busy indeed. Food had been delivered by the wagon load and prepared in the stifling heat of the kitchens, ready for the feast.
A dais had been hastily built for the royal entourage, right up against the balustrade in the centre of the top terrace, so that Isolt and Palatyne could be observed during the ceremony and feast.
The Utlander had made good use of his army of palace servants, Piro thought as they took their place on the dais. Urns as high as her waist were filled with dark red bougainvillea, topped with azure flags that hung limp in the still air. Sprays of flowers tumbled from hanging baskets, their scent almost overpowering.
Piro's diaphanous gown stuck to her shoulders and her hair hung limply, damp tendrils clinging to her neck and back. Nothing stirred in the oppressive heat, even the birds were still.
Clouds obscured the sun, sullen and threatening. But the impending storm hadn't deterred the people, who had turned out in their thousands. A huge crowd had gathered in the gardens along the Landlocked Sea shore. Many more had hired boats or paid for places on the decks of merchant ships.
The noble families of Merofynia, each with their own loyal guards in the coloured cloaks of the house, filled the next terrace, and more were scattered throughout the crowd. To Piro it was obvious no one trusted anyone in Merofynia. Isolt's father had acquired the kingdom through deceit, and this had tainted his rule.
A little shiver crept over Piro's skin and she turned to see the Utland Power-worker watching her. Did he have her ability to sense nexus points? Had he foreseen Isolt's plan?
She must stay calm and give nothing away.
Piro looked down into the gardens. It gave her a pang to see that Byren's cage had been brought around to rest just below the terrace so that he could stare up through the bars at the new regents of Merofynia, and starve as they feasted.
She willed him to look up and see her, but he didn't. His attention was on the crowd.
Fyn edged through the nobles, gentry and wealthy merchants, until he was within a body length of Byren's cage. Dressed as a jester, in black leggings, boots, a multi-coloured tunic, and a tasselled cap on his shaved head, he passed unremarked, if not unnoticed.
Two guards stood in front of Byren's cage, which sat on a dray so that everyone could see the Rolencian pretender's degradation. Fyn caught his older brother's gaze.
Byren's eyes widened slightly as he recognised Fyn, with Orrade behind him. Byren nodded his understanding. They were ready to make their move.
A hushed murmur ran through the crowd as Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter arrived on the terrace and took her position on the dais. Fyn caught a glimpse of Piro, standing one step behind Isolt. The Merofynian kingsdaughter looked beautiful, but distant. He longed to reassure her.
Luckily they'd put Byren's cage right under the terrace. This meant, once Tyro-disguised-as-Dunstany gave his signal, all Fyn had to do was climb onto the cage roof, and onto the terrace.
As yet Fyn saw no sign of Lord Dunstany. He searched the crowd urgently for Bantam or Jakulos. It was noon, so the sea-hounds should be here now.
'I always knew you'd make a fine jester!' Bantam nudged Fyn's ribs. 'Let's see your tricks.'
Relief flooded Fyn. He gave a mock bow. 'At your service, sir.' Dropping his voice, he asked, 'Where's Jaku?'
'Not far,' Bantam whispered. 'Our ship's down there.'
Fyn followed Bantam's gesture and recognised the Wyvern's Whelp's masts. 'Good.'
Byren's heart raced as Fyn, dressed as a jester, capered towards him. He teased the guards with his bell and ribbon-tipped staff, then scuttled away when they threatened him.
The crowd cheered him on, always happy to see authority mocked.
Surreptitiously, Byren flexed his shoulders and stretched his legs. Just let him get out of this cage and he would make Palatyne regret the day he had invaded Rolencia.
Fyn darted in, poking Byren with his bell-tipped staff. On impulse Byren grabbed the bells. They came off in his hand. Fyn, the jester, stomped his foot and made a big show of demanding his bells back.
The crowd laughed.
The two guards looked at each other and shrugged. Too bad. They hadn't liked the jester anyway. Fyn scuttled away.
Byren looked down at the bells. Tied amid the little silver baubles was a key. The key to his cage. He hid a smile.
Piro had seen Fyn pass something to Byren, right under the guards' noses. She smiled, admiring his skill. People laughed as the jester wandered off forlornly. He blended into the crowd, where many players kept people entertained until the real performance could begin.
Trumpeters sounded from the turrets at each end of the royal terrace and a hush fell over the crowd. All around her, the cream of Merofynia's nobility jostled for position, pushing Piro towards the back of the dais. Rich matrons and jewelled lords fanned themselves fiercely, their make-up and elaborate costumes wilting in the heat.
Piro climbed onto an urn base to get a view over the nobles' ornate head-dresses. Isolt stood silent and stiff in her zircon-embroidered silk. Palatyne joined her, a hungry, possessive gleam in his eyes. The old king sat in a litter drooling, unaware that the prize he had murdered to gain was about to be taken from him, as an upstart barbarian spar warlord married his only daughter.
The Utlander stood behind and to the right of Palatyne. He looked very pleased with himself. Piro felt a surge of intense dislike. It was clear he intended to be Palatyne's right-hand man when the duke became king.
Where was Tyro? Surely Lord Dunstany was invited to the wedding? If only she could get near enough to ask him about her dream. She had thought her dream's events took place at dusk but, with the heavy grey clouds, it felt like twilight now.
Her spirits lifted as she caught sight of Dunstany's iron-grey hair. Tyro, in Lord Dunstany's guise, met her eyes over the heads of the nobles. His expression was tense and preoccupied.
Piro stepped off the urn base and began to wriggle through the press towards him. No one wanted to relinquish their position, especially to an unimportant servant. Try as she might, Piro could not get near Lord Dunstany. She climbed onto another urn base and tried to catch his eye, but the abbot of Mulcibar and the abbess of Cyena had arrived. The wedding was about to start.
Piro despaired. Isolt was right. What could Fyn do to save them, or Byren? Palatyne had won the people with his half-truths and lies. They would have to win the hearts of everyone in Merofynia to defeat Palatyne.
The trumpets sounded again and the crowd fell silent.
The abbess of Cyena and the abbot of Mulcibar called on their goddess and god, praying for wisdom for the queen, who would be regent in her ailing father's place, with support from her husband, the royal consort.
Piro held her breath, willing something to happen but, apart from foreboding dark clouds coming so low that they seemed to touch the topmost spire of the palace, and the sultry heat growing ever more intense, nothing intervened to stop the ceremony.
The abbess took Isolt's hand. The abbot took Palatyne's and placed it over Isolt's. They gave their vows.
With a flourish Palatyne removed the pendants from around his neck. He draped them over Isolt's head so that they rested on her chest, glinting gold and silver. 'As a bridal gift, I present my queen with these tokens, the royal emblems of Rolencia!'
Resentment flooded Piro. To Palatyne those emblems were symbols of triumph, to her family they had contained the dignity of office.
In unison, the abbot and abbess each blessed the crown, then lifted it, taking one side each to place it on Isolt's head. Toget
her they proclaimed her regent. Piro hid a smile. Clearly, the rivalry between the two great abbeys was as strong here as it was back in Rolencia.
Then the abbot and abbess repeated the process with Palatyne's crown, but it was Isolt who lifted it from the cushion.
The ambitious duke knelt at Isolt's feet. She picked up the crown, held it high for all to see, then placed it on Palatyne's head. Piro thought Isolt very restrained, considering she wished him dead.
And, suddenly, the combined wedding-coronation ceremony was over. The crowd cheered.
Piro sagged, exhausted by the heat and the tension.
The nobles parted so that the servants could carry the long tables forwards to the edge of the terrace. Other servants waited with food-laden trays. As soon as the tables and chairs were in position the nobles scurried to claim their places. Below them on the next terrace, less lucky nobles, gentry and wealthy merchants waited while their servants spread food on tables they had brought with them. Down on the lower terraces, people spread blankets on the grass and opened their picnic baskets. Musicians began to play from each turret, the music oddly thin and dull in the thick air.
All around Piro, the nobles talked and congratulated themselves, while the sky grew darker and the clouds took on an odd greenish tinge, giving the day an unreal quality. Piro's head throbbed. The very air felt strange to her, it seemed alive with more than the threat of the thunderstorm.
Her Affinity screamed a warning. She sensed Tyro drawing his power to himself, but with the Utlander ready to counter anything he attempted, Piro did not see what he could do.
Servants brought out roasted fowl, peacock, whole pigs, fresh fruit and glazed sweetbreads. And for the royal couple, whole white swans, Cyena's Affinity beasts, blessed by the abbess herself. Because Piro was Isolt's maid, she stood behind the regent's chair. Many servants, advisors and food tasters stood behind their lords and ladies. The Utlander sat next to the old king, whose chair had been placed next to Palatyne's. Isolt was on his right. Piro could not bring herself to think of him as the royal consort.
Palatyne came to his feet, lifting his goblet, signalling for silence to make a toast. A gem flashed on his little finger. Piro froze, recognising the poison ring.
This was the perfect opportunity for Palatyne to use it. Even if he ate or drank nothing else, the old king would automatically take a sip of the toast when his food taster held it to his lips. The king would appear to have died of natural means. After all, he was old and frail. Piro frowned. But if the food taster also died people would become suspicious.
'To Merofynia, greatest and fairest of all kingdoms!' Palatyne was used to roaring commands on the battlefield and his voice carried down to the shore, where town criers echoed him so that those on the boats and ships could hear. 'I promise I will seek out all those who threaten our peace and slay them!'
The people cheered.
Anger twisted inside Piro. Why didn't they see through Palatyne? He promised to make war, not peace.
Palatyne drank from his goblet, and everyone followed suit including the king's taster who took a mouthful and swallowed then held the goblet to Merofyn's lips. The old man managed a sip. Piro had been watching. Palatyne had not used the poison. Neither had he used his unistag horn.
Of course, he could not use it in front of Merofyn. By rights, such a valuable Affinity tool belonged to the king. Consumed by fear and greed, Palatyne had kept the horn for himself, but this meant he could not use it today at the feast.
The abbot of Mulcibar stood and made a speech, praising Palatyne, his allegiance clear. While everyone was watching him, Piro saw Palatyne lean close to Isolt. To everyone else he appeared to be making a lover's remark, pointing to her new emblems. Even the food taster was listening to the speech. Only Piro saw Palatyne flick the top off the ring and empty the powder into the king's goblet, the goblet which the food taster had already tested.
The abbot of Mulcibar finished his speech and lifted his goblet. Piro watched in fascinated horror as the king's food taster held the poisoned goblet to Merofyn's lips.
Palatyne smiled down the table at the abbot and drank from his own goblet. He wasn't even looking at the king as the old man bent his head to take a sip.
Piro had wanted to see King Merofyn dead, but she could not stand by and let Palatyne murder him. 'No!'
Palatyne looked up over his shoulder at her in irritated astonishment.
Even Piro was surprised. The plan had been to switch the goblets, but without Isolt's help to distract Palatyne she could not do it. 'Don't let King Merofyn drink. The wine is poisoned.'
'Nonsense!' Palatyne's voice boomed in the horrified silence. 'The food taster tested it.'
'You dropped the poison in while the abbot was speaking. I saw you do it.' Piro pointed to Palatyne's hand. 'Look at his ring. It has a false stone.'
'Let the ring be examined,' Isolt ordered.
Palatyne surged to his feet, knocking his chair over. A murmur of disquiet ran through the crowd. He flung a hand at Piro. 'She lies. Who would believe a slave, over me?'
Piro straightened. 'I am Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter. And I swear on my murdered mother's soul that I do not lie.'
'And I am the regent of Merofynia.' Isolt stood, small but commanding. 'If Piro Kingsdaughter lies, prove it, Palatyne. Drink freely from my father's goblet!'
The nobles muttered amongst themselves and Palatyne eyed the goblet. It contained certain death yet, if he refused, he confirmed his guilt.
Fierce justice poured through Piro. Thanks to Isolt, her family's murderer would be punished.
Fyn ground his teeth in frustration. He'd been watching Dunstany, ready to make his move on his signal, only to have Piro thwart their plans.
Now what should he do?
Movement in Byren's cage caught Fyn's eye. Even as he watched, his brother undid the lock on the cage door but held it closed. Unaware that their plan was in chaos, Byren waited for Fyn's signal.
Oblivious to the fact that their captive was free, the guards watched events unfold on the terrace. All around Fyn, Merofynia's finest citizens focused on Palatyne and Isolt.
Lord Dunstany came to his feet. 'I have been advisor to the kings of Merofynia for seventy years. Heed my advice, Royal Consort Palatyne. The nobles and commoners will not trust you to rule Merofynia unless you prove your innocence.'
'Prove it!' Fyn shouted, quick to play along. 'Drink up.'
'Drink up. Drink up!' Bantam yelled, two body lengths from Fyn. Others took up the cry, telling Fyn that not everyone had been convinced by Palatyne's lies.
Palatyne hesitated. He glanced to the Utlander, but Fyn knew the old Power-worker could do nothing for him. Palatyne had been caught in his own trap.
Isolt raised a hand for silence. 'If what Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter says is true, then let poison be the traitor's fate!'
'Drink up. Drink up. Drink up!' the townspeople urged without prompting from Fyn.
Palatyne glared at Piro and drew his ceremonial sword. 'You won't be the death of me, King Rolen's brat!'
Fyn cried out, far too late to save his sister. Isolt threw herself in front of Piro. For a heartbeat it seemed Palatyne would gut them both.
The crowd gasped.
'I challenge you, Palatyne, to prove yourself worthy of ruling Merofynia!' Lord Dunstany cried and he slammed his staff on the stones. The tip flared to life. At the same moment, Dunstany sought Fyn's face in the crowd.
Fyn leapt forwards, using the end of his jester's staff to knock out the nearest guard. Orrade dealt with the other one.
Byren flung his cage door open. Orrade tossed the sword to Byren. He caught it and laughed to feel its weight in his hands.
'Save Isolt!' Fyn pointed.
'Kill Palatyne!' Orrade urged.
Byren swung onto the cage roof, leaping from there onto the table top.
Fyn undid the tie and stripped the bells and ribbons from his staff, revealing a sword. 'For King Byren! For Rolencia!'
&n
bsp; 'King Byren!' Orrade echoed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Byren's heart leapt for joy as he vaulted onto the dais, landing on the feast table. He planted his feet amidst the food and faced his tormentor at last.
The upstart spar warlord gaped.
'Fight me, Palatyne Or would you rather kill defence-less women and children? Show your true colours. Show the people of Merofynia how you attacked Rolencia while my father was negotiating peace.'
But Palatyne grabbed Piro, holding her in front of him as a shield. He backed away from Byren, pressing his sword tip to her throat. A horrified hush fell over the crowd.
Byren stalked Palatyne, stepping lightly amid the food platters down the length of the table top. He couldn't risk Piro but all he needed was one opening and he would have Palatyne.
Lightning flickered through the heavy, low clouds. An ominous rumble of thunder growled above them. From the corner of his eye, Byren saw the abbot of Mulcibar make a grab for Isolt. She ducked under his arm, lunging towards the table. Byren caught her hand, pulling her up beside him. 'Release Piro, Palatyne, and I will return Isolt.'
'Kill her for all I care!' Palatyne laughed.
His bluff called, Byren cursed. He slipped his bare toes under a goblet, driving its contents into Palatyne's face. Piro dropped her weight and, quick as a cat, ducked away from her captor.
As Palatyne backed off, blinking wine from his eyes, Byren jumped for him. Metal on metal rang, shrill in the horrified silence, when their swords met.
Too close to strike, they sprang apart, swords lifted, taking each other's measure.
Out of the corner of his eye, Byren saw Mulcibar's abbot climb onto the table and lunge for Isolt. She lifted her skirts and ran down the long table, her gown tearing with a sound that was almost a cry of pain as the train came away. Her hair spilled from its silver net as she leapt over the bowls of fruit and whole roasted pigs.
'Stop her,' Palatyne bellowed. A dozen of his supporters blocked the end of the table. Two climbed onto it.
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