‘A deposed Rolencian king at that!’
Righteous anger made Fyn’s heart race. The Merofynian nobles had been grateful enough when Byren defeated Palatyne.
Elrhodoc slid his arm around Neiron’s shoulder. ‘Queen Isolt’s a pretty little thing and sweet-tempered. No sign of her father in her. She should take a Merofynian lord for her husband and forget this betrothal made by dead men. Your brother’s ship has not returned. It’s time to declare him dead, may he feast in Mulcibar’s halls forever. You’re next in line for the title—’
‘I’m sworn to serve the queen.’
‘Just think how much better you’d serve her in bed!’
They both laughed.
Fyn bristled. As the grandson of King Merofyn the Fifth, Byren was more entitled to the throne than Isolt or her father, who had taken the crown by assassinating his cousin, Byren’s uncle, King Sefon. Isolt was only queen because her father had been an ambitious bully who did not scruple to kill his own blood. Not that Fyn blamed Isolt; like him, she’d been a child at the time.
He waited until Neiron and Elrhodoc moved off, then made his way to join Isolt, thinking he must not fail his brother. Somehow he had to ensure Merofynia remained loyal to Byren.
IT WAS FORTUNATE that Florin had helped her father run Narrowneck Tradepost these last seven winters. During the busy season it had been much like what she had been through today in Rolenhold Castle. Run, run, run...
During the tradepost’s busy season, she’d be at her wit’s end, juggling beds as new travellers arrived and demanded precedence over those already there. It wasn’t much different in the castle. Except Rolenhold was many times bigger and there was an army of servants.
First, the castle-keep had insisted she bathe then dress in upper-servant clothes. It was only as she followed the woman around that Florin realised she’d been given a male servant’s attire: a knitted under-shirt, breeches, thigh-length tabard, boots and skull-cap. If it was meant to deter male attention, the castle-keep needn’t have bothered. Nothing was further from Florin’s mind.
Now it was mid-afternoon and Florin returned from running a message to find the castle-keep with a grey-haired man. Judging by his calloused hands, he was a tradesman.
‘Before we bother his lordship, I’ll just take a look at this body,’ the castle-keep said and strode off, adding over her shoulder, ‘I hope you have a strong stomach, girl.’
As Florin followed, her mind raced. Surely if the Merofynians had sent Byren’s body back to Rolencia to be displayed on the castle gate, they’d send him with men-at-arms, not a tradesman. The thought of what she might be about to see made Florin feel sick. She vowed to remain strong.
The castle-keep marched out the door to the courtyard, then down the stairs, stopping on the third to last step. From here it was easy to see into the back of the stone-mason’s cart. Amid the tools of his trade lay a canvas-covered body.
A surprising number of stable hands had found their way into the courtyard, and Florin saw several maids watching from various windows.
The castle-keep gestured. ‘Go on, uncover it.’
The stone-mason flicked the canvas back to reveal a body. It was too small to be Byren’s Relief made Florin dizzy.
‘Fyn Rolen Kingson,’ the stone-mason announced.
Fyn had survived the fall of the abbey to join his brother, Byren. The last time Florin had seen Fyn alive was at the Battle of Narrowneck, and since this body had been burned badly enough to make identification difficult, it could be...
‘Fyn Rolen Kingson?’ The castle-keep sounded dubious. ‘What makes you think this is him?’
In answer the old man held up a pendant on a chain. It had been badly damaged by fire, but it was still identifiable.
‘The royal foenix!’ a woman cried. Others gasped.
‘It’s half-melted,’ the castle-keep objected.
‘That’s because I found it with the body. I was in charge of rebuilding the burned chamber at the abbey.’
Fyn had escaped the abbey alive. The body could not be his.
‘What’s this I hear about the missing kingson?’ a man with an Ostronite accent asked. He wore the thigh-length tabard of a castle servant, richly embroidered on the chest and shoulders. ‘Why wasn’t I sent for? His lordship needs to be informed.’
The castle-keep cast the stone-mason a look, then lowered her voice. ‘How do we know it is the missing kingson, Amil? The royal foenix is so badly damaged, it could be a fake. The reward for finding the kingson’s body is substantial...’
They both glanced to the body on the cart.
‘I found him,’ the stone-mason said. ‘I want the reward.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ The castle-keep sniffed. ‘But this—’
‘If Fyn Rolen Kingson lived, he would have come to reclaim his father’s throne by now,’ Amil said. ‘He must be dead.’
This was what Florin had heard whispered in the taverns in town. With Byren sent to Merofynia to be executed, the people thought King Rolen’s kin were all dead, except for the bastard’s son—Cobalt.
‘Send for Lord Cobalt,’ Amil ordered. ‘He’ll want to verify this.’
The castle-keep signalled a servant, then strode off.
Later, when word came that Lord Cobalt wanted to lay his cousin to rest that very afternoon, she muttered under her breath. ‘Just what I need, another ceremony to organise. Lucky for us the new abbot happens to be visiting the castle. He can say words, but we can’t have the burial place being turned into a shrine. The body will have to be burned.’
Florin held her tongue as she helped the castle-keep arrange the funeral of the false kingson. If Cobalt suspected he had been fleeced by the stone-mason, he did not reveal it. And why should he, when it suited him to declare all of King Rolen’s kin dead?
PIRO LOOKED UP as someone tapped on her cabin door. She sat on the bunk, hugging her knees and nursing her sense of injustice. When she’d come aboard the Wyvern’s Whelp, the captain had tried to give her his cabin. She’d argued that wasn’t the kingsdaughter anymore, and she didn’t want to be treated like one. She wanted Tyro to go away and Dunstany to come back, but the Lord Dunstany she’d known had never been real. Tyro had disguised himself as Dunstany so that he could advise the Merofynian king, and even that had not saved Rolencia.
The tapping came again.
‘Oh, come in.’
Tyro opened the door but did not enter. ‘Kingsdaughter—’
‘I’m not giving up my lessons.’ Piro hated it when the agent resorted to formality. ‘You promised you’d teach me how to control my Affinity and you haven’t.’
‘The ship is hardly the place for—’
‘I know you went back to the palace after we came on board.’ Grievances left festering since they’d set sail from Merofynia bubbled up. ‘What did you say about me?’
‘Not everything is about you, child. Dunstany held a war table discussion about how best to hold the kingdom.’ He tilted his head to study her. ‘Why? What did you think—’
‘I don’t know what to think. I don’t even know your real name!’
‘Piro...’ He slipped into the cabin, closing the door. ‘I know you are impatient.’
That wasn’t the half of it. Her Affinity was driving her crazy. ‘The power... it has to be used!’
‘I know.’ He reached into his pocket, pulling out a stone on a silver chain. ‘This is for you.’
Piro slipped off the bunk and crossed the cabin in three steps. As much as she hated the restrictions of being female, she loved pretty things, and the pendant was... ‘Lovely, but how is it going to help me with—’
‘This is not a piece of jewellery. This is the same stone as the orb on the tip of Dunstany’s staff.’
‘But that one’s almost clear. This is blue.’
‘The stone comes in many colours. Remember how Dunstany focused power—’
‘Lightning struck the tip of his staff.’
‘Power
attracts power. Lightning had gathered in the clouds looking for a path to earth.’ He frowned as she went to interrupt. ‘Are you going to let me finish?’
She nodded, and he smiled despite himself. At that moment she quite liked him.
‘The first step is to learn to focus your power, Piro, then control it. Watch me.’
She felt him gather his Affinity. The blue stone stirred, warming with an inner radiance she found entrancing.
‘Now you try.’
Piro concentrated. She had no trouble calling on her power, but she couldn’t focus it in the stone. Instead, it focused in her hands, as it would if she was about to pet one of the Affinity beasts in her grandfather’s menagerie. Only her foenix was not here to absorb the power. It coiled within her until frustration made her spin on her heel and fling herself on her bunk.
‘Really, Piro!’
She glowered at the agent. He was part of the problem, although she didn’t understand why.
As he dropped the pendant into her palm, she felt the buzz of his power in the stone, and that annoyed her too. She should have been able to do this.
‘Practise, Piro. Your control must match your ability. When you can make the stone glow, come to me for your next lesson.’
He sounded like Dunstany, and she felt her eyes burn with tears of loss. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Thank you, Tyro.’
He paused with his hand on the door. ‘My name’s Siordun.’ Then he left.
‘Siordun...’
He was Dunstany’s bastard grandson, which was how he was able to pass for him. This explained the ‘dun’ part of his name. His mother had probably been called Siorra. He’d told her his mother had sold him to the mage when he was five. But he’d also said the mage had discovered his strong Affinity and claimed him.
Since his other grandfather was Mage Tsulamyth, it wasn’t surprising that he had strong Affinity.
Tyro—Siordun thought he was so smart.
He had everyone fooled. Byren and Orrade didn’t even know that Lord Dunstany was really him. Isolt and Fyn knew, but they didn’t know about his other disguise.
No one but Piro knew that Tyro was also Mage Tsulamyth.
Back on Ostron Isle, she’d discovered him masquerading as the mage and had wormed the truth from him. For nearly two hundred years, fear of Mage Tsulamyth’s wrath had kept rogue Power-workers in line. When twin Utland Power-workers had ambushed the mage and fatally wounded him, he had died in Siordun’s arms.
Rather than see all Mage Tsulamyth’s good work destroyed, Siordun had stepped into his master’s shoes. It had always been intended that he would assume the mantle of Mage Tsulamyth, just as his master had done, ever since the real mage had died and his own apprentice had taken on the name. But Siordun hadn’t finished his training; all that kept him safe from rogue Power-workers was the mage’s reputation and bluff.
Now he was training her, and she had to prove herself worthy.
Piro attempted to focus her power in the stone, but no matter how hard she tried, her Affinity would not behave. It felt like the stone refused to accept her power.
Instead, power settled in her hands again. The sensation reminded of her of her pet foenix, Resolute. She missed him terribly. Ever since her Affinity had manifested, she’d been letting Resolute absorb excess power from her skin.
Now it was time for her to take control.
As Piro stared at the beautiful blue pendant, determination solidified within her. She was not leaving the cabin until she could make the stone glow.
She’d show Siordun!
Chapter Four
SEEING ISOLT HAPPY made Fyn happy. The royal barge boasted every possible luxury, but the young queen spent all her time with her pet Affinity beast. She tossed sea-fruit into the air for the wyvern to catch. ‘Here, Loyalty!’
Lithe and powerful, the beast leapt to catch the pungent treat. As Loyalty’s sharp teeth snapped shut, five of the queen’s guards cheered. Truly, Isolt had earned her name: Isolt Wyvern Queen.
Loyalty preened, enjoying the attention while she watched Isolt for more treats.
‘The beast is clever,’ the abbot of Mulcibar Abbey observed, joining Fyn. ‘According to my sources, Affinity beasts are as smart as five-year-olds.’
‘You can’t compare them to children. They’re beasts, with a craving for power. They don’t think like people.’
The abbot cast Fyn a thoughtful look. ‘Then you’ll forgive me if I speak plainly. It won’t be long before the wyvern matures. When that happens, she’ll feel the call of her kind, and if our queen hasn’t bonded with her—’
‘They’ll bond.’
‘Perhaps, but...’ Abbot Murheg broke off and his lips twitched as he removed a stray wyvern scale from the cuff of his red velvet robe. ‘Best to be wary, Lord Protector Merofyn.’
Fyn had never expected to become lord protector, just as he had never expected to be advised by an abbot. Murheg was forty years younger than the abbot of Halcyon Abbey; to have risen so quickly, he had to be both clever and ruthless, despite his affectations.
Piro’s pet foenix, Resolute, gave voice, his mournful cry cutting through the shouts of the queen’s guards. Perched on the barge’s figurehead, the foenix was the symbol of Rolencia. When Byren reclaimed the throne, he would take Resolute home, but it wasn’t Byren who’d reared the Affinity bird from a hatchling. Resolute clearly missed Piro.
The abbot made an offhand gesture. ‘Which branch of Halcyon Abbey did you say you belonged to?’
‘I didn’t.’ Fyn met the abbot’s eyes. Murheg was his height. At seventeen, Fyn was still growing, but he would never be as big as his brothers—his brother. He found it hard to believe Lence was dead. No time to mourn. Concentrate. If the abbot knew he had been accepted by the mystics, he would assume Fyn had strong Affinity and be on his guard. But Fyn’s Affinity was only slight. It had been thanks to Piro’s interference that he’d found the pendant known as Halcyon’s Fate and seen the vision that had secured him a place with the mystics. And it had been thanks to the Merofynian invasion that the abbey had fallen before he could begin his studies. ‘I had only just finished my acolyte training.’
The dark-haired abbot nodded.‘Halcyon’s monks spend longer as acolytes than we do.’
And Mulcibar’s monks despised their counterparts. A fierce rivalry raged between the abbeys of Rolencia and Merofynia; just as fierce as the rivalry between the gods of winter and summer. This was why Merofynia’s abbot and abbess had both insisted on accompanying the young queen on the royal barge.
Luckily, Isolt was no fool.
Fyn could not hear what the white-robed abbess had just whispered in Isolt’s ear. The young queen cast Fyn a quick look. If the abbess was trying to destroy Isolt’s trust in him, she’d fail. Isolt knew he was loyal, loyal to her and loyal to Byren...
More’s the pity.
But he mustn’t think like that. Aware of the abbot’s sharp eyes, Fyn looked away. No one must suspect.
The wyvern uttered a cry that would normally have sent men running for cover. She flexed her wings, exhibiting shimmering arcs of silky leather. Not to be outdone, Resolute flew down from the figurehead and landed near Loyalty. Puffing up his feathers, he extended his head-crest.
Although neither beast was fully grown yet, the intent was clear—proud display that could quickly turn to aggression.
The wyvern’s tail coiled and uncoiled, and she nudged Isolt. Resolute edged closer to the queen. Isolt clicked her tongue and both beasts presented their throats for petting.
As the queen stroked them, a rumbling sound of pleasure came from deep within the Affinity beasts’ chests. Isolt laughed and glanced over her shoulder to Fyn. Sunlight sparkled on the Landlocked Sea, making Isolt’s blue-black hair gleam. Joy illuminated her black eyes.
She stole his breath. But she was promised to his brother Byren, to cement the peace between their two kingdoms. Fyn was just her servant, her lord protector.
<
br /> Hers to command.
‘Fyn?’ Isolt sent him a quizzical look.
He gestured to the Affinity beasts. ‘They love you.’ Isolt smiled. While King Merofyn still lived, she had been on edge, watching everything she said and did. Back then it had been a matter of survival. Now, she was learning to laugh again and, every time she did, it made Fyn’s heart rise. If anything or anyone threatened her, he’d cut them down in a heartbeat. She may not be his, but there was no shame in looking as she leant forward to hug the wyvern and the foenix, revealing the sweet curve of her waist and hips.
‘It’s good to see the foenix and wyvern getting on,’ Abbot Murheg said.
‘Good to see Rolencia and Merofynia at peace,’ Fyn agreed. As if he needed another reminder why Isolt could never be his.
‘The wyvern’s horns could rip a man’s belly open,’ the barge captain warned as he joined them. He ducked his head. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, Lord Protector Merofyn, but seein’ the beastie so near our queen makes me uncomfortable.’
‘Loyalty adores Isolt,’ Fyn said.
‘Maybe... but it’s not natural, keepin’ a saltwater wyvern for a pet. Even the smaller freshwater variety are too dangerous. All the captains of the Landlocked Sea avoid the wyvern eyries.’
Frustration welled up in Fyn. He’d been taught to fear Power-workers, taught that Affinity was only safe when under the guardianship of the abbeys, but after serving Mage Tsulamyth he knew that it was all a lie. He refused to kill two innocent Affinity beasts.
‘That’s all for now,’ Isolt told the foenix and wyvern. They looked downcast. She laughed and glanced to Fyn. ‘I swear they understand every word I say.’
A servant approached with warm, scented water for Isolt to wash her hands, and another offered scented oil to keep her skin soft. Even so, when Isolt joined Fyn, he sensed the residual power on her skin. Unlike him, Isolt had no natural Affinity. The beasts’ wild power clung to her skin like an exotic perfume, alluring, intoxicating and...
Oh, he had it bad.
‘We’ll arrive at Lord Benvenute’s estate in time for the evenin’ meal, my queen,’ the barge captain said. ‘The Benetir people will stage entertainments and...’
King Breaker Page 3