Piro clutched the rail, enjoying the rise and fall of the ship, and the feel of the wind in her face. Unlike Grysha, she did not suffer from sea-sickness. Today, for the first time, the boy was up and about, which was ironic, since they would make port tomorrow.
And they'd made it so far without incident. True, they'd sighted sails that kept pace with them at a distance, but the size of the convoy and the added threat of the sea-hounds must have convinced the Utland raiders the booty was not worth the risk. They'd be cursing themselves if only they knew how richly laden the ships were.
Grysha joined her at the rail. Physically he was a pale imitation of himself. The sea-sickness seemed to have distilled his essence, so that the nastiness, which had been hidden before under a boyish demeanour, was closer to the surface. 'The master wants you.'
She said nothing, heading downstairs to the first deck, midship. With two hundred fighting men aboard Palatyne's ship as well as the ship's crew, she was glad she travelled as Dunstany's page. Some of the men gave her strange looks as she passed by but no one dared to trouble her. She suspected it was not her disguise so much as fear of the Power-worker that protected her.
As she entered the corridor that led to the cabins, Dunstany opened the last door. 'Seelon, bring food fit for the overlord.'
She returned to the crowded midship, where the cook governed the galley with its huge iron stove. He piled savoury bread and tasty preserves on her tray. She thanked him, then picked her way over the legs of dozing sailors, past warriors playing the card-game version of Duelling Kingdoms along the narrow corridor to Lord Dunstany's cabin.
Palatyne had commandeered the captain's cabin up on the deck above, leaving the Power-workers and the captain to make the best of the below-deck cabins. In the cramped quarters the Utlander's hatred for the noble scholar was hard to miss.
Dunstany greeted Piro outside the door to his cabin, whispering, 'The overlord has requested an interview with me and he particularly asked after you, so keep your ears open and eyes down. Palatyne has grown daily more uneasy since we left Port Marchand. We land in Merofynia tomorrow and I think he plans something.'
Piro nodded her understanding, grateful for the warning. It was strange, since leaving Rolencia, she and the noble scholar had become conspirators, watching the Utlander and the overlord for signs of treachery.
When she backed into the room, Piro found Palatyne had taken the only seat. She had to step over his long legs to place the tray on the desk. Dunstany sat on his bunk, indicating Piro was to pour the wine from his private store.
'No Merofynian ruler has ever done what I've done,' Palatyne remarked in brash, spar-accented Merofynian, obviously pleased with himself. 'Now that I've conquered Rolencia, King Merofyn will not dare refuse me his daughter. By midsummer I will have Isolt for my wife. She's pretty enough and young enough to train so that she jumps at my word. Wedded to her, I'll be the king-in-waiting.'
Piro felt sorry for Isolt Kingsdaughter. But perhaps Palatyne was getting the worst of the bargain. Perhaps Isolt was just like her father, cunning and dangerous. Piro smiled grimly. Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter would have to get in line if she planned to kill Palatyne.
'Drink to the king-in-waiting!' Palatyne raised his wine. 'Come midsummer, I will no longer fear a toothless old man!'
'That toothless old man is still very clever,' Dunstany said. 'King Merofyn has ensured the loyalty of his nobles by taking their first born in his service. They dare not move against him.'
'I shall do the same when I am king.' Palatyne took a deep gulp of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Today he did not wear the amfina surcoat, but an elaborate court gown of velvet and black satin, embroidered with stylised wyverns in royal azure. His clothes proclaimed the title he craved but his actions betrayed his barbarian origins. He drained his wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand again. 'Now I'm going to give you a chance to prove your loyalty, Dunstany. I know you are King Merofyn's spy, but I suspect you are also a man who can see where his best interests lie.'
The noble scholar spread his hands. 'My king is sick and old, but he could live another five years.'
'I don't want to wait that long. A king-in-waiting may never be king. My saddle girth could come loose and I could break my neck while hunting, just as King Sefon did. Then my betrothed would marry one of her father's favourites and I would never sit on the throne.' Palatyne leant forwards, dropping his voice. 'No. I want to ensure the old man is safely buried as soon as we are married. I need a poison which mimics a natural death and you are going to supply it.'
The overlord's meaning was clear. If the noble scholar did not supply the poison, Palatyne would have him killed.
Dunstany switched to Rolencian. 'More wine, Seelon.'
As she poured two more glasses, she had to admire his calm as he played the game of Duelling Kingdoms for real.
After she poured the wine, Palatyne caught Piro's wrist. 'I have been admiring your pretty slave since Port Marchand, Dunstany. Why dress her as a boy?'
'A boy is safer travelling with the army.'
'A man would have to be blind to think her a boy!' Palatyne frowned, studying Piro. 'I need a suitable proposal gift for the kingsdaughter.'
'There are many pretty girls,' Dunstany said quickly.
'But this one comes from Rolencia. She provides visible evidence of my triumph.' Palatyne smiled. 'I will have Seela for Isolt.'
Piro's gaze flew to Dunstany's face. For a fraction of a heartbeat, he looked startled, then annoyed. Had she betrayed herself? No, even though she was not meant to understand Merofynian, she would have recognised her assumed name. Rather, Dunstany was reluctant to part with her.
'Of course she's yours if you want her.' Dunstany spoke so smoothly that Piro thought she must have been mistaken. 'The girl has a sweet singing voice and she comes up well in clean clothes. Despite her crude language, she could learn to be a lady's maid. And she's not stupid -'
'Not too clever I hope?'
'No, thank the stars!'
They both laughed and Piro would have turned away to hide her burning cheeks but Palatyne pulled her closer. Taking the wine bottle from her, he spoke poor Rolencian. 'Let me look at you.' He took her chin in his hand, turning her face this way and that. 'Sing something.'
Hatred filled Piro's heart, threatening to choke her. But she could not afford to give in to her emotions. This was the man who had murdered her mother before her very eyes. He would not hesitate to slit her throat if he guessed who she was.
'Sing what, sor?' she asked.
'Anything.' Palatyne released her chin and she straightened, wondering what kind of songs a serving girl would know. It had been a shock to learn he meant to give her to Isolt, but living in the royal household as slave to the kingsdaughter would give her the perfect opportunity to kill the overlord.
Why, in the palace she could even kill King Merofyn!
Piro felt a smile curve her lips and hoped it did not look as wolfish as it felt. Tentatively, she sang the first few lines of a ditty she'd heard the washer women sing as they worked.
Both men laughed.
'Hardly suitable for a kingsdaughter to hear,' Palatyne remarked and she realised she had sung something ribald. There must have been double meanings in the words.
'Isolt has been reared as a kingsdaughter should, she won't understand a crude Rolencian song about a lonely widow,' Dunstany said.
'That's right.' Palatyne leered. 'I'll teach her all she needs to know!'
Face hot, Piro began to move away but Palatyne caught her, pulling her down onto his lap. She masked her revulsion by pretending to be shy.
'Would you like to serve a high-born lady?' the overlord asked. 'Do you like pretty clothes and fine things?'
'Oh, I do,' Piro replied, though the words stuck in her throat. 'I likes pretty things, sor.'
Dunstany's eyes narrowed and she wondered if she had overdone it, but Palatyne stood her up and slapped her bottom. 'She'll do.'
'Then she is yours, my overlord.'
Piro thought she caught the edge of anger in Dunstany's voice, but Palatyne was unaware of it. Strange, now that she knew she had only one more day in the noble scholar's company she felt lost. But she must not despair. Soon she would be part of the royal household and one step closer to avenging her family.
'There is still the matter of that other gift you promised me,' Palatyne remarked.
'Seelon, bring me the jewellery box from my travelling chest,' Dunstany instructed, before switching back to Merofynian. 'I have a most cunningly wrought assassin's ring for you, overlord.'
Piro brought the jewellery box across and held it open as Dunstany sifted through chains, both silver and gold, uncut stones and semi-precious stones, some loose, some set in brooches or pendants. Finally, he selected a ring. 'Put the rest away, Seelon.'
Palatyne's eyes gleamed.
Piro recognised the ring. It had been her mother's and, as Dunstany slid it onto his little finger, she recalled her old nurse showing her how to slip her thumb nail under the stone to flip it up and reveal a small hollow made for secreting poison.
'A pretty stone,' Palatyne remarked, glancing in Piro's direction. She pretended to be busy putting the jewellery box back in the chest.
'Aye. So it appears,' Dunstany said. 'Seelon, take the tray back to the cook.'
She knew that once she was gone the noble scholar would prepare the poison and hide it in the ring. And, sure enough, by the time she returned, their deadly business was finished. The overlord looked pleased, and the ring was on his little finger, a secret messenger of death.
King Merofyn's death.
Although Piro understood the forces that drove Dunstany to betray his king, she was still disappointed in him.
Palatyne raised his glass one more time. 'To King Merofyn. What a pity he will take sick and die on my wedding day!'
Dunstany raised his glass and sipped his wine, and Palatyne left them.
Piro cleared up the wine bottle and glasses.
'Leave that. Palatyne has an eye for a pretty face and I feared this might come to pass.' Dunstany sat down at the desk and beckoned. He indicated she was to sit on the bunk. 'I know your secret, girl.'
Piro froze. If Dunstany knew who she was, her life was forfeit. He'd sold out his king. He would not hesitate to hand her over to Palatyne.
'You are very clever, girl. I've suspected for a while, but today confirmed it.' He smiled gently. 'You speak Merofynian.'
Relief rushed her.
'Listen to me, Seela. Palatyne has a little Affinity. It is why he is so suspicious of everyone.' Dunstany grinned with black humour. 'He senses that no one likes him and they all wish him dead.'
'And he's right!'
Lord Dunstany laughed then grew serious. 'You are fated to walk a dangerous path, Seela. I want you to be my eyes and ears in the royal court. As Isolt's slave you will be able to go where I cannot.'
It was a dangerous task he asked of her but, her gaze went to the amber pendant hanging on his chest, it was a task she dared not refuse.
In the middle of the snowy clearing Byren settled himself with his back to a rock and prepared to rest. Late winter sun touched his face. Offering little warmth, it made the world beyond his closed lids glow red-gold. Opposite him, Leif uttered a soft snuffling sound and Byren cracked one eye open to discover the lad had fallen asleep sitting up. He grinned. Poor boy, he never complained, but they'd been pushed, going back over their trail several times to escape detection.
Florin was off attending to nature's call. She'd said they could reach the camp by midnight tonight or, if they rested overnight, tomorrow morning. They'd decided to take it easy, so they were in no rush and he was grateful for the chance to catch his breath. He must not appear before the loyalists weak and light-headed with weariness.
How could he inspire confidence if he couldn't string a sentence together?
The foothills were dangerous this time of year and they'd been lucky to get this far without trouble. But Orrade had spotted some ulfr spoor and he wanted to make sure the pack wasn't headed towards their people at the camp. Truth be told, Byren felt uneasy about confronting the pack, if it was his pack.
He snorted softly to himself. There he was again. Thinking crazy thoughts. But he could not deny he lived because the ulfr pack had saved him, twice. And so he was torn between needing to defend the loyalist camp, and letting the ulfrs go about their business in peace.
Normally he would only hunt them if they attacked farms.
A soft squeak of compacting snow reached him.
'Eh, Florin. Take a look at Leif.' Byren muttered, not bothering to open his eyes.
A huff of warm breath brushed his cheek. Was Florin about to kiss him? His lids lifted.
Not Florin…
Instead, the pack leader looked deep into his eyes. Byren inhaled and identified the ulfr scent. It was so familiar now it hadn't triggered any warning bells. He lifted one hand to caress the creature's thick neck ruff. 'You startled me.'
The creature whined.
'No. I don't need your help, but you'll need mine if you hang around here. Orrie will have a hunting party out after you in no time.' He gave the beast a shove and let his arm drop. 'You need to lead the pack up into the mountains now, it's almost spring cusp.'
The ulfr nudged his hand with its muzzle, much the way his hunting dogs back at the castle would when looking for food or a pat. 'No, we're nearly out of food. Nothing much to eat now, until we reach camp. And you -'
A ferocious yell made the ulfr spring around, light as a cat, while Byren scrambled to his feet.
Florin charged out of the trees, swinging a branch.
Instead of running like any sensible ulfr would, this one held its ground, between her and Byren. Leif gave a yelp of fright and scrambled away. The ulfr cast him one swift look, then went back to growling at Florin.
'Get away from it, Leif. Back off and come around behind me,' she ordered. Then she raised the makeshift club higher and gave another yell. 'Be off with ya, beastie.'
The ulfr didn't budge.
Byren let out a sigh and climbed to his feet. The ulfr was protecting him from Florin, while she tried to protect him from it. What had he done to deserve this?
'Put the stick down, Florin.'
She pulled Leif closer and thrust him behind her. Never dropping her gaze from the ulfr. 'No.'
It struck Byren that she would be like this with her children, protective and dangerous, and he had to admire her. But not right now. 'You're making yourself a target, Florin.'
'But -'
With another sigh, Byren walked past the ulfr, giving it his back, much to Florin's consternation. The Affinity beast did not attack. Nor did it lope off.
Byren came right up to Florin and took the branch from her grasp, though she did not give it up without some resistance.
'That thing was about to tear your throat out.'
'No, that's not what you saw.' Byren sent the makeshift club spinning off into the trees and turned to face the Affinity beast. 'It's over. Go on, be off!'
The ulfr hesitated, then trotted towards the tree line. At the edge of the clearing it paused, looking back this way. Several more of the beasts came out of hiding, edging closer to their leader. The ulfr gave a soft barking cough and the pack melted into the pines.
Byren sagged with relief. Without meeting Florin's eyes, he strode back to their camp and collected his travelling bundle. After a moment, Florin and Leif joined him. Neither spoke as they picked up their bundles. In their silence, he heard condemnation.
How was it possible to do the right thing by his people and by the Affinity beasts who had adopted him?
Byren grabbed Orrade's bundle and slung it over his shoulder. Then he lifted his head and gave the bird cry that would bring his friend back. He caught Florin's eye. 'Go to the other side of the clearing and wait.'
He heard Leif's soft question and Florin's brusque but unintelligible answers as they walked off. Byren glanced around. They hadn't seen another living soul for days. But they should hide their tracks. He looked up, studying the clouds. Snow tonight. That would be enough.
'Byren?' Orrade broke from the tree line, heading across the clearing to join him. 'I was headed back anyway. The forest is thick with ulfrs. Thank Halcyon, they haven't attacked. I -' He broke off as he spotted the tracks leading both in and out of the clearing. Frowning, he strode parallel to the ulfr tracks, pausing to study where Byren had sat, then joined him. Orrade was on the high side of the clearing and this made him as tall as Byren. 'Are you all right?'
'We had… I had a visitor.'
Orrade frowned, weighing up the evidence. 'Then that's why we haven't been troubled by Affinity beasts. The pack's been following us to protect you.'
It was the same conclusion Byren had come to, but to have Orrade confirm his suspicions finally made it real. 'Florin found the pack leader in the camp,' he said. 'She tried to scare it off but it tried to defend me from her.'
A grin tugged at Orrade's mouth and he nudged Byren. 'Bet she wasn't pleased about that. The way she fusses over you…'
Byren glanced to the young woman and her brother, who waited at the edge of the clearing, just out of hearing range of their soft conversation. 'They must see me as little better than an Affinity beast now.'
'Rubbish.'
'No. It's true. If my honour guard knew about this, they'd refuse to follow me.'
Orrade took a step closer. 'I'd never turn my back on you.'
His hand lifted. Byren brushed it aside, suddenly angry.
During this journey there had been a lot of touching. At first he'd been weak and needed help, then they'd slipped into an easy habit of physical closeness but it couldn't go on. With every touch, Orrade proclaimed his love. Now that they were almost back at camp it had to stop.
'Your things.' Byren handed his friend the bundle.
Orrade was silent for a moment, staring fixedly at the rolled-up blanket, then he took it and slung it across his shoulder as though nothing had happened. But they both knew Byren had rejected him. Again.
Orrade cleared his throat, face stiff. 'You're right. Your honour guard would not understand.'
Byren wanted to protest there was nothing to understand. He had not courted Affinity and he was not a lover of men. But facts had little to do with perception.
'Come on.' Byren headed off and Orrade fell into step at his side. 'We'll just have to make sure they don't find out. Florin and Leif are loyal,' he said, knowing that they could hear him now that he and Orrade approached. He met Florin's eyes. 'I want you to forget what you saw on this journey. Never mention it.'
The way she did not glance to Orrade told him she had already leapt to unwarranted conclusions.
She shrugged. 'Forget what?'
'The ulfr, silly,' Leif told her. His hand slipped into Byren's. 'Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. But I don't see why not. Do you think you could call a leogryf for me to ride? I'd love to fly.'
A laugh escaped Byren. Florin joined him. Orrade grinned, but his eyes were strained.
It hurt Byren to see how much he'd wounded his friend, but he could no more protect the ulfrs from hunters greedy for their pelts than he couldn't protect Orrade from the harsh judgement of others. This deliberate distancing was for the best.
Fyn sat cross-legged on the deck next to Jakulos, who was teaching him to repair rope. With the light fading, his stomach rumbled in anticipation of the evening meal. He had gained his sea legs within a day and, since then, every day had dawned fine and crisp, the ship cutting through the sea like an arrow. If he hadn't been consumed with the need to get back to Rolencia, he would have enjoyed the voyage.
Jakulos was not the chatty type and Fyn's thoughts revolved around the things he had left undone back in Rolencia. Overlord Palatyne still lived. He would arrive in Merofynia victorious, having attacked a peaceful country and murdered most of King Rolen's kin. Fyn only hoped Byren remained hidden long enough to recover his strength.
Somehow, Fyn had to return to Rolencia to help cousin Cobalt find Byren. Together they could raise an army to drive out the Merofynians. Meanwhile, every day they sailed further from Rolencia, yet he would not let himself despair. If anything, the focus of his determination became purer for being contained.
Someone dug him in the ribs with a dirty, bare foot. Fyn had discovered the sailors didn't bother to wear shoes. Bare toes gave them a better grip when climbing the masts. He looked up to find the quartermaster standing over him.
'Cap'n Nefysto wants to see you, little monk.' Bantam grinned. Every time he used the word monk it was a calculated insult.
Fyn came to his feet, flexing muscles stiff from sitting so long. One of the Ostronite messenger birds had arrived a little while ago and, since then, Fyn had been mentally preparing himself for this interview.
As he stepped through the narrow cabin door, Captain Nefysto gestured to a quill and paper. 'Write down everything you can remember about the size of Palatyne's army, where they were deployed and anything you heard about Byren Kingsheir. My master is particularly interested in the state of the Rolencian army.'
'Why should I help you and your master?' Fyn countered. 'Maybe I want something in return. I'll strike a bargain -'
He gulped as Bantam grabbed him from behind. A scrawny but tough arm caught him under his jaw and a cold blade pressed to his throat. Fyn could have tried any one of the disarming techniques the weapons master had taught him, but the captain was also armed and there was nowhere to run.
Nefysto advanced on him, his face a cold mask, making him look older.
'I could order your death and no one would question it, monk. In fact they'd leap to obey me. Unlike you, my men have never known a privileged life,' Nefysto said. 'Do you understand?'
Fyn managed a small nod and, at the captain's signal, Bantam released him.
Nefysto gestured to the desk. 'If you make yourself useful, I may just let you live.'
Bantam shoved Fyn forwards. He staggered, ending up in the captain's seat.
'This is not Halcyon Abbey, lad. The rules are different here,' Nefysto told him. 'You'd do well to remember that. Now get to work.'
He went out on deck, leaving Fyn under Bantam's watchful eye.
Fyn wondered how much to reveal. He knew a lot more about the state of his father's army than a monk would. Nefysto's master might have other sources, so he kept as close to the truth as possible, while writing a brief outline of what he had observed.
As he did this, he was vaguely aware of cries on deck and a change in the ship's rhythm. At last he put the quill aside and massaged his cramped hand.
Captain Nefysto returned. 'Finished? That was good timing. Give him a weapon, Bantam.'
Fyn's heart lurched. Were they about to kill him for sport? If so, why give him a weapon?
He rose from the captain's seat, stretching his tense shoulders, playing for time. Bantam handed him a short curved sword. Fyn took the weapon, feeling the welcome but unfamiliar weight and balance.
Bantam regarded him keenly. 'I don't doubt you'd like to spill my guts on the deck, little monk. But before nightfall you'll be too busy saving your own miserable life!'
Fyn looked to the captain for an explanation.
'We've sighted a fat ship ripe for plucking. She's running before the wind, but her canvas is no match for ours. We should have her boarded by dusk and then we'll see if the fighting prowess of Halcyon's warrior monks is as great as rumour has it.'
Fyn's stomach knotted. A ship ripe for plucking? It sounded like a merchant ship. It seemed these sea-hounds did a little plundering on the side after all. And he was expected to kill at Captain Nefysto's command. Everything the abbey had instilled in him revolted. If he could not kill the man who had murdered Piro, how could he kill an innocent man?
But if he wanted to live long enough to jump ship, he'd have to win the captain's trust. Fyn decided he would turn the flat of his blade and when that failed, he would injure the merchant sailors, rather than kill.
Only to protect his own life would he take another's. He was not a killer and they could not turn him into one.
But perhaps he was wrong and the captain was about to live up to the sea-hounds' reputation by attacking Utlander raiders. Fyn went on deck, where he found the vessel they pursued had the distinctive outline of a fat-bellied merchant ship.
He was disappointed in Nefysto.