Fyn glanced behind him. All the little ones were with him and most of the bigger ones. Even as he watched, the last of the older acolytes spilled from the far door, milling in the corridor. Feldspar nodded, that was it. They were all out.
Fyn held up his candle and signalled for silence. The soft whispering stopped. In the ensuing quiet, he could just hear the deep shouts of men and the smashing of furniture and glass echoing down from far above. It sounded so wrong in a place where the clatter of busy boys and the chanting of monks were normally the predominant sounds.
'Follow me. Quickly now.' Fyn turned and hurried along the corridor, shielding the flame as he went. His slippers stirred up dust and he heard a few soft coughs behind him. Heart thudding, he led them down a flight of stairs and along another corridor. Down here the honeycomb caves had been adapted for use by the abbey. Down here it was silent, except for the rustle of their garments and the slap of their feet on the stone.
Fyn recognised the storeroom doorway where he had hidden only yesterday morning to watch as the abbot unlocked the secret entrance. It was forbidden to all but the masters. Then Fyn had been on a secret mission for the mystics master. How he wished that Master Catillum was here to advise him now. Strange, he had only come to know the youngest of the abbey's masters in the last few days but he missed him keenly. Grief tugged at him, for if he was right, and the rest of the monks had been lured into a trap, Master Catillum and the weapons master, and even Monk Galestorm who used to bully him, would all soon be dead.
'Is this it?' Feldspar asked.
Fyn realised he had come to a stop in front of the secret panel. He ran his fingers over the carvings, representations of Halcyon's bounty, the grain sheaf, the long-haired goat and more. There, that was the indentation for the key. Taller than the rest, Joff held the sacred lamp high so that Fyn could see what he was doing. The familiar scents of sandalwood and cinnamon filled the passage.
Even though the boys' frightened whispers urged him to rush, Fyn methodically tried one key after another until he heard the mechanism click and the panel slid open. A wave of relief rolled over him.
He straightened up, smiling at Feldspar and Joff, and whistled softly to get the boys' attention. 'Line up in pairs, one candle between every second pair. Remember… silence.'
They nodded, lining up as they would to march into prayer, from the youngest to the oldest.
'They're ready,' Feldspar whispered.
Fyn nodded, judging how much space the line of boys would take up. 'Lead them along the passage, turn left then left again and wait at the top of the stairs.'
Feldspar entered the passage but Lenny didn't move.
'Go on,' Fyn urged. 'I'll be right behind you.'
'Promise?'
Fyn nodded and Lenny entered the passage. The boys filed after him, jostling in their haste. Fyn glanced up and down the hall. As yet, no sign of pursuit.
When the last one had entered, Fyn checked the hall one more time and stepped inside, letting the weighted stone panel slide shut. He could hear the boys, whispering, arguing over who got to carry the lit candles.
Fyn cuffed the nearest. 'Quiet, pass it on!'
Thumps followed by silence rippled down the passage.
'You bring up the rear, Joff. I'll go ahead,' Fyn said, and pushed past the paired boys.
At the end of the passage he found Feldspar holding his candle high, peering down a flight of stairs carved from solid stone.
'I'll lead.' Fyn shielded his own candle. 'Wait here, Feldspar, and fall into line halfway along. Tell the boys to keep quiet. We're not safe yet.'
Feldspar nodded and Fyn headed down the steps, shielding the candle's flickering flame. Yesterday he had come this way in the dark, following the sounds of the masters. Now he counted and watched his step, ignoring side passages he hadn't realised were there. When the mystics master had made him memorise how to get to Halcyon's Sacred Heart, Fyn hadn't expected to be leading what was left of the abbey's boys and acolytes down here.
This second time the way felt much shorter, and it did not take long to reach Halcyon's Heart. Silent with awe, the boys fanned out as they entered the huge cavern. The boldest approached the kneeling monks, masters who had been mummified and painted with a preserving glaze, then honoured with a place in Halcyon's Heart. The mummified monks knelt on flat-topped stones, with the jars containing their organs arranged in front of them. Some had been here so long that the steady drip of Halcyon's mineral-rich water had encased them in a shimmering column of stone.
'Look,' Lenny cried in delight. 'It's Master Wintertide!'
Fyn strode over and grabbing Lenny's curious hand before he could touch the monk. 'Let him rest in peace.'
Fyn held up the candle. Several drops of the clear glaze had fallen down from the finger of stone above and trickled over Wintertide's face as if he was weeping. It would be many years before he was completely encased like the older monks. The candle, which had been left in his cupped hands, had burned down. Hidden in its wax puddle was Fyn's royal emblem. It could stay there, safe for now. It might give him away while he was trying to cross Rolencia.
'Master Wintertide looks happy. I miss him,' Lenny confided, then looked up at Fyn. 'At least we have you.'
'A poor exchange.' Fyn felt like a fraud. From across the cavern a boy spoke too loudly, his voice echoing in the vast chamber.
Feldspar joined them. He held up the Fate between them. It gleamed, an opal the size of a sparrow's egg, shaped like a spiral seashell. It hung on a silver chain. 'You might as well take this, Fyn.'
Fyn stared at the stone. During the Provings, he and Feldspar had found the Fate, ensuring their place with the mystics. Back then, he hadn't thought they would be saving it from renegade Power-workers before spring cusp.
'Halcyon's Fate?' Lenny marvelled. 'They say it can bring visions. Why didn't the mystics master take it with him?'
'Who knows?' Feldspar shrugged. 'Keep it safe, Fyn. I'm sure the mystics master would rather you had it than some Merofynian Power-worker.'
He was right but, first chance he got, Fyn intended leaving the abbey's survivors to warn his family. 'You take it, Feldspar. Your Affinity is stronger than mine.'
'But you had the vision when you found it,' Feldspar countered.
Fyn shook his head. He was going to leave them. He did not deserve the Fate. 'Keep it.'
'For now.' Feldspar slipped the chain over his neck and tucked the stone inside his robe.
'Uh, Fyn, there's only one way in and out of Halcyon's Heart,' Joff muttered. 'We're trapped down here.'
'It's worse than that,' Feldspar whispered. He glanced to the other boys and dropped his voice even further. 'There's a rich Affinity seep, here in Halcyon's Sacred Heart. It'll draw the Merofynian Power-worker. He'll find the entrance eventually. He'll force the lock.'
Lenny's fingers tightened on Fyn's hand, his fearful eyes glistening in the light of the sacred lamp.
Fyn squeezed the boy's hand. 'It's all right. There's another way out of Halcyon's Heart. Sylion's way.' Fyn prayed he was right. Yesterday, when he'd listened to the ceremony, he'd heard a woman's voice in Halcyon's Sacred Heart. Since no woman was allowed to enter the abbey and the woman had answered the abbot as his equal, he'd guessed she was the abbess of Sylion. If only the abbot had had time to tell him how to find the Sylion passage.
A boy muttered something about being trapped like rats on a sinking ship. Others took up the cry.
'Quiet!' Fyn leapt onto the back of Wintertide's dais, silently asking his old teacher's forgiveness. 'This is Halcyon's Sacred Heart. Unless we want to remain here and end up like the monks, we must keep going. Follow me.' He nodded to Feldspar and Joff, who herded the boys and acolytes together.
Fyn jumped down, then led them through the kneeling monks. The boys' many candles reflected off the gleaming surfaces of the natural columns, flickering like fiery pearls. At the far side of the chamber there was a wall of carved stone embossed with Halcyon's symbols, the goat, the grain and the foenix.
Fyn studied the carvings intently. The hidden entrance to Sylion's passage had to be here. He wished the abbot had told him how to find it. He could hear the boys whispering behind him.
'Quiet,' Feldspar ordered.
'Yeah, quiet,' Lenny ordered. 'Fyn's thinking.'
Fyn smiled grimly. Then he saw a single sylion, the embodiment of the god. The sinuous lizard had been carved dancing on a bed of flames. The god of winter sometimes took the form of a sylion to walk amongst them, bringing frosts in spring and autumn, and blizzards in winter. This man-sized lizard could quench the flames of the hottest fire with its icy breath. Fyn stroked the carving's embossed surface, felt it give and pushed in. Lenny gasped as a panel slid open.
Fyn hid his relief and turned to others. 'This way.'
'But I haven't got any boots and I'm tired,' the skinny boy muttered.
'We're all tired and I haven't even got a shirt,' Fyn said. 'But we have to keep going.'
Fyn looked into the dark passage. Unlike the way down into Halcyon's Sacred Heart, he hadn't memorised this path. Somehow, he had to lead the boys through the mountain and out the other side. Then he had to slip past the Merofynians to warn his father. At least Piro was safe in Rolenhold.
Piro went very still like the trapped mouse she was.
Cobalt dismissed the warder with a wave of his hand. 'Get out and shut the door after you. The queen needs privacy.'
Autumnwind backed out, closing the door with a final, soft click.
Cobalt gestured to the king. 'There he is, Myrella.'
She ran across the room to the bed. 'Rolen, can you hear me?'
There was no response. She lifted the king's hand and squeezed it, pressing the fingers of her other hand to his cheek. 'Rolen. I'm here.'
'He can't hear you. He's taken a double dose of dreamless-sleep.'
The queen straightened up, slowly turning to face Cobalt, her face stiff and formal. 'Then why did you tell me he wanted to see me?'
Cobalt stepped closer. Her mother was even smaller than Piro, only coming up to the middle of his chest. He lifted one hand to the queen's face, brushing away an errant curl. She did not flinch, instead she glared at him.
'So imperious, Myrella.' His voice was soft and rich with amusement and the thrill of power. 'I can remember a time when you held me in your arms.'
'As you wept over your bride's murder,' she snapped, then thrust past him, going to the fireplace, a mere body-length from where Piro hid. 'I ask again, what do you want from me?'
'Little Piro has eluded all my best efforts to catch her. Where is she?'
The queen laughed. 'What makes you think I know?'
'Because I know that you both have Affinity.'
Piro gave a little start of fear, making the keys at her waist clink ever so softly. She covered them immediately, but it was enough to make both Cobalt and her mother glance in her direction.
The queen stepped closer to Cobalt. 'Why did you come back to Rolencia, Illien? What happened to you on Ostron Isle? You are not the youth I knew and loved.'
'Better to ask me why I left. My father was born on the wrong side of the blanket. That, only that, made him unsuitable to rule. My father, the Bastard, was a man of learning and insight, a kingly man. Instead we had a buffoon for king, a brash fool who was happiest hunting and roistering. He didn't appreciate you, Myrella.'
'He's my husband.'
'And the king. I know. I grew up in this court as surety of my father's loyalty. I was fourteen when you married Rolen on your fifteenth birthday. And I watched him treat you like a convenience. It wasn't fair, not when I loved you, not when the throne should have been my father's. As the eldest son of the eldest son, I would have been betrothed to you to cement the peace. But no, my father, curse him, was loyal to the buffoon. I bore it for eight years until I could no longer stomach the way Rolen treated you. So I went to my father and demanded we make a move. He chose his half-brother over his own son, swore to reveal me as a traitor if I ever returned to Rolencia. So I spent thirteen years in exile on Ostron Isle learning the art of intrigue.
'Now I am back to take what should have been my father's, by right of birth and worth. And that is why I want Piro. She's a brat, but a pretty brat. By the time I turn back the Merofynian invasion, the people of Rolencia will only be too grateful to have the Bastard's son on the throne, especially if he's married to King Rolen's only surviving heir.'
Piro's vision faded. Were Lence, Byren and Fyn already dead, murdered by Cobalt's assassins?
'Illien, what have you done to my boys?' the queen whispered, stricken.
'Nothing.' His black eyes fixed on her face. 'Yet.'
The queen's small body grew rigid. She tried to step away from Cobalt but he caught her by the shoulders. Her slender frame made his hands look huge.
'So you see, Myrella, you must be good to me,' he said softly, as his fingers made small circles on her shoulders. 'I want you to help me find Piro. Send a message to her. Say you need to speak with her. Give me Piro. Refuse me and I will have the warder discover your Affinity. By law your marriage to Rolen will be annulled, making your children illegitimate.' He leant lower so that he could look into her eyes. 'Lure Piro out of hiding and I won't have to order your execution for hiding your Affinity.'
'I know the law, Illien,' the queen countered. 'All those who have Affinity must either serve the abbeys or leave Rolencia. The people know the law.'
'But you are their beloved queen. When it is discovered that you have been using your Affinity wiles on King Rolen all these years the people will demand your blood.' He smiled and traced the curve of her cheek. Capturing a tear on his finger tip, he lifted it to his lips to savour the taste. 'Don't weep, Myrella. Give me Piro for my wife and you can remain here, the dowager queen, loved and respected. You'll have your own wing of chambers and servants and we can be lovers at last. I've waited years for this.'
The queen drew in a shuddering breath and thrust away from him, turned and stumbled a few steps to the sandalwood screen, where she clutched the worked wood, resting her forehead on the carving.
'I will find Piro eventually, Myrella,' he warned, 'with or without your help. Be good to me and I can be very good to you.'
The queen met Piro's eyes through the screen.
Piro licked dry lips and lifted her hand to touch her mother's forehead through a gap in the screen. She felt a little surge of warmth, Affinity warmth. And for a heartbeat she did not feel so alone.
'Myrella?'
The queen fixed fierce eyes on Piro, then she shuddered and bowed her head as she turned to face her tormentor. Her whole demeanour was one of defeat. 'I would help you, Illien, but you are too late. Seela arranged for Piro to be smuggled out of the castle earlier today. She's on her way to Sylion Abbey, where the abbess will give her sanctuary. I thought it was the safest place for her.'
'Sylion Abbey?' His gaze turned inwards. 'Good. She can stay there until I am ready to fetch her.'
'Please don't expose my Affinity.'
'Expose you?' He lifted a hand, beckoning the queen.
She approached, stopping at arm's length from him.
'Why would I do that, Myrella? A sweet, compliant woman need fear nothing from me.' He closed the gap between them, lifting her hands to his lips to kiss her finger tips.
Piro saw her mother's shoulders stiffen, but Cobalt's head was bowed.
He straightened up. 'I think we understand each other at last.'
The queen nodded. 'I think we do. At last.'
The silence stretched. King Rolen moaned in his drugged sleep. Piro felt a moan of sympathy echo through her knotted stomach.
'I would like to go back to the tower now, Illien,' her mother said softly.
He slid a protective arm around her shoulders. 'Of course, my queen. Come.'
When the door closed behind them Piro sank to her knees, her legs too weak to hold her.
One thing was clear. If she remained here, someone loyal to Cobalt would recognise her despite the maidservant's smock. She must get out of the castle.
Her mother's message was clear. Sylion Abbey was a sanctuary, at least until Cobalt tried to claim her.
But it would never come to that. She refused to believe her brothers would fall victim to Cobalt's assassins. Fyn was safe in Halcyon Abbey and, like their father, Lence and Byren had always been larger than life. They would return, and when they did they would crush Cobalt.
Tomorrow she would flee the castle.
Fyn knelt on the floor of the tunnel to study another carving.
The first time he came to a branch he had hesitated. Then he'd noticed a sylion carved into the flagstone under his feet. The head pointed the way they had come, the tail to the passage on the left. Recalling the abbot's words, Fyn turned left.
Now he followed the sylion's tail and they plodded on. Fyn was tired and sore. It felt like they had been walking all night. At one point he'd heard running water and the walls felt warm to the touch, but they did not find the hot stream.
The smaller boys grew weary and had to be carried or helped along by the bigger ones. Every time Fyn's eyes glazed with tiredness, he relived flashes of the battle in the corridor, heard the almost silent grunts as the warriors fought with vicious intensity and saw the abbot stare at the sword point through his chest.
Shame seared him. He'd frozen. He'd failed his teachers. He shut the memory away, focusing on the task the abbot had given him.
Get the boys to safety.
Another branch, another sylion pointing the way. Where did the other branches lead? He was too tired to think.
Hawkwing and Master Sunseed, they would all be dead now and the Merofynians would be pillaging the abbey. It should have outraged him, but he was too tired to care. He must not think. Must go on.
Lenny's tummy rumbled loudly. 'The others are getting hungry.'
Fyn felt a smile tug at his lips. 'We are all hungry.'
He noticed his candle had burned down to a stub so he came to a stop in a cavern and turned to face the boys. 'Time to light more candles.'
Feldspar caught his eye with a warning. They did not know how far the passage went.
'Light every second candle,' Fyn ordered.
They lit half the new candles. What if they ran out? No point in worrying. They could not go back and he knew the path led outside eventually. Fyn trudged on. Weariness dulled his mind. Hunger gnawed at him, cramping his stomach. Bruises, from blows he didn't remember, throbbed now that his muscles had stiffened up.
There was time to wonder if the weapons master and mystics master had been drawn into ambush. It shamed him to think that he was half-Merofynian. Bitterness filled Fyn, leaving a vile taste in his mouth. But even that did not last as he walked on, dragging one weary foot after another. Was the castle already under attack? First he must lead the boys to safety then warn his father.
Surely the passage would end soon.