She hurried over to him, full of righteous indignation. ‘Have you heard about the pet wyverns?’
‘No.’ He walked off and she had to hurry to keep up with him as he led her through the building, towards the formal courtyard. ‘I’ve been busy trying to avert a war, if you hadn’t noticed.’
‘If they don’t bond with their owners, they’re killed!’
‘I’m not surprised.’ He strode between the citrus trees. ‘I told them making pets of wyverns was not a good idea. Certainly they are intelligent and beautiful, and the pups are very winsome, but they aren’t like abeilles or pica birds. The more intelligent, the more dangerous—’
‘We have to do something.’
‘The fashion’s changed, Piro. The Ostronites are constructing observatories to study the stars. They believe the stars can foretell—’
‘But what about the wyverns? I can’t just stand back and let them kill Affinity beasts.’
‘Affinity beasts get killed all the time.’ His sharp black eyes studied her. ‘As I recall, your brothers were renowned for their hunting skills. Byren the Leogryf Slayer?’
She flushed. ‘Only in defence of villagers.’
‘You killed a manticore.’
‘It was trying to kill me!’ He was deliberately misunderstanding her. She wanted to shake him, but they had entered the building. Their voices echoed up to the vaulted ceiling far above. ‘I know better now. We have to stop this. We have to free the pet wyverns.’
‘So their own kind can kill them? I’m sorry Piro, but wyverns are social animals, much like horses or manticores. Is the wyvern male or—’
‘Male.’
‘Then the other males would kill it.’
‘I want to speak with the comtissa. Which reminds me, where’s the younger comtissa anyway? The one who was there the night the elector—’
‘Lower your voice!’ He glanced around quickly. ‘She died when the great houses fought over the new elector. Besides, you weren’t there the night the last elector died. That was Isolt and her maid, not—’
‘I know. I’m not stupid.’
‘Listen, Piro. You are to stay here, with the comtissa. She will—’
‘No...’ Piro took a step back. ‘You said you’d take me to Mage Isle. You said you’d teach me.’
‘Yes, I know. But the voyage gave me time to think, and you must see that’s impossible. You’re a kingsdaughter. While I’m—’
‘I know exactly who you are, and I preferred Lord Dunstany to you any day!’ She’d loved the old lord and missed him fiercely. Tears burned her eyes. She found it hard to reconcile Siordun with his other identities. The voyage home was the longest time she’d spent with him in his true form. ‘Lord Dunstany was kind to me. You’re always snapping at me. Everything I do is wrong. You’re as bad as my mother.’
His mouth tightened and a flush crept up his cheeks.
‘I miss her,’ Piro admitted. ‘I never thought I would, but...’
‘I’m sorry, Piro, so sorry.’ Siordun sighed. ‘I cannot take you to Mage Isle. It was foolish of me to even suggest it. You’re almost of marriageable age—’
She laughed. ‘I’m never going to marry. I told you I don’t want to be just another game piece.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ He appeared embarrassed for her. ‘It would be unseemly to stay alone with me in the tower.’
‘But you’re so old.’ She rolled her eyes. He had to be at least twenty-five. ‘Besides, we wouldn’t be alone. The mage will be there.’
He frowned in warning.
She smiled sweetly, assuming the innocent look that used to fool her father’s guards. ‘No one would think it improper if I stayed with Mage Tsulamyth.’
‘You don’t want to stay with a crotchety old mage,’ the comtissa said, making her slow, painful way down the stairs towards them.
A youth of about Fyn’s age aided her with his good arm; the other arm was bound and strapped in a sling. Although a trifle pale, he looked determined. He was dressed in the Ostronite fashion. His coat was tapered at the waist, and there was lace at his throat and wrists. Like the sea-hound captain, he wore his long black curls loose on his shoulders. In fact, now that she looked more closely, he bore a strong resemblance to Nefysto, except his cheeks were soft. And he was as beautiful as a girl, while the sea-hound captain was strong-jawed and handsome. She revised the lad’s age down from seventeen to fifteen—Garzik’s age, had he survived the invasion.
Garzik’s death hit her all over again.
Garzik and Elina were lost, Lence, too. Her father no longer sat on the throne with her mother to advise him. Rolencia was no longer her home, and now Siordun was trying to get rid of her. Panic pierced Piro. She gulped in a breath and fought to slow her racing heart.
The comtissa negotiated the last step and gestured grandly. ‘I offer you the protection of House Cinnamome, Pirola Rolen Kingsdaughter. This is my grandson, Kaspian, the new Comtes Cinnamome. Kaspian can escort you to balls and concerts. You’ll have pretty dresses and flirt with the handsomest youths of Ostron Isle’s five families. By midsummer you’ll have broken a dozen hearts!’
Piro turned to Siordun in horror. ‘Please, don’t leave me here.’
‘Piro.’ He sent the comtissa an apologetic look and as he took Piro’s hands in both of his, speaking kindly, he reminded her of Lord Dunstany. ‘You’ll have a wonderful time. I’ll come to visit every day and give you lessons. Soon you’ll be sick of the sight of me.’
Piro shook her head. Even before her family and friends had been murdered, she’d never enjoyed parties. Now that they were all dead...
She could not contain her tears. Sobs shattered her. Siordun went to take her in his arms, then hesitated.
‘Poor dear.’ The comtissa waved him off. ‘After what the child’s been through...’
Before Piro knew what was happening, the comtissa had swept her into a gardenia-scented embrace. Soon Piro found herself in luxurious private chambers where the comtissa tried to divert her with talk of dresses and parties.
Piro had never been more miserable in her life.
Chapter Fifteen
FYN SURVEYED THE hotchpotch flotilla that followed the royal barge across the Landlocked Sea. The sun set behind them, painting the sails a brilliant orange. The city-watch crowded onto the royal barge with the queen’s guards. There were several small fishing boats, two broad-bellied merchant boats packed with hired swords and sturdy workmen, and the three pleasure yachts, belonging to Lords Wytharon, Travany and Benvenute.
Self-interest was a great motivator.
The captain of the city-watch joined Fyn and Isolt at the prow. Captain Elrhodoc stiffened at his approach.
‘The barge captain tells me we’re making good time,’ Aeran said. ‘Hopefully, we’ll surprise the greedy warlord before his men remember where they left their weapons.’
‘You bring us luck, my queen.’ Elrhodoc gave Isolt a graceful half-bow.
The contrast between the handsome nobleman and the grizzled captain of the city-watch was never more evident, but Fyn knew which man he would trust at his back.
One of the city-watchmen gave a yelp as Isolt’s wyvern snapped at him. Three of the queen’s guards laughed and urged the wyvern on.
‘I trust your men won’t let us down.’ Elrhodoc turned to Aeran. ‘They’re used to dealing with pickpockets masquerading as jugglers and raddled whores, not hardened spar warriors.’
‘I hope your parade-ground warriors don’t let us down.’ The light of battle gleamed in Aeran’s eyes. ‘From what I hear, they are most comfortable dealing cards and juggling whores.’
Elrhodoc flushed. ‘At least my men aren’t the sons of whores.’
Aeran bristled.
There was a shout of laughter. Two more of the city-watch had joined the first, bringing the foenix with them. The watchmen threatened to turn the foenix on the wyvern.
‘Stop!’ Fyn and Isolt yelled at once.
‘Loyalty, Resolute, to me!’ Isolt called. Both Affinity beasts came at her call. ‘See to your men, Aeran.’
Furious, the captain bowed and left them.
‘Is it any wonder my men refuse to fight alongside such trash?’ Elrhodoc asked.
Isolt sent Fyn a worried look.
‘Do not fear, my queen. I’ll leave half a dozen men on the barge to keep you safe. We’ll...’ Elrhodoc broke off; the altercation had escalated. He excused himself and went over to deal with it.
Frustration filled Fyn. How could he defeat the spar warlord, when his own men were at each other’s throats? He turned to Isolt. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’
She stroked the two Affinity beasts. ‘Loyalty and Resolute won’t leave my side. If anyone tried to hurt me, they’d tear them to shreds.’
PIRO WENT DOWN to dinner, determined to catch Kaspian alone and confront him about the way he was treating his wyvern. As she watched her escort’s broad back, she wondered if she was a prisoner.
Never mind, she’d slipped past her father’s honour guards many a time. Men tended to see a dainty young woman with a pretty face and not much more.
Not Siordun. That was why it was so frustrating being cooped up here.
‘Kingsdaughter.’ The servant opened the door.
The chamber was filled with scented candles, their myriad flickering flames reflected in many gilt-edged mirrors. The sweet sound of a dolcimela greeted her as she stepped across the threshold.
Perhaps there was a chance Siordun had come to dinner. At least she wouldn’t be bored.
But when she looked over, it was Kaspian who played the stringed instrument. He’d slipped his bandaged arm free of the sling and frowned in concentration as he exercised his injured limb. The old comtissa sat by the fire watching him fondly.
Seeing Piro, she patted a footstool at her side. ‘There you are, sweetling. Feeling better? You look better. My, but that colour suits you, and the fit is excellent. Turn around. Let me look at you.’
Piro obeyed, not fooled for a moment by the old woman’s prattle. The comtissa was sharp as a blade.
The taffeta skirt swirled out. It was a red so deep it was almost burgundy. This was her family’s colour, which, she now realised, was also House Cinnamome’s colour.
‘I must thank you for the gown,’ she said. ‘It’s very pretty.’
The comtissa made a dismissive gesture. ‘A ready-made dress, but it is from Ostron Isle’s greatest fashionista. She will design originals just for you. Now, sit by my side and listen to Kaspian.’
It was warm by the fire, and Piro felt a little light-headed. She took the proffered seat and the comtissa took her hand. Despite the heat, the old woman’s fingers were cool and dry.
The moment she took the comtissa’s hand, Piro’s vision slipped from the seen to the unseen world and her Affinity surged. Under the comtissa’s powdered, painted cheeks, she saw a skull. Piro’s heart faltered, then raced so fast she found it hard to catch her breath.
The last time that Piro had seen a skull behind someone’s face, the person had been dead before the night was out. Did this mean...
‘Just look at him.’ The comtissa gestured to her grandson. With his long curled hair and soft cheeks, he had an androgynous beauty. ‘Surely a grandmother could not wish for a more handsome heir?’
‘But he’s so young,’ Piro blurted. How could he lead House Cinnamome?
‘Kaspian’s nearly sixteen. He’s been sitting beside me while I run House Cinnamome’s interests, since the last elector died. He’s trained in merchant law, speaks three languages and knows the history of the three islands. You could do worse, Pirola.’ Those sharp black eyes fixed on her. ‘Forgive an old woman for speaking plainly but, when you get to my age, you don’t have time for prevarication. You are a kingsdaughter, yet both kings of the twin isles are your brothers. Who will you marry? A brash spar warlord? An Utland barbarian? Better to ally yourself with House Cinnamome, richest of the five great merchant families of Ostron Isle.’
Piro did not know what to say. Apart from the fact that she had no intention of ever marrying, the comtissa seemed to think Fyn was king of Merofynia. ‘My brother is minding Merofynia until Byren can defeat our cousin, reclaim Rolencia and then marry Queen Isolt.’
‘What a man has, he holds. It is instinctive.’
‘Fyn’s not like that. He’s honourable.’
The comtissa squeezed her hand. ‘Think on what I’ve said. If young Kaspian is not to your liking, another of my boys is coming to dinner, my niece’s son Natteo. The gossips of Ostron Isle will tell you Nat is a dilettante, renowned only for his poetry and many lovers, but he is so much more.’
‘But I don’t want a husband,’ Piro protested.
‘What girl does not want a husband?’
Piro shook her head. ‘I just want...’ What did she want?
First she wanted to study Affinity, but then what?
Back in Rolencia those with Affinity served the abbeys, or faced banishment. She didn’t want to be shut up in an abbey, but she didn’t want power or wealth for its own sake. That left studying under Siordun, serving Mage Tsulamyth’s great plan to maintain the balance of power between the three kingdoms.
As a kingsdaughter, she’d been groomed to serve. Her mother had taught her to read and write in three languages. She knew Rolencian law, how to balance the castle accounts and how to run a castle. All good preparation for marrying into a royal family, but a queen’s reach was limited by her husband’s intelligence and the boundaries of custom.
As one of Tsulamyth’s agents, she could cross borders and change her identity at will. She could stand one step behind the rulers and influence their decisions.
She could make a real difference!
Kaspian put the dolcimela aside and joined them. He placed a fond kiss on the comtissa’s papery cheek. ‘How are you feeling tonight, grandmother?’
Piro felt a pang of jealousy. She hadn’t known either of her grandmothers.
‘Piro was just telling me how much she admired your playing,’ the comtissa lied, straight-faced. ‘You must teach her.’
‘If you wish.’ The youth gave Piro a graceful bow. She would have liked him better if he’d hadn’t been so formal.
As he took his seat in a chair upholstered in the house colours, with the crest on the high back, Piro was reminded of a throne. For all that Ostron Isle was led by an elector—she was still playing at Duelling Kingdoms.
‘Did I hear Nat’s name?’ Kaspian asked eagerly. ‘Will my cousin be coming to dinner?’
The comtissa beamed. ‘Most assuredly.’
Kaspian cast Piro a sharp glance. She got the impression he resented her presence. Before she could pursue this, the door opened and Captain Nefysto walked in.
Piro had to look twice to be sure it was really him. What had been a tendency to flamboyant dress on the Wyvern’s Whelp had become a parody on Ostron Isle. Instead of velvet, he wore a pale satin coat with ridiculously padded shoulders. His face was powdered and painted, and even his walk was different, a mince in place of the swagger of a sea-hound. From his perfumed hair to his jewelled high-heels, he was everything her brothers despised about Ostron Isle.
She glanced to Kaspian. Surely, if he was being trained to lead House Cinnamome, he knew Nefysto’s true calling.
‘Natteo.’ The comtissa beckoned Nefysto to her side, then made the formal introductions. ‘Meet Pirola Rolen Kingsdaughter.’
Nefysto’s painted black eyes laughed as he kissed her hand with an elaborate flourish.
‘Viscomtes,’ she addressed him, grateful for her mother’s lessons in protocol. ‘Natteo, how nice to finally meet you.’
‘Give an old woman time to speak with her favourite grand-nephew,’ the comtissa said. ‘Kaspian, show our guest the miniatures.’
This was Piro’s chance to ask him about his pet wyvern. He led her to the far end of the chamber, past paintings of comtes and comtissas, past silver statuettes o
f Affinity beasts and urns of fresh flowers.
‘House Cinnamome’s collection is the envy of the five houses.’ He gestured to a glass-fronted cabinet which contained intricately-jewelled miniatures of Affinity beasts. ‘Would you like to hold one?’
‘Do you want to save your wyvern?’
His beautiful lips parted in surprise.
‘Do you want to save him? They’re going to kill him, you know. Or don’t you care?’
‘Of course I care.’ He bristled. ‘Don’t presume to judge me. I raised him from a pup. I love Val.’ He lifted his bandaged arm. ‘I was trying to bond with him when this happened.’
Piro decided she liked Kaspian after all. ‘Good. Then we can save... what did you call him? Val?’
‘Valiant.’
It was such a typical name for a boy to choose that she smiled.
Kaspian frowned. ‘What?’
‘I can help you.’ She’d always been good with animals and since her Affinity had manifested she’d become even better. ‘Meet me on the balcony after supper.’
Chapter Sixteen
FLORIN LEANED ON the back of Varuska’s chair. The evening seemed interminable. She’d already counted the forest of columns holding up the great hall’s ceiling, compared the painted gilt-edged carvings and worked out how many repetitions there were per column. She glanced to Amil, who was standing behind Cobalt’s chair. How did he fend off boredom?
Would that minstrel never stop singing?
She didn’t understand why Cobalt wanted to hold another feast. After all, how many feasts did it take to legitimise his rule?
Cobalt had recognised the new lord of Steadford Estate, and awarded another markiz title, ensuring the merchant’s loyalty. The new markiz had hired a minstrel to compose a song of praise in Cobalt’s honour. If the minstrel was to be believed, Cobalt had saved the kingdom singlehandedly, from a cruel dictator and his arrogant sons.
The rewriting of King Rolen’s reign infuriated Florin.
She clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead. By chance, her gaze settled on a vicomtissa from one of the great merchant houses of Ostron Isle.
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