Byren watched Piro and Fyn slip into the great hall. Tonight Fyn did not join the monks, but came to the high table with the rest of the royal family, taking his seat at the end beside Piro.
King Rolen muttered under his breath.
Byren hid a grin. With the allegiance oaths about to begin their father could not reprimand Piro. Clever girl. By the time he'd had his dinner and drunk too much rich Rolencian wine, the edge would have gone off the king's temper.
Byren sipped his drink and began to relax. With Lence gone he did not have to watch everything he said and did. He was shocked how bad things had got between them. You'd think saving his brother's life twice in a matter of days would improve Lence's temper. But no.
What more could he do?
He wished he'd never met up with that old seer. But, if he was honest, he had to admit she'd made him aware of something that had been developing for a while, so he should really thank her because, now that he was aware of it, he had a chance to fix things with Lence.
Come to think of it, where was Lence? He should have returned from Rolenton by now. Byren's stomach tensed.
Though his twin was accompanied by his honour guard, he was still vulnerable to a lone archer… Knowing Lence, he would say there was no point in worrying and refuse to live his life shadowed by fear.
Byren told himself Lence was probably dismounting in the stables right now.
But who had sent the assassins? Not Rejulas, he had been expecting to marry into the royal house of Rolencia. Not Unistag Spar, they were too busy with internal power plays.
No, the assassins had to have been sent by the warlord from Manticore. Even now, the man strode up to the dais to make his bow. Middle-aged, but still vigorous, he wore his iron grey hair in two battletales, both laden with gold rings. Heavy black brows made him look angry. With his gleaming black armour and vivid red cloak, he looked arrogant, standing there in fabulously expensive manticore chitin chestplate. Even King Rolen did not own a suit of chitin armour.
Hand on heart, the warlord of Manticore Spar renewed his pledge of loyalty to King Rolen.
If this warlord made a move in the spring, Byren would have to lead a punitive war party over the Dividing Mountains against him. Odd, Corvel of Manticore Spar was almost his father's age, had come to the warlordship at fifteen and held it for thirty years. He had at least four strapping sons to help him now, so he had nothing to prove. The spar's emblem, the blood-red-furred Affinity beast with the body of a lion and the tail of a scorpion, glinted in the light of many candles. Repugnance filled Byren. What kind of warrior would swear allegiance with one breath, while sending assassins in the next? Or perhaps he wronged Corvel.
Corvel of Manticore came to his feet but, before the next warlord could take his place, a youth of about seventeen shoved through the servants who were clustered near the kitchen entrance and ran into the centre of the hall.
'He lies!' the young warrior accused, his voice ringing in the arched vaults above. 'Even while Warlord Corvel was dining at the king's high table, his raiders attacked my village.'
There was a hushed intake of breath.
'Rubbish!' Corvel dismissed the accusation.
'You can prove this?' King Rolen asked the youth.
He nodded and pulled a torn spar symbol from inside his jerkin. Byren noted how the youth's hands trembled, but he did not think it was with fear.
With a flick the youth unrolled the emblem to reveal a red manticore on a field of black.
'That tattered thing?' Corvel sneered. 'That could have been taken during a raid any time these last thirty years. I admit I've sent raiding parties over the Divide before, but I'd be a bloody fool to let my warriors raid while King Rolen's guest.'
'You thought you'd be gone before the news came,' the youth insisted, voice rising. Tears glittered in his furious eyes. 'You didn't gamble on me skating day and night to get here. I want justice for my village, for my kin!'
'Justice,' voices echoed from the watchers, moved by the youth's conviction.
'I am falsely accused!' Corvel roared.
'It is possible,' the queen whispered. 'One of his own sons, ambitious to impress his men, might have gone raiding without asking Corvel's permission.'
'Father?' Byren leant past his mother, having to raise his voice to be heard above the talk of the crowd. 'What if he's telling the truth? Remember the raiders I saw skating across Rolencia's valley?'
'Proof is easy,' King Rolen muttered, then slammed his fist down on the table and the hall fell silent. 'I gather your villagers defended their homes, lad?'
'With their lives!' he bristled.
'Then we can identify the bodies of the raiders killed. That will prove who…' he ran down as the youth was shaking his head.
'They took their dead with them. Those of us who could run fled into the caves. While we were hiding, they took their dead and burned the village.'
Byren stiffened. Raiding was commonplace, but the warlords didn't destroy the villages they raided. They left enough intact for the people to rebuild, otherwise there would be no village to raid the next time.
'This is a new development,' Queen Myrella whispered.
'Captain Temor, take this youth aside,' King Rolen ordered. 'We'll hear his case after the loyalty pledges.'
As Temor escorted the youth to a private chamber, the words his mother had spoken echoed in Byren's mind and a kernel of worry solidified in his gut. Sending assassins into Rolenton had been a new development, too.
What was keeping his twin? Lence knew he was supposed to sit on their father's left while the warlords swore their fealty. What if he had become separated from his honour guard? What if spies had reported Lence's riding out? What if whoever sent the last assassins seized this chance to send more?
'What is it?' his mother whispered.
'It's Lence, I — '
'I know, he's late!'
'I should go down to Rolenton. He might be in trouble.'
'Yes… but if he's not, he won't thank you for coming after him.'
She was right. Byren couldn't just turn up and announce that he was there to take Lence home. At least he knew where they were. Temor had reported that Rejulas had taken over a private chamber at the Three Swans. But if Byren knew, others would know too. The more he thought about it, the more Lence's absence worried him.
'But it would be perfectly natural for you and your friends to celebrate Lence's betrothal tonight by going down to Rolenton's taverns,' his mother suggested softly.
'And meet up with Lence at the Three Swans.'
'Exactly!'
At that moment the last warlord finished his oath and the musicians began to play as great plates of food were carried up from the kitchen.
'Suddenly I'm not hungry,' Byren muttered. 'Wonder if the others feel like celebrating…'
Less than an hour later, Byren and half a dozen friends strode into the entrance of the Three Swans, calling for a private chamber, hot mead and food. Since the Three Swans was the second largest inn in Rolenton, it was their second stop. The delay had gnawed at Byren's composure, but he didn't want to arouse suspicion, not with Lence, not with Rejulas or any of the other warlords' spies.
'A private chamber,' Garzik insisted, enjoying himself. 'And be quick about it.'
The serving girl ran off, only to have the innkeeper bustle out, wiping her hands on her apron.
'Ah, Byren Kingson,' she greeted him. 'I don't have a chamber to spare. I've already had to turn out half a dozen merchants for warlord Rejulas and Lence Kingsheir — '
'Lence? My brother's here? Where is he?' Byren repeated. Pretending to be a trifle drunk he raised his voice. 'Lence?'
'Lensh?' Garzik echoed, not having to pretend.
'Hush, Garza,' Orrade warned. Only he knew the real reason for their roistering.
The innkeeper glanced to the second door of the private chambers. Garzik interpreted her look and weaved over before Orrade could stop him. Flinging the door, Garzik revealed a crowded private room. The solid oak door shuddered on its hinges. A sudden silence filled the room.
At a glance Byren saw that Lence and Cobalt were at a table with the warlord himself, while two dozen Cockatrice men cast dice with Lence's honour guard.
'There he izh!' Garzik announced. 'Hey, Byren. I found Lensh. Want to come drinking with us, Lensh?'
Lence muttered something under his breath and sprang to his feet, striding towards them.
The innkeeper wisely hurried off, leaving Byren to face his irate brother. There was nothing for it. He had to carry on now.
'Lence!' Byren swung a friendly arm around his shoulders, his new ceremonial knife digging into his ribs. He wouldn't be able to draw in a hurry. Pretending to lurch drunkenly, he shifted to give himself access to the weapon. If there was nothing wrong he would look a fool, but he didn't care as long as his twin got home safe.
'What are you doing here?' Lence demanded.
Byren glanced at his friends, who had wandered into the room and were laying bets on the outcome of the dice. Tankards were being passed around. Orrade tried to intercept Garzik before he took one, without success. Rejulas's men seemed to have overcome their enmity, though they were quick to raise a bet and mutter an oath. For all that it appeared a friendly scene, Byren could sense a lot of tension even from this quick jumble of impressions.
'What are you doing, Byren?' Lence repeated.
'Why, we're celebrating of course! Can't celebrate your betrothal without you.' Blinking owlishly, Byren fixed on Rejulas as he joined them. He went to pat Rejulas on the shoulder but missed and clutched at him to steady himself. Leaning closer, he spoke secretively. 'As for you, you made a lucky escape. Our sister's no angel, more like a cockatrice. All smiles one moment, spitting poison the next. But maybe that's the kind of woman you fancy, coming from Cockatrice Spar!' He went off into a peal of laughter.
Cobalt's eyes narrowed, but Rejulas obviously decided he was too drunk to take offence and laughed along with him.
Lence looked disgusted. Of them all, he should have known Byren would never jeopardise an alliance.
Byren sensed Cobalt watching him closely and was careful not to let his cousin catch his eye.
'So let's share a drink!' Byren linked an arm around Lence and Rejulas's shoulders and stumbled towards the small table, away from the dicers. A single lamp illuminated this end of the room. Three tankards and a scrap of scribbled paper lay on the table. 'What're you drinking?'
He swooped a hand down to grab the empty tankard and sniff it, while trying to see what was written on the back of a torn broadsheet, the sort that advertised minstrels. But before he could make sense of it, Cobalt swept the table clean as though the paper had only been rubbish and called for more hot mead.
Byren spun a tavern chair around and dropped his weight onto it, hearing it creak in protest. Even though he sprawled his forearms on the back of the chair, he made sure his knife was free of obstruction and his back was to the wall.
'Yes, a toast to your betrothal, Lence Kingsheir,' Rejulas said. 'Or would you prefer Rolencian red?'
'No more drinking,' Lence objected. 'Byren's had quite enough. I should get him back to Rolenhold.'
That was what Byren wanted, but it wouldn't look right if he agreed too easily.
'Can't go back yet, not without celebrating,' he objected. 'Just one tankard and then we'll go.' He fixed on Rejulas. 'So are you coming for the Jubilee? Going to give little Piro another chance? If you take my advice — '
'We don't need your advice, Byren,' Lence spoke up quickly. 'Rejulas has agreed to come back to the castle tonight and renew his vow of fealty. It was all a misunderstanding, caused by a thoughtless, spoilt brat.'
Piro was no spoilt brat, but Byren let this pass for now. He lurched out of the chair and extended his arm across the table towards Rejulas. 'Then let me be the first to — '
He deliberately overbalanced and fell under the table. Where was that scrap of paper? His hand closed over it, just as Lence reached under and hauled him upright. Cobalt was still watching him. Did their cousin see through this act?
Better get out quick.
Byren let Lence take his weight. Clutching his stomach to hide the paper tucked in his hand, he groaned. 'Don't feel so good, Lensh.'
'That's all I need!' Lence muttered.
'I'll take him home,' Orrade said quickly, joining them.
'Yes, take him home,' Cobalt urged. Byren could hear the unspoken, 'before he can do any more damage' and bristled, even though this was exactly what he wanted.
'I should go back to Rolenhold now, swear my fealty oath,' Rejulas said. He stood and signalled his men.
Lence called for the innkeeper.
Byren had to keep up with the pretence of being a nauseous drunk, while the rest of the party gathered and Lence borrowed a carriage to take him back to Rolenhold. Rejulas called for their horses, intending to follow with his men.
Lence helped Orrade lift Byren into the carriage, none too gently. He sprawled in a dark corner as Orrade sat opposite him.
'What possessed you, Byren?' Lence demanded from the doorway. 'You know how important Rejulas's support is. It's just as well I'd already won him over. Your stupid behaviour has gone a long way towards undoing the good I've done!'
Byren said nothing. Lence should have known better. Cobalt hardly knew him and even he'd been suspicious. Byren wanted to justify himself but if he revealed the ruse now it would only make Lence furious. Seething, Byren remained silent.
'Well?' Lence demanded.
Byren produced an effective snore.
Lence swore. 'Get him to bed, Orrie.'
He slammed the door and walked off.
Orrade said nothing until the carriage began to rattle over the cobbles.
'Well, what did it say?' Orrade prodded.
'What?' Byren muttered, still fuming. Usually it was he who helped Lence to bed after a night of too much drinking.
'The paper you grabbed from under their table.'
'Eh?' Byren sat up. 'Did anyone else notice?'
'I doubt it. You should have been a player, Byren.'
He grinned and pulled the crumpled paper out from inside his vest. By the silvery starlight coming through the window, he and Orrade tried to interpret the drawings. It seemed to be a scribbled map of Cockatrice Spar in relation to Rolenhold, with the major estates, roads and canals marked. It had been drawn with smudged charcoal and was hard to interpret, with arrows and splotches that may have represented fighting men on the march.
'They were discussing strategy,' Orrade said.
'Working on the best way to defend Rolencia,' Byren agreed. His twin had been safe all along, looking out for Rolencia's future. Perhaps tomorrow, when Lence cooled down, he'd reveal the subterfuge and they'd laugh over it.
He rubbed his knee which still ached from the impact after Lence had shoved him into the carriage. Then again… perhaps he would never reveal the ruse.
'You'll have to go straight to bed,' Orrade said. 'I'll return to the great hall, let you know how it goes.'
'Huh?' Byren had made himself look a fool in front of Lence, Cobalt and Rejulas, and was beginning to regret it.
'The call to arms. King Rolen will announce the punitive raid on the Utlanders tonight and call for support.'
He was right. The warlords and nobles would each swear to send a certain number of men and the merchants would supply ships and supplies, then they would drink to the raid's success. And he would be in bed, supposedly too drunk to attend. Not that he was comfortable with the idea of the raid.
'They don't even know which Utland raiders killed old Lord Cobalt,' Byren muttered. 'But they'll kill a few and burn some miserable little cottages to the ground to teach the Utlanders a lesson.'
'I agree, it's not fair. But unless Lence punishes them, the Utlanders will become a problem. Can you think of a better solution?'
Byren frowned. He couldn't. But it still felt wrong.
When Byren took his seat at the war table first thing the next morning, Lence leant closer to whisper, 'No headache?'
Byren glanced away, annoyed, because Lence's waist length hair was loose on his shoulders, Ostron-style, instead of held in a warrior's plait.
'No. No headache.' He wasn't going to lie.
'You deserve one, if ever — '
Captain Temor cleared his throat then nodded to their father.
'Yesterday convinced me that we need to ensure each of the warlords' loyalty,' King Rolen said. 'Thanks to Lence, Rejulas has reconsidered. By the time he comes back for the Jubilee, Piro had better be ready to give her betrothal vows. As for the Manticore raiders… Corvel denied all responsibility, but he's sending some men over the Divide to rebuild the youth's village to prove his loyalty — '
'I still think the raid is suspicious,' Byren protested.
'You went off drinking instead of staying to hear the evidence, so no one cares what you think,' his father snapped.
Byren felt heat creep up his face. His mother caught his eye with a worried look but he had no intention of revealing his subterfuge now.
'Since Rejulas has sworn fealty and agreed to come back for the Jubilee, Piro will have another chance with him,' the queen said, filling in the silence. 'She's a good girl. She knows her duty.'
But would she do it? Byren wondered. And should she have to? For the first time he wondered how Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter felt about having to marry his twin.
'We have four of the five warlords behind us. They've sworn to send men with Lence when he goes to teach the Utlanders a lesson,' King Rolen said. 'Yet the warlord of Manticore Spar swears fealty with one breath while, for all I know, one of his sons sends raiders behind our backs. If Unistag does not elect a new warlord and swear loyalty before the Jubilee, Rolencia will look weak. We can't afford — '
'I agree.' As Lence sat forwards something glinted in his hair, dark semi-precious stones, onyxes. Byren blinked, surprised and dismayed. 'Since Byren nearly spoilt my efforts with Rejulas, I suggest he approach Unistag. Let's see if he can bring in a warlord's loyalty!'
'It's not the same,' Byren protested. Lence's approach to Rejulas had been from a position of power in his home town, with the might of the castle behind him. He hadn't been asked to go marching into an enemy camp as an ambassador. 'If I go to Unistag Spar it will seem Rolencia is trying to interfere with the choice of warlord. It's not like I could enforce it anyway, not without a small army.'
'So now you need a small army?' Lence mocked. 'Your honour guard not enough?'
Byren bit back a sharp retort and caught his mother's troubled gaze across the table.
'Well, Byren?' his father prodded.
Byren sprang to his feet. 'Very well. The sooner I go, the better. I'll be back with the warlord of Unistag's loyalty before the Jubilee or I won't be back at all!'
Captain Temor came to his feet. 'With your permission, Rolen. I'd like to go with him. An older, wiser head could offer advice.'
His father hesitated, then nodded.
Byren marched out, torn between relief and mortification to have the captain of his father's honour guard accompany him.
'Wait, Byren,' Temor called.
He paused at the top of the stairs.
Temor joined him. 'I'll select a dozen men-at-arms, veterans who know what they're doing — '
'You're right, my honour guard are all too callow.' Byren faced the truth. 'How many should we take?'
'Around twenty-five. Another twenty will do us no good if the Unistags turn on us, and twenty-five is small enough to travel light and fast.'
Byren squeezed the older man's shoulder. 'I'm lucky to have you, Temor. I plan to ride across the foothills and hire mountain ponies at the tradepost.' Horses could not make it over the steep terrain of the Pass.
The captain nodded.
'We can leave first thing tomorrow.'
That evening, Byren slipped into Halcyon's chantry to burn a candle and ask the goddess to watch over him and his men when they ventured into Unistag Spar. Since the god Sylion had symbolically handed over their world on Midwinter's Day, the goddess Halcyon was now the dominant force as they headed towards spring. Besides, you prayed to Sylion if you were going out on a raid like the one Lence would be leading against the Utlanders. Sylion dealt in death. Halcyon dealt in life and Byren hoped he wouldn't have to kill anyone to win the spar warlord's loyalty.
The chantry was cold and empty. Row upon row of glittering icons represented Halcyon's bounty, stylised goats heads, bulls, cocks and sheep, wheat, rye and barley, all painted in rich colours, decorated with gold leaf, lined the walls. Above the central dais a mural depicting King Rolence the First bestowing Mount Halcyon on his Affinity warder told the story of the founding of Halcyon Abbey.
From the marble pillars to the decorated ceiling above, Byren's steps echoed softly. Halcyon's Affinity warder was with his abbot, along with Springdawn and the abbess. All the representatives of the gods had been called together to discuss the number of Affinity seeps and work out a strategy for containing them. Three in under a year was a bad omen.
Byren had chosen to come to the chantry at this moment because he knew he would be alone. He didn't want to be caught by either Halcyon's Affinity warder or the healer. Both were elderly men who'd seen him grow from a babe in arms and were inclined to offer a great deal of well-meant advice.
The sacred lamp burnt under the central dome giving off its familiar, aromatic scent of vanilla and sandalwood, reminding Byren of endless ceremonies. The lamp was never extinguished and had been lit from the original flame, which was kept burning deep below Halcyon Abbey. Byren picked his way through the pews to the royal devotional box. It was only just deep enough for the chair which could seat a member of the royal family, with a single sconce to burn a devotional candle. He closed the cherrywood-carved screen and prepared to light his candle.
Soft footsteps made him stop. Had Lence followed him to apologise? He waited for the cherrywood screen to open. But no, Orrade knelt just on the other side of the screen and lit a candle, standing it in the large sconce there. As the flame flickered, a tendril of fine smoke rose in the still air, dreamless-sleep scented smoke. Orrade leant forwards to inhale it. The effect of the mild narcotic would bring him closer to Halcyon and help focus his thoughts.
Byren considered letting Orrade know he was there, then decided to wait. He'd already heard how everyone cheered Lence and Cobalt, volunteering to go on the Utland raid. He felt excluded and he had only himself to blame.
'May Halcyon protect and watch over this venture to Unistag Spar,' Orrade whispered. 'May she care for Elina and my father, may she protect Garzik and stop him from doing anything rash. May she keep Byren safe from harm — '
'How touching,' Cobalt said, his voice too soft to echo.
Orrade went very still, then turned slowly. He would have risen but Cobalt had already reached him and placed one hand on his shoulder, holding him on his knees.
Orrade cleared his throat. 'I pray to Halcyon for success — '
'You pray for the kingson's safety,' Cobalt cut in. 'I know your secret.'
Orrade went very still. 'I don't know what you — '
Cobalt lifted the smaller man to his feet, swinging him around hard so that the carved screen creaked with the impact. Orrade was pressed against it only a hand's breadth from Byren. He went to move but they blocked the door and besides, Orrade could protect himself. Byren's name had been mentioned and he feared if he came out of the devotional box now it would confirm everything Cobalt suspected. Besides, he was shocked by Cobalt's sudden violence, which seemed so out of character.
'Don't play the innocent with me, Orrade. I've seen the way you look at him, or don't look at him,' Cobalt whispered. 'Does he know why you were disinherited?'
'I don't know what — '
Cobalt silenced him with a kiss that was not gentle. He persisted until Orrade stopped struggling, then he pulled back with a soft laugh. 'Deny all you like, your body betrays you.'
Orrade said nothing. Shame for him heated Byren's cheeks. Now he could not venture out and look them in the eye.
'Good.' Cobalt all but purred. 'I want to know what Byren is planning. You will report to me. Don't deny me.' Cobalt jerked Orrade so that his head thumped against the wood. 'I could ruin you with one word — '
'And I could ruin you!'
'I don't think so.' Cobalt smiled. 'I am the injured party, my bride and father cruelly murdered.' When he said this Byren realised he was using his supposedly injured arm to prod Orrade in the chest. 'No one will believe a word against me. But you… you have refused to reveal why you fought with your father, and you are Byren's shadow. Why, you are closer to him than his own twin!'
Orrade did not try to argue.
Cobalt released him. 'Now we understand each other. Report to me and I'll keep your secret.' His voice dropped. 'I may even reward you.'
He stepped back, his soft indoor slippers silent on the marble tiles.
Freed, Orrade lifted one hand to his mouth, staggering slightly. He stared after Cobalt's retreating back.
'I'll leave Rolencia before I betray Byren,' he called after Cobalt.
The older man stopped and turned to face him, his features barely visible in the single lamp light. 'Go, and not only will I tell King Rolen why you were disinherited, but I'll tell him Byren is your lover — '
'That's not true!'
'Truth is highly overrated,' Cobalt told him. 'King Rolen nearly lost Rolencia because of the Servants of Palos. When I was growing up, they still whispered of how he stood stone-faced during the executions. Even my father, his own half-brother, was afraid of him. Do you think the king would hesitate to order Byren's execution if it meant saving Rolencia for his precious Lence?'
'The king would never believe — '
'Oh, I can be very convincing, Orrade. I'm sure I could persuade my uncle, especially when it is half true.'
Orrade dragged in a ragged breath. 'You bastard!'
'No, my father was the bastard. It was the only thing that stood between him and the throne!'
Orrade said nothing.
Cobalt laughed softly, turned and left. His mocking laughter hung on the air after he had gone.
Shaking with fury, Orrade paced back and forth across the chantry. Finally he dipped his fingers in the font which held water from Halcyon's sacred pool, splashing it on his face as if to wake himself.
Muttering a string of inventive curses, Orrade spun and stalked out of the chantry.
Byren waited a few moments then left the royal box. His first thought was to warn his father, but what could he tell King Rolen without implicating himself and Orrade? It was clear now that Illien of Cobalt was a manipulative, cunning man who could not be trusted, but any proof would mean revealing the true reason for Orrade's disinheritance. Though this had nothing to do with the Servants of Palos, their betrayal was still too raw and recent for his father to separate the two.
But there was still his mother.
Byren left the Chantry, heading straight for the queen's private chamber.
When Seela met him at the door her worried face creased into a fond smile of welcome. 'Ah, Byren, so good of you to drop by and visit your old nurse.'
He flushed, amused by her pointed teasing. 'Is Mother in?'
'Yes, but she's having one of her bad turns. I've put her to bed with some dreamless-sleep. Mayhap that will bring her some peace.'
'I hope so.'
'Was it something important? Do you want me to give her a message?'
He shook his head. When his mother had these turns she would rise late the following afternoon and be groggy for a day or two. There was nothing the healers could do for her. 'I don't want to worry mother. I'll see her when I get back from Unistag Spar.'
Seela nodded. 'Give your old nurse a hug and may Halcyon watch over you.'
He hugged her, surprised to discover her flesh was thin over her bones. She had always been the rock in the centre of his childhood, a haven of safety and understanding. Now she needed protecting.
'Goodbye, Seela.' He kissed her forehead.
She flushed with pleasure. 'What was that for?'
He smiled. 'No reason.'
As he went off to pack, he decided it was just as well he had not spoken with his mother. For some reason he could never keep anything from her. She would have wormed the reason for Orrade's disinheritance from him and it was not his secret to share.
He found himself at the door to his father's private chamber. Because of his mother's turns they had separate sleeping chambers. Maybe if he just put in a word or two to make his father more careful of Cobalt…
He knocked and swung the door open to find his father lying face down, naked on his bed, while Cobalt's manservant massaged the king's massive shoulders, scarred skin gleamed with Ostronite oil in the golden lamplight.
'Father?'
'Eh, Byren. What is it?' King Rolen asked, lifting his head and blinking as though waking from a dream.
Byren said the first thing that came into his head. He could hardly suggest the king watch out for Cobalt in front of Cobalt's servant. 'I came to see how the knee was, Father.'
'Enough for now, Valens,' King Rolen said, swinging his legs off the bed and tucking the towel around his waist. He stood beside the bed, one hand on the upright to steady himself as he tested the knee. A smile broke across his weathered features. 'Eh. I can bend it without pain.'
'The pain will come back, King Rolen,' Valens warned.
Byren hadn't been aware that his father's knee hurt with every step. He crossed the room. 'If it's your knee that's the problem, why massage your back?'
Valens flicked a disdainful glance to Byren. 'I must massage the knee, hip and back every day. The knee throws the back out — '
'And don't I know it!' the king muttered.
Valens nodded. He took several dark bottles from his case. Measuring a little from each he poured the liquid into a goblet of wine and stirred. 'And you must drink this every morning and night to bring down the swelling in the joint.'
King Rolen accepted the goblet, sniffed and took a sip. He looked relieved then drained the lot. 'Ah, that's better than any of the herbals my healers give me. I was afraid you'd ruined a good wine.'
'Never, King Rolen. We Ostronites know the value of Rolencian red!' With a bow, Valens continued to pack his tools away in a leather case.
'So, can I offer you a drink, Byren?' his father asked.
'No. I'm off to bed. I want a clear head for an early start tomorrow.' Byren hesitated but Valens showed no sign of leaving. He had begun polishing his father's boots. 'I'm glad your knee is feeling better.'
'My knee? My whole back feels better. It's never been the same since that riding accident.' His father slung an arm around Byren's shoulders. The king was nearly fifty now and he was a big man, deep through the chest with a bit of a belly on him, but Byren could feel the strength in his body and the vigour as he walked him to the door. 'I swear I feel twenty years younger!' Then he grew serious. 'While you're dealing with Unistag's warlord, I want you to listen to Temor's advice. He's had thirty years, dealing with spar leaders.'
'I will, Father. Good night.'
Byren headed back to his chamber relieved that his father was feeling better but frustrated with the meeting. If only he could reveal the truth about Cobalt's attempt to blackmail Orrade.
Orrade's sudden declaration of love had endangered them both. What was wrong with his friend? Orrade had certainly enjoyed women in the past.
Byren's hands itched to grab his friend and knock some sense into him. If only it was that simple!