King Breaker (16 page)

Varuska jumped.

Florin signalled for her to sit and handed her a hair brush. ‘Do your hair. Never show fear.’

Varuska nodded and Florin went to the door.

Cobalt’s manservant, Amil, swept in, carrying a grand gown and a small lacquered box. He draped the gown over a chair and opened the box on the bed to reveal jewellery, scent bottles, powders and face paints—all things alien to Florin’s life. What made them think she would be a good lady’s maid?

‘His lordship is taking his betrothed for a carriage ride through Rolenhold today,’ Amil announced, then frowned. ‘Don’t brush your hair like that, girl, you’ll flatten the curl. Ah, I see I’ll have to curl it again.’ He took the brush from her and snapped his fingers at Florin. ‘Come here.’

She stepped up behind him, thinking a knife through the ribs would shut him up. He might be one of Ostron Isle’s renowned assassins, but he wasn’t on his guard right now. ‘It’s Leif.’

‘Leif? A barbaric name...’ Amil looked her up and down. ‘Still, my lord thinks you can be trained, so watch.’ He separated Varuska’s hair into long sections, wound them around a hot iron, then counted to ten. ‘You unravel the hair gently so the curl doesn’t come out while the hair is still warm.’ He finished a third ringlet. ‘Think you can do this?’

Florin nodded.

‘Take over.’ He pulled Varuska to her feet and eased the new gown over her head, giving it a tug to settle it into place. This one was a deep plum red, trimmed with seed-pearls.

As Florin curled Varuska’s hair, Amil pulled the lacings tight under her breasts.

‘You will be seated in an open carriage,’ he told Varuska. ‘You will smile and wave.’

Varuska nodded.

‘Good.’ He sat her down, pushed Florin aside and began pinning up Varuska’s hair. ‘Here and here, see. Now the cap with the pearl netting. It sits just so. A maiden’s cap.’ He darted around to the front and selected a bottle of Ostronite myrrh. ‘One dab here, between the breasts.’ His hands were business-like. ‘Another behind each ear. More is vulgar, you understand?’

They both nodded.

‘Now the features. Such a pretty face.’ But his eyes held only consideration. ‘A little kohl on the lids... What?’

Florin had been about to say that Piro never bothered to paint her face, but Florin should not have known this, so she asked, ‘How do you avoid smudges?’

‘A steady hand and an artist’s eye.’ He mixed oil with the kohl and began to apply it with a small brush. As Florin watched him elongate Varuska’s tilted black eyes, she had to admit he had a flair for it. ‘Now the lip paint, deep red to match the gown.’ He handed the girl a small pot. ‘You need to take this with you. If his lordship kisses you, you’ll have to re-apply it.’

Varuska looked like a trapped, frightened bird.

‘I should go with her,’ Florin offered, fearing the girl might panic.

Amil considered then sighed. ‘Wait here.’ He darted out.

Varuska peered at herself in a polished glass. ‘I look odd.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘My lips feel funny, like I can’t talk without worrying about smudging them. How do women do this?’

Florin had no idea. ‘You smile. You look pretty and vulnerable, and you never give them reason to look past your face. Men always underestimate pretty girls.’ And they ignored plain ones, which suited her.

Varuska nodded. ‘Anatoley would have been better at this.’

‘Maybe.’ Florin conceded. ‘But you’re the one who looks most like Piro.’ In fact, now that she thought about it, Varuska was more classically beautiful than Piro. The real kingsdaughter had a sharper chin, and her mouth was larger. But only someone who saw the two side by side would notice.

‘Wear this, Leif.’ Amil returned carrying a man-servant’s thigh-length tabard, decorated with gold brocade. ‘If we are to accompany his lordship in public, we must add to his magnificence.’

Varuska covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

Amil ignored her. He wore the same style of tabard but Florin noticed, as he leant forward, that there was a knife strapped to his upper thigh.

She turned her back, removed her simple tabard and dropped the fancy new one over her head. Then she tugged her plait free and settled the male servant’s skullcap in place. ‘Ready.’

Amil looked her up and down. ‘As you’ll ever be.’ Florin ignored the jibe.

The Ostronite assassin offered Varuska his arm. ‘Come, kingsdaughter.’

Varuska went to take it as a country girl would, then remembered and placed her arm along his.

‘Good girl.’ His voice held approval, but Florin knew he would slit her throat without hesitation on Cobalt’s orders. ‘We’ll make a kingsdaughter of you yet.’

They found the lord at the top of the stairs, deep in conversation with the castle-keep. She was accompanied by a youth, who Florin assumed was her new assistant. He looked overwhelmed. She had probably worn the same expression yesterday herself. When his gaze fell on the false Piro, he gave a little start of surprise.

Had he known the real Piro? Florin tensed, expecting him to denounce Varuska, but he stared at her as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

Florin took another look. With the seed pearls gleaming in her dark hair, the red gown contrasting with her pale skin, her eyes enhanced by the kohl and her painted lips, Varuska was enough to turn any man’s head.

The castle-keep looked Florin up and down. ‘A day ago you were begging for work. Now look at you in your fine feathers. Mark my words, Leif, fail his lordship and you’ll be out on the street just as quickly.’

Fail his lordship and she’d be dead.
But Florin bowed and said, ‘I live to serve.’

Yegora sniffed and bustled off, with the youth in tow. Meanwhile, Cobalt turned and held out his arm to Varuska.

‘Little Piro, how lovely you look.’ He leant down to place a chaste kiss on each cheek. ‘Cold, my dear?’ Lifting her hand to his mouth, he breathed warm air over her fingers and pressed her palm to his chest. ‘Do not fear. The people will be delighted to see you’ve escaped the Merofynian invasion. My servants tell me commoners have been gathering in the square since dawn, in the hope of catching a glimpse of you.’

With that, they descended the stairs. Servants clustered at every balcony and in every doorway, whispering, pointing and marvelling. One youth was bold enough to cheer, setting them all off. Excited cheering followed the royal party out into the courtyard, where the stable hands waited to catch a glimpse of the kingsdaughter. Florin spotted the tall, skinny boy who’d been hired at the same time as Varuska and her sister. Her stomach clenched with fear, but he gazed on the false Piro with the same adoration as the rest of the stable lads.

And in that moment, Florin understood the power of Cobalt’s ploy. After the delivery of Fyn Rolen Kingson’s body, the people
wanted
to believe that Piro had survived. They wanted the legitimacy that betrothal to King Rolen’s daughter brought to Cobalt’s claim.

More prosaically, they wanted life to settle down, so they could plant their crops, bake their bread and sit around the dinner table with their families without fear of war.

‘Up here.’

‘What?’ Florin turned to Amil.

He gestured to the back of the carriage. ‘We ride up here, behind Lord Cobalt and the kingsdaughter.’

When they rolled out of the castle and onto the steep switchback road, Florin looked out across the kingdom. It was a crystal clear day. In the distance she could just discern Mount Halcyon. Between the mountain and the castle were patches of farmland and forest, interspersed with lakes reflecting the perfect spring sky.

Directly below, Lake Sapphire lived up to its name, gleaming like a jewel. The township of Rolenton nestled on the lake’s banks and the wharfs were full of ships. Even from up here, Florin could see the town square was packed.

‘Is that music?’ Varuska asked, tilting her head. Now that she mentioned it, Florin could just pick out the faint thread of music on the air.

‘Castle musicians are entertaining the crowd until our arrival,’ Cobalt explained. ‘This will be every bit as grand as last night, cousin Piro.’

He was right.

As they trundled under the town’s defensive gates, word of their arrival spread and a hush fell over the street leading to the square. People watched from first floor balconies, shop fronts and even roof tops.

‘Smile and wave, Piro,’ Cobalt ordered softly, smiling benignly. Florin caught his expression when he turned to wave, and it made her shiver.

Varuska lifted her hand and the crowd cried Piro’s name. The cheering rolled ahead of them, so that by the time they arrived in the square the music had been drowned out. People ran alongside the carriage, some threw early blooming flowers. Many waved scarves and shawls in every shade of red and burgundy.

The roar of the crowd made Florin’s head ache. The carriage completed a circuit of the square, before pulling up in front of the merchants’ guildhall. The castle musicians had set up on the top steps. Above them, the tower stretched into the clear blue sky.

Cobalt stood and drew Varuska to her feet. The people hushed.

‘I give you my betrothed, Pirola Rolen Kingsdaughter.’

Maybe he had intended to give a speech as well, but the crowd’s roar was so loud, he could not go on. He smiled and bent to kiss Varuska’s cheek. Meanwhile, the musicians resumed playing, battling valiantly to be heard.

Florin gripped the back seat of the carriage. In the crowd she saw apprentices hugging and laughing, fathers with small children on their shoulders, old women wiping tears from their cheeks and couples dancing.

One face, however, wasn’t smiling. Anatoley glared up at her sister. Florin glanced sideways to Varuska, but she hadn’t noticed Anatoley in the crush.

An overdressed, middle-aged man came down to the carriage and tugged on Amil’s arm. The Ostronite assassin crouched to hear what he had to say.

Cobalt glanced over his shoulder. ‘What is it?’

‘The merchants have organised a grand feast in the hall,’ Amil reported. ‘They wish to wine and dine the betrothed couple.’

‘Excellent.’

Florin searched the crowd, but Anatoley had disappeared. She hoped the girl had the sense to leave Rolencia.

‘Come, cousin Piro.’ Cobalt climbed down and offered his hand. The overdressed merchant waited on the steps, eager to welcome them.

Florin followed Cobalt and Varuska up the steps into the merchant guildhall, where a dozen self-important merchants waited, eager to celebrate the usurper’s betrothal to King Rolen’s only surviving heir.

Cobalt took pride of place at the guildhall table with the false Piro at his side. Everything was going according to his plan.

But it wouldn’t be for long. Tears of fury burned Florin’s eyes. Cobalt sat in Byren’s chair, and soon he would regret it.

G
ARZIK SMILED AS
he imagined Byren and Orrade’s surprise when he returned. All his life, he’d been the little brother running after them, trying to earn a place at their sides. Soon he’d return having led a raid against the enemy, bearing useful information on the Merofynians.

‘Wynn?’ Olbin’s hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump. ‘Dreamer...’

The big Utlander drew him towards the captain’s cabin. They passed Vesnibor, who watched Garzik with narrowed eyes. Then they passed Trafyn, who lay in the passage lost in his fever. Had the squire babbled something about their plans?

Garzik’s stomach clenched with fear, but he told himself the Utlanders would have confronted him with Trafyn present.

In the captain’s cabin, Garzik found Rusan waiting with seven of his strongest and most respected crew. Hard men, dangerous men. Garzik caught Jost’s calculating look. Had the one-eared Utlander sabotaged his plans somehow?

‘I’ve been going through the Merofynian captain’s charts, but I can’t find one for Mero Bay. Only this.’ Rusan pointed to a map spread out on the floor. It showed Merofynia and the spars.

A wave of relief swept Garzik. ‘The Merofynian captain wouldn’t need a detailed map of his home port.’

‘You know Port Mero,’ Rusan said. ‘What can you tell us?’

Garzik had only been to Port Mero once. Now he racked his brains to recall every snippet of information. He dropped to his knees and pretended to study the map, to buy time.

Merofynia’s fertile shores overlooked one large sea, linked to Mero Bay by a canal. The bay was roughly the same size as the Landlocked Sea and was dotted with small fishing villages. Back when he’d sailed into port on Lord Travany’s ship, he could remember avoiding sandbars, but...

Rusan crouched next to him. ‘I can take my ship just about anywhere by feeling my way, but I can’t do that in Port Mero. It would destroy our ruse.’

Garzik pointed to one of the headlands protecting the entrance to Mero Bay and infused his voice with confidence. ‘That’s Mulcibar’s Gate. At its tip is a slow-moving river of lava that makes the sea boil and steam. Once we’re beyond that we make north for the port, where we’ll drop anchor as if we’re waiting for a berth.’

Rusan and Garzik rose and everyone moved to stand each side of the map, revealing their loyalties. Jost was joined by his two half-brothers and another two supporters, leaving Rusan with Olbin, Garzik and the identical twins who had fathered the oracles. They were so alike that when Garzik had first come aboard, he hadn’t realised there were two of them. Even now, he could only tell them apart by their scars.

‘We’ll we need someone who speaks Merofynian like a native,’ Crisdun said, and his twin nodded.

‘That’s where Wynn comes in.’ Rusan gestured to Garzik. ‘He’ll do the talking.’

‘Why should we trust him?’ Jost looked Garzik up and down. ‘He’s a slave.’

‘Former slave.’ Olbin bristled. ‘He earned his freedom.’

‘Once a slave always a slave, and you’re a fool if you think otherwise,’ Jost said. ‘Why should he betray his own people? For all we know, he’s leading us into a trap.’

The twins edged away from Garzik, eyeing him with suspicion. One wrong word now and there would be no trip to Port Mero. Jost would be captain and Garzik’s life would be short and horrible.