‘It’s the code of the sea. If he’s a hot-lander he becomes a slave. If he’s an Utlander, he serves his saviours for seven years and then goes home.’
‘Like seven-year slaves.’ He saw Luvrenc didn’t understand. ‘In the hot-lands—’
Vesnibor shouldered Garzik as he walked past, knocking him into Luvrenc. Garzik realised it would go hard on the lad when he deserted the ship. ‘You shouldn’t be seen talking to me,’ he said.
Luvrenc snorted and made a rude sign at Vesnibor’s back. ‘I’m not afraid of him.’
‘You should be. He’s one of Jost’s supporters.’ Garzik wanted to say more, but he couldn’t reveal his plans, so he went below to the galley.
After collecting a plate of beans for Trafyn, he slung a fresh sack of watered wine over his shoulder. Adjusting his step for the roll of the ship, Garzik headed for the ladder to middeck, but found Jost and his two half-brothers barring his way.
Jost gestured for Garzik to put the food down and come with him.
Garzik heard Olbin’s voice on the middeck and looked up to the patch of light above. ‘I earned my freedom. I don’t have to—’
The blow came so fast he didn’t have time to dodge. One moment he was standing with a wine skin over his shoulder and a plate of beans in one hand. The next moment blood was dripping into his eyes, he’d dropped everything and he was on his knees. He gasped as a foot slammed into his ribs and he flew sideways, sprawling on the floor. Before he could suck in a painful breath, Jost took his legs and his supporters took his arms. Between them, they carried him towards an empty cabin.
Garzik twisted and writhed, yelling for the cook. ‘I’m a free man. Tell them!’
The cook came out of the galley with an evil grin.
Fury and indignation fired Garzik. Every instinct told him to fight, but there were four of them and he was powerless to stop them.
When it was over, Jost laced up his breeches and sneered at him. ‘Go on. Or do yer want more of the same?’
Shaking with anger, Garzik pulled up his breeches while his four tormentors opened some wine and passed the bottles around.
Wincing with each breath, Garzik left the cabin, making for the ladder to middeck. His lower lip stung where it had split, and he wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. As he stepped over the spilled food, his head wound started bleeding again. Blinking back tears of fury, he wiped the blood from his eyes.
The need for justice consumed Garzik. Climbing out onto middeck, he looked for Olbin and Rusan and spotted them on the high reardeck.
They’d be furious. They’d go right down there to confront Jost. It was stupid of Jost and his supporters to linger in the cabin drinking. They’d get what they deserved. Rusan and Olbin would...
Walk right into a trap. Garzik paused halfway up the steps to the reardeck. This was exactly what the one-eared warrior wanted—a chance to ambush Rusan and Olbin away from their supporters.
Garzik finished climbing the steps deep in thought.
As he walked towards the brothers, the big Utlander glanced his way and saw that Garzik was bleeding. Olbin swore softly.
Rusan frowned. ‘What happened to you?’
Garzik held up his hand. ‘Promise to listen before you do anything?’
They exchanged looks, then nodded.
‘Jost and three others are waiting below deck to ambush the pair of you.’
‘They did this to you?’ Olbin asked.
Garzik wiped blood from his eyes. ‘They did it to make you angry and lure you below.’
‘I told you Jost is dangerous.’ Olbin turned to Rusan. ‘You can’t trust him.’
‘I don’t.’ Rusan grimaced in frustration. ‘But I can’t confront him until I’ve won back the confidence of the crew. We lost the oracles—’
‘Which wasn’t your fault,’ Garzik insisted. ‘Vultar took them.’
Rusan shrugged. ‘We’ve been too long at sea without a prize, and three men died in the last raid.’ He put a hand on Olbin’s shoulder. ‘After this raid on Port Mero, we’ll either be dead or renowned throughout the Utlands. Until then, watch my back?’
Olbin gave a reluctant nod. ‘What of Wynn? We can’t let the insult go unpunished.’
The captain met Garzik’s eyes. ‘I promise they’ll pay.’
Olbin nodded. ‘I’ll hold Jost down while you give him a dose of his own medicine.’
Garzik didn’t know what to say.
Rusan nudged them both. ‘Vesnibor’s watching. Give him something to tell Jost.’ And he threw back his head, laughing as if Garzik had said something funny.
Olbin followed a heartbeat later.
Garzik found that he could laugh long and loud. Let the one-eared warrior make what he could of it.
FYN KNOCKED ON the door of Isolt’s cabin. ‘Are you ready?’
She came out, dressed in royal blue as befitted a Merofynian queen. Abbot Murheg and Abbess Celunyd followed one step behind her. They wore rich vestments, inlaid with semi-precious stones that glittered in the mid-morning light. Seeing them, Fyn felt very much the outsider.
Of Sefarra there was no sign. Isolt looked around. ‘Where...’
‘I had the barge captain set up a dais over there,’ Fyn said. ‘I’ll go fetch the new warlord and his son.’
He went across the deck, past Captain Elrhodoc and his men, dressed in their finest. Fyn caught Rhalwyn’s eye and the young Affinity beast-keeper nodded. He’d done what Fyn had asked.
Satisfied with the preparations, Fyn left the royal barge. Ahead of him, the remainder of the spar warriors stood lined up on the shore, where they would have a clear view of events.
Fyn strode towards Warlord Cortovar and his son. The boy looked a little red-eyed, but otherwise seemed determined to do the right thing. Fyn met Cortovar’s gaze and the spar warrior nodded. He didn’t like it, but knew what was expected of him.
Fyn escorted them both back to the royal barge, to Isolt who was seated on a chair on the hastily rigged dais.
Warlord Cortovar went to drop to one knee.
‘Wait.’ Fyn beckoned the warlord’s son. ‘Cortomir, you wanted to see the wyvern? First, take this.’ Fyn dipped into the basket Rhalwyn carried and handed the spar boy a sheep’s hind leg. Then he clicked his tongue to call the Affinity beasts.
Without warning both Loyalty and Resolute swooped down from the mast to land on the deck between Isolt and the warlord. Confronted by a wyvern and a foenix, Cortomir took a step back.
Fyn put his hand on the lad’s shoulder. ‘Show no fear. Hold out the meat.’
Cortomir raised it gingerly. With a snap, Loyalty’s strong jaws closed on the bone and she went took it to sit at Isolt’s feet. The foenix gave voice, indignant at not being fed.
Fyn selected another large bone from the basket and gave it to Cortomir. The foenix’s sharp talons flashed out, closing around the bone. The bird took his meat and joined the wyvern in front of Isolt’s dais.
Fyn went to stand next to the foenix and gestured Cortomir over. As the lad went to him, Fyn met Warlord Cortovar’s eyes, his message clear: I have your son. His life is in my hands.
Not that Fyn would hurt an innocent lad of ten, but Cortovar didn’t know this.
Fyn nodded to Isolt, who took over proceedings. She’d already had the documents drawn up. Compensation would be paid to the Benetir Estate for the loss of life, and Lord Wytharon’s heir would to be recompensed for the loss of his grandfather and aunt. All these documents required the warlord of Centicore spar’s signature, or at least his mark.
Fyn had crushed an ambitious spar warlord and replaced him with a more reasonable man. He had proven himself as Queen Isolt’s lord protector at last.
BYREN TRIED TO contain his impatience as he lowered the farseer. They’d only just passed the outlying islands of Amfina Spar so they were still at least a day from Rolencia. There was no quick way to sail home from Merofynia. It was either pick your way between the spars’ tips and their shatter
ed islands, or swing wide and risk an encounter with Utland raiders.
‘Not long now,’ the captain said, accepting the farseer. ‘We’ll be through the passage and into Rolencia Bay by midday tomorrow, and docked by evening.’
Byren nodded. They’d lost a day searching for Orrade, which he did not regret in the slightest, but it meant he would be a day behind the news of his survival reaching Cobalt.
‘What will you do?’ the captain asked. ‘There’ll be other men like Talltrees, ready to sell you to the usurper for a bag of gold.’
‘But there are more, many more, who are loyal to my father,’ Byren said, hoping it was true.
He returned to the cabin, where he found Orrade on his feet, staring out the window. As his friend turned, the midday light revealed features pared back by suffering and Byren was reminded of Orrade’s father, the Old Dove. Austere and implacable, nothing would stop the old lord. Orrade might be a lover of men, but he was very much his father’s son.
His friend stretched and grimaced. ‘I swear I feel a hundred years old.’
‘Eat.’ Byren gestured to the table, which had been laid with lunch. ‘You need to recover your strength.’
‘We both do.’ Orrade glanced to the table. ‘Smells good.’
Byren’s stomach rumbled. ‘We reach—’
‘I thought I was as good as dead. I thought you’d be delivered to Cobalt, trussed like a turkey.’ Orrade’s voice faltered. ‘I thought I’d failed you.’
‘Never.’ Byren grasped his shoulder. ‘I was the one who failed you. I couldn’t stop them throwing you overboard.’
‘You came back for me.’
‘What else would I do?’ He poured them both a glass of wine and raised his. ‘To friendship.’
‘To friendship. May nothing come between us.’
Byren grinned. ‘Nothing ever could.’
BACK IN PORT Mero, news of Fyn’s success spread fast. The barbarians of Centicore Spar had been taught a lesson. There would be no more raiding parties, not while Lord Protector Merofyn held the new warlord’s son hostage. It was very satisfying, but as Fyn approached the queen’s chambers, he heard Lady Gennalla trying to soothe Benowyth’s sobs and Sefarra’s raised, angry voice.
‘How could you bring him in here?’
Fyn reached the doorway in time to see Sefarra gesture to the fireplace, where both Affinity beasts lifted their heads and whined.
‘Don’t you like the foenix?’ Fyn asked as he strode into the chamber.
Sefarra glared at him. ‘I meant the spar brat!’
Fyn hadn’t spotted Cortomir, who stood on the far side of the fireplace. Clearly uncomfortable, the lad shifted from foot to foot. With the Centicore emblem on his spar vest, he was an unwelcome reminder of all the indignities Sefarra had endured at his father’s and uncle’s hands. Isolt flushed to the roots of her hair. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t—’
‘Didn’t think?’ Sefarra cut her off. ‘How—’
‘She said she was sorry. Now keep your voice down, Sefarra,’ Lady Gennalla admonished. ‘You’re upsetting Benny.’
‘Don’t cry, little boy,’ Cortomir said, looking around for something to distract the three-year-old. He spotted one of Isolt’s silk shawls hanging over the back of a day-bed, grabbed it. Throwing it over his own head, he put his hands out and stumbled about the room. ‘Where am I? Where did everyone go?’
Benowyth stopped weeping to watch him.
Emboldened, Cortomir fell over the wyvern’s tail.
The toddler chuckled.
Cortomir rolled to his feet and waved the shawl around in a flamboyant salute. The end of the shawl flew past Loyalty’s face and she snapped at it.
Benowyth laughed.
‘Ho! A game...’ Cortomir cast the toddler a quick look to make sure he was still watching, then flicked the shawl near Loyalty again. This time both beasts went for it.
With a yell of delight, Cortomir took off running around the chamber, leaping from chair to table, always just out of reach of the beasts. Lady Gennalla was not impressed, but young Benowyth chortled with glee as the Affinity beasts gave chase, clawed feet scrambling on the polished parquet floor.
The spar lad jumped over a table, then ran around the day-bed, past Lady Gennalla and her grandson, who struggled in his grandmother’s arms wanting to join in the fun.
Cortomir found himself trapped between the Affinity beasts and the table. It looked like he would have to give up the shawl. But he dived under the table, rolled out the far side and came up, waving the shawl like a trophy.
‘Oh, well done!’ Isolt clapped as the lad took off again.
Fyn glanced over to Sefarra. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
‘Watch out!’ Isolt cried.
Fyn was in time to see Loyalty take a corner too wide. Her tail toppled an exquisite Ostronite vase, which smashed to pieces.
Cortomir, Loyalty and Resolute all skidded to a halt.
‘I’m sorry,’ the lad said. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Isolt said.
‘Doesn’t matter?’ Lady Gennalla shrieked. Benowyth’s bottom lip trembled. ‘That was a gift from the Ostronite elector. What’s he going to say?’
‘Nothing, because I will replace it,’ Isolt said quickly.
‘Clumsy beast!’ Lady Gennalla rounded on the wyvern.
Loyalty whimpered.
‘Wasn’t her fault,’ Cortomir stepped in front of the wyvern. ‘I got her overexcited.’
‘Stupid boy.’
‘Don’t pick on him, Mother,’ Sefarra said. ‘He was only trying to help.’
‘You...’ Lady Gennalla shook her head. ‘A moment ago, you couldn’t stand the sight of him. I swear I’ll never understand you. I used to wish you’d stop filling your head with useless history. Now, it doesn’t matter. You’ll never catch a husband—’ The noblewoman gasped and covered her mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’
Sefarra shrugged. ‘I don’t want a husband.’
‘Then devote yourself to Cyena Abbey.’
‘I don’t want to waste my life praying.’
‘It doesn’t matter what you want now. Have you no shame? No sense of family honour?’
Sefarra’s face hardened, and Fyn recognised the girl who’d taken her captor’s head and balls.
Lady Gennalla must have realised she would get no more from Sefarra, because she rounded on the wyvern. ‘Who keeps an Affinity beast this size for a pet? Today it was the vase, what will it be tomorrow? Both you girls need to grow up!’ And she stormed out, taking her frightened grandson with her.
Sefarra turned to Isolt. ‘I’m sorry. Mother doesn’t—’
‘No, she’s right. Loyalty is too big to be kept indoors. But I can hardly send her to the stables.’
‘She might eat the horses,’ Cortomir said.
All of them stared at him.
Cortomir shrugged. ‘Well, she might.’
Fyn tried not to smile.
‘I don’t care what anyone says. I’m not locking up Loyalty,’ Isolt said. The wyvern sought comfort and Isolt petted her. ‘She’s smart. It would break her heart if I had to shut her away.’
Sensing something was wrong, the foenix went to Fyn, who rubbed his throat. ‘They don’t belong in the palace. Resolute should be living high in the mountains. He should be spending his days flying and hunting. Loyalty would be happiest at sea, living in an eyrie.’
‘As you suggesting I turn them loose?’ Anger burned in Isolt’s cheeks.
‘No, but we need to find a better place for them. Back in Rolenhold, my grandfather had a courtyard converted into a menagerie.’
‘That’s it!’ Isolt’s face lit up. ‘The Grotto Garden! It was my favourite place when I first came here. Father couldn’t be bothered with me, and Mother faded away after losing three baby boys. I used to sneak away to the grotto.’
Fyn felt for the lonely child that Isolt had been. ‘Why don’t we go take a look right now?’
&nb
sp; Isolt clicked her tongue and both Affinity beasts followed her. Sefarra and Cortomir fell into step behind them. Fyn wished, just once, that he could be alone with Isolt.
The young queen knew the palace better than him. She went down the corridor, through a linking verandah then into the next building.
‘It’s like a maze,’ Cortomir marvelled. ‘Are we still in the palace?’
Isolt laughed. ‘Every time a new king came to the throne, they set out to leave their mark on the palace. Some built towers, some built whole new wings, others refurbished old buildings or added conservatoriums. But there is only one Grotto Garden.’ She slowed and her eyes went very wide. ‘Built by the Mad Boy King!’
‘Was he angry-mad or crazy-mad?’ Cortomir asked.
‘Mad-lonely if you ask me,’ Fyn said.
Isolt met his eyes over the boy’s head and they shared a smile.
‘We’re going west,’ Cortomir announced.
‘How do you know? Fyn asked.
‘Each time I glimpse the Landlocked Sea, it’s on my right.’
‘Very clever,’ Sefarra said. She seemed to be warming to the lad.
‘This way.’ Isolt led them down some steps and into an older wing.
The chamber was full of outdated furniture. Ahead, a row of floor to ceiling glass doors opened onto a terrace. In the distance, Fyn could see the Landlocked Sea.
As they stepped out onto the terrace, Fyn saw that they were at one end of a long crescent of three-storey buildings. An ornate staircase led up to the first floor verandah, while wide steps led down from the terrace to a lawn embellished with a fountain, and beyond that was a high hedge. Presumably the grotto garden lay between this and the Landlocked Sea.
With a whoop, Cortomir and the Affinity beasts took off, down the shallow steps and across the formal lawn racing towards the hedge.
Sefarra frowned. ‘Should we stop them?’
‘Let them have their fun.’ Isolt smiled. ‘Come and see the grotto.’
Fyn followed Isolt and Sefarra down the steps.
‘I like this garden best,’ Isolt confided. ‘Everywhere else, there are formal terraces stepping down to the sea. Here, beyond the hedge, the gardens have grown wild.’
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