Fyn remained still, trusting to the shadows to hide him. His heart hammered uncomfortably. The dim glow of the abbot's lantern illuminated a halo of light around the masters as they followed the abbot down the corridor. Master Catillum came last, glancing casually into the corridor where he knew Fyn hid.
Fyn swallowed, licking dry lips.
The scuffing of the monks' soft leather slippers ceased, signalling that the abbot and masters had arrived at the secret entrance to the catacombs. Fyn waited. The secret passage lay behind an ordinary stretch of wall decorated with the same carved frieze that enlivened even the simplest abbey vessel.
There were too many masters clustered around the abbot for him to see which key the old man selected from the ones on the chain around his waist. Fyn strained to see which carving the abbot slid the key into, but this was also impossible. With a soft grinding noise the stone slid away to reveal a dark passage. The abbot and masters entered, taking the lantern with them, and the stone slid back into place. But not before Master Catillum left a small wedge of wood in the doorway.
Eyes still blinded by the passing of the lantern light, Fyn stepped out of the cross passage and ran to the secret entrance. A dark sliver was all that remained. He glanced up and down the corridor. Only the faintest of lights came down the stairwell from the floor above. By this feeble illumination, he could see no one.
Slipping his fingers in the narrow slit, he forced the panel wide enough to slide through. Bending down, he scooped up the wedge and tucked it in his pocket. The stone panel slid closed after him, leaving him in total darkness.
A wave of oppression rolled over Fyn, making his heart labour. Usually being below ground did not bother him. In the abbey you could always see reflected sunlight or look out a window. But here, he felt the whole weight of Mount Halcyon pressing down on him.
Nausea roiled in his belly, urging him to retreat. He refused. He had to prove the death of the boys master had been murder and the only way to do that was to retrieve the sacred vessel that held Wintertide's heart.
Fyn visualised the map he'd memorised and stepped into the darkness. After rounding two bends he could just hear the soft shuffle of the monks' shoes on the stone, echoing back to him.
Silent as a winter hare, Fyn scurried after them down the stairs. It grew steadily colder. Strange, he had expected it to be hot in the very heart of Mount Halcyon. After all, the goddess's blessing was heat.
He shivered and turned a bend, then stopped.
A glow came through a tall doorway with smooth stone lintels. The pool of light seemed glaringly bright to Fyn's dark-adjusted eyes. He crept closer, listening intently. He could tell by the echo of the monks' steps that they were walking across a cavern. As yet no one had spoken.
Pressing his cheek to the cold stone, Fyn peered around the entrance. His breath caught in his throat.
Halcyon's Sacred Heart opened before him, a great cavern filled with the glow of many candles… more were lit every moment as the masters performed their task. Each candle sat on the cupped hands of a long-dead master. Each mummified master knelt on a flat-topped stone, his face serene. They seemed to be scattered at random across the floor. Then Fyn noticed that above every master there was a finger of glistening stone extending down from the cavern ceiling.
The masters' skins glistened like glazed pottery. Stone had dripped down from above, encasing the long-dead monks in columns of stone. So this was what meant by the words embraced by the goddess.
Abbot Halcyon and the masters had gathered around a flat-topped column, which stood beneath a glistening spike of rock. When the abbot stepped away Fyn recognised Master Wintertide. Bound in fine cloth, Wintertide's body had been placed in the kneeling position, hands folded left on right, palms up in his lap. A newly lit candle flickered in his upturned hands. Fyn searched for and found the sacred jars with his master's internal organs ranged in front of his knees. All he had to do was wait out the ceremony, take the heart jar and return to Master Catillum's private chamber.
'Who brings this worthy master to join the goddess?' a woman asked, her voice echoing across the cavern.
Fyn blinked. For a heartbeat he believed it was the goddess Halcyon herself. Then the woman turned and he recognised the abbess of Sylion.
He bit back a gasp of surprise, for females were not allowed past the courtyard of the sacred pool, yet here she was. How had the abbess slipped into Halcyon's Sacred Heart unseen? There must be another way into the cavern, a passage just as secret as the one the abbot had used. It appeared Sylion and Halcyon had a much closer bond than he had been taught.
Fyn wrestled with this while the abbot and masters chanted Halcyon's psalm of praise and the abbess gave Sylion's formal responses.
Once the ceremony was over, the abbot spoke briefly with the abbess and headed towards Fyn, who stumbled backwards. He found a niche and stood pressed against the stone, hardly daring to breathe.
One by one the masters passed him. This time Master Catillum did not look for him. The abbess did not come this way.
'So, abbot, have you considered our list of possible boys masters?' Hotpool asked, his voice carrying back to Fyn. 'It will have to be someone well versed in the history of our order. The boys must respect the past.'
The abbot sighed. 'Tonight, Master Hotpool. You'll know tonight.'
As soon as their footsteps faded, Fyn resumed his place near the cavern entrance. He waited, listening to the soft tone of the female voices on the cold air as the abbess discussed something with a companion. Their voices faded, then he heard the grate of stone as a passage closed.
Believing the cavern deserted, Fyn stepped into Halcyon's Heart. His nostrils stung in reaction to intense Affinity. The intermittent seep below Mount Halcyon must be releasing power again. Not surprising, since other seeps had risen recently. The masters would have to bring down sorbt stones to absorb the Affinity.
As it was, he had to blink tears from his eyes. Since he meant no harm, he trusted the goddess would not hurt him. Still, his blood roared in his ears as he crossed to Master Wintertide's resting place.
Kneeling reverently, he looked up into his old teacher's face. Wintertide's pale skin had been painted with a clear glaze so that it resembled the finest porcelain. His expression was calm.
'I will miss you, Master Wintertide, more than I can say,' Fyn whispered and bent forwards, bowing from the waist, pressing his forehead to his hands on the floor. His royal emblem rode up, sliding out of the front of his robe to dangle in front of his eyes.
He straightened up, fingering it, feeling the familiar pattern of the embossed foenix. The metal was warm from his skin. The day he put this aside was the day he put aside his claim to his father's throne. He had thought he would be putting it aside to take up his place in the abbey, but now he knew that, after he did this last service for his old master, he would be without allegiance. The emblem must not fall into the wrong hands.
'Master Wintertide, I ask you to watch over this, as you watched over me in the abbey.' Fyn stood and undid the royal emblem's chain. It felt heavy in the palm of his hand. In the candlelight the foenix gleamed. He placed the pendant in the hollow behind his master's hands. The wax would burn down, hiding it. One day, many years in the future, Halcyon's stone would encase it.
'I promise you this, Master Wintertide, I will not rest until your killer has been punished.' He studied the four jars, comparing each one to Master Catillum's sketch. His hand moved even before he consciously recognised the jar that contained Master Wintertide's heart. 'Forgive me, master. This will be returned as soon as possible.'
He tucked the jar inside his belt pouch. All he had to do was take it to Master Catillum.
Feeling lighter, Fyn left the cavern. It was completely dark in the secret passage. He should have taken one of the candles but he recalled the way, counting the steps and making the turns until he came to a dead end, the sealed exit. No light seeped around the hidden door. Fyn's blind fingers brushed the stone wall, seeking the device which Master Catillum had told him would trip the opening.
Twice he searched where it should have been and found nothing.
What if he could not find it?
His mouth went dry with fear. Panic threatened. If he did not find the trigger to open the panel he would starve alone in the dark. The great weight of the mountain pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe.
He struggled to clear his mind.
Think. There had to be a way out.
Then it came to him… If he could not open this door he would return to Halcyon's Heart and try to find the passage the Abbess had used — it had to come out somewhere on Mount Halcyon — then he would double back to the abbey.
Having thought it through, Fyn calmed down and widened his search. As his fingers dipped into a depression in the stone, he realised the mystics master was taller than him. Catillum hadn't taken this into account when describing where to find the catch. The device sank at his touch and the panel slid open.
Blinking in the dim light and relieved beyond words, Fyn stepped into the hall.
Now, to take the jar to Master Catillum. He hurried up the steps, pressing the jar to his chest so it would not be jolted.
As Fyn rounded the corner, relieved he had got away with it, a large hand descended on his shoulder, squeezing painfully.
'What do we have here, Beartooth, a little mouse stealing about in the dark?'
'And what has it been stealing?' Galestorm asked.
Fyn tried to pull away from Beartooth.
'Grab him, Onetree,' Galestorm ordered.
Arms pinned him. Fingers prised at his, forcing them away from the jar. Fyn stopped fighting, fearful the jar would fall and shatter.
Whisperingpine whistled. 'That looks like — '
'A jar from Halcyon's Sacred Heart.' Galestorm's eyes narrowed, then he smiled with malicious glee. 'Fyn Kingson, you have just signed your own death decree!'
'Huh?' Beartooth muttered.
Galestorm held up the jar. The semi-precious stones set on the lid glinted. 'All we have to do is show the abbot this and he'll have to order the king's brat executed for profaning the goddess. Come on.'
As they dragged Fyn upstairs his heart sank. Master Catillum had made it clear he could not help him if he was caught. To have come so close!
Even so, Fyn did not struggle. Since he had nothing to lose, he would reveal his suspicions to the abbot. As they had the jar, all the abbot had to do was ask the mystics master to do the tests on Wintertide's heart. Firefox and his supporters might still be proven murderers.
'What I don't understand is why he wanted the jar,' Whisperingpine muttered.
Fyn tensed, but Galestorm was too busy gloating over his downfall to listen.
They drove him up the spiral staircase, through the passages, past the young boys headed into the dining hall to eat their first meal of the day, past the acolytes who were already leaving to learn their crafts. Behind many curious faces, Fyn recognised Feldspar's worried face. Without a word his friend took off, running towards the mystics' level.
'Should I stop him?' Whisperingpine asked Galestorm.
'Don't bother. No one can save the king's brat now.'
Fyn did not say a word as they herded him along the busy corridor towards the stairwell at the far end.
Master Firefox stepped out of his chamber, accompanied by Hotpool.
'What's this?' Firefox demanded. 'Where are you taking Fyn Kingson?'
'To the abbot,' Galestorm announced loudly, holding up the jar. 'We caught him stealing from the goddess's Sacred Heart!'
The nearest acolytes gasped and stared at Fyn, horrified.
When Firefox recognised the jar his eyes widened. Master Hotpool took a step back, going pale. He went to speak, but Firefox touched his arm.
'Well done, Galestorm.' Firefox recovered quickly. 'Give me the jar. We will take him to the abbot.'
No, Fyn thought. If Firefox and Hotpool took over he would never get to the abbot. They would kill him, hide his body and replace the jar.
Galestorm hesitated, obviously torn because he wanted to see Fyn suffer, but obedience won out and he handed over the jar.
Fyn's head filled with a roaring noise.
'Yes, let's take Fyn Kingson straight to the abbot,' Master Catillum said, joining them.
A firm hand descended on Fyn's shoulder, urging him forwards. As Fyn strode towards the stairs, followed by Masters Firefox and Hotpool, the acolytes parted for them, whispering intently.
On the abbot's level they marched down the main corridor, past the archways that looked out over Rolencia.
Master Catillum thrust the doors to the ante-chamber open.
The clerics master leapt to his feet. 'You can't go in — '
'We must!' The mystics master insisted and strode right past him.
He thrust the doors open and marched in.
The abbot and weapons master looked up. The desk between them was littered with notes, paper weights, ink wells and maps.
'There you are. That was quick,' the abbot said. 'But you didn't need to bring Fyn Kingson.'
'Oh, but we did,' Master Catillum insisted. 'He's — '
'He's stolen something from Halcyon's Sacred Heart,' Master Firefox asserted.
Fyn realised the master was going to try to bluster his way out of trouble.
'He's been in the sacred passages. Sacrilege!' Master Hotpool announced.
'It's sacrilege to murder a master,' Fyn cried. 'I took Master Wintertide's jar to prove that he was poisoned!'
'The healers said he had a heart attack,' Firefox countered. 'Surely they would know better than a mere acolyte?'
'A simple test will prove one way or the other,' Catillum said softly. Everyone went still. 'A test I can do before everyone here, now. Shall I send for my equipment?'
'To prove what?' Firefox countered. 'Even if you prove Wintertide was poisoned, how will you find out who poisoned him? Search the mind of every monk?'
'I won't have to search every monk, will I, Fyn?' Catillum prodded.
Fyn swallowed. 'Master Hotpool told me that the boys master died of a heart attack, but this was before the healers had even examined him. Hotpool could only have known what the healers would say if he knew which poison killed Wintertide. And he would have got that poison from the healer, Springmelt.'
'And Springmelt is safe in the mystics' chamber, waiting to be called,' Catillum explained.
They all turned to Hotpool including Firefox, who took several steps back from him. Hotpool opened his mouth, appealing wordlessly to his partner.
Firefox shook his head sadly. 'I always knew you hated Wintertide, but poison?'
Hotpool looked so shocked by this betrayal that Fyn almost felt sorry for him.
But he recovered quickly, gesturing dismissively to the mystics master. 'Catillum may swear Springmelt was working under my orders but it is his word against mine. He'll lie to implicate me.'
Crack!
The weapons master slammed a paper weight on the desk top. 'Enough of this. Rolencia has been invaded!'
Fyn gasped.
The masters turned in stunned silence.
'A rider just delivered this.' The abbot pointed to a message cylinder which lay on his busy desk. Beside it was a roll of vellum which had been sealed with a red wax impressed with the royal foenix.
'Father's royal symbol,' Fyn whispered.
'King Rolen has called on us to defend Rolencia from the Merofynians,' the weapons master explained, then glared at Firefox and Hotpool. 'So your petty politics can wait!'
'But King Merofyn betrothed his daughter to my brother,' Fyn protested.
'What better way to buy time to prepare for an invasion?' Master Oakstand countered. 'Remember your tactics lessons, lad. Force wins battles, but so does guile and it costs less lives.'
Fyn shook his head. He'd had a vision of the king's daughter in Halcyon's Fate. If she was not going to become his brother's queen, why had he seen her? 'I — '
'I know what you're going to say. I must refuse, Fyn,' the abbot told him. 'Acolytes cannot take up arms.'
Fyn gulped.
'According to King Rolen,' the abbot continued, 'the Merofynians are commanded by an ambitious warlord, who has been named overlord of the army.'
'How did they get into the valley undetected?' Fyn asked.
'The traitorous warlord from Cockatrice Spar let them use his pass,' the abbot said. 'King Rolen is going to march out to deal with Rejulas. This will leave his castle defended only by a few old men and untrained boys.'
Fyn froze. His mother, old Seela and Piro were in danger. For a moment he heard nothing but the rushing of a stream running fast with spring melt.
'We must stop this overlord from marching across the valley and laying siege to Rolenhold.' Master Oakstand unhooked one hand from his belt to tap the map. 'We must hold him until King Rolen's dealt with Rejulas and can bring his warriors back.'
Fyn remembered convincing Piro not to go to the abbess. If he hadn't interfered she would be safe in Sylion Abbey now. What if the Merofynian overlord reached Rolenhold before the monks could stop him? 'Please, Abbot Halcyon, I must go home!'
'Well spoken, lad. But what can one acolyte do against a whole army?' the abbot asked. 'No, your place is here.'
Annoyance flooded Fyn, then relief. It was true, he was useless. Hot on the heels of this came shame.
He was a coward.
Even as he thought this, he could not stop himself imagining Piro in danger. 'My mother and sister need me, I have to — '
'Master Oakstand,' the abbot overrode him. 'Take every able-bodied monk. Only those over seventy will remain here. Overlord Palatyne must be stopped!'
The weapons master grinned. 'Six hundred abbey warriors should hold this Merofynian overlord long enough for King Rolen to return. Quality against quantity!'
Master Catillum rubbed his jaw with his good hand. 'The canals are still frozen. If we leave by mid-morning and skate all night we'll make good time. Time to find the best defensive spots, time to plan.'
'Good.' The abbot rolled up the king's message, nodding to the weapons master. 'Gather your warriors and supplies.'
As Fyn struggled to take this all in, Master Oakstand hurried out, closely followed by Firefox and Hotpool.
The room went very quiet and the door latch clicked behind them.
'If they are ready to murder Wintertide then they are ready to move against us, abbot,' Catillum said softly. 'You can't let them get away with this.'
'They won't,' the abbot assured him. 'But for now we have a common enemy. Until the overlord is defeated we need not fear them.' As the abbot studied Fyn, his warm brown eyes gleaming from a nest of wrinkles. 'You've made a bad enemy there, kingson. And you profaned the catacombs.'
Fyn flushed but held the abbot's eyes. 'I know. But Master Wintertide was murdered and I believe the goddess would want to see his murderer brought to justice.'
'Will Hotpool's disgrace bring back your old master?'
'No, but…' Fyn swallowed, thinking of Lonepine. Then his mind did a mental shift and his real motivations became clear. 'I didn't want to see Firefox become abbot. I think his rule would be bad for the abbey.'
The abbot's eyes widened. 'You are a deep thinker, Fyn. It is a pity you are not the kingsheir.'
Fyn blinked. He'd never given this a thought.
The abbot smiled and caught the mystics master's eye. 'If you are to be abbot one day, Catillum, you must watch your back. Many a warrior has been killed by his "friends" in the heat of battle.'
'Then why risk sending…' Fyn fell silent. It was not his place to question the abbot's decisions.
'D'you think me helpless because of this?' The mystics master lifted his withered arm with his good one. Fyn went to protest, but Catillum didn't wait for an answer. 'There will be renegade Power-workers with the Merofynian army, each with their own basket of nasty tricks. I must protect our people.' He frowned. 'I admit, I'd hoped never to see this day…'
Turning on his heel, he left Fyn alone with the abbot.
'As for you,' the abbot smiled at Fyn, 'I know your fellow acolytes will be chafing at the bit to go, but we don't send boys to war. You can rest assured Master Oakstand will stop those Merofynians.'
A wave of relief rolled over Fyn. Piro would be safe.
For Fyn the early morning passed in a blur of preparation as the whole abbey was turned upside down. Despite this, he was troubled by a niggling worry that he couldn't pinpoint. By mid-morning the monks were ready. The musicians played as the warrior monks of Halcyon assembled in the square around the sacred pool.
'Dreaming of battle, Fyn?' Feldspar asked, coming up behind him as he hesitated on the stair. 'Come on. Master Oakstand's ready to leave. We can watch from the gallery.'
Others had the same idea. The long corridor with its arched windows was crowded with boys, acolytes and the oldest of the monks. Fyn chose a window embrasure where he could look down into the abbey courtyard. It held the finest of Halcyon's warrior monks. They wore white cloaks so that they would blend in with the snow and each man carried his weapons strapped to his back, along with his food, his bedroll and skates. Every tenth man carried a small pot for cooking and a small medical kit, while every hundredth had a small forge. His task was to repair weapons. Halcyon's warrior monks were a highly disciplined fighting force, and ready to die for King Rolen.
Fyn's heart swelled with pride as he imagined the monks skating down the canals, racing faster than a horse could run through snow, racing to defend Rolencia.
And Fyn thought of the people who relied on his father and the monks to keep them safe. The farmers would be repairing their fences, getting ready to put their cows and goats out to pasture, and sharpening their plough shares. On the mountain slopes they would be repairing winter's damage to the terraces, eager to sow their crops. This was no time for war. The truth of an old saying hit him: A summer spent warring meant a winter spent starving.
'They do look fine,' Feldspar whispered, wistfully. His hands rested on the window sill, knuckles white with tension.
Hawkwing leant closer, his four-fingered hand resting on the ledge next to Fyn. When Hawkwing spoke, his voice was too loud, and his eyes were bright with excitement. 'The best we can hope for is that the fighting lasts past spring cusp. Then we can prove ourselves!'
Fyn nodded, but in truth the thought of war sickened him. If he was lucky the warrior monks would hold Overlord Palatyne until his father could defeat Rejulas. Then King Rolen would march on the Merofynian army, who would surrender and their king would sign a new peace treaty.
He caught a glimpse of Galestorm and his friends, down amongst the warriors, along with Firefox and Hotpool. Although he felt relieved to see them leave, he had to wonder how many of them would be coming back. Hopefully, Halcyon would protect the mystics master and Oakstand. It would be too much to ask that only his enemies fell under Merofynian swords. But he could hope for Feldspar's sake. Then it hit him, if he ran away from the abbey now it would confirm the whispers. Even his friends would believe him a coward.
But what could he do?
'The mystics master took a sliver of the sacred flame with him. Halcyon will protect them,' Feldspar said.
'A sharp sword and keen wits are a man's best protection,' Hawkwing insisted. 'Halcyon helps those who help themselves.'
Foxtail pointed. 'There they go!'
The monks marched out the gate and Fyn took comfort from the thought that at least Rolenhold was not under siege, so Piro was safe.
'Your turn, mother,' Piro said. They had begun a game of Duelling Kingdoms, Piro playing the King Rolen piece and her mother King Merofyn. 'None of my warning beacons have been lit.'
Aware that both the guard and the Affinity warder could hear every word, Piro was careful how she phrased things. Her father had decided it would be safer, when she visited her mother, if Autumnwind waited by the open door. His reasoning was that if the Merofynian Power-worker took over her mother again, the warder could save Piro. And he had forbidden her to discuss the situation in Rolencia, fearing the Power-worker might gain knowledge of their preparations for war and use it against them.
Piro wished she'd never used that ploy to hide her mother's Affinity, but even now she couldn't think of another.
While they played, Seela sat by the fireplace, tutting and humming softly. The rhythmic creak of the rocking chair soothed Piro's fluttering stomach.
Her mother studied the game board. 'Since your soldiers have not lit the beacons in time, my warriors can advance, but where — '
'Dovecote is in your path,' Piro said. The longer this went on, the greater the danger for Dovecote in reality. Her gaze flew to her mother.
Queen Myrella nodded once.
Piro wanted to ask if she believed Orrade and Garzik were captives or worse, but she dared not. Frustration and fear welled up in her.
Seela began humming a jolly midwintering song. The main character was a roistering warrior who was popular with the ladies, reminding Piro of Byren.
'I know.' Piro smiled. 'I'll send my faithful captain of the honour guard to alert Halcyon Abbey.' She moved the captain. There was no kingson in the game.
'A difficult journey with my warriors deployed across the valley,' the queen whispered.
'He is clever and brave. He'll get through,' Piro assured her mother. 'Your turn.'
'I have three Power-workers. I choose to deploy them with each commander. They will be on the alert for your warriors on their missions.'
Piro nodded. Merofynian commanders always travelled with renegade Power-workers. But Byren and the Dovecote brothers had no Affinity so their own Affinity could not be turned against them.
'My go.' Piro turned over a wild card. 'Ah.' Swiftly she read the card and found a way to use it to warn her mother. She moved a warlord off his spar and put him on Rolenhold, saying, 'Ostron Isle is always sending surprises with its wild cards. And this one is much more dangerous than I thought. It gives my player the ability to shield himself from those with Affinity and so hide his true nature.'
Would her mother understand the implication? Cobalt had hidden his true nature.
'I fear you are right. How will I warn my king?' her mother whispered. 'He must beware false advisors…'
Piro nodded. But what could she do? She was only a child. Her father would never listen to her.
And so the game of Duelling Kingdoms went on. If there hadn't been so much at stake, Piro would have enjoyed tricking the guard. As it was, she finished up the game, assured only that her mother knew how serious things were.
They hugged at the door holding back tears, while the guard and Autumnwind looked the other way.
'Take care, Piro, I fear you may have to be as fierce and brave and your namesake,' her mother whispered.
'I'm not brave at all,' Piro admitted. 'I thought I was, but I'm not.'
Her mother placed one finger under her chin, tilting her face to look into her eyes. 'We are all as brave as we have to be. Have you any idea how many times I cried myself to sleep when I first came here, a captive of war, surety for my father's honourable intentions?' She smiled through her tears. 'And look what came of us? Rolen and I have been happier than anyone thought possible.'
Until now, Piro thought. Her unspoken words hung in the air. She would burst into tears if she wasn't careful. 'I must go.'
Her mother released her and Seela gave her a quick hug. 'Take care, Piro. Your mother wants you to have these. Remember, a queen always carries her keys of office.'
Seela pressed a ring with a bundle of keys into her hands. The guard glanced swiftly at the heavy key ring but did not intervene since the key to their tower room had been removed.
'But these are yours.' Piro tried to give them back.
Her mother caught her hand and firmly closed her fingers over the keys. 'Until I am restored to the king's trust you must watch over him for me.'
Piro nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. Her father was under the care of both the castle's healers, but Valens had done a great deal of damage. After consulting with Autumnwind the healers had not accused Valens of having Affinity, only of being misguided. Piro suspected they were protecting themselves and Autumnwind from the king's ire. They declared Valens guilty of using dangerous Ostronite techniques, which did more harm than good. The healers had become quite powerful in that they now said what the king could and could not do to restore his health.
Piro brushed tears from her eyes and headed down the stairs. She undid her belt, slipping the key ring through it. With each step she took she heard the chink of her mother's symbols of power and felt their weight, both literal and figurative.
It was still weighing on her mind when she went up the servants' stairs to the family wing.
'Piro Kingsdaughter?' a small, wizened servant asked.
'Yes?'
Someone grabbed her from behind, holding her against their body, lifting her off her feet.
'Cobalt!'
'How did you know?'
'I smelt you!' The scent of Ostronite myrrh clung to his skin.
Cobalt laughed. 'I'll hold her. See what you think.'
Cobalt's servant approached, his black eyes malicious and bright. She knew him from somewhere.
Piro's nostrils stung and her vision quivered as she slipped into Unseen sight. The servant pulsed with Affinity. Another renegade Power-worker. Clearly, Cobalt had no qualms about dealing with them. She tried to rear back but he held her firmly.
The Power-worker raised one hand, fingers spread. Behind the darkness in his eyes she saw the flash of a manticore tail lifting to strike.
Piro clenched her fists, brought both her arms forwards and drove the sharp point of her elbows back into each side of Cobalt's midriff. Air escaped him in a grunt of pain and his grasp slackened enough for her to duck under his arm. She sprang behind him and shoved, sending him staggering forwards to collide with the renegade Power-worker who cursed, knocked off his feet by the bigger man.
Then she was running up the stairs, running towards the solarium, but there was no protection there, so she changed direction, heading for her bedchamber. But before she got there she skidded to a halt as realisation hit her.
The Power-worker had cursed in Merofynian.
She'd claimed a Merofynian Power-worker was loose in the castle to save her mother, but it really was true!
The implications made her head spin. A door opened along the hallway. Before anyone could see her she darted down the passage, heading for the stairs. She had to warn her father. King Rolen was spending more and more time at the war table, as if staring at the map would tell him the true extent of the Merofynian army and its whereabouts.
Hand on her keys to stop them jingling, she slowed to a hasty walk in the passages where others could see her, and sped up in private.
'Kingsdaughter,' the guard at the bottom of the steps to the war table chamber acknowledged her. 'I don't — '
'I do!' She thrust past his half-hearted attempt to stop her. At least she knew Cobalt would not be with her father right now.
With a quick knock, she thrust the door to the war table chamber open.
The king sat on the far side, alone for once. Relief flooded her and she felt tears sting her eyes. 'Father?'
'Eh, Piro. What's the matter?' He stood up stiffly and opened his arms to her.
She headed around the table towards him. 'Cobalt's new servant is a Merofynian Power-worker!'
He drew back before she could reach him, shaking his head. 'Cobalt warned me of this. He said you'd try to discredit him again. Oh, Piro — '
She stamped her foot. 'I tell you it's true. I heard the man curse in Merofynian.'
Still, her father shook his head. 'You chose the one thing you knew I hated most. It's a wonder you didn't try to tell me Cobalt was a Merofynian Power-worker. But then you couldn't, not when we've already proven he has no Affinity.'
'Not without the sorbt stones test,' she countered, however she could see her father had already made up his mind. Frustration flashed through Piro. 'Cobalt's the true Servant of Palos, not Byren!'
As it left her lips, she realised it was true even if Cobalt wasn't a lover of men. Then, she wished it unsaid.
Radiating fury, the king strode towards the door. She ran alongside him. 'Where are you going, father?'
He flung the door open. 'Guard, come here. Escort my daughter to her chamber and see that she does not leave.'
The guard at the bottom of the steps gaped.
'Move, damn it!' King Rolen roared.
Piro lifted her chin. 'I do not need an escort, Father.'
'But you'll have one. I won't have this kind of vicious gossip-mongering undermining the reputation of an honourable man.'
'Honourable man?' Piro bristled. 'If you cannot see how he had undermined Byren's honour you are — '
'Byren?' The king's hands lifted as if he had only just restrained himself from shaking her.
Piro's sight shifted to the Unseen. She saw the face of a youth of eighteen, a youth who had watched helplessly as his father and elder brother were murdered by a renegade Power-worker. As the horror and sorrow faded, they were replaced with implacable anger. This was the expression the young King Rolen had worn when he ordered the execution of the Servants of Palos. And she realised that he did not truly see her or Byren, he saw only a threat that he did not know how to fight. This was his one blindness and Cobalt had used it, just as he had used her mother's blind spot, her kindness.
Piro backed up. Her heel missed the top step and she teetered, vertigo snatching at the base of her stomach.
'Kingsdaughter!' The guard only just caught her. She clung to him, disoriented. 'This way.'
Gently, he guided her down the stairs. Stunned, she followed him along the hall.
'Are you all right, Piro Kingsdaughter?'
As the guard lifted his arm, the flash of manticore tail returned to her. She ducked.
The guard took a step back, horrified. 'Eh, I wouldn't hit you!'
Even as he spoke, she recalled where she had seen the manticore tail — inside the Power-worker's mind. And she recalled where she had seen the servant before — at Dovecote, riding in with Lence and Cobalt.
So that was how Cobalt had lured the pride down to attack Byren. He'd worked with the renegade Power-worker, a Merofynian who was helping Cobalt weave his subtle poison. And now Cobalt and his servant knew that she knew, her life would be forfeit.
She had to hide.
The guard was saying something, Piro could not understand him. Her world tipped then spun.
He caught her for a second time.
She was vaguely aware of him staggering under her weight, not that she was heavy but her collapse was unexpected. Regaining his balance, he lifted her, carrying her towards her bedchamber. Her first impulse was to throw off his help but she made herself go limp as a plan formed.
She was still feigning a faint when he placed her gently on the bed.
'Poor little thing,' he muttered. 'Out cold.'
He stood there helplessly for a moment then ran off to get someone.
The moment he left the chamber, Piro rolled off the bed, grabbing her cloak. For a heartbeat she saw stars pinwheeling across her vision. But she refused to give in to weakness.
Where should she go?
Sure only that she had to remain free, she realised she had become the hunted in her own home and Cobalt and his Merofynian Power-worker were the hunters. Her recurring nightmare of being stalked by wyverns had come true.