The King's bastard cokrk-1

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Feldspar had to take it or drop it. He held up the sacred Fate, staring into the opal's iridescent surface. 'I can't. I — '

  'You found it, Feldspar? I always said you'd be mystics master one day!' Lonepine joined them, grinning with delight. Then he mimed a blow to Fyn's head. 'I left Hawkwing with a headache that'll stop him enjoying tonight's feast. Now we must get back to sound the horn!'

  Feldspar met Fyn's gaze, torn between honour and desire. His eyes held a question.

  'I want you to present it to the master,' Fyn told him firmly. He had to protect Piro, no matter what it cost him.

  'Only if that is what you truly want,' Feldspar whispered.

  'Of course we do!' Lonepine rolled his eyes. 'What's holding you back? Come on!'

  Lonepine headed off towards the island's shore.

  'I'd rather I'd found it myself,' Feldspar whispered.

  Fyn understood exactly how he felt. This time Piro had gone too far.

  'Byren?' Queen Myrella beckoned.

  He left Garzik and Orrade to join the queen. Her companions, women of the noble and great merchant families of Rolencia, moved away politely.

  'Mother?' Byren knelt next to his mother's chair so that their conversation would be private. There were dark circles under the queen's beautiful black eyes and hollows under her cheekbones. With a start Byren wondered if his mother was sickening for something. Concerned, he placed his hand over hers, small and cold. 'How can I help?'

  She smiled and glanced down, covering his hand and squeezing his fingers. But when she looked up her mouth was tight with worry again. 'Do you know where Piro is? She told me she was coming down early with Seela, but she wasn't here when I arrived. I just know Piro is up to something. '

  He'd been wondering where his sister was. 'You know how she hates royal duties. She's probably off playing with her foenix. She's only a child.'

  'In a year and a half she'll be fifteen. I was betrothed to your father at eight and married at fifteen. Besides, this is Fyn's chance to prove himself. She'd never fail him.'

  His mother was right. Byren was torn between annoyance with Piro's thoughtlessness and fear for her safety. 'You want me to look for her?'

  The tightness across his mother's forehead and around her eyes relaxed. 'Do you mind?'

  He patted her hand. 'Of course not.'

  But when he went to rise, she held onto his fingers.

  'Search the guildhall below. She knows what we have planned so she should be here by now. She's probably hiding downstairs, sulking because I snapped at her this morning.'

  He nodded, yet his mother still did not release his hand. He waited. She seemed to have trouble framing her thoughts.

  'What is it, Mother?'

  'When this is over, do something for me?'

  He smiled. 'Anything.'

  'Go hunting with your brother.'

  'That's no hardship.' He laughed, secretly amazed that his mother should be aware of a rift he was only just discovering. 'What — '

  'It is hard to be the king-in-waiting,' the queen whispered. 'It looks like your father will live another twenty or thirty years, with Halcyon's blessing. Having no real power but many boring duties, Lence watches you. You have a way with people. Everyone likes you and he can't help wondering if you will end up king instead of him.'

  Byren snorted. 'But I'd only inherit if Lence died. Surely you're not suggesting…'

  His mother frowned, watching him intently.

  He felt the beginnings of a headache and tried to remember what he'd been saying. 'Freezing Sylion. I don't want to be kingsheir!'

  The headache passed and his mother looked relieved. 'No, Byren, you don't. But maybe the people would prefer you to Lence, and that worries him.'

  Frustration welled up in Byren. 'I don't see what I can — '

  'Take a step back. Don't put yourself forward so much. Let Lence shine.'

  He was already doing that, not that his mother knew.

  'If I hadn't killed the leogryf, Lence would be dead and I'd be kingsheir,' he muttered, struck by the injustice of it all.

  Garzik hurried over to them. 'Some acolytes are heading back from Ruin Isle!' He peered across the lake. 'I swear… yes, one of them is Fyn!'

  Queen Myrella released Byren's hand and gave him a gentle push. 'Go. And think on what I've said.'

  He slipped away from the royal balcony, annoyed and more than a little worried. But first, he had to find his sister.

  After making a quick search of the guildhall, without success, he heard a carriage draw up. After pimping and preening, the Merofynian ambassador had arrived with his retinue.

  Byren had run out of time to find Piro. He only hoped she was safe back at Rolenhold with her foenix, even if that meant she was deliberately misbehaving. He made for the stairs to the bell tower. Their father would just have to make the announcement without Piro, not that it mattered. It was Lence's big moment.

  But halfway up the steps, he met his twin, headed down.

  'Hey, you're going the wrong way. The balcony's up there!' Byren protested.

  Lence grinned. He'd been drinking with his honour guard and Byren could smell the fine Rolencian wine on his breath. As usual, his spirits had improved for being just a little bit drunk.

  'But I'm headed for the back stairs, Byren. That's where I'm meeting the prettiest little serving maid you ever saw.'

  Byren frowned. There wasn't time for dalliance. Their parents would make the announcement as soon as the Merofynian ambassador joined them. Even now, he was being greeted by merchants on the front steps. They would probably delay him for a few minutes as they invited him to dinner with the intention of setting up trade deals with Merofynia. 'But — '

  Lence shook off his hand. 'They've lined me up with the Merofynian king's daughter, Byren. She's probably got buck teeth and bad breath. I think I deserve a bit of fun!' He took off down the steps. 'Don't worry, I won't miss the announcement of my own betrothal. I'll arrange to meet this maid later, but first I'll collect a kiss.'

  'What of Elina?'

  'What the eyes don't see the heart doesn't grieve!' He called over his shoulder.

  Byren hesitated. Lence wouldn't want his company, but if the maid was as pretty as he said, he might get distracted and keep their father waiting. King Rolen's temper was legendary. Better follow and keep an eye on him.

  Just as he started down, Byren heard the thump of a body hitting the wall and the scrape of a sword being drawn. His heart missed a beat and his hand went to his belt, reaching for his missing sword hilt.

  Cursing, Byren took the stairs four at a time, barrelling into the dark little foyer at the base. There was no sign of the serving maid, only three swordsmen, none of whom could be called pretty.

  Despite his slightly inebriated state, Lence had disarmed one man. Now he swung this attacker around, using his body as a shield to protect himself from the remaining two. The man's cockatrice cloak impeded his struggles. Byren drew his ceremonial dagger and threw. Though it wasn't designed for throwing, it took the nearest attacker in the back. He fell to his knees with a cry. The other spun around, sword lifting.

  Byren had nothing, not even a cloak to wrap around his arm as a shield.

  Lence shoved his man forwards. He collided with Byren's attacker, knocking them both off balance while the cloak remained in Lence's hands. Seizing this chance, Byren kicked the attacker's sword arm and the weapon flew from his fingers. Byren drove his fist into the man's jaw. The swordsman staggered back, knocking his companion to the ground.

  The man scrambled for the sword and sprang to his feet. Lence backed into the corner. The men advanced on him.

  Piro huddled, shivering in her hiding place while she waited for Fyn and his friends' voices to fade as they moved off. Fyn was right, she should not have come here. If she was discovered, the abbot could order her execution. Not that she thought he would, but she couldn't be certain, for no kingsdaughter had ever insulted the goddess of Halcyon before.<
br />
  She felt sick to her stomach.

  This was worse than the time she'd climbed onto Byren's hunter and been thrown.

  If she was caught on Ruin Isle today she would disgrace her family. If only she'd thought before she acted, instead of looking forward to pleasing Fyn. That had proved a disaster. Now he was furious with her.

  Hot tears stung her eyes. Blinking them away fiercely, she hugged her knees and waited until she heard the horn which meant the acolytes were safely back in Rolenton. Then she crawled out.

  Slinging her skates over her shoulder, Piro rubbed her arms and legs to get her circulation back. She had meant to help Fyn become a mystic. Now which branch of the monks would he join?

  He wasn't like most men.

  Last midsummer, Fyn had taken her into a deserted stable where the straw was thick on the ground, and had shown her how to escape if someone tried to grab her, how to throw her attacker and where to kick to do the most damage.

  It had been a wonderful midsummer. They'd rowed out to Ruin Isle so he could teach her how to use his bow. She had barely been strong enough to draw it but was soon hitting the target. Fyn had never once told her she couldn't do something because she was small and female. And she hadn't ridiculed him when he asked if he could use her paints. She still had the watercolour he had done of Rolenhold with Lake Sapphire reflecting the castle's golden onion domes like a mirror. No, Fyn wasn't like the others.

  And now, because of her, he wouldn't be a mystic.

  Tears burned her eyes. Wiping her face on her sleeve, she turned towards Rolenton. She had to find Fyn and apologise. She wouldn't be happy until everything was right between them.

  Reaching the island's shore, she strapped on her skates and looked across the lake to Rolenton. Just then the bell tower's song rang out. Piro cursed roundly, using words the stable boys used when they thought she wasn't listening.

  She'd forgotten her parents' big announcement!

  Byren looked about for a weapon, anything to divert the attacker from his twin. Nothing.

  The door to the stairwell swung open and Fyn stood there, saffron robe gleaming in the dimness. His eyes widened as he took in the situation.

  Seeing one of Halcyon's renowned warrior monks, the swordsmen collected their wounded companion and backed out the far door, blades raised defiantly.

  Lence cursed. 'They're getting away!'

  'Let them,' Byren snapped. 'In case you hadn't noticed, they're the ones with swords!'

  Fyn stepped inside and let his door swing shut behind him. 'What's going on? Are you all right?'

  'I'm fine,' Byren said. 'What about you, Lence?'

  He rubbed his head. 'I can't believe that pretty little serving maid set me up.'

  'I can't believe someone made an attempt on your life in our own home town,' Byren whispered.

  'Who?' Fyn asked.

  'One of the warlords.' Lence lifted the cloak for Byren to see. It hung from his fingers supple and rich, feathers as fine as fur. Cockatrice cloak. Too expensive for any but a nobleman or a wealthy merchant, or…

  'A warrior from Cockatrice Spar?' Fyn guessed.

  'Too easy,' Byren muttered. 'And there's no reason for that warlord to turn on us.'

  'Agreed.' Lence rubbed his jaw. 'Besides, he'd never be fool enough to send his own men.'

  'Are you saying someone set him up? Another of the warlords?' Fyn muttered. 'But they are all here to renew their oaths of allegiance.'

  'Not all of them,' Lence countered. 'The Unistag warlord is missing.'

  'His successors can't decide — ' Byren began to explain.

  'They could have heard a rumour about the betrothal,' Lence said, thinking aloud.

  Fyn looked confused.

  'We've been keeping the warlords in line with Lence as bait, a possible alliance with one of their daughters, you see. Now that he's getting married…' Byren shrugged.

  'Married?' Fyn mouthed, glancing to Lence.

  'Don't you dare congratulate me!' he warned.

  Byren grinned. 'We'd be in trouble if the warlords ever stopped fighting amongst themselves long enough to unite against us!'

  Fyn's eyes widened. 'But father is their king.'

  Lence sent him a withering look. 'What do they teach you at the abbey?'

  Fyn flinched.

  'The spars make poor farmland. The warlords are constantly looking to expand their territory and Rolencia is the richest prize. They're always sniffing around, looking for weakness in each other or us,' Byren explained. 'Killing King Rolen's heir would make one of them look strong to the other warlords. It might be enough to unite them against us.'

  'Why now?' Fyn asked.

  'The balance of power is about to change,' Byren said, 'Lence is to be betrothed to the Merofynian kingsdaughter.'

  'Buck teeth for sure,' Lence muttered, shaking his head.

  Byren grinned, glad Lence was back to normal, even if it had taken an assassination attempt to cheer him up.

  'I don't understand,' Fyn protested. 'Why does Lence have to marry a girl from the Merofynian royal family? We haven't had trouble from them since before mother and father — '

  'No. But…' Byren glanced to Lence. He was being no help. 'But when mother's younger brother, King Sefon, died in mysterious circumstances — '

  'He fell off his horse while hunting,' Fyn corrected.

  'They found him with a broken neck in the forest and his horse walked back to the stables,' Byren countered. 'That was just over seven years ago. His death made mother the rightful heir to Merofynia. While Merofynia was having its war of succession, father could have invaded and claimed the crown in her name. We didn't and mother's cousin became king. King Merofyn the Sixth has no love for Rolencia but he does have a daughter. Marriage between second cousins, Lence and the kingsdaughter, will cement a shaky peace.'

  'But why — '

  'Enough history. You saved my life again, Byren.' Lence faced him, a grin on his lips, but a penetrating look in his eyes. 'Two minutes later and you'd be kingsheir right now.'

  'No thanks needed.' Byren laughed, relieved. 'Besides, if I was kingsheir I'd have to marry your bucktoothed kingsdaughter!'

  'That reminds me.' Lence grimaced. 'Duty calls. Come on.'

  As they climbed the stairs to the bell tower, Byren rolled up the cockatrice cloak. It was one of the more common ones, a mix of brown, red and gold feathers, but still expensive. It meant whoever had sent the assassins had deep pockets.

  He was aware of Fyn following quietly. Sometimes Fyn seemed so knowing, and other times he failed to understand the real world. That's what came of being reared by a pack of prayer-chanting monks.

  Lence stopped on the top step. He glanced to the rolled-up cloak in Byren's hands. 'We'll have to tell them about the assassination attempt — '

  'But we don't want the Merofynian ambassador knowing about our troubles with the warlords,' Byren anticipated. 'I'll hide the cloak to show father later.'

  Lence nodded and went ahead.

  After this close call, Byren wished he'd found Piro. In all probability, she was safe back at the castle playing with her foenix, but this escalation of violence would be one more thing to make their parents' eyes gleam with worry.

  No wonder he'd never wanted to rule Rolencia!

  Still shaky from walking in on the assassination attempt, Fyn followed his brothers into the chamber on the fifth floor of the bell tower, where their parents waited. Through the open doors, he could see the balcony and the roof tops of the grand merchant houses which framed Rolenton Square.

  'There you are. What kept you?' his mother greeted them as she hurried over. 'Just look at you, Lence. Anyone would think you'd been fighting!'

  As she folded Lence's ermine-edged cloak neatly over his shoulders, Lence rolled his eyes. Byren winked at Fyn, who did not understand how they could be so cool-headed. His heart still hammered.

  'You do your father proud,' Queen Myrella said, arranging Lence's kingsheir emblem in the
centre of his chest.

  Lence brushed her hands away. 'Leave be, mother. I'm not six years old.'

  She ignored him and stepped back, a fond smile on her face as she turned to Fyn and Byren. 'Let me look at my three boys.'

  Lence and Byren were dressed in rich red and black, the royal colours, their cuffs trimmed with gold embroidery. Their vests were decorated with red garnets and black onyxes. Fyn wore only the simple saffron robe of an acolyte.

  'They're fine, Myrella,' King Rolen assured her, linking his arm through hers. 'The ambassador will be here any moment. Where's Piro?'

  The queen cast Byren a quick look. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head which Fyn caught. He held his tongue. Only he knew where Piro was, and he hoped she stayed safely hidden until all the acolytes left Ruin Isle.

  'Oh, Rolen. I forgot to tell you. She had a sore throat so I told her to stay in bed,' his mother lied straight-faced, which surprised Fyn. Or perhaps Piro had pretended to have a sore throat. He wouldn't put it past her. She was such a minx.

  Then he heard boots on the stairs. 'Here comes the Merofynian ambassador. '

  He stepped aside as the elderly man entered, followed by several servants, among them a page boy who carried a small, gilt chest. They were all dressed in the height of Merofynian court fashion. Their sleeves were so long they would have dragged on the ground if they had not been pinned up with jewelled broaches. Fyn frowned. Were those real foenix feathers in their velvet hats? His father would not approve. King Rolen had tried to breed foenixes in captivity to restore their numbers.

  'Ah, Lord Benvenute,' his mother greeted the ambassador. 'I see you brought the miniature of Isolt Kingsdaughter.'

  'Welcome.' The king clapped the ambassador's shoulder and the man winced. 'Let's get this started.'

  Then King Rolen took the queen's arm and they stepped out onto the balcony to enthusiastic cheering. It made Fyn's heart lift. The people of Rolencia were loyal, even if the warlords weren't.

  Normally Lence would have gone next, but the ambassador followed before any of the kingsons. As the Merofynian king's representative, he ranked above them.

  Standing out on the balcony in the crisp winter air, Fyn was suddenly aware of their vulnerability. Several good bowmen on the roof opposite could have wiped out the Rolencian royal family in a couple of heart beats.