The King's bastard cokrk-1

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  'You're saying I shouldn't warn Father, that I should let him walk into a trap?' Piro shook her head, backing up a step.

  'What if it is a false vision? You have no way of knowing, not without consulting the abbey mystics. What if you have misinterpreted it?' Seela pressed.

  Piro licked dry lips. Before today, her Affinity had helped her find lost possessions and guess which Unknowable card would turn up. It had never frightened her. Now it made her cold with fear.

  She could still taste the evil fumes on the back of her throat and, when she closed her eyes, she could still see the wyvern about to tear her father's head from his shoulders. Her stomach clenched. She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears slid down her cheeks. Brushing them away angrily, she refused to believe that her Affinity made her a channel for evil. This must be a message from the gods.

  The vile taste had to mean that Rejulas might appear sweet but he was not to be trusted. And the wyvern's attack meant that Merofynia threatened… but it couldn't, not when Lence had just been betrothed to Isolt.

  Piro began to pace, aware of Seela watching her. Perhaps she was mistaken, and these messages were the cruel jests of evil powers. Was the goddess angry with her for profaning the Proving today?

  Her head spun and she sank to sit on the lower fence rail of the unistag's pen. He came to her, leaning over the top rail to nuzzle her head, his velvety stag's muzzle soft on the back of her neck. She rubbed his throat, taking comfort in his warm coat. He was looking for Affinity, which she usually let him lick off her fingers but, after the vision, she was drained of power. A part of her wanted to run to the abbess right now and ask the mystics mistress if her visions could be trusted. If she did, the abbess would claim her for Sylion Abbey and she couldn't bear that.

  'Your father is in a fury. You must find him and apologise,' Seela urged. 'Swallow your pride, kingsdaughter, and marry a barbarian warlord. Because…' She broke off suddenly.

  Piro turned to her. 'Why must I marry the warlord, Seela? What do you know, that I don't?'

  'I'm just an old woman whose nurslings have all grown up.' Seela looked stricken. 'And I can't keep them safe, now that they must play Duelling Kingdoms for real.'

  Piro's skin went cold. 'Where's Father?'

  'At the war table.'

  The war table was housed in a room directly above the trophy chamber. The table was covered with a scale model of their kingdom, its seas and surrounding enemies.

  'You must go back to your chamber and prepare an apology for your father,' Seela said. 'Stay out of sight.'

  Piro nodded, intending to do no such thing. It was only as she was walking back to the family's wing that she remembered the old seer's words.

  Like mother, like daughter. The seer had been right!

  Piro rubbed her arms to settle the goose bumps. Just because the old seer had been right about one thing, that did not mean she was right about anything else. The mystics mistress had said the future held many possible paths… but Piro didn't know how to find the right path.

  She would tell her mother about the dream and ask her advice. Silent on her indoor slippers, she ran up the servant steps to her mother's private chamber which was down the far end of the solarium. A tapestry hung over the door to the servants' stair to keep out draughts, but it did not stop the voices.

  Piro slowed. That was her mother speaking, but who was the man with her? She crept to the tapestry and parted it a chink to see the new Lord Cobalt standing much too close to her mother, who had her back to him as she looked through the diamond panes of the narrow window.

  'I was twenty-two and you were only a year older, Myrella. I adored you. I thought you were wasted on Rolen.'

  'And I told you I had room in my heart for only one man.'

  'That's not the way I remember it. You told me you loved me and — '

  'That I would never betray my husband.' She sighed, turning to face him. Seeing how close he was, the queen brushed past him to pace over to the fireplace. Piro was struck by how small and fragile her mother looked next to Illien, who was almost as tall as her father.

  The queen turned to face Cobalt. 'I did love you, Illien. I was lonely. To Rolen I was a means to an end, to you I was a person. But nothing ever happened so we have nothing to be ashamed of. And then your father sent you away.' She summoned a brave smile. 'I have thought of you many times over the years and hoped you were happy.'

  He came closer, voice dropping. 'I thought of you, too. Myrella. I never forgot…'

  She held a hand up between them in a gesture of refusal. 'What I said still stands, Illien. Rolen's known me since I was eight years old. It took twenty years of marriage and four children but he has learnt to trust me. He loves me and I love him for the good qualities he has.' Tears glittered in her eyes. She cleared her throat, adopting a more formal tone. 'I was so very sorry to hear about your father and bride. Had you been married long?'

  'We were wed…' his voice cracked, 'the day before we set sail — '

  'Oh, Illien!' She reached out to him.

  He went to her, sinking to his knees so that he pressed his face to her chest as he wept. She stroked his dark hair, her voice soothing.

  Piro let the tapestry fall back into place, stunned. Her mother had loved Illien? Still loved him? But he was the opposite of her father, cultured, elegant, clever… Piro winced.

  Stunned, she retreated down the stairs, her stomach churning. Unbidden, Affinity swelled under her heart like a thousand anxious butterflies. She had thought herself safe from it after the vision. Affinity had to be used or it would surface when she least wanted it to.

  There was only one thing to do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fyn ran straight to the menagerie where the foenix lived. No sign of Piro. Though he rarely saw the bird it remembered him and gave a low interrogative chirrup of greeting. He stooped to scratch the foenix's scaled chest. As he stood up Byren arrived, his broad shoulders blocking the entrance.

  'So you thought to look here too, Fyn? No luck?'

  Fyn shook his head and rose. They strode out of the courtyard together and along the hall.

  'Don't take Lence to heart,' Byren said. 'He's angry all the time now and it eats away at him.'

  'I don't see what he's got to be angry about. He's kingsheir and father's favourite. Of all of us, he's most like father.'

  Byren frowned for an instant, then dredged up a grin. 'Except Piro. She inherited his temper.' He shook his head. 'I don't know what's got into her this time.'

  'Her heart's in the right place,' Fyn said, remembering how she'd risked the abbey's wrath to help him. 'But she doesn't think things through.'

  They came to a point where two sets of stairs from different wings fed onto a hallway with many doors.

  'I'll try the kitchen. Cook is probably hiding her again. If not, I'll ask Seela,' Byren said. 'You try the stable loft.'

  Fyn nodded.

  Illien came down the stairs from the family wing and crossed the hall to join them. 'Byren, what's going on?'

  'You might as well know. It'll be all over the castle by dinner time. Piro's turned down the warlord father wanted her to marry. And now she's hiding,' Byren revealed.

  Fyn put two and two together. He'd heard how the new Lord Cobalt had ridden in demanding justice on behalf of his father and bride.

  'And this is little Fyn?' Cobalt asked with a smile. 'Not so little now. Last time I saw you, you were still in the nursery and Piro was a baby.'

  'I'll always be little compared to Byren and Lence,' Fyn said. He felt he knew this man already. It had to be the family resemblance. He caught himself staring and remembered his manners. 'I'm sorry to hear about your loss.'

  Grief's shadow darkened Cobalt's eyes, making the lines that bracketed his mouth severe. 'They will pay. Lence has sworn to help me avenge them.'

  'We can't have Utland raiders attacking our people,' Byren said, though he seemed resigned rather than righteous. 'Meanwhile, we must find Piro.'
<
br />   'I'll help. Where should I look?' Cobalt asked.

  'We've already tried the menagerie,' Byren said. 'But she may circle back. She loves the Affinity beasties.'

  They separated. With a nod to Cobalt and Byren, Fyn ran off.

  The stables were deserted, the workers all madly preparing for the feast. Fyn climbed up to the loft, calling softly for Piro. She didn't answer but that didn't mean she wasn't there. He made a thorough search of the long loft with its sweet-smelling hay. No sign of his sister.

  Before he could climb down, the stables filled with angry men saddling their horses.

  Fyn listened at the top of the ladder. The men had the clipped accents of barbarians from beyond the Dividing Mountains and they occasionally threw in unknown words which made their speech hard to understand. When he heard their destination was Cockatrice Spar, he understood. Their warlord had been insulted and they were about to ride out of Rolenhold, even though it was nearly dusk on the shortest day of the year and their warlord had yet to renew his oath of allegiance at the feast tonight. No one in their right mind ventured abroad when the barriers between the Seen and the Unseen were at their weakest.

  After the last horse was led out, Fyn climbed down the ladder to the floor below. The stable was warm and smelt of horses, earthy and familiar. He dusted hay off his leggings and saffron robe and headed out into the stable courtyard where two dozen of the warlord's honour guard adjusted their cinnamon-coloured cockatrice cloaks. They talked and laughed too loudly to show that they were not intimidated by King Rolen's men-at-arms, who stood on the ramparts, weapons in hand, watching them.

  No one looked at Fyn. With all the visitors, servants, minstrels and men-at-arms crowded into Rolenhold, one more shaven-headed acolyte was unremarkable. A man in a wyvern-skin vest shoved past Fyn to speak with an old man nearby. Fyn just caught his words.

  '…the ability to outfox every other warlord, that's all that makes King Rolen's blood royal. Well, we'll see who's the better fox!' he snarled. 'Keep your eyes open and report to me.'

  The old man nodded. Fyn wasn't surprised to learn that Rejulas had a spy at Rolenhold. The warlord mounted up, and kicked his horse's flanks to get the beast moving. The mounts had more sense than their riders. It was late and cold, and getting colder, and the horses wanted to go back to the stables.

  Warlord Rejulas led his honour guard through an archway into the main courtyard. The great gates had been winched open and, shrouded in a tense silence, he and his men rode out. They would be lucky if they got further than Rolenton tonight but, with the attempted assassination fresh in his mind, it was the gesture of defiance that worried Fyn. How would the other warlords react? No wonder his father was furious with Piro. Still, he couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

  Fyn might have been angry enough to throttle his sister, but he didn't want anyone harming her. Everyone wanted something from him. Not Piro. She was ready to risk the abbey's censure to help him. Now she was in trouble and he had to find her.

  He headed for Eagle Tower, the last of Piro's favourite places. The long connecting corridors were dark, no torches had been lit yet. Shadows clung to the alcoves, hiding the brilliant colours of the carved friezes.

  Piro slipped into the unistag's enclosure and held her hands out to him, calling him gently. When she was upset her Affinity built up until it crawled across her skin like ants, making her grind her teeth to prevent a cry. She focused the power on her hands and the unistag came willingly. He began to lick the Affinity from her fingers.

  Within moments her tension eased. She stroked the unistag's velvet muzzle. What a handsome beast he was. With the body of a white horse and the head of a noble stag, his single horn gleamed like mother-of-pearl. Roan unistags had horns of red ivory, which were not as highly valued.

  'Should you be in there with that Affinity beast?' a voice that was all too familiar asked softly.

  Piro spun. The last person she wanted to confront right now was the new Lord Cobalt. She could still see him, face pressed to her mother's breast, being comforted.

  The unistag shied away. Startled by her reaction, it trotted to the far end of the enclosure.

  'Illien — I mean, Lord Cobalt. I'm quite safe, truly. I've known the unistag since I was little.' But only recently had she let him nuzzle her hands to relieve the build up of Affinity. Had the new Lord Cobalt noticed? Her back had been to him and besides, he had no Affinity, so she was safe.

  She stepped out of the enclosure, letting Cobalt close the gate behind her while she went to the fountain which had been turned off for the winter and held her hands under the water spigot. It was warm, having been pumped up from one of Halcyon's hot pools deep under the castle.

  'You must be Piro. You are so like your beautiful mother,' Cobalt said, coming up behind her.

  Piro turned, deliberately flicking her hands dry. Beads of water scattered him, landing on the embroidered velvet of his fancy coat. He took a step back, attempting to brush the water off.

  'Uh, sorry,' Piro lied.

  Cobalt shot her a quick look. 'I hear your father is furious with you.'

  She shrugged, pretending a nonchalance she did not feel. 'Someone is always furious with me.'

  'They are trying to force you to marry a man you do not love. A pretty girl like you… the boys must be lining up to dance on feast days. I suppose you already have your heart set on — '

  Piro laughed at the absurdity of it. 'I'm only thirteen!'

  He recovered quickly. 'Most girls are planning their wedding at thirteen.'

  'I'm not most girls.' She glared at him and he hesitated. She wished he would just go away. She didn't want to think that there was ever a time when the queen was lonely, when her father did not value her mother enough to make her feel loved.

  Cobalt frowned, then smiled charmingly. 'I see you are an original thinker, as they say in Ostron Isle.'

  She liked that description, but for some reason she didn't want to accept any compliments from him. All she wanted was to cut the conversation short and escape. 'I have to go now. I'm very sorry about the raiders.'

  'The raiders… ah.' He came over and sat on the edge of the fountain, sinking his head into his hands. 'I still can't believe it's true. To have my father snatched from me when we had only just reconciled after thirteen years. To lose my bride…'

  He could not go on. His shoulders shook.

  Piro's stomach knotted and tears stung her eyes. She rubbed his back between his broad shoulders. His long curled hair felt like silk under her hand and black onyxes winked at her, entwined amidst his curls. Why would a man bother to make himself look so fine, unless he planned seduction?

  How could she think such a thing as he sobbed over his murdered bride?

  '…it was all my fault. My stupid pride,' he whispered, despair making his voice thick. 'If I hadn't carried a chest of jewels to impress my father the raiders wouldn't have been tempted.'

  Prompted by the urge to relieve his pain, Piro's Affinity rose up through the core of her body, warming her, rolling down her arms into her fingers. Only last week she had eased the pain of one of the cooks who had burnt her hand by drawing off the sensation. No one had noticed then, so now she tried it with Cobalt, opening her senses, willing to share his pain to help ease it.

  Nothing.

  Blank.

  She pulled back a step.

  His head remained bowed. 'I'm sorry, child. A man may weep inside, but he must be strong for his men. Forgive my lapse. I… I was overcome.' Cobalt lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, tortured, but she had sensed no emotion in him.

  She took another step back. 'That's all right. Byren weeps every time he hears the Tale of the Bone Flute.'

  Even while Piro spoke, she was trying to fathom this new Lord Cobalt. Either he truly felt nothing and it was all a sham, or he was so well walled she could not reach him, yet he had claimed to be in the throes of deep emotion and asked her forbearance.

  'Why do you look at me li
ke that, little Piro?'

  She blinked. Oh, his black eyes were so sharp… they made her skin prickle with fear.

  'I can't get over how like Lence you are,' she said to divert him, 'well, a mixture of father and Lence.'

  He smiled. 'Blood will leave its mark. I am your kin, after all.'

  'I have to go now, Mother's expecting me,' Piro lied, then she turned and walked away, when all her instincts told her to run.

  Byren had no luck in the kitchen, so he headed back to the war table chamber to see if Fyn had found Piro. One of the younger men of his father's honour guard was on duty at the base of the stairs outside the trophy chamber. This was unusual. His father must be feeling the need for a show of strength. He stopped to exchange a word just as two servants approached, pushing a trolley laden with firewood. The noise was so bad he just nodded to the guard and went up the stairs, accompanied by the rattling of the wheels that echoed up the stairwell. Even so, he could hear raised voices from the war table room on the floor above. His father and Lence yelling at each other? Impossible.

  Byren thrust the door open, surprising the king and his twin in the midst of a heated argument. Both turned to him.

  He was so startled he simply stood there.

  His father gestured impatiently. 'Shut the door.'

  'Byren, you tell Father I'm right. The Merofynians despise their king and fear his bullying overlord,' Lence said. Byren recognised Cobalt's refrain. 'The country is ripe for an uprising. We should — '

  'We've signed a peace accord, you're betrothed to King Merofyn's daughter,' Rolen interrupted. 'What kind of king would I be to dishonour my word?'

  Lence made the same impatient gesture their father had used a moment before. 'But — '

  'Peace means trade and prosperity, Lence,' their father insisted. 'War means death and — '

  'To the victor go the spoils!'

  'True,' King Rolen conceded. 'But there's no guarantee we'll be the victor. You've only ever led raids, in and out quickly, warrior against warrior. Sometimes it is enough to take their spar symbol for the warlord's men to retreat. But war…' He shook his head. 'War is brutal. At best, fields are ruined and people starve, and at worst, women and children are murdered. War turns ordinary men into monsters. Believe me, I've seen it!'