The Uncrowned King

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  She wept and kicked, throwing herself over the body. Using the rough speech of the servants, she swore at them, repeating words she'd overheard the grooms mutter when a harness broke.

  One lifted Piro by the shoulder straps of the apron, as if she was a kitten, and tucked her under his arm, while the other turned the imposter-Piro over onto her back.

  At that moment Piro noticed the girl's grubby, bare feet and recalled her own hand-sewn slippers. Sick fear gripped her, but she had not come this far to be caught and killed. Quick as a thought, she slipped her toes into the slippers' heels and kicked them off. She kicked them off one after the other, weeping and writhing all the while to disguise her actions.

  'The kingsdaughter is dead,' the first man muttered in Merofynian, having inspected the body. He pointed. 'Tried to climb out the window. Lost her good shoes.' He bent and scooped them up. After inspecting the beading and seeing the semi-precious stones, he pocketed the slippers.

  'Dead is dead. Let's get our reward!' the other said. 'And I'll have one of them slippers, thanks.'

  'Of course,' the first agreed.

  Without another word, her captor threw Piro over his shoulder, while the other man scooped up the limp form of the dead serving girl in the red velvet gown. Piro prayed they would not notice the supposed kingsdaughter's dirty feet, or her own clean toes.

  The men strode up the passage, talking of how they would spend their reward. Hanging over the man's shoulder, Piro felt dizzy and nauseous. When they marched into the great hall, all the rich wall hangings and men-at-arms in Merofynian colours swung past her upside-down.

  Dumping her on the floor by the great fireplace with the other servants, the men marched across to their overlord with the body of the dead girl.

  Palatyne rose to meet them, going around the table to inspect their trophy as they laid the body of the imposter kingsdaughter at his feet. The noble scholar joined him, kneeling to inspect the body.

  'Broken neck. Her nose was broken first,' Dunstany said softly in Merofynian.

  'I don't care how she died,' Palatyne announced dismissively.

  Piro huddled against the edge of the fireplace, letting her hair fall over her tear-streaked face, tucking her clean toes under her skirt hem.

  'Where is the emblem?' Palatyne demanded in Merofynian.

  The nearest man fumbled, feeling around the dead girl's neck until he pulled off the royal pendant and presented it to his overlord. 'Here it is, my lord.'

  'And here's the queen's Keys of Office.' Dunstany undid the waist sash to remove them. With a twitch of the skirt he straightened the supposed kingsdaughter's gown. Piro whispered a prayer of thanks to Halcyon, goddess of luck, for the gown was a fraction too long and covered the maidservant's grubby feet.

  Dunstany tossed the keys to Palatyne, who caught and pocketed them, well satisfied. Then he hung the royal emblem around his neck, where it settled with the others on his chest. He sent the men off to collect their reward and perched on the table, swinging one leg.

  The Utland Power-worker rejoined the overlord's party, pausing to inspect the supposed kingsdaughter.

  'So this is Pirola Myrella Queensdaughter?' he muttered, glancing down at her. 'This one might have been useful alive. What can one little girl do?'

  'You saw what the mother was capable of, and her hardly able to lift that sword.' Palatyne drained his wine. 'What of Cobalt? Will he live?'

  This made Piro wonder why Palatyne suffered Cobalt to live if he believed one of King Rolen's kin would be his downfall, or did the stain of illegitimacy that had kept Cobalt's father from inheriting the throne, save Cobalt?

  'I've done what I can for him,' the Utlander said. 'Only time will tell.'

  'That's what I hate about you Power-workers, never a straight answer,' Palatyne growled, but he was in too good a mood to dwell on this. 'Fill your goblet.'

  Topping up his own goblet with fine Rolencian wine, he lifted it in a toast. 'To King Rolen's kin, may they all be dead by nightfall!'

  The Utland Power-worker echoed the toast, as did the noble scholar and the warriors, who Palatyne had favoured with a place at the high table. Among them, Piro saw battle-hardened faces, men she guessed had been with the overlord since his days on Amfina Spar. She had expected to see the young lords of the great families of Merofynia, but there were none. Surely the great families of Merofynia had not sent Palatyne off to crush Rolencia without making sure their sons had a share of the booty and glory?

  'More wine!' Palatyne called. 'If there's one thing Rolencia can do right, it's make a good red!'

  His men cheered and one leapt to his feet to offer a toast to Palatyne's clever strategy. The overlord grinned and accepted the adulation as his right. All the while, he stood over the dead girl's body as though she were nothing more than a farm animal.

  Piro shuddered. Not far from her, the servants huddled together, whispering and weeping. No one looked her way. There were some amongst them who, if they'd bothered to take a good look at the dead girl's bloodied face, would have realised she wasn't Piro.

  She felt herself under observation and saw Halcyon's healer speaking with Seela, both turning away quickly. Piro's heart seemed to miss a beat. The healer and her old nurse would not give her away, but would the rest of the castle's servants remain loyal?

  It would take only one slip to reveal her deception. Anxiously, Piro studied those who served their new masters. Perhaps they were too busy to notice one dishevelled serving girl. Perhaps they avoided looking at the body, which was just a heap of red velvet and dark hair. Or perhaps they wished to see Overlord Palatyne tricked, for no one spoke up. No one wanted to share the fate of the queen and the spit-turner.

  That reminded Piro. She looked, but there was no sign of their bodies, only a stained patch on the stones.

  Palatyne stood and gestured to the body at his feet. 'Get rid of this. It's putting me off my roast!'

  His men laughed as if this was impossible, and Palatyne enjoyed their reaction. He didn't bother to return to his chair, but sat himself on the table and grabbed a turkey leg, tearing into it.

  'There is still the other kingson, my lord,' the Utland Power-worker said, his voice carrying in a lull. Piro realised that since they did not expect anyone to speak Merofynian, they felt free to talk strategy in front of the servants.

  'The abbey will have fallen by now.' Palatyne grinned wolfishly and gestured to the Utlander. 'I expect your brother to bring me Fyn Kingson's emblem by tomorrow night.'

  Piro's vision blurred. Fyn, dead? Impossible. How could the abbey fall when it was protected by the warrior monks?

  'What of the one that escaped?' the Utlander asked.

  Lence had escaped? That meant the emblem was Byren's. Palatyne had said not to worry about him. Piro's heart sank. Remorse lanced her. How could she wish for Byren's survival when it meant Lence's death?

  'He's probably hiding in the mountains with what remains of that estate's people,' Palatyne jeered. 'King of a pig pen!'

  His men laughed and clapped, for in Merofynian it was not only an alliteration, but rhymed as well. Piro shivered. He was clever, this overlord, and quickwitted. And she still didn't know which twin lived, although she thought it was Lence.

  'See, Dunstany, I make my own fate!' Palatyne lifted his goblet to the noble scholar.

  Dunstany tipped his head in silent acknowledgement to his overlord, while the Utland Power-worker smiled, pleased to see his rival mocked.

  The noise level rose as the wine flowed and the men celebrated. Piro's head began to thump with their shouting. The remaining captive servants seem to have been forgotten.

  A man hurried between the gilt-edged columns, radiating self-importance as he crossed the hall. He bowed to Palatyne and waited until the overlord indicated he was to speak.

  'We've found King Rolen's trophy room, my lord. Treasures that -'

  'Take me there.' Palatyne swung his legs to the floor and strode off, passing within touching distance of
Piro, who felt the wind of his passage on her hands as she hugged her knees. Since she had been living hand to mouth, her nails were bitten down to the quick and matched her disguise.

  Half a dozen of Palatyne's warriors and the Utland Power-worker hurried past.

  Lord Dunstany was the last. As he approached Piro, the healer waylaid him. On the edge of her vision Piro sensed old Seela watching them closely.

  'Your pardon, Lord Dunstany,' she said in Rolencian. 'I am a healer. I should be treating the injured. May I take my servant and go?' She gestured to Piro.

  The noble scholar glanced in Piro's direction.

  Silently thanking the healer for her quick wits, Piro scrambled to her feet and bobbed a quick bow, head bowed. She hardly dared to breathe.

  A quick glance told her Dunstany frowned, his dark eyes on her. She stared at the hem of his robe. All she could see was his muddied boots, buckled around the ankle Merofynian-style. Piro could feel waves of power exuding from him like heat from a furnace. He might be an educated noble but he was also a Power-worker, and he terrified her.

  'You forget you are captives of war. Slaves. Go back to your place, healer. The overlord will assign you to serve someone.'

  The healer backed off as Seela cast Piro a quick warning glance. Piro sat down again, hugging her knees. This was not so bad. As a common slave, she could escape and run away to the mountains where she could find Lence, if it was he who had survived. Tears stung her eyes. She brushed them away, furious. She had no time for weakness.

  Lord Dunstany walked off but had only gone a dozen paces when he returned and stood over Piro, blocking her view of the rest of the hall. She dared one quick look.

  'I have need of a slave. Stand.' He held out one hand twisted by the bone-ache.

  As he pulled Piro to her feet, she felt the strength in his arm. Then she cursed, for her gesture had been that of a lady used to a servant's help. To cover her slip she sniffed and rubbed the back of her hand across her nose. 'Thankee, sor.'

  She was surprised to see a light in his eyes that could have been amusement. The irises were so black his eyes seemed all pupil. So black, yet so full of light.

  The revelry faded around her. Her breath caught in her throat. She was in danger of drowning.

  With an effort that made her dizzy, she dragged her gaze from his and dipped her head in a servant's bow. Her tongue felt thick but she drove herself to speak. 'What can I do for you, sor?'

  'You can do as you're told,' Lord Dunstany said, watching her thoughtfully.

  Piro searched his face but she found it hard to meet his gaze without sliding into that other state. Now that her head was clear, she realised he had been trying to impose his will on her. Anger fired her. She was glad her father had banned all Affinity Power-working renegades, soothsayers and mages alike. Then she remembered that a slave girl wouldn't raise her eyes to a noble, especially if he was a renegade Power-worker, and she looked down quickly. 'Sorry, m'lord.'

  'What can you do, girl?'

  She could read and write in three languages, play the harp, paint watercolours, run a castle with six hundred inhabitants, keep the books and hand down law judgements, but none of that helped her now. The healer had said she was her apprentice so it was lucky her mother had schooled her in basic healing.

  Piro bobbed her head, careful to stay in character. 'I been helping the healer. I can mix herbs and stitch a wound. An' me ma delivered babies, sor.'

  His lips twitched. 'Well, I won't be needing you to deliver any babies. You can wait on me.'

  'Yes, sor.'

  'Lord Dunstany?' It was the man who had reported finding King Rolen's trophy room. 'Do you want to see the treasures?'

  Piro could imagine them all up there with Palatyne handing out gifts to his loyal supporters.

  'Treasures?' he repeated with a secretive smile. 'Those sort of treasures don't interest me. Come on, girl.'

  Surprised, Piro scurried after him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fyn reached Viridian Lake by mid-morning and strapped on the borrowed skates. It looked like the thaw would be late this spring, even so, Fyn kept to the edges where the ice was thickest. Twice more he had seen Merofynian search parties but managed to avoid them.

  Viridian Lake, named because of the exquisite shade of its deep waters, was a long sinuous lake, connected at the far end by canal to Sapphire Lake. From there he was on the last leg of his journey to Rolenhold, where his father was probably wondering why the abbot had not sent aid.

  Fyn could only hope that Byren's injury was not as bad as the Merofynians believed and that his brother had found some helpful farmers willing to risk their lives to save him.

  Fyn stood on the borrowed skates. There was no wind and the sky was cloudless, which meant it would be frightfully cold when night fell, but this also meant the stars would be out in force, great swirls of effervescent colour to light his way.

  And aid the Merofynian search parties.

  Fear for Piro's safety and the news he had to deliver empowered him. Trusting to his disguise to fool any Merofynians who might spot him, Fyn set off. If he skated all night and all day he would reach Sapphire Lake by tomorrow evening and Rolenhold by the next day.

  As Piro left her father's hall - where she had seen him host feasts, award honours and boast of his hunting skills - she let her hair fall forwards and focused on the ground. In a matter of days she had fallen from kingsdaughter to slave, just another prize of war.

  All around her the raucous warriors roistered, eating and drinking, grabbing any passing wench they fancied. A servant, who only a few days ago had filled her bath, darted past hurrying to serve new masters. Piro averted her face.

  They were out of the great hall now, walking through the bloodied courtyard, heading for the main gate. All around her the people of Rolenton shuffled past, driven back to the town. Dunstany kept well away from Palatyne's men, who were tossing bodies into an open cart.

  Panic spiked in Piro. There, by the gate, was Cobalt's servant, the one who had been told to look out for her. He knew her face.

  Dunstany stopped suddenly, turning to her. 'What is your name, girl?'

  Panic seized her. How could she hide from the servant?

  'Your name?' Dunstany pressed.

  She hadn't thought that far ahead and said the first thing that came to her. 'Seela, sor.' Then she remembered that was a Merofynian name and hurried to add, 'My mother's mother come from -'

  'I don't want your family history,' he snapped. 'Listen, Seela. I am your master now. Walk one step behind me and do not speak unless I give you permission. Understand?'

  She nodded, feeling resentful - worse, feeling trapped. How could she escape the servant's notice?

  'Come.' As Dunstany strode off towards the gate, Piro considered running away but he glanced back over his shoulder impatiently and she fell into step.

  'Didn't they tell you?' Dunstany asked as he approached the man. 'They've already found the kingsdaughter. Palatyne's in King Rolen's trophy room handing treasures out to his faithful servants.'

  Piro hovered behind Dunstany, grateful for his broad, if stooped, back. The man thanked the noble Power-worker and hurried off, eager to get his share of the treasure.

  Piro swallowed. She was safe, safe as long as the man didn't think to check her body. 'Lord Dunstany? What happened to the bodies of the queen and the others?'

  He glanced swiftly to her. 'They'll have been burned by now. We don't want anyone saving a lock of hair and selling it as a relic. Come along.'

  His casual attitude stung, but she was relieved to hear the bodies had already been burnt. Now Cobalt's servant would never know that another girl had taken Piro's place.

  As they walked down the steep winding road to Rolenton, the townsfolk gave them a wide berth. They were silent, shuffling along, defeated. She prayed none of them took a close look at her, for she was well known in town and at any moment someone might recognise her and give her away. She wanted to g
et out of sight as soon as possible.

  'Where are we going, Lord Dunstany?' she asked softly.

  'I did not give you permission to speak. But to answer your question, I prefer my own quarters as far from the Utlander and his twin brother as possible. Mark my words, Seela, if either of them approaches you they are up to no good.'

  Piro nodded. She never intended to have anything to do with the other Power-workers, and the less she had to do with Dunstany the better. At least she was safe if she stayed in his dwelling and saw only his servants, for none of them would recognise her. Once there, she would lay low until she was ready to escape to the mountains.

  Focusing on Dunstany's indigo robe, she followed the tall scholar. He strode along so fast that she had to take a skipping step every now and then to keep up.

  At the town gate her step faltered. There was Captain Temor's head on a spike along with others from the king's honour guard, men she had known all her life. To her right the Merofynians were throwing bodies onto a bonfire. Yet she felt nothing but relief. What was wrong with her?

  The position of the sun told her that it was only mid-afternoon. It felt like days had passed since her father rode out to meet Palatyne under a flag of truce, though it had only been this morning. Not a breath of wind stirred the air. In the cold, the heads would last a long time. Her throat grew tight with unshed tears.

  'Look at me, not them!' Dunstany spun her around to face him, his black eyes fierce. He gave her a little shake and a surge of anger banished her tears. 'I've called your name three times. Don't make me come after you again. Hurry up.'

  Dunstany strode through the gate where Captain Temor and his men had bought enough time for Piro to retreat to the castle, a sacrifice wasted by the traitor who opened the postern gate. Fury fuelled her as she scurried after the noble Power-worker. It felt good. She nurtured the sensation.

  Just inside Rolenton's gates several servants, wearing the same shade of indigo as Lord Dunstany, waited beside a heavily laden cart.

  'Ahh, Soterro.' Dunstany greeted one of them in Rolencian, so he intended Piro to understand. This was confirmed when he turned to her. 'Soterro is the head of my house when I am travelling. You will obey him as you obey me.'