‘I failed.’
But as he said this, Sarijana stepped away from the pole, lifting her voice in lament. It sounded husky and strained, but even so, an unconscious sigh swept the hall. Some people cheered, others applauded.
Her voice gained in strength; by the time she joined Rusan and Olbin, it soared pure and clear. The power of the song for the dead was such that soon everyone wept, from warriors to small children, from elderly to slaves. Garzik felt tears sting his eyes. He wept for his father, for Piro.
When the song was done, the Utlanders called for another and Sarijana obliged them. Garzik looked around the hall. Only Jost’s mother sat alone and hard-eyed.
AS FYN HURRIED along the corridor with Isolt, he heard a child wailing fretfully and a man berating someone. Fyn recognised Elrhodoc’s voice. Before they reached the door to the war-table chamber, he caught Isolt’s arm and signalled for silence.
Isolt tugged against his hand. ‘That’s Benny crying. Sefarra needs—’
‘What is said behind our backs is more revealing than what is said to our faces.’
Isolt hesitated.
They both noticed Camoric approaching from the opposite direction. Fyn signalled for him to wait in silence, and they took up position on either side of the door.
Fyn risked a quick glance into the war-table chamber. Little Benowyth sobbed, as Sefarra tried to soothe him and Captain Elrhodoc berated her.
‘...should have known the Centicore warlord would break his word. He saw an old woman, a girl and an infant lord sitting in their great house, and he thought you’d be easy pickings. He was right.’
‘But it—’
‘I’m not done yet.’ Elrhodoc raised his voice over the wailing child. ‘There’s no point calling on Travany and the others to come to your aid. They’ve already saved Benetir Estate once. They’re not going to waste men-at-arms to save it a second time.’ He swore viciously. ‘I can’t think with this noise. Can’t you get the boy to shut up?’
‘The boy?’ Sefarra’s voice was icily calm. ‘I’ll have you know since spring he’s seen his mother, father and grandfather killed, and now his grandmother. How brave were you when you were three years old?’
Elrhodoc was silent for a moment, then gestured for her to go. ‘Leave the making of war to men and take your brother to the nursery.’
‘He’s not my brother, he’s my nephew. And I was singing him to sleep when spar warriors attacked our home. It wasn’t the same warlord who gave his oath to Queen Isolt. It was another warrior, calling himself Warlord Jankigern. And if you kill him, another one will take his place.’
Elrhodoc laughed. ‘You’re not making any sense. Go put the boy to bed and let me deal with this.’
‘I—’
‘How can you think with this infernal racket?’
‘If it bothers you, don’t stay.’
‘Fine. I don’t know why I try to make you see sense. I can hardly bear to look at you anyway, knowing how those barbarians used you. If you had a shred of decency, you’d have dedicated yourself to Cyena Abbey.’
‘Just as well I didn’t run away, or Benny would be dead!’
‘If you are all he has, he might as well be dead. Your house will fall and your estate will be taken over by one of the lords. And good riddance to you!’ He flung this over his shoulder as he strode out.
Camoric confronted Elrhodoc at the door. ‘Captain.’
‘What’re you doing sneaking around, bay-scum?’
‘I’m here to see the queen—’
The captain laughed. ‘Of course you are. Planning to slip into her bed? You and your house are no better than barbarians yourselves. Now your grandfather’s calling himself Lord Admiral Cadmor. Why, there’s a dozen men of better birth who should have been given that title. Trust a girl-queen to make a mess... Don’t you smirk at me!’
As he took another step towards the bay lord’s grandson, Fyn signalled Isolt to keep silent and drew her into the war-table chamber, out of sight.
Despite Benowyth’s cries, they could still hear Elrhodoc.
‘Enjoy the girl-queen’s patronage while you can, scar-face, because before long she’ll have a husband and it won’t be some deposed Rolencian kingson. It’ll be one of our own lords, and then Merofynia will be ruled by someone who knows what they’re doing. Out of my way. I have a hostage to execute!’
A moment later, Camoric stepped into the war-table chamber. No one spoke. Benowyth continued to weep, but his cries were growing weaker as he succumbed to exhaustion.
Isolt trembled with fury.
Fyn went to speak, but Isolt shook her head and moved around the war-table to where Sefarra stood with the lad in her arms. Isolt placed her hand on Benowyth’s back.
Making slow circles with her palm, she began to sing. She did not have a strong voice, but it was sweet and true. The song she chose was the same song Fyn’s nurse used to sing when he was a baby. He’d forgotten. Hearing it now brought tears to his eyes.
And he knew that one day he wanted Isolt to sing to their children.
Camoric joined Fyn. ‘Is that peacock Elrhodoc going to execute Cortomir?’ he asked softly.
Fyn nodded.
‘And you sent for me to spirit the lad away?’
‘Him and Rhalwyn.’
‘The Affinity beast-keeper, too? I can...’ Camoric frowned. ‘We’ll be too late. Elrhodoc’s gone to get the lad.’
‘Both boys are with Lord Dunstany. Elrhodoc won’t make a move until Dunstany is out of the way.’
Camoric nodded. ‘But Elrhodoc will know you had the lad removed. He’ll use it against you.’
‘Not if all goes to plan.’ Fyn crossed to the sideboard, where he selected paper and a quill. ‘I want you to take a message to Abbot Murheg.’
While Fyn wrote, Camoric read over his shoulder. He gave a soft chuckle as he grasped the gist of the plan. Fyn folded the message, then caught Isolt’s eye. He raised his hand, indicating his ring finger.
She nodded and came around the war-table to press the royal ring into the wax seal. ‘Benny’s asleep, poor boy.’
‘Can you trust the abbot?’ Camoric asked.
Fyn nodded. ‘If I fall, he falls.’
Benowyth whimpered and they both glanced over at him.
Sefarra had lowered him onto a daybed, and now she soothed him with a word. When it was clear he had settled, she joined them.
‘I must speak with Sefarra,’ Fyn told Camoric. ‘Then I’ll take you to Cortomir.’
Isolt’s eyes widened. ‘Is it safe, Fyn?’ She added for Camoric and Sefarra’s benefit, ‘Wild Affinity creatures caught us out in the open. They went after Fyn because of his Affinity.’
Camoric nodded. ‘I wondered. He’s as pale as milk, and bleeding.’
Fyn felt the back of his neck. His fingers came away stained with blood.
‘Sit down.’ Isolt pushed him into a chair. ‘Lean forward. I should have noticed, but it was dark.’ She pulled his shirt up and pressed the material to the back of his neck. ‘It’s only shallow. Pressure will stop the bleeding. Filthy things...’
‘I can do it.’ Fyn didn’t want her touching him, not when she didn’t want him. He lifted his head.
‘We could take torches,’ Sefarra said. ‘Fire scares off most beasts.’
Camoric glanced to her.
‘I’m going to help,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want the boy’s death on my conscience. His father didn’t break his word.’
‘Fair enough.’ Camoric studied her.
‘What?’ Sefarra’s eyes narrowed.
‘Sefarra, this is Camoric,’ Fyn said, wondering if they would rub each other the wrong way. ‘He’s the bay lord’s grandson.’
‘The one who lost the Utland raiders,’ Camoric explained, jaw clenched, scars gleaming in the candle light. Funny how Fyn didn’t notice the burns unless he was reminded.
‘Camoric, this is my cousin, Sefarra,’ Isolt said.
The girl lifted her c
hin. ‘The one who—’
‘Hacked off Warlord Cortigern’s head,’ Camoric said, and executed a bow that would have pleased Fyn’s mother. ‘I’m honoured, Lady Sefarra.’
Her mouth dropped. Camoric grinned.
‘There’s no time to waste,’ Fyn said. ‘We have to get Cortomir out of the palace and string up another boy’s body in his place. But first, we must work out how to win back Benetir Estate.’
‘I know how to win back my estate,’ Sefarra said.
‘How?’ Fyn was surprised.
‘Our sorbt stone mine is in the foothills, one hard day’s march from the great house. There are two hundred Rolencian slaves there, all young, all eager to go home. You remember how we were worried they’d try to escape last time the spar warlord attacked? Well, I’m going to offer them their freedom if they’ll fight for me.’
‘That’ll do it,’ Camoric said.
Sefarra met his eyes. ‘And I’ll offer you my grandfather’s yacht if you and your men will fight for me.’
‘The Flying Sarre? She’s a beauty. I accept.’
Sefarra turned to Fyn. ‘I don’t know what I can offer you, but I want you to lead us. You have the training in strategy and tactics. That’s if you can spare him, my queen.’ She gave Isolt a small formal bow then spoilt it by adding, ‘I don’t like the captain of your guards, Izy, you should get rid of him.’
‘Izy?’ Fyn repeated.
Isolt flushed. ‘A childhood name.’
And she hadn’t given him permission to use it.
‘Sefarra’s right,’ Camoric said. ‘You can’t trust Elrhodoc.’
‘I’ve had my eye on him for a while now,’ Fyn admitted.
‘He’s too well connected for me to remove him,’ Isolt said. ‘And he’s not my only problem. Most of the lords would happily see me wedded and producing heirs so they can get on with ruling the kingdom. As long as I have Yorale and Dunstany on my side, they won’t move against me.’
But Fyn knew they would not have Dunstany for much longer. Soon Siordun would have to let the old lord die. They had been lucky tonight, however the longer the charade went on, the more chance his disguise would be exposed.
‘Don’t look so worried, Fyn.’ Isolt squeezed his arm. ‘For years I lived in a hostile court, with only Yorale and Dunstany for my friends. Now I have all of you. Go save Corto.’
In the predawn dark, Fyn and Camoric neared the grotto. They approached along the shore of the Landlocked Sea. Sefarra had gone to her yacht to prepare it for Camoric, who planned to take Cortomir straight from the grotto to the Flying Sarre. Isolt had already slipped into the boy’s sleeping chamber to remove Cortomir’s leather spar vest. Abbot Murheg had sent word he had a suitable body.
‘What if Elrhodoc knows about the secret entrance to the grotto?’ Camoric whispered as he and Fyn crept through the overgrown garden.
‘Then we deal with the man he left to guard the entrance, and remove his body.’
But no one was watching the back of the grotto. A soft pearly light still spilled from the front, reflecting in the pond and and sending slivers of light into the sky, but Fyn was glad to see there were no more lacewings.
He crawled through the concealed tunnel and into the grotto to find it illuminated with the soft pearly glow from Dunstany’s staff, even though Dunstany himself was dozing with his back to the wall.
Fyn stepped over the sleeping boys and beasts to wake him.
But before he could, Dunstany’s eyes sprang open. An inner light filled them, or perhaps it was the reflection of his orb.
‘Fyn.’ He looked relieved and rolled to his feet with more vigour than Fyn had expected, considering that he’d had to share Affinity with the beasts. Dunstany spoke a rushed whisper. ‘I was planning to slip out through the tunnel with Corto before dawn. Elrhodoc left two men watching the pond. They...’ He broke off as Camoric crawled into the grotto, and when he next spoke it was with the gravity of Lord Dunstany. ‘They’ve been keeping their distance since they saw Loyalty and Resolute hunt down the lacewings.’ He gestured to the sleeping beasts. ‘They gorged themselves.’
‘I see.’ After his run-in with the lacewings, Fyn felt no regrets. ‘I thought to find you exhausted by the beasts.’
‘Turns out the Mad Boy King was not all that mad, but rather very clever.’ Laughter lit Dunstany’s eyes as he gestured to the grotto’s dome. ‘Those aren’t pieces of glass to let in light. They’re clear sorbt stones, the kind that you can use to focus power. As soon as I entered the dome with my staff, they became activated.’
‘Fyn? I knew you’d come!’ Cortomir woke, then scrambled to his feet. Rhalwyn stirred and shook himself awake.
Fyn grinned and took Cortomir’s hand. ‘This is Camoric, Corto. He’s the bay lord’s grandson. He’s going to take you on his ship and turn you into a sailor.’
‘Lucky old Corto!’ Rhalwyn muttered.
Cortomir glanced to the older boy. ‘Can’t he come, too?’
‘He can, but first he has a task to perform to save your life.’
The boys’ eyes widened as Fyn laid out the plan.
Chapter Forty
BY THE TIME Fyn arrived under the linden tree, the sun was up and a crowd of early market-goers had already gathered. The tree was older than Merofynia itself. According to the legends, it had already been huge when King Merofyn the First had called a council of lords under its branches, planted his family’s famous stone under it and climbed onto it to declare himself king.
According to legend, the Merofynity Stone welcomed a true king of the line, and for the first two hundred years of his family’s rule, the kings had always stood on the stone to be crowned.
But the stone had another, more sinister function. If someone was accused of treason, the king would stand the accused on the stone under the linden tree to question him. It was said you could not tell a lie while standing on the stone under the linden tree. And it was from the branches of this tree that the guilty were hung.
Today it held sad fruit.
Fyn’s only consolation was that the boy had died of natural causes and the real hostage was safely hidden amongst Camoric’s people. The dead boy bore enough of a resemblance to Cortomir that once they’d dressed him in the spar vest, breeches and boots, he could be mistaken for the hostage.
From this angle, with the wind blowing his shoulder-length hair over his face, even Fyn could not tell him apart from Cortomir. Dunstany had added some artistic touches—painting his features and packing them to make it seem as if he had died by hanging. Even the unfortunate lad’s own family would not have known him.
Dunstany watched from his carriage with Rhalwyn at his side, waiting for Fyn’s signal.
‘So this is the spar hostage?’ someone called as Fyn guided his horse through the crowd and chose a spot under the tree. For now the sweet smell of the linden blossoms covered the smell of death.
‘Does this mean the Centicore warlord attacked again?’ someone else yelled.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ a busy-body spoke up. ‘Hundreds of spar warriors came in the night and murdered the whole of Benetir household in their beds!’
There was a chorus of worried comments. Meanwhile, Fyn dismounted and climbed onto the Merofynity Stone. For a brief moment he felt a superstitious awe and half expected the stone to respond to him in some way. Nothing happened.
As he unrolled the parchment, Fyn saw a gate guard leave his post at a run. The rest of the guards watched, ready to intervene if the gawkers got out of hand. It was market day, and more people poured in from the square as news of the hanging spread.
‘I bring Queen Isolt’s proclamation,’ Fyn announced, and introduced himself by title. Then he read the carefully worded document. Centicore Spar had broken their word. Queen Isolt had exacted vengeance on the hostage. ‘...so let it be known that all who break their word to the queen will face her justice.’
‘Shame on you,’ a woman yelled.
But her voice was d
rowned by the crowd, who delighted in the suffering of others. Fyn looked out over the gathering. Someone had run back to their fruit stall and returned with a basket of rotten fruit. Several youths began hurling them at the body. The crowd jeered.
Sickened, Fyn jumped down. Before he could be showered in rotting fruit, he hung the proclamation on the linden tree. As he climbed onto the Merofynity Stone to mount up, someone bumped him and he fell forward. The pressure of the crowd and the strength of his emotion combined to make Fyn’s Affinity surge. The stone on his ring glowed softly, and he felt the stone under his bare palms respond—not because he was of the Merofyn line but because of his Affinity. Under the dust and moss, it was the biggest Affinity stone he had ever seen.
He pulled his hands away before anyone noticed, mounted his horse and guided it to the edge of the crowd.
Just as he’d suspected, Captain Elrhodoc rode this way with a dozen of the queen’s guards. Their bright royal blue half-cloaks rippled and their gold braid gleamed. The ordinary folk parted for Elrhodoc, who studied the proclamation then jerked on his reins and walked his horse over to join Fyn.
As he approached, Fyn casually scratched his earlobe. It was the signal for Dunstany to let Rhalwyn out of his carriage. The lad had been carefully coached in his role.
‘I didn’t think you had it in you. How did you convince the queen?’ Elrhodoc asked, eyes sharp with suspicion.
Fyn shrugged. ‘Isolt has a soft heart, but she’ll see the necessity of this eventually. She is her father’s daughter, after all.’
Let Elrhodoc chew on that.
‘Out of my way,’ Rhalwyn yelled. He darted through the gathering, then came to a complete stop staring up at the body. His howl of anger and horror silenced the crowd momentarily.
Fyn cursed and guided his horse closer. ‘Rhalwyn, come away from—’
‘You...’ The furious lad thrust through the watchers. Tears streaming down his face, he attacked Fyn. ‘How could you? He was just a boy!’
Since Fyn was mounted and Rhalwyn was on foot, the best the lad could do was pummel Fyn’s thigh, but it made the horse skittish and the gelding sidled away.
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