King Breaker (40 page)

As the material fell away, he snorted softly. ‘Hardly a handful, but...’ He pressed the flat of the blade to her right breast. Her nipple reacted to the cold metal and he smiled with satisfaction. ‘Responsive all the same.’

She glared at him.

‘Oh, yes, I’ll have fun with you tonight,’ he whispered. Returning the knife to its sheath, his hand continued down to cup her. No man had ever touched her so intimately.

She froze, stunned, and he laughed softly.

Before she could recover from the shock, he removed his hand, his top lip lifting in disgust. ‘I can’t... no, I simply can’t bring myself to fuck you, not when you’re more man than woman.’

Heat rushed up her neck, flooding her face.

A deep shout made him turn and look out through the gauze curtain to the main section of the bridal tent, where Seela and Varuska were waiting for him.

Another shout followed. The clash of metal on metal made Florin jump, but it made Cobalt smile.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he whispered. ‘Even Byren would not be so stupid.’

Cobalt darted out into the main section of the tent. As he passed Seela and Varuska, he told them, ‘Stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll see what’s going on.’

B
YREN WORE A
workman’s cap and smock, with a leather harness over his shoulders. He stood as if weary, his back bent between the shafts of a small cart. Neither he nor Orrade carried weapons, which was just as well, since the gate guards had been most thorough. After getting past the guards, they’d made their way up the long straight road on the spine of Narrowneck, delivering hats to the tents of the wealthy.

Now impatience gnawed at him as he waited for Milliner Salvatrix and Orrade to return.

Narrowneck was packed. Servants came and went. Carts filled the lanes between the tents, where arguments over right of way broke out as people refused to back up their horses. Everyone moved with purpose except the men-at-arms, who waited outside tents in twos and threes. A few were hard-eyed and serious, but most had already begun to celebrate, surreptitiously passing around wine skins.

As soon as Orrade and the hat maker reached the cart, Byren bent his shoulders into the harness. The milliner’s cart was not heavy, but it was hard to get it moving up the rise. The return journey would be easier, all downhill, with Piro tucked safely in the back under the blanket. To his relief, the gate guards were not checking carts as they left.

They stopped at two more tents before they reached the highest point where the tradepost had once stood. Here the royal tents had been pitched, both flying the Rolencian banner.

Byren backed the cart into the gap between Cobalt’s tent and a noble’s tent. Salvatrix opened her work basket, while Orrade helped Byren undo the harness.

The hat maker removed her largest pair of scissors, unscrewed them, then gave Byren and Orrade what amounted to a dagger each. ‘Here you are. Now, I’ll wait here and—’

‘Freezing Sylion!’ Orrade nudged Byren. ‘That’s Chandler and Old Man Narrows.’

Dressed as Rolencian men-at-arms, carrying stolen weapons, the pair walked bold as brass up to Cobalt’s tent and slipped inside.

Byren swore softly. ‘What are they doing here?’

‘Getting themselves killed,’ Orrade muttered. ‘We must—’

‘Watch out for Cobalt’s manservant,’ the hat-maker warned. ‘I’ve heard he’s a corax.’

Byren planted a kiss of thanks on her cheek. ‘Keep your head down.’

Then he and Orrade made a dash for the corner of Cobalt’s tent. Byren gestured to the bridal tent. ‘You grab Piro. I’ll get Chandler and Old Man Narrows.’

‘But—’

A shout, followed by the clash of metal, put an end to debate. Orrade ran for Piro’s tent.

Byren used his blade to slit the side of Cobalt’s tent. Inside, the hot, still air was heavily scented with Ostronite incense. By the light of two lamps, he spotted Chandler and Old Man Narrows on the far side of the tent. A manservant faced them, holding a knife with all the confidence of a trained killer. There was no sign of Cobalt.

As Byren crept up behind the corax, Chandler’s eyes widened and the corax spun around, slashing at Byren.

Old Man Narrows stepped in with his sword raised, but before he knew what was happening, the corax had diverted his blade and slashed open his belly.

As Florin’s father buckled, trying to hold his guts in, the corax lunged for Chandler. The lad threw himself backwards, falling over a chest. Byren pulled him to safety.

The corax backed up as Byren stepped forward. A dozen men-at-arms charged into the tent and stood blinking in the dim, stifling tent.

The corax pointed at Byren. ‘It’s the usurper. Kill him.’

The men-at-arms spread out warily. Byren snatched a fallen sword and Chandler lifted his blade.

Cobalt arrived at a run. Taller than the rest, he looked over their heads to Byren. His eyes widened with malicious triumph. ‘Kill the usurper!’

The men-at-arms charged. Byren threw the sword, spear-like, into the first man’s chest. Grabbing the nearest lamp, he flung it on the carpet at their attackers’ feet. Flames sprang up between them, and Byren dragged Chandler out through the slit in the side of the tent.

‘What of Piro?’ Chandler protested.

‘There.’ Byren pointed. Six paces away, Orrade had bundled Piro into the cart and was covering her with a blanket. Was that his old nurse running back to the bridal tent?

Byren pulled off his cap and smock and shoved them into Chandler’s arms, before pushing him towards the shafts of the cart. ‘Put on the harness.’

Cobalt’s voice carried as he shouted, ‘Around the back!’

Orrade caught Byren’s arm. ‘It’s not—’

‘Go.’ Byren shoved him aside. ‘I’ll lead them away.’

He darted out from behind Cobalt’s tent into full view of the men-at-arms. With a shout, they took off after him and he ran across Narrowneck, his bad knee protesting.

F
LORIN TRIED TO
pull her hands through the ropes, but they held firm. She tried to work the gag loose, but Amil had known what he was doing.

Through the thin muslin curtain, she saw the flap of the main chamber open as someone beckoned. ‘Quick, this way.’

‘Orrie?’ Seela sounded stunned. ‘Where’s Byren?’

‘Here. Bring... That’s not Piro.’

‘No time to explain.’ Seela grabbed Varuska and yelled over her shoulder. ‘Come quick, Florin.’

Florin tried to call out, but all she could manage was a high pitched whine. Outside, she heard shouting and imagined Byren fighting his way to the gate. She should be with him.

She glimpsed someone as they slipped into the tent’s main chamber. Only too aware of her vulnerability, Florin went very still, heart hammering.

‘Hello?’ The girl’s voice was vaguely familiar. Had one of the flower girls come back?

The girl strolled into the tent and helped herself to a sip of the sweet wine and a pastry.

In desperation, Florin pulled and jerked on her restraints, throwing her weight against the posts. Half their length had been buried in the ground; even so, she felt them give slightly.

‘Why are you tied up?’ Varuska’s sister stepped into the private chamber of the tent. She put her wine glass aside and tilted her head. ‘I saw Ruska run off with an old woman and a thin man. He was dressed as an apprentice, but carried himself like a warrior. What’s going on?’

Florin rolled her eyes, unable to speak.

‘My sister’s run away, hasn’t she? Stupid girl.’ Anatoley’s eyes gleamed with contempt. ‘I knew she wasn’t cut out for this. Trust her to throw away the chance of a lifetime!’

Florin jerked her head, indicating the ropes that held her.

Anatoley stepped closer and raised her hands, but it was only to stroke a velvet gown. With deft fingers, the girl unlaced her own gown, tossed it aside and slipped the brocade-edged royal gown over her head. She tightened the lacings, then reached into the bodice and adjusted her breasts so that they showed to best advantage.

Florin could only manage a muffled, indignant protest as Anatoley admired herself in the polished silver mirror.

The girl noticed the jewel chest and opened it. With a cry of delight, she placed the pearl and ruby choker around her neck.

‘Piro?’ Cobalt entered the outer chamber. ‘Piro, Seela, are you out the back?’

Anatoley froze and peered through the muslin.

‘If she’s run off, I’ll...’ He strode towards the private chamber. But halfway across, he lurched as if to avoid something, cried out and clutched his back.

‘You’re too late,’ Seela said, springing away with a bloody knife. ‘The girl’s escaped!’

‘Why, you scrawny old bitch,’ Cobalt snarled. ‘I’m going to—’

‘I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,’ Seela said, edging away as he tried to circle her. ‘You’re going to die for killing my little Myrella.’

And Florin remembered Seela had been Queen Myrella’s nurse.

As Anatoley drew her knife and slipped through the curtain, joy surged through Florin. Now Cobalt would get what he deserved.

The girl sprang forward, struck and stepped back. Florin watched in horror as Seela collapsed with a knife in her back.

Cobalt took a step back. ‘Who the—’

‘I’m Varuska’s sister. King Byren the fourth’s other great-granddaughter.’

He looked confused.

‘Your father wasn’t the only bastard,’ Anatoley told him. ‘Our grandmother—’

‘Why did you kill Seela?’

‘Because I should have been the one to play Piro, not Varuska.’ She adjusted the gown. ‘I should be your queen.’

Cobalt swayed, then almost fell. Anatoley caught him and helped him to the day-bed.

‘Your wound needs binding. Let’s get that shirt off you.’ The muffled sound of movement was followed by material tearing. ‘What’s going on outside?’

‘Byren sent men to kill me. That fool doesn’t deserve this kingdom. Trying to kill me on my wedding day? He’s played into my hands and branded himself a coward.’

‘You’ll catch him and kill him?’ Anatoley asked eagerly.

Florin decided she hated Varuska’s sister.

‘Of a certainty.’ Cobalt gave a soft grunt of pain.

‘Sorry.’ Anatoley perched on the end of the day-bed beside Cobalt. ‘You know, I’m the same height and colouring as Varuska. I could be your Piro. I’d do a much better job of it.’ She tilted her head, using the same mannerism as Piro and Varuska. ‘Can’t you use me, instead of her?’

‘Maybe I can,’ Cobalt said slowly, coming to his feet. ‘You’re such a pretty little thing it seems almost a shame to...’

His fist slammed into her face.

Anatoley fell backwards off the day-bed. Blood gushed between her fingers as she pressed her hands to her nose, and stared up at him, eyes wide with shock. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘You don’t look enough like your sister. But with a broken nose, no one will notice.’ He offered his hand. ‘Come, my dear.’

Anatoley considered for a heartbeat, then took it. Florin cursed. The girl was a faithless opportunist.

They walked out of Florin’s line of sight.

A moment later Anatoley staggered backwards, bent over, both hands pressed to her chest.

‘Why...’ The girl showed Cobalt her bloody hands. A knife hilt protruded from her ribs. She sank slowly to her knees and toppled forward. ‘Why...’

‘I’m sorry, my dear, but you’re more use to me dead than alive. Dead, you’ll paint Byren as a kin-slayer.’

Several men-at-arms entered the tent, followed by the abbot.

Cobalt dropped to his knees. ‘Piro, my sweet, I failed you.’

‘What happened?’ Abbot Firefox asked.

‘Byren tried to kill me.’ Cobalt indicated his wound. ‘When I fought him off, he grabbed Piro, said she’d never marry me, and killed her.’

‘Byren killed Piro?’ the abbot repeated in surprise, then with more conviction. ‘Byren killed his sister. The coward!’

‘Find him and his rebels.’ Cobalt came to his feet, with the dead ‘Piro’ in his arms. He cut a tragic figure. ‘Abbot Firefox, call the nobles and merchants—’

‘They’ve fled. The fire has spread to the other tents and there’s no stopping it. We must leave.’

Florin shuddered. Now she recognised the background noise for the roar of a fire.

‘I have horses. Hurry,’ the abbot urged.

Cobalt glanced towards the private chamber, almost as if he could see through the curtain into the darkness. He knew Florin was still in there.

And he turned away, leaving her to burn.

Florin jerked on the ropes. She tried to scream through the gag, but only a high whine emerged. Sweat ran down her forehead. Her eyes stung from the smoke, and her panicked breath whistled through her nose.

She was not going to die here. Furious, she threw her weight against the ropes. Her shoulders ached and her wrists burned as the ropes tightened, but she felt the posts give ever so slightly. Heartened, she renewed her struggle.

Chapter Thirty-Two

B
YREN RAN UNTIL
his bad knee throbbed and the breath burned in his chest. He ran through tents, up lanes, across carts and between horses, doubling back to escape his pursuers. Their shouts became lost in the cries of those trying to put out fires and save loved ones. The smoke was so thick he couldn’t see more than a body-length in front of him. He heard the whinny of frightened horses. As they galloped past him, one beast shouldered him aside and he staggered.

Desperate people collided with him as they made for the gate. He could just imagine the bottleneck. The barrier, built to keep people out, would also keep them in. It seemed like a good idea to go in the opposite direction, to the beach on the far side of Narrowneck.

The heat was something fearful, but he made it back to the crest of Narrowneck. As he passed the back of the bridal tent, he remembered seeing Seela. Had she escaped? He slit the canvas and darted into a dim, smoky interior. ‘Seela, are you in here?’

In front of him clothing hung from a rail. The gowns heaved and a high whining noise reached him. He stepped around the post and parted the dresses to find Florin tied up. Wisps of her hair had come loose from her plait and clung to her sweat-damp face. Her servant’s tabard had been slit from neck to hip, revealing her small, high breasts.