King Breaker (50 page)

But the stone had another, more sinister function. If someone was accused of treason, the king would stand the accused on the stone under the linden tree to question him. It was said you could not tell a lie while standing on the stone under the linden tree. And it was from the branches of this tree that the guilty were hung.

Today it held sad fruit.

Fyn’s only consolation was that the boy had died of natural causes and the real hostage was safely hidden amongst Camoric’s people. The dead boy bore enough of a resemblance to Cortomir that once they’d dressed him in the spar vest, breeches and boots, he could be mistaken for the hostage.

From this angle, with the wind blowing his shoulder-length hair over his face, even Fyn could not tell him apart from Cortomir. Dunstany had added some artistic touches—painting his features and packing them to make it seem as if he had died by hanging. Even the unfortunate lad’s own family would not have known him.

Dunstany watched from his carriage with Rhalwyn at his side, waiting for Fyn’s signal.

‘So this is the spar hostage?’ someone called as Fyn guided his horse through the crowd and chose a spot under the tree. For now the sweet smell of the linden blossoms covered the smell of death.

‘Does this mean the Centicore warlord attacked again?’ someone else yelled.

‘Didn’t you hear?’ a busy-body spoke up. ‘Hundreds of spar warriors came in the night and murdered the whole of Benetir household in their beds!’

There was a chorus of worried comments. Meanwhile, Fyn dismounted and climbed onto the Merofynity Stone. For a brief moment he felt a superstitious awe and half expected the stone to respond to him in some way. Nothing happened.

As he unrolled the parchment, Fyn saw a gate guard leave his post at a run. The rest of the guards watched, ready to intervene if the gawkers got out of hand. It was market day, and more people poured in from the square as news of the hanging spread.

‘I bring Queen Isolt’s proclamation,’ Fyn announced, and introduced himself by title. Then he read the carefully worded document. Centicore Spar had broken their word. Queen Isolt had exacted vengeance on the hostage. ‘...so let it be known that all who break their word to the queen will face her justice.’

‘Shame on you,’ a woman yelled.

But her voice was drowned by the crowd, who delighted in the suffering of others. Fyn looked out over the gathering. Someone had run back to their fruit stall and returned with a basket of rotten fruit. Several youths began hurling them at the body. The crowd jeered.

Sickened, Fyn jumped down. Before he could be showered in rotting fruit, he hung the proclamation on the linden tree. As he climbed onto the Merofynity Stone to mount up, someone bumped him and he fell forward. The pressure of the crowd and the strength of his emotion combined to make Fyn’s Affinity surge. The stone on his ring glowed softly, and he felt the stone under his bare palms respond—not because he was of the Merofyn line but because of his Affinity. Under the dust and moss, it was the biggest Affinity stone he had ever seen.

He pulled his hands away before anyone noticed, mounted his horse and guided it to the edge of the crowd.

Just as he’d suspected, Captain Elrhodoc rode this way with a dozen of the queen’s guards. Their bright royal blue half-cloaks rippled and their gold braid gleamed. The ordinary folk parted for Elrhodoc, who studied the proclamation then jerked on his reins and walked his horse over to join Fyn.

As he approached, Fyn casually scratched his earlobe. It was the signal for Dunstany to let Rhalwyn out of his carriage. The lad had been carefully coached in his role.

‘I didn’t think you had it in you. How did you convince the queen?’ Elrhodoc asked, eyes sharp with suspicion.

Fyn shrugged. ‘Isolt has a soft heart, but she’ll see the necessity of this eventually. She is her father’s daughter, after all.’

Let Elrhodoc chew on that.

‘Out of my way,’ Rhalwyn yelled. He darted through the gathering, then came to a complete stop staring up at the body. His howl of anger and horror silenced the crowd momentarily.

Fyn cursed and guided his horse closer. ‘Rhalwyn, come away from—’

‘You...’ The furious lad thrust through the watchers. Tears streaming down his face, he attacked Fyn. ‘How could you? He was just a boy!’

Since Fyn was mounted and Rhalwyn was on foot, the best the lad could do was pummel Fyn’s thigh, but it made the horse skittish and the gelding sidled away.

As there was only so much entertainment to be had from a swinging corpse, several of the crowd ventured closer to watch. They started yelling advice to Fyn, or backed the lad.

Fyn let his horse collide with Elrhodoc’s mount and the rest of the guards’ horses began to shift and snort, growing uneasy.

Judging the moment right, Fyn caught Rhalwyn’s arm. ‘That’s it. You’re dismissed. I’ll find another Affinity beast-keeper. Get out. Better yet, I’ll get rid of you myself.’

Fyn hauled the lad over his saddle and urged his mount towards the gate. Camoric’s men would be waiting on the corner of Tailor and Sailcloth Lanes. There Rhalwyn would be taken to join Cortomir.

Riding through the gate, Fyn pulled up on the edge of the busy market square. He shoved Rhalwyn off the horse. ‘Get out and stay out.’

The lad took to his heels, disappearing into the crowd, just as they’d planned.

Fyn rode back, past Elrhodoc and the half dozen queen’s guards, straight past Dunstany’s carriage without pausing to speak to him.

Let Elrhodoc make what he would of this. If the captain of the queen’s guards believed Fyn was at odds with both Dunstany and Isolt, he might be lured into doing something rash.

There was just time to tell Isolt about the Merofynity Stone before he set sail for Benetir Estate. If it truly was an Affinity stone, then it was beyond price. Should they move it to the treasury? Dunstany would know.

B
Y THE TIME
Byren reached the top of the rise and spotted Feid’s stronghold, it was mid-afternoon. Between them lay Feidton, swollen with refugees from Rolencia. The steep slope led down to the wharf and Feid Bay, and directly opposite, on a higher rise, stood Feid Stronghold. It seemed to grow out of the cliff in places, the silvery wood of its upper storeys blending in with the dark stone base.

‘Not long now,’ Byren said.

Florin brushed past him, striding on ahead. Those mud-caked breeches left little to the imagination.

Byren had pushed himself to the limit to get here. Florin had to be exhausted—not that she complained. But there were bruises on her jaw and forehead, and she flinched if her jerkin brushed against her left breast where the Merofynian had pinched her. The thought of that brute laying hands on her infuriated him.

His first instinct was to offer to heal her, but he couldn’t attempt it without Orrade’s help or access to a seep. And just as well, because he’d be a fool to risk the intimacy. The urge to claim her for his own still rode him.

He was not a weak-willed man like his grandfather. He’d recognised the risk arising from his kinship with Affinity beasts and was on his guard.

Perhaps he’d misjudged King Byren the Fourth. If his grandfather’s Affinity had come on him when he was only twelve or thirteen and he’d made a connection with an Affinity beast, then he would never have understood what drove his animalistic nature.

Byren wished his grandfather was still alive, so he could ask his advice. He missed his mother’s perceptive advice, and his father’s knowledge of men and battles. But they were all gone: his parents, old Lord Dovecote, Captain Temor, Seela and Florin’s father.

There she was, striding along, all alone in the world with a boy of ten to raise.

‘They’ve seen us.’ Orrade waved to the men on the main gate. He glanced to Byren and caught him watching Florin. ‘There’s still time to reconsider.’

‘I know my duty. I know what I owe all those who believed in me and sacrificed their lives at Narrowneck.’

In silence they strode up the steep switch-back road to the stronghold. As they neared the gate, Florin’s brother emerged, stepping into the daylight. He blinked, spotted his sister and made for her. Chandler followed.

‘Leif...’ Florin dropped to one knee and held out her arms.

The lad ran to her blindly, sobbing. ‘Da’s dead!’

Byren slowed and came to a stop two paces behind them.

‘I know, I know...’ Florin sobbed.

Tears stung Byren’s eyes. He wanted to wrap Florin and Leif in his arms. He wanted the right to do this.

Orrade stepped forward and embraced them both.

Leif pulled out of the hug and Orrade helped Florin to her feet. She would never have let Byren help her. Byren felt a stab of jealousy, but rejected it as unworthy.

‘I told Leif how Old Man Narrows saved my life,’ Chandler said, holding Byren’s eyes.

He nodded his understanding. ‘You can be proud of your father, lad.’

Leif threw his arms around Byren, and he lifted the lad off his feet in a fierce embrace. He felt Leif’s skinny frame shake as he sobbed. The boy held on with all his might.

‘Eh, lad...’ Byren’s throat grew tight. He looked up and caught Florin watching. She turned away.

‘Why...’ Leif pulled back to meet Byren’s eyes. He swallowed a sob. ‘Why do you smell so bad?’

‘We fell in a bog,’ Byren said. And for some reason that made them all laugh.

‘Byren!’ Feid strode down the slope to welcome them. Lady Cinna followed a few steps behind, trying to hurry despite her swollen belly. She was pink cheeked from exertion, and so pregnant she looked ready to give birth any moment.

Byren put Leif down to greet the spar warlord. Feid swept Byren in an embrace, then Cinna hugged him. He felt the hard drum of her belly, and the baby kicked him.

Byren laughed. ‘That’s a healthy kick. How long?’

‘Any day now.’ Feid slid an arm around Cinna’s shoulders, beaming with pride.

Byren envied him for being able to take the woman he loved for his wife.

Chapter Forty-One

F
YN STOOD WITH
Sefarra at the prow of the fishing vessel leading their small fleet. The dozen able-bodied youths who’d escaped from Benetir Estate formed her honour guard, and Camoric’s sea-hounds packed all three fishing boats. Dunstany and Isolt had remained in port to give substance to the rumours of division between them and Lord Protector Merofyn.

If they were lucky, this would prompt the captain to make a move against Fyn.

‘He’s clever,’ Sefarra said.

‘Who, Elrhodoc?’

‘No, Camoric.’ She gestured to the bay lord’s grandson at the tiller. ‘If we’d approached the estate in my father’s yacht, it would have alerted the warlord, but three fishing boats taking shelter in a cove won’t raise concern.’

Fyn nodded as they dropped anchor.

‘And you’re clever,’ Sefarra told Fyn. ‘The
Flying Sarre
will keep Jankigern’s attention focused in the wrong direction.’

Fyn had told the yacht’s captain to approach Benetir Estate at dusk tomorrow evening. By then they should be in position to attack from the inland side of the great house.

If all went to plan.

‘Elrhodoc’s not.’

‘What?’ Fyn wondered if it was only him, or if others found Sefarra’s manner odd. The more time he spent with her, the more he believed Lady Gennalla had been wilfully blind concerning her daughter’s marriage prospects.

‘Elrhodoc’s not clever. He doesn’t see that if you kill a predator, another will move into its territory.’ She faced Fyn. ‘That’s what Palatyne did. According to my father, he fostered jealousy within the spar warlords’ own households, brother turned on brother. Then Palatyne stepped in when the spar leaderships were fractured and weak—’

‘And defeated them.’

‘That’s what everyone assumed, but I overheard the Centicore warlord and his brother talking. Palatyne became overlord by promising to divide up Merofynia between the spars.’

‘Then they must have been furious when he broke his word and led the invasion of Rolencia.’

‘No, he was too canny for that. He told the warlords they’d make their move when the moment was right.’

‘And they believed him because they wanted to.’

Sefarra nodded, and Fyn recalled that her father had been the Merofynian ambassador. Clearly she took after him and not her mother.

Her next words confirmed it.

‘The nobles have grown complacent in two hundred years of peaceful trade with the spars. But that’s two hundred years of them breeding bigger families than the poor spar soil can support. The spars are packed with hungry warriors, eager to win land and riches. They’re like ulfr packs, led by the most cunning, strongest males, and there are always younger males ready to take the leaders’ places. Jankigern killed Cortomir’s father to expand his pack’s territory. Until the number of warriors falls below what the spar land can support, we will have war.’ She shrugged. ‘Executing Cortomir would have achieved nothing, but Elrhodoc could not see this. He’s captain of the queen’s guard, yet he defied Isolt. She’ll have to remove him and make sure another predator doesn’t move into her territory by appointing someone she trusts to captain her guards.’

‘Your father told you all this?’

‘Not specifically. We used to talk and I’ve read all the histories.’ Her chin quivered. ‘I wanted to be an ambassador just like him.’

‘You never did intend to marry.’

‘No.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Not after I saw what happened to my older sister. She was married to Yorale’s heir. He beat her when she was pregnant and she lost the baby. Then he beat her
because
she lost the baby. She was scared of him, but she couldn’t leave him. Then she met a good man and they fell in love. He challenged her husband to a duel and killed him. Because her husband was the heir to a great estate, the man she loved had to flee. She could have gone with him, but she didn’t protest when father sent her to Cyena Abbey. Both their lives were ruined.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Sefarra grimaced and her eyes took on that hard look he had come to recognise. ‘If I had been married to her husband, the first time he raised his hand to me I would have cut his throat. At the very least I would have defied society and run off with Rishardt!’