King Breaker (41 page)

‘Who did this to you?’ He wanted to strangle her tormentors with his bare hands. Trembling with fury, he sawed through one of her restraints.

She pulled the gag from her mouth. ‘Byren!’

‘Aye, it’s me.’ He reached for the other restraint. ‘I’m sorry—’

‘Byren...’ Tears filled her eyes.

‘Eh, none of that, I’m here now.’ He freed her other hand and she almost fell into his arms. Her wrists had been rubbed raw by the ropes. ‘Who—’

‘Seela’s dead.’

‘What?’

She drew him into the main chamber, where flames had begun to eat into the canvas walls. But Florin seemed unaware of this as she knelt and rolled Seela’s body onto her back.

Byren sank to his knees beside his old nurse. A roaring filled his head.

Florin looked across at him, tears gleaming on her cheeks. ‘She tried to kill Cobalt.’

Behind Florin, the back wall of the tent was alight.

‘Come with me.’ Byren hauled Florin to her feet and ran for the tent’s front entrance. One look outside revealed flying cinders.

Desperate, Byren grabbed an Ostronite wool rug, swinging it over their shoulders. ‘Ready? We’ll make for the cliffs.’

She nodded.

They ran out into the fiery maelstrom. A mighty wind buffeted them as they staggered. In the maelstrom, Byren got turned around, but Florin seemed to know the way.

The hot air dried out Byren’s eyes, and each breath burned his throat. They passed a burning tent, fruit bubbling and blackening on platters.

Through the smoke he glimpsed the lake and they headed that way. Byren’s ankles and forearms stung as flying cinders swirled around them. They stumbled on.

Stumbled right off the cliff, plummeting into the lake. The rug was torn from his hands as blessedly cool water closed over them.

And he remembered Florin couldn’t swim. Desperate, he reached out, felt Florin’s shoulder and pulled her close. Keeping a tight hold on her, he kicked, driving them towards the surface. They came up, gasping for air. The wind howled above them and the sky was full of smoke and cinders.

Florin’s cheeks were streaked with soot and her eyes were red-rimmed from the smoke and heat. She clutched him tightly, and he could feel the panic in her body.

He held her eyes. ‘I’ll keep you safe. Trust me.’

She nodded and he felt the tension go out of her body. Turning her in his arms, he began to swim backwards, looking around for the nearest boat, but the smoke was too thick. So he struck out in what he hoped was the right direction to reach the shore, hoping to feel lake bed under his feet.

Nothing. Maybe he was going in circles.

He was a strong swimmer, but the lake, fed by the run-off from the recent snow melt, was freezing. He could hear Florin’s teeth chattering. Just as he was beginning to despair, a small row boat loomed out of the smoke. He called for help.

No one answered. He struck out for it.

When he reached the boat, he guided Florin to the side. ‘Hold on, Mountain Girl.’

She clutched the boat, tipping it, and he saw it was empty save for some bundles down near the stern.

‘Stay here. I’m going around the far side to get in.’

She stared at him, clearly terrified.

‘I won’t leave you. I promise.’

She nodded, teeth chattering.

‘That’s my mountain girl.’

‘I’m n-not your girl.’

He laughed and swam around the row boat, where he yelled. ‘Hold tight.’

With a kick, he hauled his weight over the side and into the boat. As soon as the rocking stopped, he perched on the bench, leant over the side and hauled Florin into the belly of the boat. She lay there, shivering, trying to catch her breath. Her tabard gaped open to reveal her ribs rising with each breath and her breasts, the nipples tight and dark against her skin.

He turned away and found the bundles in the stern. A quick investigation revealed a blanket and a basket of food.

‘Someone planned a picnic,’ he said, wondering what had happened to them. Probably panicked and lost the oars, then another boat had taken them in.

He grabbed the blanket just as Florin came to her knees. The boat rocked.

‘Take it easy, you’ll tip the boat.’ He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. ‘There.’ Now he could keep his eyes on her face. ‘You’ll soon warm up.’

‘You came back for me.’ She shuddered.

If he hadn’t come back, she’d have died. He thought better of telling her he’d been looking for Seela. Grief made his throat tight.

‘That’s t-twice I’ve jumped off Narrowneck with you,’ Florin said, teeth chattering, ‘and me unable to swim. Next t-time I’m taking the gate.’

He grinned. ‘There’s food. We should be alright tonight.’ A smoke-shrouded dusk had closed in, but they would need to be off the lake by sunrise tomorrow.

He had to trust that Orrade had led the others out of Narrowneck. Where would they go? Not Rolenton. Maybe Foenix Spar. No, Byren was certain Orrade wouldn’t abandon him.

He’d wait at the old water-wheel. It was where they’d regrouped the night Palatyne had captured Dovecote Estate.

The old mill would be deserted. Orrade’s older brother, Dovronzik, had built a more efficient mill-house further down the stream. Poor Dovronzik. He’d died before Orrade was born, executed for his part in the Servants of Palos uprising.

In the thirty years since, the old water-wheel had fallen into disrepair. As children, they’d claimed the old mill-house for their own, bringing blankets and baskets of food. On hot summer afternoons, they used to stretch out on the upper floor and watch the water rush by, dreaming of the brave things they would do when they grew up. Lence would boast to impress Elina, while Piro and Garzik bickered.

Lence, Elina and Garzik... all lost. Pain cramped in Byren’s gut. He tried to focus. ‘At least Piro’s safe.’

‘That wasn’t Piro. Cobalt was about to marry Varuska.’ Florin’s voice was rough with tears. ‘And it was her sister who killed Seela.’

‘Who
are
these girls?’

‘The great-granddaughters of King Byren the Fourth. Their grandmother was another of his bastards.’ Florin shrugged. ‘Varuska looked so much like Piro, it had to be true. Cobalt could have gotten away with marrying her. He had everyone fooled.’

So Chandler and Old Man Narrows had tried to save an imposter. Byren was reminded that Florin’s father was dead, and she didn’t know. ‘I’m so sorry—’

‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You couldn’t have saved Seela.’

‘It’s not...’ He looked down at his big, scarred hands. What good was strength if you could not save the people you loved? He hadn’t saved his mother or Elina, hadn’t been able to save Seela and now... Grief threatened to choke him.

Florin rose to her knees and reached out to cup his cheek. ‘Byren, what’s wrong?’

He met her eyes. ‘Your father’s dead. He and Chandler came to save Piro, but they picked the wrong tent and the corax killed him.’

Her face fell. ‘Amil killed Da?’

He nodded.

She threw herself into Byren’s arms as sobs shook her. He felt her wet hair on his cheek, hot tears on his neck and hot breath on his throat. He wept with her. Wept for Seela, for Old Man Narrows... for everyone he had lost since Cobalt came back. Her tears mingled with his.

Then she took his face in her hands and her sobs turned into kisses of consolation. Clumsy, desperate kisses. Next thing he knew, he had driven her down onto the blanket in the belly of the boat and his bare chest pressed on hers. He kissed her face, her throat, her breasts...

His hands went to his breeches, freeing himself with practised ease. He tugged at her trousers and she lifted her hips. With a tug, he pulled them off, and tossed them away.

Hot skin, smooth and silken—her beauty stole his breath. Her body, so strong and eager, drew him. She tilted her hips to meet him. He felt the heat of her, knew with one thrust he would be home. At the thought, he nearly lost it right then, like an untried lad, but somehow he managed to hold back.

Drawing him down, she welcomed him. He felt resistance and realised she had never known a man.

Realised he was on the verge of repeating the mistakes of King Byren the Fourth, and look what a mess his grandfather had made, scattering his bastards across Rolencia.

There were ways to avoid pregnancy, but the moment he thought his, he realised he didn’t want to treat Florin like one of his dalliances. He wanted...

He could never have what he wanted, not when he’d given his word to Isolt. Sanity returned.

With a groan he pulled back.

She came after him, hair wild, lips swollen, lost in passion in a way that made him wish he was free to love her as she deserved.

‘Don’t.’ His hand met her chest. He felt her heart racing, and the rise of her breast. ‘I can’t...’ He shuddered, because there was nothing he wanted more. ‘I just can’t...’

She whimpered like a wounded animal and seemed to shrink into herself as she hugged her knees, naked in the dimness, waist-length hair dark against her skin. So pale and perfect...

‘For god’s sake, get dressed.’ If she didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to stop and then he’d hate himself.

She turned away, searching for her clothes. As she bent forward, her wet hair fell over her shoulder, revealing the line of her spine, her waist and the flare of her hips...

He had to put his back to her.

Leaning over the side of the boat, he dipped a hand in the lake and splashed icy water on his face, his chest and his raging erection. The painful cold brought clarity.

He was not the kind of man his grandfather and Lence had been. He might have the same appetites, but he could exercise self-control.

Byren felt for his breeches, tucked himself in and did up the laces. No shirt. It was going to be a cold night. And he dare not cuddle Florin to keep warm.

He glanced over his shoulder. She wore her torn tabard, but her long thighs were bare. ‘Why—’

‘I can’t find my pants.’ She sounded aggrieved. ‘I think you threw them overboard.’

He slammed his palm to his forehead. He was not taking his breeches off to give to her. That way lay ruin for them both.

‘Wrap the blanket around you,’ he said, voice raw with desperation.

F
LORIN DID AS
he instructed. Byren couldn’t bear to look at her. He despised her. She’d thrown herself at him but, just like Cobalt, he found her repulsive. She huddled down in the boat, heart-sick and racked with a bone-deep sadness that went beyond tears.

While she’d been making a fool of herself, they’d drifted across the lake, leaving the smoke behind. She could see by the brilliant stars above that it was going to be a cold night.

‘Here.’ He offered her a leg of roast chicken, hardly looking in her direction.

She accepted it without a word, and forced herself to eat, curled up at her end of the boat.

‘We’re drifting west,’ he said. ‘That’s good. We’ll take to the woods, find Orrie and—’

‘I’m going home.’ Even as she said the words, she remembered she had no home. With Narrowneck burned and Da dead, there was only Leif.

‘Your brother’s safe with Warlord Feid,’ Byren said. ‘What is Leif now, nine?’

‘Ten,’ she corrected, noting that Byren did not ask her to stay with him.

Of course not. She was an embarrassment, a woman who was no good at womanly things. Winterfall had warned her that Byren would never look at her. She’d denied her feelings back then, but there was no point lying to herself now.

She’d only ever wanted to be accepted for who she was, and she’d thought Byren accepted her. More than that, she’d thought he respected her. But she’d been fooling herself.

‘Here.’ He tossed her a water sack. ‘You sleep. I’ll keep watch.’

‘All night? I don’t think so. You sleep first. I’m not tired.’

He hesitated. ‘You sure?’

‘Yes.’ She was too heart-sore to sleep.

He took her at her word and huddled down in the stern. Before tonight’s disaster, she would have seen this as a sign that he respected her.

Now she couldn’t wait to leave.

Chapter Thirty-Three

B
YREN STUDIED THE
set of Florin’s shoulders as she strode ahead of him. He could tell she was furious and he didn’t blame her. Because of him, she’d been forced to wear the blanket as breeches. A strip of cloth did duty as a breast-band. He caught glimpses of it when her damaged tabard gaped. At least she had boots. Just as well he hadn’t noticed them last night when he dragged off her breeches or he’d have thrown them overboard, too.

Just the thought of how close he’d come to dishonouring her and himself made the blood rush to his face. Even so, he still yearned for her.

He had it bad. The sooner he was away from her, the better.

‘I know how to avoid Cobalt’s men and reach the secret pass over the mountains on my own.’ She barely glanced over her shoulder, her long legs taking such great strides he had to push himself to keep up.

‘Good, you can help Chandler take Varuska to Feid’s stronghold. She’ll be safe on Foenix Spar.’ He owed the girl that much.

Florin shot Byren a dark look. A thrill raced through his body, forcing him to admit that he was keeping her near him because he didn’t want to part with her.

‘We’ll meet up with the others,’ he said, ‘spend the night in the abandoned mill-house. We can separate tomorrow.’

‘Now that Cobalt has blackened your name by saying you murdered your own sister, what’s your next step?’

He laughed. ‘No one in their right mind is going to believe that.’

What
was
his next step, though? It was a good question, but he couldn’t think; not when Florin jumped down from a fallen log in front of him, her strong pale thighs flexing.

G
ARZIK STOOD ON
the reardeck, watching the ospriet far above. With its Affinity-enhanced vision, the bird could spot its prey at a great distance. The ospriet dropped like an arrow, skimmed the water, then rose, huge wings labouring as something writhed in its beak. Garzik raised the farseer and caught a flash of iridescent serpent skin as the ospriet carried off a scytalis.