The King's Bastard (27 page)

'You might as well know. It'll be all over the castle by dinner time. Piro's turned down the warlord father wanted her to marry. And now she's hiding,' Byren revealed.

Fyn put two and two together. He'd heard how the new Lord Cobalt had ridden in demanding justice on behalf of his father and bride.

'And this is little Fyn?' Cobalt asked with a smile. 'Not so little now. Last time I saw you, you were still in the nursery and Piro was a baby.'

'I'll always be little compared to Byren and Lence,' Fyn said. He felt he knew this man already. It had to be the family resemblance. He caught himself staring and remembered his manners. 'I'm sorry to hear about your loss.'

Grief's shadow darkened Cobalt's eyes, making the lines that bracketed his mouth severe. 'They will pay. Lence has sworn to help me avenge them.'

'We can't have Utland raiders attacking our people,' Byren said, though he seemed resigned rather than righteous. 'Meanwhile, we must find Piro.'

'I'll help. Where should I look?' Cobalt asked.

'We've already tried the menagerie,' Byren said. 'But she may circle back. She loves the Affinity beasties.'

They separated. With a nod to Cobalt and Byren, Fyn ran off.

The stables were deserted, the workers all madly preparing for the feast. Fyn climbed up to the loft, calling softly for Piro. She didn't answer but that didn't mean she wasn't there. He made a thorough search of the long loft with its sweet-smelling hay. No sign of his sister.

Before he could climb down, the stables filled with angry men saddling their horses.

Fyn listened at the top of the ladder. The men had the clipped accents of barbarians from beyond the Dividing Mountains and they occasionally threw in unknown words which made their speech hard to understand. When he heard their destination was Cockatrice Spar, he understood. Their warlord had been insulted and they were about to ride out of Rolenhold, even though it was nearly dusk on the shortest day of the year and their warlord had yet to renew his oath of allegiance at the feast tonight. No one in their right mind ventured abroad when the barriers between the Seen and the Unseen were at their weakest.

After the last horse was led out, Fyn climbed down the ladder to the floor below. The stable was warm and smelt of horses, earthy and familiar. He dusted hay off his leggings and saffron robe and headed out into the stable courtyard where two dozen of the warlord's honour guard adjusted their cinnamon-coloured cockatrice cloaks. They talked and laughed too loudly to show that they were not intimidated by King Rolen's men-at-arms, who stood on the ramparts, weapons in hand, watching them.

No one looked at Fyn. With all the visitors, servants, minstrels and men-at-arms crowded into Rolenhold, one more shaven-headed acolyte was unremarkable. A man in a wyvern-skin vest shoved past Fyn to speak with an old man nearby. Fyn just caught his words.

'...the ability to outfox every other warlord, that's all that makes King Rolen's blood royal. Well, we'll see who's the better fox!' he snarled. 'Keep your eyes open and report to me.'

The old man nodded. Fyn wasn't surprised to learn that Rejulas had a spy at Rolenhold. The warlord mounted up, and kicked his horse's flanks to get the beast moving. The mounts had more sense than their riders. It was late and cold, and getting colder, and the horses wanted to go back to the stables.

Warlord Rejulas led his honour guard through an archway into the main courtyard. The great gates had been winched open and, shrouded in a tense silence, he and his men rode out. They would be lucky if they got further than Rolenton tonight but, with the attempted assassination fresh in his mind, it was the gesture of defiance that worried Fyn. How would the other warlords react? No wonder his father was furious with Piro. Still, he couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

Fyn might have been angry enough to throttle his sister, but he didn't want anyone harming her. Everyone wanted something from him. Not Piro. She was ready to risk the abbey's censure to help him. Now she was in trouble and he had to find her.

He headed for Eagle Tower, the last of Piro's favourite places. The long connecting corridors were dark, no torches had been lit yet. Shadows clung to the alcoves, hiding the brilliant colours of the carved friezes.

Piro slipped into the unistag's enclosure and held her hands out to him, calling him gently. When she was upset her Affinity built up until it crawled across her skin like ants, making her grind her teeth to prevent a cry. She focused the power on her hands and the unistag came willingly. He began to lick the Affinity from her fingers.

Within moments her tension eased. She stroked the unistag's velvet muzzle. What a handsome beast he was. With the body of a white horse and the head of a noble stag, his single horn gleamed like mother-of-pearl. Roan unistags had horns of red ivory, which were not as highly valued.

'Should you be in there with that Affinity beast?' a voice that was all too familiar asked softly.

Piro spun. The last person she wanted to confront right now was the new Lord Cobalt. She could still see him, face pressed to her mother's breast, being comforted.

The unistag shied away. Startled by her reaction, it trotted to the far end of the enclosure.

'Illien - I mean, Lord Cobalt. I'm quite safe, truly. I've known the unistag since I was little.' But only recently had she let him nuzzle her hands to relieve the build up of Affinity. Had the new Lord Cobalt noticed? Her back had been to him and besides, he had no Affinity, so she was safe.

She stepped out of the enclosure, letting Cobalt close the gate behind her while she went to the fountain which had been turned off for the winter and held her hands under the water spigot. It was warm, having been pumped up from one of Halcyon's hot pools deep under the castle.

'You must be Piro. You are so like your beautiful mother,' Cobalt said, coming up behind her.

Piro turned, deliberately flicking her hands dry. Beads of water scattered him, landing on the embroidered velvet of his fancy coat. He took a step back, attempting to brush the water off.

'Uh, sorry,' Piro lied.

Cobalt shot her a quick look. 'I hear your father is furious with you.'

She shrugged, pretending a nonchalance she did not feel. 'Someone is always furious with me.'

'They are trying to force you to marry a man you do not love. A pretty girl like you... the boys must be lining up to dance on feast days. I suppose you already have your heart set on -'

Piro laughed at the absurdity of it. 'I'm only thirteen!'

He recovered quickly. 'Most girls are planning their wedding at thirteen.'

'I'm not most girls.' She glared at him and he hesitated. She wished he would just go away. She didn't want to think that there was ever a time when the queen was lonely, when her father did not value her mother enough to make her feel loved.

Cobalt frowned, then smiled charmingly. 'I see you are an original thinker, as they say in Ostron Isle.'

She liked that description, but for some reason she didn't want to accept any compliments from him. All she wanted was to cut the conversation short and escape. 'I have to go now. I'm very sorry about the raiders.'

'The raiders... ah.' He came over and sat on the edge of the fountain, sinking his head into his hands. 'I still can't believe it's true. To have my father snatched from me when we had only just reconciled after thirteen years. To lose my bride...'

He could not go on. His shoulders shook.

Piro's stomach knotted and tears stung her eyes. She rubbed his back between his broad shoulders. His long curled hair felt like silk under her hand and black onyxes winked at her, entwined amidst his curls. Why would a man bother to make himself look so fine, unless he planned seduction?

How could she think such a thing as he sobbed over his murdered bride?

'...it was all my fault. My stupid pride,' he whispered, despair making his voice thick. 'If I hadn't carried a chest of jewels to impress my father the raiders wouldn't have been tempted.'

Prompted by the urge to relieve his pain, Piro's Affinity rose up through the core of her body, warming her, rolling down her arms into her fingers. Only last week she had eased the pain of one of the cooks who had burnt her hand by drawing off the sensation. No one had noticed then, so now she tried it with Cobalt, opening her senses, willing to share his pain to help ease it.

Nothing.

Blank.

She pulled back a step.

His head remained bowed. 'I'm sorry, child. A man may weep inside, but he must be strong for his men. Forgive my lapse. I... I was overcome.' Cobalt lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, tortured, but she had sensed no emotion in him.

She took another step back. 'That's all right. Byren weeps every time he hears the Tale of the Bone Flute.'

Even while Piro spoke, she was trying to fathom this new Lord Cobalt. Either he truly felt nothing and it was all a sham, or he was so well walled she could not reach him, yet he had claimed to be in the throes of deep emotion and asked her forbearance.

'Why do you look at me like that, little Piro?'

She blinked. Oh, his black eyes were so sharp... they made her skin prickle with fear.

'I can't get over how like Lence you are,' she said to divert him, 'well, a mixture of father and Lence.'

He smiled. 'Blood will leave its mark. I am your kin, after all.'

'I have to go now, Mother's expecting me,' Piro lied, then she turned and walked away, when all her instincts told her to run.

Byren had no luck in the kitchen, so he headed back to the war table chamber to see if Fyn had found Piro. One of the younger men of his father's honour guard was on duty at the base of the stairs outside the trophy chamber. This was unusual. His father must be feeling the need for a show of strength. He stopped to exchange a word just as two servants approached, pushing a trolley laden with firewood. The noise was so bad he just nodded to the guard and went up the stairs, accompanied by the rattling of the wheels that echoed up the stairwell. Even so, he could hear raised voices from the war table room on the floor above. His father and Lence yelling at each other? Impossible.

Byren thrust the door open, surprising the king and his twin in the midst of a heated argument. Both turned to him.

He was so startled he simply stood there.

His father gestured impatiently. 'Shut the door.'

'Byren, you tell Father I'm right. The Merofynians despise their king and fear his bullying overlord,' Lence said. Byren recognised Cobalt's refrain. 'The country is ripe for an uprising. We should -'

'We've signed a peace accord, you're betrothed to King Merofyn's daughter,' Rolen interrupted. 'What kind of king would I be to dishonour my word?'

Lence made the same impatient gesture their father had used a moment before. 'But -'

'Peace means trade and prosperity, Lence,' their father insisted. 'War means death and -'

'To the victor go the spoils!'

'True,' King Rolen conceded. 'But there's no guarantee we'll be the victor. You've only ever led raids, in and out quickly, warrior against warrior. Sometimes it is enough to take their spar symbol for the warlord's men to retreat. But war...' He shook his head. 'War is brutal. At best, fields are ruined and people starve, and at worst, women and children are murdered. War turns ordinary men into monsters. Believe me, I've seen it!'

Lence snorted. 'You've grown old, father. Old and tired.'

'Lence!' Byren protested, shocked.

King Rolen blanched. His mouth settled in a grim line. 'When you've seen your brother and father writhing on the ground as they die in agony, when you've had to order the execution of a man who was your childhood friend, then you can tell me I'm a coward!'

'I never said you were a coward, Father,' Lence said, 'just old and tired. It's about time you stepped aside and let a young man -'

'Step aside?' King Rolen bellowed. 'You... you insolent wyvern! Get out of my sight!'

'But -'

'Lence,' Byren interrupted, stepping between them. Veins stood out on his father's forehead, the skin had become enflamed and his neck muscles corded. What if he had a brain spasm like the Old Dove? Byren grabbed his brother's arm. 'Come, help me find Piro.'

His twin snatched his arm free.

'This is not over,' Lence told their father, and stalked out.

Byren hesitated as the king went to follow, to have the last word, but his bad knee turned under him and Byren caught him as he fell, helping him to a chair. His father cursed fluently.

'Lence doesn't mean it,' Byren muttered.

'Yes, he does. He's young and impatient. I know what I was like at his age. I hated diplomacy. But, Byren, I'm done with war. We've had thirty years of good harvests, uninterrupted trade with both Merofynia and Ostron Isle. Nowadays the meanest crofter lives as well as a prosperous merchant did when I was a lad. I want peace and prosperity for my people. I'm not a -'

'I know, Father.' Byren straightened up. 'Should I send for one of the healers?'

'What? No. They've done their best.' Rolen rubbed his bad knee. 'I'll give Cobalt's manservant a chance to prove his boasts. Hopefully...'