The King's Bastard (32 page)

'Ho, Fyn, what was that all about?' Lonepine asked when he returned.

'I'm to watch out for Joff,' Fyn explained.

'Good.' Lonepine grinned. 'We can take turns pulling the sled.'

'Will you take up Master Firefox's offer?' Joff asked Fyn.

'The master offered you a place? Why didn't you say?' Lonepine demanded.

Fyn shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it here, where anyone might overhear.

'It would be a wise move.' Lonepine winked. 'Then you won't have to compete with me to be weapons master!'

Fyn laughed and mock-punched him, but his heart was not in it.

Piro waited in her mother's private chamber down one end of the solarium. Listening for the distinctive
chink, chink
of her mother's walk, every second step punctuated by the heavy ring of keys she wore at her waist. Keys for chambers, keys for account cabinets, keys for chests and keys for cellars. She was hoping her mother had the key to her problems.

After taking off her head-dress and cloak, Piro sat in front of the fire to get warm. Her cheeks still stung from standing on the battlements in the cold breeze to see the last of the monks glide off across Sapphire lake.

Staring into the flames, Piro wound her cap's red satin ribbons through her fingers. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep and loud sounds made her jump. The dream about Byren was only one of many nightmares. Since looking into the Mirror of Insight her dreams had been haunted. Every night as soon as she drifted off, she saw wyverns rampaging through the castle corridors, eating in the great hall, drinking and laughing while her people went in fear of them. She dreaded falling asleep.

Piro was desperate enough to turn to her mother. How did the queen hide her Affinity? How could she have let her own father ride to his death? The more Piro thought about it, the more she realised she did not know her mother, had never known her.

'What are you doing, sitting here all alone?' her old nurse asked, bustling in with an armful of freshly laundered linen. She began folding things, slipping lavender bags between the layers as she tucked them away in various chests.

'Where's mother?'

'With your father, entertaining the Merofynian ambassador. He'll be going back soon. When next we see him it will be the Jubilee and Isolt Kingsdaughter will be with him.' The old nurse frowned at Piro. 'You must be on your best behaviour next time you see Rejulas -'

'I can't face him, Seela. I don't know what to do. My Affinity is getting worse!' Piro gestured wildly, cap swinging by its ribbons. 'Rejulas handed me a slice of perfectly good sweet bread with cream but when I tried to eat it I nearly choked. Father later ate the whole loaf so there was nothing wrong with it. If the Affinity wasn't trying to tell me to beware Rejulas, what does it mean?'

'It means you can't trust what you see, hear or feel. Ahh, Piro!' Seela's face creased with sympathy. 'To be god-touched is not a pleasant thing. Your mother's had to live with it all these years, never knowing if the nightmares she has are visions or simply bad dreams. As for Rejulas, I know what you're like. You went into the trophy chamber all churned up with anger and resentment. No wonder you couldn't eat.'

'No. It wasn't me. It was a message from the gods. I'm sure of it.'

Seela rolled her eyes.

Piro put her hands on her hips, cap dangling. 'I'm going to ask mother.'

'No, don't trouble her.' Seela closed the chest and came over to Piro, taking the cap from her and smoothing the crumpled ribbons. 'I didn't tell her about your Affinity. Don't disappoint her.'

Piro's shoulder's slumped. 'I'm sorry if I'm a disappointment to her.'

'You misunderstand me. She'd be disappointed in herself. We'll keep this a secret, you and I.' Seela summoned a smile. 'From what your father says Rejulas is a brave, clever man.'

'I still don't trust him.'

'Words are cheap, deeds ring true. This is what I told your mother when she was fretting about coming here. She was only a little thing, eight years old. I told her, only by King Rolen's actions can we know if he is trustworthy. Give him a chance to prove himself. And she did and look what happened!' Seela took Piro's hand. 'The best thing you can do is close your heart and mind against the Affinity, just as your mother has done, and do your duty as a kingsdaughter.'

Piro sighed. Since this was also Fyn's advice, she nodded. 'All right, but I can't sleep for the nightmares.'

'We can banish those. A little sleeping draught will do the trick. Your mother has been taking it for years. Whenever it gets bad we say she's having one of her turns and she retreats to her private chamber so that I can dose her. I'll water down some dreamless-sleep for you this very night. You're worrying needlessly.' Seela patted Piro's arm. 'I know. Let's prepare a performance for the visiting nobles. We can get the costume chest out and do one of the midwinter pageants!'

Piro nodded slowly. Usually she enjoyed performing but now it all seemed so trivial.

Seeing her expression, Seela clucked her tongue. 'Dreamless-sleep will settle the nightmares. It works on your mother. You'll see.'

And Piro had to be satisfied with this as Seela bustled off. Alone again, she paced the chamber. It was all very well to say that Rejulas's action would tell her what kind of man he was, but what if she was already married to him when she discovered he could not be trusted? How would she escape him?

Fyn arrived at the abbey as the sun was setting behind the Dividing Mountains. After pulling the sled for three days solid, his thighs and shoulders ached. All he wanted to do was rest, but first he had to take Joff to the boys master. This happened to suit him, since he wanted to ask Master Wintertide's advice.

He dumped his travelling pack on his bunk and turned to Joff, who was standing in the acolytes' dormitory looking out of place while the others unloaded their packs, checked the work roster then shuffled off to line up for the hot baths.

'Come on, Joff.' Fyn headed for the corridor, pointing out the rooms as they passed them. 'This wing of chambers houses the acolytes in order of rank, oldest at this end, the youngest down here.' He passed that door and entered the spiral central stairs, gesturing upwards. 'The hothouses are high above in the crater's mouth, set on the shores of Lake Halcyon. That's where we bring on the seedlings so the farmers can make an early start with their planting. Otherwise they'd never get two crops harvested each summer.'

Joff nodded as they headed down the steps. As a farmer's son, he would be familiar with monks delivering hothouse seedlings.

'Fyn?' Lonepine called over the acolytes' balcony. 'You're rostered to work in the gardens tonight.'

Fyn cursed under his breath.

'But we've only just got back,' Joff muttered. 'How could you be rostered to work? That's not fair.'

'Who said abbey life was fair?' Fyn muttered, then took pity on Joff's confusion. 'No. It's not fair. But that's the way it is. The acolytes master is warning me.'

'Why?'

'Because I haven't accepted his offer.'

'Why not?'

Fyn sighed. 'You ask a lot of questions.'

Joff shrugged. 'If I don't ask, how will I ever learn?'

Fyn grinned. During the sled ride he'd discovered he liked Joff.

'This way.' Fyn continued down the stairs to the next level. 'This is where the boys live. They're aged between six and twelve, so you'll be the oldest. But don't worry, Wintertide is the best of the masters.'

He jogged down the corridor towards his old teacher's chambers, pausing in the entrance. 'Master Wintertide?'

'He's not here,' a small boy said.

'Do you know how long he will be?'

The boy shook his head. 'Is there a message I can give the master?'

Fyn hesitated. When he had been Wintertide's servant, bigger boys had offered him bribes to spy for them. He'd refused no matter how much they tried to intimidate him. He had no idea how many masters this boy served.

'The abbot called all masters up to his chambers,' the boy volunteered.

Fyn suspected the masters and the abbot were discussing Provings so far. He suspected his presence was like turning up an Unknowable card in a Duelling Kingdom games. If he was put with the wrong master, the balance of power in the abbey hierarchy would be disrupted.

The first prayer bell rang.

Fyn grimaced. He could delay no longer. The gardens master was easy-going, but if Fyn reported for work late he would be insulted.

'I'll leave you here, Joff,' Fyn said. 'Master Wintertide will be back soon.'

He headed for the corridor and the spiral stair.

But before he got there an arm snaked out of the boys' bathing chamber, catching him by the collar of his robe. Jerked off his feet, Fyn was hauled into the bathing chamber, his heels dragging across the damp tiles. Galestorm's face, among others, whirled past him as he was spun around and around, then shoved across the room. The tiles were slick with steam and he fell painfully to his knees, skidding.

The bathing chamber was empty but smelt of soap and small boys. In front of him, Fyn saw a familiar wall mosaic illustrating Halcyon's blessings, stylised grain sheaves entwined with the beasts of the fields. It was reflected in a bathing pool. Steam rose off the water which had been pumped up from the hot springs below.

Fyn's stomach lurched as he came to his feet, turning to face his tormentors. He'd only just returned to the abbey and they were after him already.

Galestorm was with his usual followers, Onetree, Whisperingpine and Beartooth, and this time there was no Byren to come to Fyn's rescue.

'Not so brave, eh, kingson?' Galestorm asked, prowling towards him. 'See, I told you he was a coward. Are you going to beg?'

Fyn did not know what to say. Nothing would satisfy Galestorm.

'Just look at this place.' Galestorm gestured to the bath chamber, then clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 'Filthy little boys. It needs cleaning. You can start in that corner.' He pointed to the far end of the chamber where grime had caught between the tiles. 'Clean it, with your tongue.'

Fyn stared at Galestorm.

'Are you disobeying a direct order, acolyte?'

Fyn swallowed. They weren't going to let him get out of this.

Galestorm stepped towards him. Desperate, Fyn darted forwards, elbowed Galestorm in the ribs, side-stepped Whisperingpine and shouldered past Onetree. He made for the door, only to be caught by Beartooth.

The big monk pulled Fyn's arms up behind his back and dragged him over to Galestorm, who rubbed his bruised ribs thoughtfully. 'You're going to be sorry you did that. But first I have some advice for you. I hear Master Firefox offered you a place?' When Fyn didn't answer, he nodded to Beartooth, who obligingly jerked Fyn's arms up behind his back.

Fyn bit back a cry. 'He did, but I refused.'

'Very wise,' Galestorm agreed. 'And you're going to keep refusing, because Onetree is going to be acolytes master, I'm going to be the history master, Whisperingpine is going to be clerics master, and Beartooth is going to be weapons master. But if you joined any of those branches that wouldn't be possible. So you go right on refusing.'

'I mean to.'

Galestorm smiled as if he didn't believe Fyn.

'Give him something to help him remember,' Galestorm said and walked out. Fyn ducked, trying to protect his vulnerable parts from the rain of blows.

A little while later, dripping wet and moving carefully, Fyn climbed the stairs. He ached all over and, he suspected, he would feel worse tomorrow.

Returning to the acolytes' bedchambers he changed into a dry smock and leggings, then went up to the hothouses. He was walking slowly as he made his way over to the gardens master, who took one look at him and led him to a quiet corner.

'You're late,' Sunseed said.

'I apologise, master.'

Sunseed studied him. 'They were careful not to leave any marks on your face.'

'How did...' Fyn began, then realised he had been tricked. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Of course. And I'm not going to ask who did this. Take my advice. Stay with your friends and don't be caught alone. Do you want to go down to the healers?'

Fyn shook his head.

'Then follow me. We must check the starkiss buds. The mystics master thinks they will open tonight.'

Fyn's spirits lifted. Master Wintertide had never missed the blooming of the starkiss flowers and the beating had convinced him more then ever that he needed his old master's advice, for it wasn't possible to avoid being caught alone.

Byren tossed and turned, unable to sleep despite having pushed his men these past five days. Their camp, at the Upper Portal just over the border formed by Unistag Pass, was bitterly cold. The fire alternately cooked one side of him, while the other froze. He couldn't shake the feeling that Lence wanted him to fail on this mission and the thought made him sick at heart. If only he had never met the old seer, if only Cobalt hadn't returned to Rolencia to bring his views of foreign policy to Lence's ears. Of course, Lence would rather win power than marry power. Then, like a dog with a bone, Byren's mind would circle around to the other fear that ran under his every waking moment like a river running under the ice, waiting for spring to break free.