Cinna laughed. ‘No, my back is aching, that’s all.’ She straightened up. ‘Flower-fever has broken out amongst the servants, so I’m going to burn citrus incense to cleanse the air. I’ll have to turn the new solarium into an infirmary. I may have to send out for more willow bark and feverfew. I’m glad Nun Anise is still with us.’
Florin nodded. The healer had not been able to go back to the Sylion Abbey since the abbess, bless her, had supported Byren, not Cobalt. ‘Leif has come down with flower-fever, too,’ Florin revealed. ‘And he climbed into Byren’s bed last night.’
‘Oh, dear...’ Cinna looked rueful. ‘I hope Byren doesn’t get sick. Big strong men make the worst patients.’
Florin grinned. ‘I’ll find Orrade and warn him. Then I’ll bring Leif to the infirmary.’
Chapter Forty-Three
PIRO HAD BEEN right to doubt the ship’s surgeon. He was a drunkard who took his first drink on waking and could be found snoring on his bunk by midday.
By the evening of the second day, her skin had burned with fever. Luckily, Illien had come to check on her. She’d asked him to bring her the surgeon’s supplies. Unfortunately, they consisted of empty herb pouches and blunt surgical tools.
In desperation, Piro had sent Illien to ask the cook for wine, honey and rosemary. With the lad’s help, she’d washed her wound then applied the honey and herbs.
In the days that followed, she’d walked no further than the privy as her fever came and went. At least the nexus point had passed. She’d had no more dreams of Cobalt’s wedding, just nonsensical fever-dreams. At times, she thought Dunstany kept her company. She remembered having conversations with my lord but, looking back, it must have been Illien who’d cared for her.
Then a few moments ago she’d woken to hear the familiar cries of Port Mero. Relief made her feel like weeping. Struggling to sit up, she swung her feet to the cabin floor and staggered over to find that the surgeon had already gone ashore. How long had they been docked?
Leaning on the door frame, she looked along the passage for Illien, but there was no sign of him.
She thought she could walk as far as the ladder, but she knew she didn’t have the strength to climb it. If she could just get a message to Dunstany’s townhouse, he’d send a carriage for her.
‘...out of my way!’
Surely that was not Dunstany’s voice? She must be delirious again.
‘Out of my way! Where is she?’
‘I’ll take you to her, my lord,’ Illien offered.
She saw him scurrying down the ladder. Her heart lifted as Lord Dunstany climbed down after him. She had to remind herself it was Siordun in disguise, but she could see nothing of the mage’s annoying apprentice in this man.
Dunstany turned and saw her there. ‘Piro!’
As he strode up the passage towards her, she marvelled, wondering if she was hallucinating again. ‘Are you really here this time?’
‘What have you done to yourself, you silly girl?’
‘There was a nexus point. You told me to—’
‘Here.’ Dunstany thrust his cane and staff into the boy’s hands then swept her up in his arms. ‘Your skin feels hot. You’re feverish.’
‘I know, if it hadn’t been for Illien...’ The cabin spun around her and she fought to hold onto consciousness. ‘How did you find me?’
‘A drunken ship’s surgeon came to my door and refused to lead me to you unless I paid him. The fool!’
She laughed, felt her eyes fill with tears of relief as grey spots ate into her vision, but she knew she was safe. It was good to have Lord Dunstany back. ‘I’ve missed you so much, my lord.’
Dunstany went very still.
‘We go home now?’ Piro whispered.
‘Home,’ he agreed.
FYN’S HEART SANK. He’d crept to the top of a rise with Camoric and Sefarra.
‘Looks like the new Centicore warlord learned from what happened last time.’ Fyn gestured to the great house and outlying buildings illuminated by the setting sun. ‘Not only has he stationed sentries in the outlying buildings, but he’s fortified the great house.’
‘What do we do?’ Sefarra asked.
‘A frontal assault will be costly.’ And Fyn did not know how well the seven-year slaves would stand up to the spar warrior defences. ‘But the freed slaves are ready to attack right now, and if we delay, they might desert. We need to lure the spar warriors out somehow.’
‘We could set fire to the house,’ Sefarra suggested.
‘You’d set fire to your own home?’ Camoric asked.
‘As a last resort.’
‘You won’t need to,’ Fyn said. ‘Spar warriors don’t fight as a unit. Each man sets out to win renown for himself. If you send word to the captain of the Flying Sarre telling him to mount an attack, as soon as the sentries hear the fighting, they’ll leave their posts.’
Sefarra nodded and slipped away.
Camoric shook his head as he watched her go. ‘She was ready to burn down her own home.’
PIRO WOKE TO find herself in Lord Dunstany’s townhouse. She reached for the stone around her neck, only to remember the surgeon had stolen it. She’d slept the afternoon away. Starlight spilled through the window, silvering the bed and the floor under the window.
Gritting her teeth, Piro struggled to sit up. But she didn’t suffer the sharp pain she’d anticipated. Surprised, she checked the wound. Although it was still tender, the healing was much further advanced than...
‘I encouraged your flesh to knit,’ Siordun said, startling her.
He was dressed as Dunstany, which made her miss the old lord. Yet the Lord Dunstany she had known had always been Siordun.
‘I left you safe on Mage Isle.’ Without bothering to light candle, he came over to sit on the chest beside the bed. ‘Next thing I know, you arrive in Port Mero, barely clinging to life. What possible reason—’
‘There was a nexus point. Lord Dunstany told...’ She flushed. ‘You told me to tell you if I had a vision. I saw Cobalt at his wedding—’
‘Yes, he planned to marry an imposter Piro. I gathered that much when my Rolencian agent sent word of the wedding. I sent Byren to sort it out—’
‘Back in Port Marchand, they were saying Byren killed me to prevent the marriage. There was a fire and Narrowneck burned. I don’t know if Byren escaped or if he...’ A sob shook her. The clenching of her stomach muscles hurt so much, she moaned and doubled over.
‘Don’t cry.’ Siordun urged her to lie down. ‘I’ll send a message to my agents, see what I can learn. It’ll be all right. You’re safe now.’
Exhausted, she let him tuck the covers around her.
‘You need to rest. I did what I could, but the fever burned away your strength. In fact...’ He touched her forehead. ‘Yes, just as I feared, you’re feverish again, and I can’t do anything about it. I need a day to recover.’
‘Send the message. Find out if Byren escaped. If he did, warn him about the rumours.’
‘I will.’ But he remained by the bed. Moonlight silvered his iron-grey hair, while his face remained in shadow.
Piro felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. ‘I lost your stone. I think the surgeon took it.’
‘I’ll give you another.’
‘Don’t bother.’ She realised she sounded ungrateful and hastened to explain. ‘It didn’t matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make the stone glow. I’m not fit to be your apprentice.’
‘Not everyone can—’
‘You said if I can’t control my Affinity I’m useless.’
‘Don’t you be so hard on yourself. Perhaps it was the wrong type of stone. Each stone has different qualities. Each person’s Affinity is different. It took me a long time to learn how to focus my power. The mage was a strict teacher. I hated him at first, for taking me away from my family and my home.’
‘He had to be strict to help you control your power.’
‘I know that now, but try telling that to a child o
f five.’
‘Did you...’ She tried to sit up.
But he pressed her back. ‘Lie still.’
‘Then don’t loom over me. Sit there, where I can see your face.’ She gestured to the end of the bed. ‘Did you start studying right away?’
He settled himself on the end of the bed. ‘I didn’t begin my formal training until I was ten. I struggled. It was only later that I realised the mage did not expect me to master the exercises right away. He was training me to be persistent, to concentrate and to keep going even when I failed.’
‘You loved him.’
Siordun looked away. ‘Yes.’ His voice caught. ‘These last two years, everything has gone wrong. In fact, these last seven years, since King Sefon was murdered and Lord Dunstany died of shock, I’ve been desperately scrambling to keep up. The mage tried to maintain my lessons, but we seemed to go from one near disaster to another.’
‘How old were you when Dunstany died?’
He cast her a dry look. ‘If you want to know how old I am, you could just ask.’
‘I want to know how much training you had with the mage.’
He grimaced. ‘I began formal training when I was ten. I had six years of study, but after King Sefon died, we only managed to snatch moments here and there, like you and I have been doing.’
‘We’ve hardly done anything.’
‘This is part of your training. I’ve told you more about sorbt stones.’
‘You’re ten years older than me.’
‘Nine. You’ll be fourteen on midsummer’s day.’
Piro closed her eyes. ‘I’m very tired. I think you should go now.’
She felt him stand, felt him come closer.
His palm cupped her cheek. ‘Did you trust Dunstany, Piro?’
‘Yes. And I miss him!’
‘I am him.’
But she turned her face away.
This time he left and she could not stop the hot tears.
JUST AS FYN had predicted, as soon as the diversionary assault started, the spar sentries left their posts. Dozens of the great house defenders charged down to the shore. Camoric took his men and most of the freed slaves to attack the spar warriors from behind. Meanwhile, Fyn and Sefarra went to clean out the great house.
He led a dozen slaves to check the warren of servants’ rooms, while Sefarra led her men up to the second floor of the house.
The freed slaves had soon outstripped Fyn, running ahead, whooping and shouting as they spotted spar warriors. Like crazed beasts, they chased them down and hacked them to pieces. All their pent up anger and resentment had finally found an outlet.
When Fyn entered the great hall with its grand staircase, he found the ex-slaves had battered the last spar warrior to death. Several of the floor-to-ceiling doors had been left open, and when the freed slaves spotted the battle under way down by the shore, they charged down there.
He shuddered and went to survey the rest of the house. Down in the cellars, he found half a dozen of the household servants hiding in the cool darkness.
‘Lady Sefarra has routed the invaders,’ he said. ‘Go to the kitchen and prepare a feast.’
When he returned to the great hall, there was no sign of Sefarra. Had the sight of spar warriors in her home triggered memories of her time as a captive?
Fyn was about to go in search of her, when Camoric returned, triumphant, and reported to him.
‘Those ex-slaves showed no mercy. I—’
Cheers interrupted him. The ex-slaves had returned with several crates of wine and were in the process of distributing the bottles amongst themselves.
Camoric glanced to Fyn.
‘No point trying to stop them. I ordered the servants to prepare a feast. Have your men remove the bodies and clean up the blood. I don’t want Sefarra reminded...’
He fell silent as a hush swept over the great hall. With the feeling this had all happened before, Fyn turned and looked up the grand stair. Sefarra stood at the top, drenched in blood.
‘See the fate of Warlord Jankigern!’ she cried, lifting the warlord’s head by its hair.
‘Sefarra! Sefarra!’ her men chanted, and the others joined in.
The sound filled the hall, echoing off the high ceiling until Fyn’s ears ached. He glanced to Camoric, who looked stunned. At least he now knew Sefarra’s true nature.
The household servants arrived with food platters, and Sefarra came down the stairs to organise clearing the table. She seemed unaware of the head hanging from one hand as she gestured with the other.
Camoric nudged Fyn. ‘She’s going to be mine one day.’
‘But...’ Fyn was stunned. ‘You’d never know what she was going to say or do next.’
‘Exactly!’
On second thoughts, perhaps they were well-matched. Fyn preferred Isolt’s measured mind. He trusted her to back him up.
‘I’ll build a pyre for the bodies,’ Camoric said.
Fyn joined Sefarra, then reached for the warlord’s head. ‘Let me get rid of that for you.’
Chapter Forty-Four
GARZIK HAD BUNKED down with the unmarried men on the floor of the long-hall. After they’d unloaded the ship, Rusan and Olbin had taken Feodan aside and spent a day planning the construction of their new vessel. No drawings were made, but from what Garzik gathered, the ship had already been built in Feodan’s head.
According to Lauvra, her brother had been trained by the settlement’s old Affinity-touched before he died. The man had been able to commune with trees and, while Feodan didn’t have Affinity, he had a knack for finding branches with the right shaped curves for the ship’s ribs.
Today Feodan led a party into the high country in search of the right timbers.
Olbin stretched and scratched his belly. ‘Where did Rus get to?’
‘I’ll find him,’ Garzik offered, getting to his feet.
He thought he’d seen Rusan slip into one of the store rooms. Sure enough, he spotted a glow right down the back, behind some barrels, but he hesitated when he heard Lauvra’s stern voice. He peered between two barrels to see her with Rusan.
‘...haven’t seen Pramoza since the night you arrived, she’s so angry. You owe her nothing, considering what Jost and his brothers did.’
‘I know. But I keep thinking...’—Rusan faltered—‘about you, the day we got the news that Drav and Stojan were dead.’
‘Oh, Rus.’ Tough, iron-haired Lauvra took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. ‘You have a good heart. But you can’t give Pramoza the basket. She’ll take offence. She’ll think you’re rubbing salt in the wound, or admitting fault.’
‘Why would she think that?’
‘Because she’s petty and vindictive, and she’ll assume your motivations are the same as hers. Now say goodbye to Feo and Olbin.’
Before Rusan could catch him eavesdropping, Garzik returned to the long-hall, where those who were going with Feodan were making up travelling packs.
A moment later, Rusan drew Garzik away from the others and handed him a basket packed with hot-land luxuries. ‘Take this up to Pramoza’s cottage. Knock, then leave it on her doorstep. Don’t let her see you.’
Garzik nodded and hid a smile. He slipped out of the long-hall then climbed the hillside. Back when he had first come to the settlement, he’d seen Rusan and Olbin take a selection of treasures to the oracles and their mother, in honour of the service they provided. Now the cottage that had belonged to the Affinity-touched family stood abandoned. Vultar’s men had stripped it, murdered the twins’ mother and abducted the girls.
Jost’s mother lived further up the hillside, in a cottage built into the hillside. No smoke came from the single chimney, and he heard a cow lowing with discomfort in the nearby byre.
Garzik left the basket on the front step, then went to go, but as he passed the cottage window, something caught his attention.
Through the small pane of rippled glass, he made out a figure standing oddly. A sense of foreboding s
wept through him. Cupping his hands to the glass, he peered in to see Pramoza hanging from the rafters, bare feet protruding from her nightgown.
He rushed inside, but he was too late. It looked as though she’d been dead for at least a day.
Shocked, Garzik backed out and almost tripped over the basket. Instinctively, he picked it up. As he headed down the path, making for the long-hall, it occurred to him that someone might ask what he was doing with the basket, so he left it on the doorstep of the empty Affinity-toucheds’ cottage.
Feodan’s party was about to leave, and everyone had gathered on the grassy patch in front of the long-hall to wish them goodbye. As Garzik pushed through the crowd, people commented on his rudeness. At last he found Lauvra bidding Feodan and Olbin good bye.
In his haste Garzik reverted to training and bowed as he would to Queen Myrella. ‘Forgive me, but...’ He gestured up hill. ‘Pramoza has taken her own life.’
Lauvra glanced to Rusan.
‘How did you come to find her?’ Feodan asked.
Garzik thought quickly. ‘When Rusan sent me to pay tribute to the oracles. I heard Pramoza’s cow lowing with pain and knew she hadn’t been milked.’
Word spread quickly and everyone hurried up the hill, the elders huffing along behind. When they reached Pramoza’s cottage, Lauvra went in with two of the elders. After a moment she came out, face solemn. ‘It is as Wynn says.’
She stepped aside and the wife of Pramoza’s brothers entered the cottage to prepare the body for burial.
As they returned to the long-hall, they passed the Affinity-toucheds’ cottage. Crisdun retrieved the basket and thanked Rusan on behalf of his daughters.
Holding the basket as if it was evidence, Crisdun said, ‘Rusan has sworn a blood oath to bring the oracles home and kill Vultar.’
The settlement voiced their approval, then continued downhill.
Garzik was close enough to hear Feodan whisper to Lauvra. ‘There are some who will blame Rusan and Olbin for this.’
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