King Breaker (74 page)

He found his gaze going to Florin. She stood near the entrance to the hall with his honour guard and the queen’s guards. A hundred times a day during the spar campaign, he’d caught himself thinking of her.

Since arriving in the palace, he’d only spoken with her once, and only in the company of others. Like strangers, he’d asked after her health and she’d called him ‘my king’. But her voice hadn’t held that familiar teasing lilt. He’d experienced an almost overwhelming urge to pierce her formal façade. He really should avoid Florin, especially here in the palace of his betrothed.

He owed Isolt that much.

But even as he thought his, he caught himself seeking out his mountain girl again. She was an itch he could not scratch.

F
YN STOOD ON
the left of the queen’s dais, careful not to let his gaze stray to Isolt and Byren. Seeing Byren by her side was like prodding a bruise.

The spar invasion had given him the opportunity to win over the heirs of Travany, Rhodontir and Istyn Estates, but their fathers still supported Neiron, and Elcwyff was barely civil to Fyn. As much as Fyn hated to admit it, Byren and his army of freed Rolencians had cowed the Merofynian nobles.

The lords stood on each side of the grand hall, revealing the divide in their alliances. In his capacity as elder statesman, Yorale stood next to the dais on Isolt’s right. Ranged along the right side of the hall were Neiron and his supporters.

On the left side of the hall, Sefarra represented Benetir Estate. By her side was the mother of Geraltir Estate’s young heir. Isfynia and Rishardt had gone to stand with them. If you included Piro and the abbess, there were more women present than ever before. And this had not gone unnoticed. Fyn had heard Rhoderich and Travany complain that the women would side with the queen.

Orrade stood behind Piro; Fyn found it strange not seeing him at Byren’s side.

Byren and Isolt had given their formal betrothal vows, although neither had set a date for the marriage. Even so, the sight of Byren’s hand on the back of Isolt’s chair was enough to make Fyn bristle. He would not be able to stay here after they were wed.

Duncaer arrived and hurried towards the dais.

‘Apologies, my queen.’ He dropped to one knee. ‘I fear I am the bearer of sad news. Lord Dunstany is dead.’

Isolt glanced to Fyn. Piro had told them of Old Gwalt’s part in the subterfuge. Now it had backfired on them.

‘How did Lord Dunstany die?’ Piro asked, angry tears glittering in her eyes.

‘His heart gave out. Ninety-five is a good age.’

‘Lord Dunstany will be sorely missed.’ Isolt’s voice was thick with emotion. ‘We’ll hold your investiture ceremony tomorrow, Duncaer.’

F
LORIN STRODE DOWN
the corridor, almost blinded by tears. Stupid weak tears...

It was the shock of Lord Dunstany’s death. She’d spent the last thirty days reading to him and laughing at the droll things he said.

Seeing Byren up there on the dais with Queen Isolt had forced her to confront the gulf between them. Truly, she had no place in his world. In fact, if Piro hadn’t given her a bed, she wouldn’t even have had a place to sleep.

‘Mountain Girl?’

Florin drew a deep breath and turned to face Byren, giving a formal bow. ‘My king?’

He hesitated, as if unsure.

The abbot and abbess passed by with a gaggle of monks and nuns, and Orrade and Fyn arrived in their wake.

‘Florin.’ Fyn seemed distracted.

‘Good to see you’re looking better, mountain girl.’ Orrade kissed her cheek with genuine affection.

‘Orrie.’ Her voice broke. She hadn’t realised how much she missed him. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

‘What’s wrong?’ Byren reached out, then stopped mid-gesture and folded his arms.

‘Dunstany’s dead!’ A sob escaped her.

‘I know...’ Fyn had to clear his throat. ‘Isolt’s heartbroken. He was more of a father to her than her own father.’ He slipped away.

Florin took this chance to escape. ‘I should go, Piro is waiting for me.’

But when she reached Piro’s chamber, it was empty. She sank onto the window seat just as someone knocked on the door. Expecting it to be a servant, Florin remained where she was. ‘Yes?’

Isfynia slipped into the chamber. ‘No, don’t get up.’

‘Piro’s not here,’ Florin said.

The young woman glided over to the window seat and placed a small chest on the cushion between them. ‘Would you give her this? It’s just a small gift. I cannot say how much she’s helped me. What with father’s death, losing our home and the constant sickness, I’ve been bursting into tears at the slightest thing. Everything seemed hopeless. Today is the first day that I feel there is a future for me and my child.’ Her hand settled protectively on her belly.

‘I’m glad.’ Florin thought Isfynia deserved to be happy. She’d worked hard to keep her family together and look after their people.

‘And I... I wanted to thank you for what you said, back at Dunistir Estate.’

‘Really?’ Florin couldn’t remember, but she suspected she’d been rude to Isfynia’s mother. ‘What did I say?’

‘You said Rishardt should be glad he’s getting a wife he knows can have children. It was so sensible. Thank you.’ Isfynia kissed Florin’s cheek. ‘I hope you can be just as happy. And don’t worry, the sickness passes once the first third of the pregnancy is over.’

Florin’s mouth dropped open. ‘I’m not—’

‘Don’t worry.’ Isfynia squeezed her hand. ‘I won’t tell.’

She could not be pregnant. That would be too cruel.

A rushing filled Florin’s head. Dimly, she heard Isfynia leave.

She could not pregnant. Byren hadn’t finished.

He hadn’t even started. Had he?

It had all been so intense. Nothing like the jocular slap and tickle she’d overheard men boasting about in the tap room.

She tried to remember when she’d had her last bleed. It had been the day she went to the castle to kill Cobalt. She should have bled twice since then.

But she hadn’t.

Isfynia was right. She was pregnant.

What was she going to do?

‘I
CAN’T BELIEVE
Old Gwalt is dead,’ Piro whispered. They had retreated to the queen’s chamber and dismissed the servants. She frowned.

‘What?’

‘Duncaer threatened to throw Dunstany’s loyal servants out with only the clothes on their backs.’

‘They can come here. I’ll find work for them.’ Isolt wiped her cheeks. ‘Dunstany’s been dead these last seven years, yet I feel as if I’ve only just lost him.’

‘I know.’

‘I’ll have to hold the ceremony to recognise Duncaer as the next lord of Dunistir,’ Isolt said. ‘I can’t refuse. Oh, I wish...’

Piro thought of the chest Old Gwalt had given her. But what was the use, when Siordun couldn’t inherit?

‘Siordun!’ She sprang to her feet. He was due back any time now. ‘I must warn him.’

‘Who? Oh, Agent Tyro.’

‘I must go to Dunstany’s townhouse. What if Duncaer is already there?’ Piro did not want the pica birds to fall into the wrong hands.

‘You shouldn’t go alone. Take some of my honour guards.’

‘I’ll take Florin.’ She could be trusted to keep her mouth shut.

Piro ran out the door, passing Fyn in the hall.

He caught her arm. ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’

‘Dunstany’s townhouse, to warn Siordun,’ she whispered.

‘Take—’

‘I’m taking Florin.’

And she ran to her chamber, where she found Florin sitting in the window seat looking stunned. Poor thing, she’d grown very fond of the man she knew as Lord Dunstany.

‘Florin?’

The mountain girl wiped her cheeks. ‘Isfynia left this gift, to say thank you.’

‘That’s kind.’ Piro opened the chest to reveal a gold statuette of an amfina. She put it on the mantelpiece. ‘But I need you to come with me right now.’

Rather than waste time preparing a carriage, Piro requested two horses. They were soon riding out the main gates, through the market square and down the thoroughfare towards the port.

Florin edged her horse closer to Piro. ‘The abbess was talking about one of the women who’d been raped by spar warriors.’

‘Lady Nerysa.’ Piro recalled the discussion.

‘The abbess said she could arrange for her to lose the baby if she was pregnant. I didn’t know that was possible.’

Piro guided her horse around a cart, then waited for Florin to catch up. ‘Back home, the castle healer knew of such things, but she frowned on them. Said they were dangerous. Besides, she’d sworn to save life, not take it.’

‘So any healer would know the right herbs?’

‘Healer or Power-worker.’ Piro frowned, thinking of the Power-worker in Duncaer’s employ. ‘And a Power-worker wouldn’t be so worried about taking a life...’ She ran down as they approached Dunstany’s townhouse. To her relief there was no sign of Duncaer. ‘This way.’

Piro went around the back to the courtyard, where a stable boy darted out to take the horse’s bridle. ‘Wait under the lemon tree, Florin.’

Running up the back steps, Piro entered the kitchen. A delicious smell greeted her.

The kitchen maid was standing on a stool to stir the pot of lemon butter. She gave a jump of fight when she saw Piro. ‘You scared me outta ten years’ growth, miss!’ The girl wiped her hands on her smock. ‘Shall I fetch Master Gwalt?’

‘Don’t worry. I know where to find him.’

Piro headed for the study at the front of the house, where she found him working over the accounts. ‘There’s no time to lose. Duncaer will be here before evening now that Lord Dunstany is dead...’ She gasped and covered her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry. Old Gwalt was your father. I was thinking about Siordun. Thinking he mustn’t turn up at the palace in his Dunstany disguise.’

‘Of course not.’ Gwalt put his nib aside and came over to her. ‘You did the right thing, coming straight here.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Tears spilled over Piro’s cheeks.

‘Bless you, child.’ Gwalt hugged her, and his voice caught. ‘My father was seventy-four.’

Piro nodded and wiped her cheeks. ‘There’s just so much to think of. You’ll have to hide the pica birds. I’m afraid Duncaer might have turned the house-keep and Soterro out of Dunistir Estate.’ She gasped. ‘What if he found the pica birds?’

‘Soterro’s smart, he...’ Gwalt broke off as a carriage pulled up outside.

Piro peered through the drapes. ‘It’s Duncaer!’

‘Siordun’s due in today.’

‘I’ll stop him before he gets here.’

‘Do that. He’ll be travelling as Dunstany or himself. Either way, he can’t come here.’

They heard Duncaer climb down from the carriage.

‘Announce me,’ he told the servant. ‘You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to turning out this uppity steward!’

‘You divert Siordun.’ Gwalt pushed Piro down the hall towards the back door.

‘Find Soterro and the house-keep and come to me at the palace,’ Piro whispered. ‘What about your pica birds?’

‘Don’t worry. Get away before they bring the carriage around.’

She ran out through the kitchen, to the surprise of the kitchen maid. Piro’s horse was there, tied to the lemon tree, but there was no sign of Florin. ‘Where’s—’

‘She had somethin’ to do,’ the stable boy said. ‘Told me to tell you she’d see you back at the palace.’

There was no time to worry about Florin. Piro took her horse by the reins and led him out into the lane. She’d just reached the next corner when she heard the carriage turn into Dunstany’s townhouse.

Where was Siordun? Sometimes he sent his bags to the townhouse and went straight to the palace. If he turned up there, they’d arrest him for the fraud he was. He’d be unmasked and executed on the spot.

She felt sick at the thought.

Chapter Sixty-One

F
LORIN DIDN’T LIKE
the look of the Power-worker or his premises, but she didn’t have much choice. She’d gone to a healer first, but on hearing what she needed, the woman had turned nasty.

‘If yer were foolish enough to open yer legs, yer can face the consequences,’ the woman had said, then looked her up and down. ‘What’re yer doin’, gettin’ about dressed like a man, with a sword at yer side? Serves yer right.’

So here she was, on the third floor of a rickety building overlooking the docks, with a grey haired Power-worker who smelled like an Affinity beast. Which was not surprising, since he kept an amfina hatchling for a pet. It lay curled around his neck with a head on each of his shoulders. The dominant head watched while the other slept.

The Power-worker looked her up and down, calculating the cost of her clothing from her boots to her hat, so he could work out what to charge. She used to do much the same thing with customers. But although she wore good leather boots, she was destitute. How was she going to pay for this?

‘Well,’ the Power-worker prompted, ‘what can I do for you?’

‘You can tell me if it is worth my mistress’s time coming here,’ Florin said.

‘What would your mistress be wanting?’

Florin felt her cheeks grow hot, but forged on, adapting a story she’d overheard in the tradepost tap room. ‘My mistress finds herself in a difficult position. The master has been away since last winter, but she is with child. She needs to be rid of it before he returns.’

‘That’s not an easy request to fill,’ the Power-worker said slowly. ‘Your mistress should have taken precautions before the event, rather than after.’

‘What can I say?’ Florin shrugged.

‘How far along is she?’ he asked

‘Still in the first third. Why?’

‘It’s less dangerous in the early stages.’

She swallowed.

‘What you need is bitter-tears, but I don’t have any left.’

‘Can you get it?’

‘I can. Tell your mistress it will be expensive.’

She’d been afraid of this. ‘How much?’

The figure made her gasp.

‘That would keep a family for a year!’

‘Does she want to keep her husband?’

Florin took a breath to slow her racing heart. ‘I’ll let her know.’ She paused at the door. ‘When will you have it?’