King Breaker (64 page)

The old healer took the youth’s arm. ‘Why do you want to go home now...’ His eyes widened. ‘Someone in your family has Affinity.’

‘Yes, my brother. Please, I must warn them.’

‘No. If you’re caught with them—’

‘Let me go!’ He tried to break away from the old healer.

As they wrestled, the old healer tripped and fell backwards, hitting his head on the base of a statue. He lay still.

The apprentice dropped to his knees. ‘Master?’

He was so horrified he did not hear Florin come up behind him. She hauled him to his feet. ‘Go warn your family, but first, where is Nilsoden?’

He gaped. ‘You speak our language.’

‘Where is Nilsoden?’

He pointed to the next door, just as Nilsoden opened it and looked out. Seeing Florin and Orrade, Nilsoden took off. Orrade gave chase.

‘Go warn your brother.’ Florin pushed the apprentice in the other direction.

She caught up with Orrade at the top of a flight of stairs. He stepped away from Nilsoden, who clutched the knife hilt protruding from his chest as he slid down the wall.

Orrade removed his knife to clean it. ‘We can either take the body down to the ursodons’ stable to be devoured, or leave the body here. There’s a good chance the palace guards will assume someone killed him to win favour with the king.’

‘Leave it here,’ she said, impressed by the way Orrade could think on his feet. ‘We don’t want to be seen carrying a body around.’

‘My thoughts exactly.’ Orrade looked at her in approval, and then sobered. ‘But where is Byren?’

A
S
B
YREN STEPPED
out onto the star-silvered balcony, he looked for the Snow Bridge king. Jorgoskev stood alone, staring out over his city. He nodded in thanks to Scholar Yosiv, then stepped out onto the balcony. The air was cold and sharp, and so clear Byren could see the distant snow-covered peaks on the far side of the valley.

‘Wine?’ Jorgoskev asked.

‘You speak Rolencian...’ Byren said as his mind raced. He was reasonably certain they had not revealed Florin’s facility with the Snow Bridge language.

‘Enough to know you are an honourable man.’

Byren nodded, not sure where this was leading.

‘You saved my brother’s life.’

‘I’m sorry we could not prevent his injury. The silfroneer’s attack surprised us all.’

‘Power-workers are arrogant. All those with Affinity must swear allegiance to me or die. I can’t let my enemies use them against me. You thought it cruel what I did to Hristo.’

‘It is not for me to say.’

‘This is true.’ Jorgoskev studied Byren. ‘You are a young man, new to ruling, new to betrayal. I have sacrificed much to forge my kingdom, too much to let it slip through my fingers. I can put a thousand men in the field with a day’s notice, but in my experience, one well-placed death can save many lives. Men respect strength.’

Byren nodded. His father had often said the same. ‘Sometimes a king must make hard decisions.’

‘I knew you’d understand. It is time the Snow Bridge made allies with the flat-lands. So, you have a sister.’

‘Yes.’ Now was not the time to reveal doubt.

‘When you have regained your throne, I will send Dragojor to visit.’

‘He will be most welcome,’ Byren said, relishing the thought of reversing their positions.

Jorgoskev raised his goblet. ‘To our alliance.’

Byren echoed him, raising his own glass.

Chapter Fifty-Two

P
IRO PUT DOWN
her game piece. It was only mid-afternoon, but the sky was leaden with an oncoming storm so they’d been playing Duelling Kingdoms by the light of a lamp. She tilted her head, listening to distant voices. ‘Is that Byren?’

Soterro’s protests also reached them.

Old Gwalt frowned. ‘I don’t—’

‘I’ll see.’ Piro darted out and ran to the end of the hall, where the grand staircase led down to the entry.

‘His lordship is not expecting you.’ Soterro blocked a portly man in his mid-fifties and a younger, taller man. ‘His lordship has left orders you are not to be admitted, Master Duncaer.’

Dunstany’s unwelcome heir! Piro froze. Why was he here? Why now? If anything, she would have expected him to be in port, claiming to represent Dunstany at the lords’ council.

‘I came as soon as I heard my uncle was sick,’ Duncaer said. Piro stiffened. He might call Dunstany
uncle
, but she did not sense any genuine concern in his voice. If anything, she sensed a desperate kind of determination. As if, gambler that he was, this was his last throw of the dice. ‘I’ve brought my manservant. He’s a healer.’

Piro’s sight shifted to the unseen and she recognised the servant for a Power-worker. He radiated Affinity.

Soterro stiffened. ‘Lord Dunstany does not need your manservant. He has his own healer, who—’

‘Who never gives me a straight answer. Out of my way.’ Duncaer shoved past Soterro. ‘I will see my uncle!’

Piro ran back to Dunstany’s chambers, where she found old Gwalt on his feet by the window.

‘That’s Duncaer’s carriage,’ he said. ‘I fear—’

‘He’s here to see Dunstany, and he has a Power-worker with him, one who claims to be a healer.’

‘We’ll be exposed.’ Old Gwalt ran his hands through his receding hair. ‘It had to happen one day.’

‘But it hasn’t happened yet.’ She grabbed the Duelling Kingdoms board. ‘Come with me.’

She ran through to the bed chamber, where she put the game board on the bed. ‘Strip down to your shirt and climb into bed.’

‘I can’t—’

‘You must. You bear a strong resemblance to Siordun and Dunstany.’ As she spoke, she ran to the windows and pulled the curtains closed, making the chamber even dimmer. ‘You said yourself that Duncaer has not exchanged a word with Dunstany in over twenty years.’

‘I look older than Dunstany.’

‘He’s been sick. Does Duncaer know you?’

‘I’ve seen him, but I doubt if he’d recognise me. Servants are beneath his notice.’ Old Gwalt glanced to the bathing chamber, as if considering hiding in there.

‘That ruse served in the past, but this time Duncaer’s determined not to be turned away.’

‘He has a healer with him. I’m not sick. I’ll be unmasked!’

‘Are you willing to bleed for Dunstany?’

‘Of course.’

She pushed him towards the bathroom. ‘Go in and make it look like you’ve had a fall. A bit of blood can distract people.’

The old servant had only just shut the bathing chamber door when the door to the music room opened, and she heard Soterro’s raised voice. It was clear to her that he was trying to warn them. Had he suspected their ruse all along?

Piro flipped back the bed covers and rumpled the sheets, setting the Duelling Kingdoms board at an angle so that it looked like they had been playing, then ran through the sitting room to the meet the intruders.

‘Soterro? Oh, thank goodness you’re here.’ She clutched the servant’s arm. ‘I—’

‘Who is this?’ Duncaer demanded.

Piro looked him up and down. He had the red nose of a drinker, and the look of a man who would stop at nothing.

‘I’m Pirola Rolen Kingsdaughter,’ Piro said, adopting her mother’s proud bearing. ‘Who might you be?’

He took a step back. ‘I’m Duncaer.’ He lifted his chin. ‘Lord Dunstany’s heir.’

‘His heir? How can you call yourself his heir when you ignore him?’ Piro cried. ‘He’s a sick old man, yet I’ve never seen you with him!’

Duncaer blinked. ‘I—’

‘Come quick, Soterro.’ Piro ignored Duncaer and took the house-steward’s arm, drawing him towards the bed chamber. ‘His lordship went into the bathing chamber. I heard him fall, and now he won’t answer me.’

She rattled the door knob and thumped on the panelling. ‘My lord, are you all right?’

There was no reply.

Soterro knocked on the door. ‘My lord?’

No answer.

‘See?’ Piro wrung her hands.

‘My lord, I’m going to kick the door in.’

No answer.

He gestured to Piro. ‘Stand back.’

‘Be careful.’ She clutched Soterro’s arm. Duncaer and the Power-worker were watching, so the best she could do was pinch his arm as a warning, and hope Soterro would not give them away when he recognised Old Gwalt. ‘What if he’s right behind the door?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll be careful.’

Piro glanced over her shoulder to Duncaer and his Power-worker. They seemed captivated by the drama unfolding before them. Her mother always said she was a born player.

Just then, the house-keep ran in with two stout young footmen. Piro hoped the servants hated Duncaer enough to go along with the lie.

‘I’m so glad you’re here, House-keep Lynossa,’ Piro said. ‘Come closer. His lordship has had a fall.’

They all crowded around the door as Soterro put his shoulder to it. On the third try, the lock broke and the door swung open.

‘Is he all right?’ Piro cried, darting ahead of them into the chamber.

She found Old Gwalt sprawled on the polished boards, wearing his thigh-length shirt under a silk robe. His head lay in a puddle of blood and his white hair was partly soaked.

‘Lord Dunstany?’ Piro dropped to her knees. ‘Oh, why didn’t I take better care of you?’

She wept and turned him over. There was a nasty split on his forehead. She covered her mouth, shocked by the old man’s willingness to bleed for House Dunistir. Tears spilled down her cheeks and a sob escaped her.

Soterro swore softly.

‘There, there, dear.’ The house-keep took Piro by the shoulders, helping her to her feet. The old woman did not blink or betray in any way that this was not Dunstany. ‘It’s a nasty business. Stand back and let the men lift him.’

‘Careful, now,’ Soterro told the footmen.

Between them, they carried Old Gwalt to the bed.

‘Why... he’s aged twenty years since I saw him at Palatyne’s wedding,’ Duncaer muttered, then recovered his wits. ‘Out of the way, woman. My manservant is a healer.’

‘Oh, good,’ Piro said quickly. ‘I’ll help. My mother trained me in the healing arts.’ She took the patient’s hand before the Power-worker could get to him. ‘Lord Dunstany, can you hear me?’ She squeezed the hand and felt him respond, then added over her shoulder. ‘He hit his head, so he could be confused when he comes around.’

‘Very true, kingsdaughter.’ The Power-worker spoke with an Ostronite accent, reminding Piro of the manservant Cobalt had foisted on her father. That Power-worker had nearly killed King Rolen using treatments that gradually sapped his life-force. She feared Duncaer had grown tired of waiting for his inheritance.

This close, she could sense the Power-worker’s Affinity as he took Lord Dunstany’s head in his hands.

‘Hmm, a nasty fall. What did you say was wrong with him?’

‘He often complains that his chest hurts.’ Piro embroidered on Old Gwalt’s recent bout of indigestion, combining it with her observations of the old coachman back in Rolenhold. His illness had been hard to diagnose and equally hard to treat until his heart gave out. ‘The pains come and go. He sometimes feels dizzy and cold and clammy.’

The Power-worker rubbed his top lip.

‘Maybe Lord Dunstany had a bout in the bathroom. That would explain his fall,’ Piro rattled on happily. ‘He’s been in a lot of pain. Do you have any dreamless-sleep? We ran out.’

‘In my bag.’ The Power-worker nodded towards a bag on the floor by his feet.

In the spirit of helpfulness, Piro opened the bag and began going through it.

‘Do you mind?’ The Power-worker took it from her.

‘You’ll need thread and needle to stitch up that cut,’ Piro said, unabashed. ‘And you’ll need a cleanser to make sure it doesn’t fester. Bring more light, so the healer can work.’ She was determined to be there every step of the way. She hadn’t been able to help her father, but she would make sure this Power-worker did not get his claws into Old Gwalt. ‘I think he’s coming ’round.’

Taking his cue from her, Old Gwalt moaned softly.

Piro clasped his hand. ‘How are you feeling, my lord?’

‘Out of the way, girl,’ the Power-worker told Piro.

She ignored him. But her subterfuge would only go so far. Once he called on his Affinity, she did not have the training to defeat him.

Old Gwalt blinked, then looked around the bed chamber. ‘What’s everyone doing here?’ He focused on Duncaer. ‘You? What are you doing here? And who is this?’ He pushed the Power-worker away. Then he noticed his own bloodstained shirt. ‘I’m covered in blood. What’s going on?’

‘You had a fall,’ Piro said gently.

He frowned and his gaze went to Duncaer. ‘That doesn’t explain why he’s here. It’s not my birthday!’

One of the footmen sniggered.

‘Throw him out!’ Old Gwalt swung his arm in Duncaer’s direction. Piro suspected he was enjoying this. ‘And throw this foreign busybody out as well!’

Duncaer drew himself up to his full height. ‘I protest, Uncle, I’m your heir and—’

‘Don’t
uncle
me. You call yourself my heir? It was you who led my youngest boy astray. You were nearly ten years older than him. You took him to the gambling dens. You got him hooked on dreamless-sleep. You corrupted my last surviving son...’ Old Gwalt fell back against the pillows, clutching his chest.

Piro saw the pain and panic in his eyes. This time he wasn’t acting.

‘What’s wrong, Uncle?’ Duncaer came forward, all eager solicitation.

‘His heart’s failing,’ the Power-worker said. Opening his bag, he removed a jar.

‘Let me help.’ Piro fumbled as she took out the stopper, dropping the jar. Its contents spilled across the quilt. ‘Oh, dear...’ She sprang to her feet, knocking the Power-worker’s bag off the bed. Jars, bottles, powdered herbs spilled across the floor.

Apologising profusely, Piro scrambled around on her hands and knees. Under the pretext of helping, she managed to spill or smash anything that looked dangerous while pocketing a vial of dreamless-sleep.

‘Stupid girl!’ The Power-worker swore at her in Ostronite as he tried to save his things. ‘Clumsy, stupid girl!’

‘Here, there’s no call for that,’ the house-keep protested. ‘She’s only trying to help.’