King Breaker

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  They followed an overgrown path that wove between blooming bushes and fruit trees, until they came upon a small lake which reflected the grotto like a mirror.

  Sefarra gasped. ‘It’s lovely.’

  ‘It’s artificial, even the pond,’ Isolt revealed.

  The grotto was built of white stone, artfully tumbled and then partially covered with earth and shrubbery so that it appeared to be part of the landscape. Two columns supported the grotto’s entrance and water lapped into the opening.

  Isolt pointed. ‘The Mad Boy King used to lie in his boat and watch the stars here.’

  ‘My mother said that sometimes he slept in the grotto,’ Fyn added.

  Loyalty frolicked in the water. Resolute stood in the shallows and cleaned his wings. Cortomir rolled up his breeches and paddled.

  Sefarra turned in a circle. ‘Why have I never seen this before?’

  Isolt laughed. ‘I’m sure there are chambers I’ve never seen, and I’ve lived here for seven years.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Wait till you see inside.’

  She led them around the pond to the back of the mound that covered the grotto then dropped to her knees muttering, ‘There used to be a secret entrance. Ahh, the wild mint grew over it.’ Pushing the mint aside, she revealed an opening just large enough for an adult to crawl through. ‘Come on.’

  Sefarra followed her, and Fyn came last. His knees and hands crushed the mint, so that he crawled through a dark, sweet smelling tunnel towards the glowing grotto.

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ Sefarra’s voice reached him.

  Fyn climbed to his feet. Directly opposite him he could see through the columns, across to the sparkling water to the far bank.

  The grotto’s white walls and domed ceiling reflected the rippling light from the pond. The water formed a shallow pool, which was just deep enough for a small boat to glide in and moor.

  ‘Where does...’ Sefarra held her hand out in a shaft of greenish light. She shaded her eyes and looked up. ‘Oh, I see. There’s odd-shaped pieces of glass set in the ceiling. What a clever idea.’

  ‘It used to be brighter,’ Isolt said. ‘But the grass must have grown over in places.’

  ‘I can fix that.’ Sefarra crawled out of the tunnel.

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Isolt caught Fyn’s eye. ‘You’d be surprised how hard it is to find the glass panels once you’re outside.’

  Fyn stretched, his fingers just brushed the ceiling. ‘Reminds me of the grotto under Mage Island.’

  Isolt smiled. ‘We were happy there.’

  ‘Yes.’ Back then, there had only been Piro to get in the way.

  From the pond, they could hear the splash of the wyvern and Cortomir’s cries of encouragement. Fyn was suddenly aware that he was alone with Isolt. His gaze was drawn to her.

  An inner radiance filled her eyes, and all sounds seemed to fade. He ached for her. Colour raced up her throat and across her cheeks. Abruptly, a beam of sunlight pierced the gloom, and they both looked up. Through the thick, grainy glass they could just make out Sefarra waving.

  ‘There you are!’ Cortomir swam into the grotto through the columns, riding on the wyvern’s back. His eyes widened. ‘This is amazing. Can I live here with the Affinity beasts? Can I?’

  Loyalty climbed out of the pool, opened her wings and sprayed them all as she shook herself dry.

  Isolt laughed. ‘This is the perfect den for an Affinity beast.’

  ‘Can I be Rhalwyn’s apprentice Affinity beast-keeper?’

  Fyn thought it the perfect solution. ‘Of course you can, if the queen agrees.’

  Cortomir turned pleading eyes to Isolt. Just then the foenix gave a mournful cry and Cortomir volunteered to lead her into the grotto.

  ‘An apprentice Affinity beast-keeper, Fyn?’ Isolt tilted her head. ‘You know Rhalwyn isn’t my official Affinity beast-keeper? He was just the cabin boy who fed Loyalty and Resolute while we were on the royal barge.’

  ‘Cortomir’s presence in the palace would be an unwelcome reminder of what his uncle did. Here he’ll be out of the way and gainfully employed. Besides, you have your duties to attend to, and Loyalty and Resolute need the company. Rhalwyn and Cortomir will have the easiest jobs in the palace.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Isolt nodded then smiled. ‘I guess we’d better tell Rhalwyn he’s been promoted.’

  A moment later, Cortomir swam into the grotto with the foenix and they told him the good news.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  MAGE ISLE WAS just as Piro remembered, but without Isolt to keep her company, she was lonely and bored by the following morning. Little Ovido trotted along behind her as they explored the citrus courtyard with its mass of blossoms. Piro sneezed.

  ‘Are the wyvern and foenix coming back?’ Ovido asked hopefully.

  ‘No, I had to leave them with Isolt in Merofynia.’

  ‘Is it true you’re a kingsdaughter, too?’

  ‘Of course she is,’ Cragore said, with all the scorn of an older brother. ‘And she doesn’t want to be bothered by a silly six-year-old.’

  ‘Ovido can keep me company any time he likes,’ Piro said.

  ‘No, he can’t. Unlike you, kingsdaughter, he has work to do. Come along, brat.’

  ‘For your information, I do have work,’ Piro called after Cragore as he marched his little brother off. ‘I’m here to be trained by the mage.’ Which was all very well, but until Siordun came back, there was no one to teach her.

  She glanced up to the tower, wishing Tsulamyth really did sleep in the top chamber. Last time she was here, she’d caught Siordun up there and unmasked his mage disguise. Which reminded her. The mage’s war-table was like no other—the pieces moved to reflect real world events. If she could not be with her family and friends, at least she could check on their whereabouts.

  Darting inside, she made her way to the war chamber. The balcony looked out over the Ring Sea, but Piro had eyes only for the table.

  Fyn and Isolt’s pieces were currently in Merofynia. Byren’s was on a ship nearing Rolencia, and Siordun’s was on a ship sailing for Merofynia. They were safe, or as safe as anyone could be.

  She glanced to the little statuette standing on Mage Isle. Back when Siordun had first shown her the war-table, her piece had been without a face. Her stomach clenched and she experienced a moment’s disorientation as she picked up her own piece.

  It still had no face.

  Did this mean she would become the mage’s agent and control events from behind the scenes? Or did it mean she would die before she could find her place in the world?

  Piro shivered.

  Just then a ship passed by on the Ring Sea and she heard a male voice raised in song. Piro went out onto the balcony into the sunshine, and looked down onto the Ring Sea. As the vessel passed, the singer looked up, saw her there and tipped his cap to blow her a kiss. He made her smile. So many brightly painted boats dotted the vivid blue sea it looked like a festival. And across the Ring Sea she could make out white farmhouses dotting the steep slope of the outer island. Across the distance it was too hazy to tell, but she knew the terraces were covered with workers tending vines, orchards and vegetables. Everyone had a job to do. Everyone else’s lives had purpose, except hers.

  A wave of impatience seized Piro. She felt power gather in her chest and slide down her arms until it settled in her hands. She needed to channel her Affinity but she couldn’t use the stone. She needed her foenix.

  That reminded her. Last time she was here there had been a pica pair in the mage’s chamber at the top of the tower. She glanced up to Mage Tower, so white against the clear blue sky. A black dot swooped in to land on the top balcony.

  A bird returning with a message?

  Piro took off at run. At the entrance to the staircase, she almost collided with Cragore.

  He frowned. ‘Where are you going?’

  She glanced up the stairwell, and he moved to block her. She ducked past him and took off, glad of the challenge.

  Hea
rt thumping, she ran up all five flights of stairs; but when she reached the last door, it was locked. She bent double, gasping. A moment later, Cragore rounded the bend. It pleased her to see he was just as breathless.

  She stepped aside so he could unlock the door. As he went to swing it shut, she darted past him.

  ‘These birds are my responsibility,’ he protested.

  ‘These birds belong to the mage, and I’m here to study under him.’ Ignoring his frown, Piro went over to the perch where the female had landed and was now preening her feathers.

  ‘They don’t like strangers.’

  No, but they’d like her Affinity. She held out her hands and the bird came to her, rubbing its head and throat on her skin.

  Cragore muttered disgustedly under his breath.

  Bringing the pica close to her ear, Piro tilted her head to listen to the bird’s message. Since the bird sang of Cobalt, she guessed the message came from the mage’s Rolencian agent. The bird sang of Cobalt getting married, which confirmed her vision, but...

  ‘Midsummer, Cobalt Usurper will marry Piro Kingsdaughter,’ Piro repeated the rhyme. ‘But he can’t marry me, I’m here!’

  ‘Perhaps he thinks you’re still in Merofynia and plans to kidnap you.’

  Piro was not convinced.

  Cragore shrugged. ‘I just pass on the messages.’

  He took the bird from her and went into a little room tucked behind the bed. Here she found a wall of caged pica birds, some alone and some in pairs. Each cage was marked with a symbol. On two of the cages Piro saw Lord Dunstany’s symbol, the star in the circle. She assumed one was for his estate on the shores of the Landlocked Sea, and the other for his townhouse in port near the palace. Sure enough, on closer inspection one of the cages was marked with the letter P.

  Meanwhile, Cragore had returned the bird to its mate and given the pair fresh water and food. As he closed the cage door, Piro noted the symbol—a hat.

  Cragore opened a large book in which he wrote down the message, date and time in a column under the initials R and S. Rolencia, Agent S. He tried to block her view, but she’d seen enough to work things out.

  ‘Who is this Agent S? How do you even know he can be trusted?’

  ‘She,’ he corrected. ‘She’s one of the mage’s best agents because she has access from the highest in the land to the lowest.’

  ‘She’s a servant, then?’ Piro nodded to herself. ‘When I was a slave I heard all sorts of things.’

  Cragore did not confirm or deny her guess.

  ‘You don’t know who Agent S is.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ But he flushed, so she knew he was lying.

  He removed a bird from the cage marked with Dunstany’s townhouse symbol, then sang a rhyme to the pica.

  ‘You’re sending a message to Agent Tyro on the ship?’ Piro guessed wrong to test him.

  ‘No.’ He sent her a superior smile. ‘I’m sending a message to Lord Dunstany in Port Mero. He’ll give it to Agent Tyro.’

  This confirmed Piro’s guess.

  But she still didn’t know who Agent S was. Who, apart from a servant, had access to royalty and people on the street? And why did she use a hat symbol?

  It had to be Milliner Salvatrix. Back before all this happened, Piro remembered going with her mother to visit the hat shop in Rolenton Square. She’d been bored, because they did not have the glowing hercinia feathers she’d hoped to see. If only she’d known the little silver-haired milliner was the mage’s agent.

  Piro followed Cragore into the outer room where he set the pica bird free.

  Now he had to deliver the message to Tsulamyth, but with Siordun away there was no mage on Mage Isle. It made Piroe wonder how had Siordun had gotten around this. ‘Now you tell the mage the message, right?’

  ‘Wrong. I don’t bother the mage. No one does. If you could hear him berating Agent Tyro, you’d understand.’ Cragore rolled his eyes. ‘I put a note in the message slot outside the mage’s chamber. If there’s a reply, it comes back the same way.’

  ‘I see... And where is his chamber?’

  ‘Two floors below us. You ran right by without even noticing the Affinity coming from it!’

  ‘Really? How careless of me.’ Piro hid a smile and left him.

  Sure enough, two floors below, she found one of the tower chambers had been divided in half. If her memory served her correctly, the mage’s Affinity trophies had been stored here. Now there was a chamber.

  Piro stood at the door, opening her senses. Cragore was right. There was Affinity in the room beyond, but not because the mage slept there. She suspected it came from the trophies.

  So that was how Siordun maintained his masquerade as the mage...

  And that was how Cobalt organised a marriage when Piro wasn’t there to take part. He’d hired a minstrel to impersonate her. She burned with indignation.

  He wouldn’t get away with this. Someone would denounce the impersonator.

  But who? Her father’s loyal followers had died when they rode out with him under a banner of truce. The servants had either fled or been taken as slaves. It shocked Piro to realise she could count on the fingers of two hands the people who still lived who knew her face. And most of them weren’t in Rolencia.

  Piro went cold. Cobalt’s ploy could well succeed.

  This must have been why she’d dreamed about the nexus point. If only Siordun had waited, but no... He’d just sailed off and ignored her.

  Cobalt must not be allowed to get away with this. Conviction filled Piro. She would have to stop him, and force Siordun not to ignore her.

  She ran down the steps.

  BYREN WAS GLAD to be home, but was not happy to find Port Marchand overrun by Merofynian men-at-arms. Brash, foreign braggarts stood on every street corner, ordering Rolencians about and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Surely, they could not all belong to the force Cobalt had been loaned to enforce his rule? Byren suspected most of them now served the greedy lords busily siphoning off Rolencia’s grain, wine and cloth before they pulled out.

  He saw plenty of women, children and elderly men, but few able-bodied young men. For now, both he and Orrade dressed as sailors. They each carried a blanket-wrapped bundle on their backs, containing weapons borrowed from the Merofynian palace and a change of clothes suitable for nobles.

  ‘Not that way,’ Orrade whispered, as Byren made for the merchant quarter. ‘That’s where the gold is so it’s where the Merofynians will be thickest. This way.’

  He led Byren down a narrow side street that ran around the curve of the bay and into the poorest part of port. The overhanging upper storeys made a kind of twilight in the narrow lanes.

  Orrade turned a corner and they stepped into a small square that had seen better days. Girls waited in doorways or leant over second storey balconies. Music competed from several taverns and men spilled out into the street. Revellers sang snatches of crude Merofynian songs as they groped serving girls.

  ‘There’s Merofynians aplenty here, Orrie,’ Byren muttered.

  They passed a bare-breasted woman standing in a doorway. She was young and pretty, and she’d tried to hide her bruises with face-paint.

  ‘Come here, lads,’ she called in poor Merofynian.

  Byren cursed under his breath.

  ‘People have to eat,’ Orrade said.

  It was true, but Byren didn’t have to like it. ‘So this is what you were doing last summer. I wondered why you stayed in port when your family came back.’

  Orrade said nothing, leading him into an even seedier district. Here, the lanes were barely wide enough for two men to walk side-by-side. Byren felt for his knife, then remembered it was in his bundle. Only Merofynians and Cobalt’s supporters were allowed to carry arms these days.

  A handsome youth spotted them, pushed away from the wall and tried to block their way. As they approached, Byren prepared to take the youth down with one blow, but he wasn’t prepared for the open appreciation or crude suggestio
n that fell from the fellow’s lips.

  Orrade brushed past the youth and he stepped aside, but not before groping Byren, who would have turned and thumped him if Orrade hadn’t urged him on. Byren flushed as he realised just what Orrade had been up to last summer.

  At that moment, a man came out of door and almost collided with them. Byren swore. The man-at-arms wore Merofynian colours, and he was not pleased to see them.

  Orrade kept going. They’d just reached the next bend when the man called out. ‘Hey, you two!’

  ‘Quick.’ Orrade ducked around the corner and took off.

  Byren ran after him. A chorus of crude comments and curses followed them as they ran through the narrow lanes of the dilapidated district.

  Without warning, Orrade rounded a bend and pulled Byren into a dark doorway with him. They held their breath as their pursuer ran past, hand on his sword hilt.

  Byren waited until the footsteps faded. ‘What gave us away?’

  ‘You swore in Rolencian and you look like what you are, a warrior. Come on.’

  Orrade darted out, going back the way they’d come until they reached a set of rickety stairs.

  ‘Up here. I hope...’ Orrade gave him a shove and followed him up the steps to an attic tucked under the roof.

  The small landing creaked with their combined weight. Beyond the roof tops, Byren could see the tips of masts out in the bay, like a forest of bare trees against the blue sky.

  Orrade rapped on the door. No answer. He knocked again, louder this time.

  ‘Go away,’ a muffled voice yelled.

  Orrade gave the door handle a practised twist, lifting it as he did, and a catch clicked in response. ‘In, quickly.’

  Byren had to duck his head as he entered. The dwelling stretched the length of the roof, and no lamp burned within. The windows were covered with scraps of cloth. Narrow fingers of light speared through the gaps, barely illuminating the gloom. They revealed a large free-standing brazier, a rich velvet coat thrown over a carved chest and a desk littered with papers and books. The patches of light made the rest of the room seem darker. The air was thick with a scent Byren associated with religious feast days back home.