Byren had a miserable sea voyage to Merofynia, chained at the ankle and wrists, but otherwise free to wander about his cabin. They did not fear him, for what could he do? One man couldn't take over a ship and sail it. And if he jumped overboard he would drown or be eaten by wyverns.
Now, he knelt on the window seat watching Mulcibar's Gate grow distant behind him. It was dusk and the fiery finger of falling lava was reflected in the sea.
Soon they would be in Port Mero and Palatyne would have his circus of a trial. He was a duke now, this Palatyne. In reality he was no more than a warlord whose ambition was to crown himself king.
Byren snorted. How Duke Palatyne could justify charging him with treason was beyond him, but he knew the men of law that Palatyne hired would make it appear legal. Then they could execute Byren with a clear conscience, not that men like that had a conscience.
Byren stared at the black water, Mulcibar's flames dancing on the waves. Maybe he should have jumped overboard to prevent their triumph.
But he had never been one to give up. He would fight with the last breath in his body. He would never give Duke Palatyne the satisfaction of breaking him.
To think Affinity had been his downfall, just as it had been his grandfather, King Byren's. He should have surrounded himself with abbey-trained mystics. Then Fyn and Orrade wouldn't be… no, he had to hope they lived, just as he hoped Feid had managed to slip back over the Divide with Florin.
When they carried her brother in, Piro had to hide her dismay. Fyn had never been big like Byren and Lence but, without his personality animating his body, he seemed dangerously fragile. Isolt said nothing, her fingers biting into Piro's arm.
'Tell the mage I've done everything I could for him,' Nefysto said. 'Sometimes he moans and his eyes dart about under his lids. I don't know — '
'This way,' Tyro ordered. He led them upstairs to the chamber next to his. The bed had been made with fresh sheets and a fire laid in the grate, though it was warm enough without one. Tyro dismissed them all except for Piro. 'You go too, Isolt.'
'I can help. I'm a trained healer.'
'Later, if all goes well, then we will need you. What I must do now calls for a different sort of skill.'
'Why isn't the mage here?'
'He told me what to do.'
Piro took Isolt's hand to lead her to the door, where Isolt glanced back to the bed. 'He'll be all right won't he, Piro? I mean if it were really serious the mage himself would be here.'
Piro couldn't bring herself to answer. She shut the door and turned to Tyro.
'I should tell her the truth.'
'She has enough to worry about. Now come here.' He beckoned Piro to the bed, where he sat holding Fyn's hand. 'Take his other hand. He has done well to hold on this long. It is not the lack of food and water that is most dangerous, but what he faces.'
Piro's mouth felt too dry to speak. She went around the far side of the bed and took Fyn's hand.
'Using Fyn's Affinity the Power-worker trapped him in his own mind, trapped him with what he fears most.' Tyro met her eyes. 'Do you know what that is?'
'Fear. He fears that he is a coward.'
'Amazing!' Tyro's eyes widened. 'Nefysto said he never faltered, not once. He saved them from the Utland raiders when they ventured into the Skirling Stones.'
All this was news to Piro, so she just nodded. The last time she had faced the Power-worker with Tyro it had almost crushed her. She dreaded what they must do now but… 'Tell me what to do to save Fyn.'
'He knows you, he trusts you. I will lead you into his mind. You must convince him to face his fear. Only then can he escape.'
Piro gave a relieved laugh. 'To escape he must face his fear? Is that all?'
Tyro nodded. 'Face it and die, or face it and live. Only by facing it will we know.'
'Oh Fyn…' Piro smoothed her brother's hair from his forehead. At seventeen, his cheeks were still as smooth as a boy's. It hurt her to think he wouldn't live long enough to need to shave. As she watched, his eyes moved under his lids as if he dreamed.
'Piro?'
She looked across Fyn's vulnerable form to Tyro.
'I must be honest,' the half-trained mage whispered. 'If he confronts his fear and fails, I may not be able to bring you out. You don't have to do this. I can go in on my own and — '
'No. You're right. Fyn trusts me. I must do it.'
'You are very brave, Piro. I knew it from the first moment I saw you.'
She shook her head. 'Once I thought I was brave. But not now. Now that I've known true fear, I…' She shivered and summoned a smile. 'Let's do this.'
Tyro nodded and reached across Fyn's chest to her free hand. Their fingers entwined. 'Close your eyes and imagine you are walking down a path with me.'
Piro dropped her guard and found herself on a forest path. It was very grey and overcast and the big pine trees loomed above them. Tyro held her hand, leading her to a granite outcropping. He pointed into a narrow cave mouth.
Piro did not want to go in there. 'I don't have a lamp.'
He cupped his hands and a small ball of light appeared. 'In this place you make your own light, Piro.'
She held up one hand and the ball of light came to her, settling on her wrist like her foenix used to do, before he grew too big.
Tyro cupped her cheek with his hand. 'Be brave, little Piro.'
She brushed his hand away. Why did he have to be kind all of a sudden? It was easier if he was abrupt with her.
Ducking her head, she entered the cave.
Fyn felt tired, so tired. His body ached with every step and his night-blind eyes burned, the gritty lids scraping his eyes each time he blinked. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. All he wanted to do was rest, but if he sat down, he would fall asleep and to sleep was fatal. The wyverns would get him. He could still hear them snuffling behind him, tracking him through the dark.
He must keep going.
Something sparkled.
Stars?
No, it was a golden light.
He squinted, his tired eyes producing tears so that the light fractured into prisms.
'Fyn?' Piro called.
He blinked the tears away to see Piro walking down the tunnel towards him, with a light in one hand. No, the light hovered over one hand. How strange.
'Oh, Fyn!' She ran the last few steps, throwing her arms around him. It felt so good to hug her.
She pulled away to look at him. 'You poor thing.'
'Shhhhh!' He pressed his fingers to her mouth, glancing behind him. 'They'll hear you.'
'What?'
'The wyverns. They're after me. I don't know how many.'
'Wyverns? Oh, Fyn, you're not being chased by wyverns. You're running away from your fears!'
He stared at her. 'Can't you smell them, hear their footsteps, the scrape of their claws on the stone?' Grabbing her arm, he pulled her with him, heading up the tunnel. 'We've got to keep moving.'
She planted her feet. 'No. You can't run for ever. You have to face them. That's the only way to overcome — '
'I can't fight a full-grown wyvern and there's more than one.' He wanted to shake her. 'Piro, you must keep moving. You'll get us killed!'
'Where are we?'
He dragged her another step. 'In the caverns under the abbey. Come.'
'No, we are trapped in your mind.'
Fyn stopped pulling at her and stared into her sweet but determined face.
'The Power-worker trapped you. Don't you remember?'
He probed his memory and felt pain as if from a deep bruise. But, as much as it hurt, Piro made sense. Hadn't he wondered how he got here?
'He used your own Affinity to trap you. The wyverns are your fears given form. The only way to defeat them is to face them.'
Snuffling came from behind them. The wyverns were nearly on them. 'But it seems so real.'
'Look.' Piro held up her lamp. Only it wasn't a lamp. It was a ball of golden light, hovering over her skin. 'We are both in your mind. That's why I can make light.'
Fyn stared at the glowing ball.
'Face your fears, Fyn. Defeat them and we can escape.'
She turned him to face the wyvern. The golden glow picked up every chip in the stone floor, every vein of coloured rock in the walls. Beyond there was only darkness, and in that darkness the wyverns waited to tear him apart.
Fyn could imagine wyverns crouching just out of the light, eyes glinting, muzzles pulling back from their teeth.
'Face your fears.' Piro took a step forwards, her circle of light moving with her.
No wyverns were revealed. Fyn peered into the shadows. He imagined the beasts leaping to attack, pouncing on them…
Piro took his hand, lifting it. The ball of light jumped from her hand to his. 'Face them and free yourself.'
'What happens if I fail to face them down?'
'You die and I die with you.'
Heart hammering, Fyn lifted his arm higher. The light revealed only bare walls and floor. He took a step. Still no wyverns.
'What wyverns live underground?' Piro said.
She was right. They loved the fresh air, nesting on cliffs over the water. Why hadn't he remembered that? Because he'd been too frightened to think.
Sucking in a breath, Fyn forced himself to stride forwards. No wyverns.
At his heels, Piro laughed.
He felt lighter.
Piro tugged on his hand. 'Come on.'
And he was running with Piro next to him, running with his light. Running into the light.
Piro woke with a gasp. She'd fallen asleep with her head on Fyn's shoulder, his hand in hers. Tyro leant over her.
'Are you all right?'
Piro sat up. 'Fyn?'
Her brother's eyelids flickered open.
'Piro?' His voice creaked from lack of use.
'Here.' Tyro offered him a sip of something.
Fyn took a mouthful then coughed. When he caught his breath he looked up at Piro wonderingly. 'We were in the caverns under the abbey. You came to me with a light.'
'And you escaped. You beat the trap the Power-worker placed on your Affinity.'
Fyn shook his head, tears filling his eyes. 'Byren. Have you heard — '
'Fyn?' Isolt opened the door. 'You're awake?'
'You were listening at the door,' Piro accused.
'Of course.' Isolt hurried across the chamber. She studied Fyn critically. 'You're too pale and thin. You need building up. I've mixed a tonic for you. Ovido is bringing it.'
Piro fought down a wave of resentment. Fyn was her brother and she was just as good a healer as Isolt.
'Tyro?' Fyn pulled himself onto one elbow, fixing on the mage's supposed agent. 'Has there been word of my brother?'
'Nothing. The mage has no spies among Cobalt's men and the spy from Feidton knows nothing. Byren was meant to meet up with the others there.'
Fyn sank back to the pillow. 'I failed him.'
'Nonsense,' Isolt said briskly. 'From what I heard you tried to save the whole camp.' She broke off as Ovido backed into the chamber with a tray of medicines and jars. 'Good boy. Put it here next to the bed.' Isolt turned back to Fyn. 'Now listen to me. You must get better. Piro and I need you.'
An odd smile tugged at Fyn's lips.
'Lift his head,' Isolt ordered and, while Tyro held him, she tipped a spoonful of broth into his mouth. Fyn swallowed. 'As soon as you finish this, I have something to make you sleep. You are safe with us now.'
When he had finished it was clear just drinking the soup and the tisane had exhausted Fyn. He sank back onto the cushions and fell asleep even as they watched.
'I'll stay with him,' Piro said.
'I'll stay too.' Isolt pulled the chair nearer to the bed and sat down, her face close to Fyn's. She watched him sleep with total concentration.
Tyro caught Piro's eye and nodded towards the door. They left quietly.
'Get some sleep while you can. It will be a long night,' he told Piro, once they were out in the hall. 'With Elector Cera soon to be crowned there is peace in Ostron Isle, but the news of Byren's defeat may make her wonder about the alliance. I have much to do.'
Piro nodded. But when Tyro left her, she opened the door and leant against the door jamb, watching Isolt with Fyn. The Merofynian kingsdaughter held Fyn's hand in both of hers.
Noticing Piro, Isolt sent her a fierce smile. 'Don't worry. We'll soon have him strong again!'
She loves him, Piro thought. I wonder if Fyn knows? How could he, when Isolt does not even realise it?
And, understanding this, Piro was able to leave her brother in Isolt's care.
Despite his chains, they escorted Byren out of his cabin at sword point, then walked him down the gangplank onto the wharf at Port Mero. The chain between his ankles was so short he could only shuffle. By the light of many torches he saw Duke Palatyne on his horse, looking grand in full battle armour, wearing the manticore chitin chestplate that Byren had given his father. A skinny, silver-haired Utland Power-worker hovered at Palatyne's side.
'Kneel before the duke!' A soldier kicked Byren in the back of the knees so that he fell to the wharf.
Palatyne walked his horse closer. Sliding a leg over the saddle, he jumped to the ground and grabbed a handful of Byren's hair, hauling his head up. 'Let's see what King Rolen's traitor looks like. This is the son who ran off, leaving his brother and father to fight his battles, leaving his mother and sister to die. Then he tried to claim the kingdom for himself. Is this the sort of man we want as the king of Rolencia?'
People jeered.
'Who killed King Rolen under a flag of truce?' Byren yelled. 'Who killed Queen Myrella in her own hall? Not I. It — '
Palatyne backhanded him with such force he saw stars. Men hauled him away, unlocked the chains at his wrists and ankles, picked him up and threw him into a cage on a cart. Head ringing, Byren stared out through the bars at angry faces.
Fyn woke to find himself in a strange bed. Sunlight streamed through the window panes, making rainbow patterns. For one perfect moment he was glad just to be alive and free of fear, before it all came back to him.
Master Catillum was dead, his body possessed and his Affinity used to betray Byren. If his brother still lived, he would have made it back to Feidton by now, so he must be dead. How could everything go so wrong?
Fyn turned his head away from the window. On the other side of his bed Isolt curled up, asleep in a chair. The shawl had slipped from her shoulders, silk tassels hanging on the floor.
With Byren and Lence dead, Isolt was officially betrothed to Fyn. His mouth went dry with longing and his heart hammered against his ribs.
Terribly thirsty, he tried to lift the mug by his bed, but it slipped through his clumsy fingers and fell to the floor, rolling on the carpet.
Isolt woke with a start, springing from the chair. 'Oh, you're awake!' She picked up the mug. 'Now you'll need some more broth and — '
'Broth? I'm not a toothless old man.'
She laughed. 'Certainly not. You just bit my head off!'
He wanted her for his own. Heat flooded Fyn as realisation swept him. He had wanted her all along but refused to admit it, because she'd belonged to Byren.
Byren… How could he feel glad his brother was dead? His eyes burned with unshed tears and he turned his face away from Isolt.
'What's wrong, Fyn?'
Now was not the time to tell her that he loved her, not when she had been feeding him like a baby. Besides, what if she laughed at him? He could not bear it.
The door swung open. Piro raced into the chamber, face glowing with happiness. 'Good news, Byren lives! He was sent to Palatyne to be executed. Lord Dunstany's spies saw him arrive.'
Fyn closed his eyes, overwhelmed.
For a moment he could not bear to think.
Isolt belonged to Byren. She would never be his.
Thank the goddess he had not revealed his true feelings. A morass of emotion swelled in his chest.
His duty was clear. He must rescue his brother.
When he tried to sit up, his elbows trembled with the effort. Frustration raged through Fyn. How could he save Byren when he was so weak? 'When is Byren to be executed?'
'Palatyne has him in a cage. He accused Byren of treason against his own family. It's very clever the way he worded it. I think Cobalt had a hand in that,' Piro admitted. 'The traditional means of execution is death by starvation, but Lord Dunstany's servants will slip him food and water if they can.'
'I must get up.' Fyn tried to swing his legs to the floor, groaning as his head swam.
Isolt held him down without trouble. 'You've been all but dead for days. You need time to recover.'
He brushed her hands off him. 'I don't have time. Why doesn't the mage send Lord Dunstany's people to free Byren, Piro?'
She looked away. 'I don't know the mage's plans. Maybe he will.'
'I must get up,' Fyn muttered.
'And I say you must stay in bed.' Isolt glared at him.
She looked so adorable when she made that fierce expression, Fyn had to turn away.
He came face to face with a wyvern. It stood on its hind legs, with a paw on the high bed. Fyn's heart missed a beat. 'Freezing Sylion. Where did that Affinity beast come from?'
'Hush, you'll hurt Loyalty's feelings,' Isolt said. 'She was the last elector's pet and now she's mine. Speaking of which, they will crown the new elector tonight. Will you be well enough to come? You look flushed. Are you running a fever?'
She felt his forehead. Fyn knew it was the touch of a healer for her patient, but he ached for more. He sank into the pillow, heart-sore and weary beyond belief.
He would have to leave Mage Isle as soon as he could, for he couldn't bear to be near Isolt, knowing she belonged to his brother.
Piro watched Fyn close his eyes, a bitter twist to his mouth. He was in pain. Suddenly, he lifted onto one elbow and fixed on her.
'Go to the agent, Piro, find out when he's sending someone to save Byren. I'll go with them.'
Isolt cast Piro a swift worried look.
'Of course,' Piro said. 'I'll ask him now.'
Out in the corridor, she headed straight for the war table room, where she found Tyro studying the pieces.
'Is Fyn well enough to come to the elector's inauguration tonight?' he asked her. 'He can rest all day. We can take the carriage and he can sit down while we're there.'
'Fyn wants to save Byren. He wants to know if the mage is sending a rescue party. Is he? Are you?'
'Your brother is being held in the heart of the enemy's stronghold. How many men would you send to their deaths to rescue Byren, Piro?'
She opened her mouth, then closed it. 'There must be some stealthy way, some way that uses subterfuge.'
'I'm working on it,' Tyro muttered, as if he'd never cupped her cheek and tried to reassure her. 'I'll have formal clothes sent to Fyn's chamber. He must dress appropriately for the celebrations tonight. As must you and Isolt.'
'Strangely enough, I don't feel like partying when my brother is being starved to death,' Piro snapped. 'How can these Ostronites feast with war hanging over their heads?'
'Would you deny the Ostronites their butterfly existence? Their symbol is the abeille, after all. The beautiful but industrious butterfly-bee.'
She stiffened. 'The people of Ostron Isle play games while people are dying.'
'Could a butterfly stop the serpent from devouring its prey?'
'No.'
Tyro smiled and his dark eyes glittered. 'Then why not enjoy the butterfly? Don't deny its right to exist, leave the serpent-slaying to the mongoose.'
A shiver moved over Piro's skin. 'You mean to see Palatyne dead!'
Tyro nodded. 'He is a dangerous man. If he becomes king, he will not accept Lord Dunstany's guidance.'
'Why not free Byren and let him kill Palatyne for you? At least tell Fyn your plans.'
'What happens if a cook takes the cake from the oven before it is ready?'
'It sinks,' she answered automatically.
He nodded and would not elaborate.
She fumed. Tyro thought he was so clever, but he could not think of everything. Besides, she didn't like her fate to be in anyone's hands but her own.