King Breaker (81 page)

‘I don’t like the way that ship’s sitting.’ Orrade pointed to one of the merchant vessels. ‘She’s too low.’

‘She must be taking water,’ Bantam said. ‘We’ll make a sailor of you yet.’

Byren shook his head. ‘Three ships missing. All those lives lost...’

‘There’s a chance one or two of them may limp into port somewhere along the spars,’ Bantam said.

Byren met his eyes.

‘But it’s more likely they were battered to pieces on the rocks,’ the captain admitted.

‘So our army consists of the men on these four ships,’ Orrade muttered. ‘That’s cutting it awfully fine.’

But Bantam was shaking his head. He gestured to the ship sitting low in the water. ‘If the captain’s lucky, he’ll make it back to Port Mero. But he’ll have to lighten his ship by unloading your men.’

‘Sylion’s Luck!’ Byren muttered. Was there ever a man more cursed with bad fortune? ‘They’ll have to travel over Cockatrice Spar. Tell Chandler I want him.’

Orrade nodded and left. Bantam called for his boatswain and they went off to check the ship for damage before taking her out onto the open sea.

A few moments later Orrade returned with Chandler. When Byren explained that he would be entrusted to take the men over the spar to Rolencia, Chandler was not happy.

‘I should be with you when you defeat Cobalt.’

‘If you move quickly and the Cockatrice Spar warlord lets you travel through his lands without trouble, you can be over the spar and down into the Rolencian valley in time for midsummer’s day. Now pack your things and go. I’m relying on you to get these men home safe.’

Chandler gave him a Rolencian salute and went below deck. A moment later Florin came out onto the middeck. Byren took in the way she moved. Everything was an effort. His poor mountain girl... she’d hate being so weak.

‘I’ll send Florin with Chandler, so she won’t have to endure sea-sickness all the way home,’ Byren said, and called her.

Orrade caught his arm. ‘I don’t like it. What if the new warlord of Cockatrice Spar gives Chandler trouble?’

‘I’m sending Chandler over the spar with a hundred and fifty men. She’ll be safe.’

‘Not if the warlord thinks Chandler is invading.’

‘Chandler will tell the warlord—’

‘What if he’s an arrogant prick who takes insult because you didn’t negotiate for your men to pass through his territory yourself?’

‘Since when did you get to be so cautious?’

‘Since I had a wife and child to consider. It’s safer to go by sea.’

‘What if there’s another storm?’

Orrade bit back his reply as Florin joined them on the reardeck.

She pointed. ‘Is that a pica bird?’

Byren and Orrade exchanged a look. The mage would only contact them if something had gone wrong. Byren’s stomach knotted. If anything had happened to Piro...

Orrade lifted his arm, and Byren sensed his Affinity rise. Attracted by the power, the bird went to Orrade. As he bent his head to listen to the message, Byren watched his face closely.

When Orrade’s gaze flew to Byren and his expression closed down, Byren expected the worst. ‘Out with it. Tell me.’

‘Fyn has married Queen Isolt.’

‘What? No.’ Byren took a step back, shaking his head. ‘There must be some mistake. Fyn would never betray me.’

‘I listened to the message twice.’

A rushing sound filled Byren’s ears. Fyn
had
betrayed him. He’d lost Merofynia. He’d lost his army and—he raised his head to meet Florin’s shocked eyes—he’d lost his mountain girl.

F
OR ONE STUPID,
exhilarating moment Florin thought Byren would say that this changed everything and they could be together, but she was forgetting that he didn’t want her. He only looked so shocked because Fyn had betrayed him. And besides, she’d put her name to the wedding contract before the whole ship. She could not dishonour Orrade.

Byren was ashen.

Orrade’s hand settled on Byren’s shoulder. ‘You’re free of a betrothal you never wanted.’

But Byren had less than half the men he’d set sail with, and he’d lost Merofynia. No wonder he shook his head as if he was having trouble thinking.

Shrugging off Orrade’s hand, he walked to the stern of the ship, where he gripped the rail. Florin could see the tension in his shoulders and neck.

Orrade joined Florin. ‘Go to him.’

‘And do what?’ All she could offer was comfort, and Byren needed an army. Only one person could give him an army. As much as she hated to say it... ‘The Snow Bridge king offered you an alliance.’

Byren exhaled and for an instant his shoulders seemed to sag, then he turned around, speaking decisively. ‘Orrie, I need you to go to King Jorgoskev.’

Orrade took a step back.

‘He claimed he could send a thousand men into battle at a day’s notice. Tell him I’ll marry his daughter, if he gives me six hundred men. You’ll need to force-march them down into the Rolencian valley in time to help me defeat Cobalt.’

Orrade lifted his hands. ‘But Byren—’

‘I must strike a decisive blow. If I don’t cut Cobalt down now, I might as well...’—he gestured to the ship—‘sign on as a sea-hound!’

‘What of Florin?’ Orrade asked.

Byren didn’t so much as look at her. ‘She goes with you to make sure they don’t cheat us.’

Orrade opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he nodded. ‘If that is what you want, but the thin air will make her sky-sick again.’

‘I go where Byren needs me,’ Florin stated.

‘It’s settled.’ Byren joined them. ‘I’ll give you half a dozen men and enough gold to hire mounts and move fast. Don’t fail me in this, Orrie. If you arrive too late, you’ll have to bury me.’

Orrade stiffened. ‘You know only death would prevent me from meeting you.’

Florin asked the question no one had asked. ‘Which daughter?’

Byren shrugged. ‘The second eldest. She seemed happiest with the arrangement.’

Florin hated the girl with every fibre of her being.

‘I’ll draw up the papers.’ Orrade frowned. ‘What was her name?’

Byren shrugged. ‘Skev... Skev something.’

‘They were all Skev something,’ Orrade muttered. ‘I was too astounded seeing the poor girls naked to take in their names.’

‘Me too,’ Byren admitted.

‘The youngest was Skevlonsa.’ Florin remembered that much.

‘Skevlaxa?’ Byren muttered. ‘That was it. Tell him I’ll marry Skevlaxa in return for six hundred men. Let’s hope we all meet on the battlefield, with Cobalt’s body at my feet.’

F
YN’S HEART ROSE
as Isolt returned to their private chamber. Even if Byren never forgave him, he had no regrets. Not that he thought Byren would hold a grudge. ‘What did she say?’

‘Nerysa fears the nobles will reject her.’

‘You pointed out that Sefarra—’

‘She said Sefarra is an eccentric who doesn’t care what people think.’

Fyn grinned. With Neiron’s death, they needed a new lord of Nevantir Estate, and it had to be someone they trusted. ‘Will she leave the abbey?’

‘Honestly? I don’t know.’ Isolt came over to stand behind him. She slid her arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek. ‘We have until the nobles arrive for the midsummer festival to convince her. I hope Byren—’

‘Byren has his army. He has Orrade and the mountain girl, Piro and the abbess.’

‘You’re still angry with him.’

‘He insulted you.’

‘I don’t want to come between you and your brother.’

Fyn didn’t want to upset her. ‘While you were busy with Nerysa and the abbess, I was busy with the Merofynity Stone. I’ve had it cleaned of moss and dust, and on midsummer’s day, we’ll be crowned...’ He broke off as a servant arrived with a tray laden with wine and cheese.

Isolt frowned. ‘We didn’t order...’

‘Siordun.’ Fyn recognised the mage’s agent, despite his servant disguise. They really needed to create a new identity for him so he could visit them without subterfuge. ‘Did Gwalt provide the costume—’

‘What were you thinking?’ Siordun demanded. ‘How could you betray Byren?’

The intensity of his anger surprised Fyn. He came to his feet, stepping in front of Isolt.

She moved around him. ‘Please understand. We love each other.’

‘Love? Royalty doesn’t have the luxury of love! Didn’t your mothers teach you that?’

‘My mother hated my father so much she took her own life!’ Isolt was pale as a sheet.

Even from across the chamber, Fyn could feel Siordun’s Affinity. He slid his arm around Isolt’s shoulder. ‘This—’

‘This marriage has undone thirty years of work to bring peace between Rolencia and Merofynia.’

‘There is still peace between our kingdoms. Rolencia is still my home. Byren is still my brother.’ Anger flashed through Fyn. ‘Tell him, even though he brought his lover into the palace and flaunted her in front of Isolt, we bear him no ill will.’

‘What?’ Isolt turned to Fyn, shocked. ‘Who?’

Siordun echoed her. ‘Who—’

‘Florin the mountain girl. She travels as part of his honour guard and pretends to be Orrade’s lover.’

‘I would never have thought it of him...’ Siordun ran his hands through his hair then turned to Isolt. ‘I’m sorry he insulted you this way, but it doesn’t change things. Fyn, Byren left you to protect—’

‘Byren left me in an impossible situation. Between the spar warlords and traitorous Merofynian nobles, we needed Lord Dunstany, yet he repeatedly deserted us.’

‘The mage needed me back on Ostron Isle. Two of the great merchant houses believed they’d been overlooked for the electorship. House Nictocorax became involved. There were duels, assassinations and poisonings.’

‘Couldn’t the mage have dealt with this?’ Fyn asked.

Siordun’s mouth opened and closed.

‘What’s done is done.’ Isolt went to the table and poured wine for them.

Fyn joined her and raised his glass. ‘Be happy for us, Siordun.’

‘I am happy for you, but now I’ll have to take the fastest ship I can find and hope to reach Piro by midsummer’s day.’

‘You’ll smooth things over with Byren?’ Isolt asked.

Siordun nodded. ‘I’ll try.’

‘Tell him we bear him no ill will, despite the insult. We want only peace between our two kingdoms.’ Fyn raised his glass. ‘To peace!’

Chapter Sixty-Six

P
IRO ARRIVED IN
Rolencia with two days to spare. The ship dropped her at the wharf below Sylion Abbey, which was built high on the eastern headland, overlooking the bay. If her father had lived, she would have been forced to serve the cold god of winter. Back then she’d seen her Affinity as an affliction, but now she knew better.

Piro clutched her bag, which contained her best gown and jewellery suitable for a kingsdaughter to wear when denouncing a usurper. She climbed the seven flights of stairs. At the top, she saw why Cobalt had not attempted to pry the abbess out of Sylion Abbey. A sheer white wall greeted her.

The only entrance was a narrow tunnel, closed off at each end by a barred gate. Curious, Piro peered down the tunnel. Beyond the second gate, she saw afternoon sunlight on white flagstones and heard sweet singing. She rang the bell.

After a moment, the outer gate rose. Piro had the impression she’d been inspected and deemed safe.

Even so, the inner gate did not open.

A novice nun, wearing a pale blue robe the colour of thin ice, stepped in front of the gate to study Piro. She was joined by an incredibly old woman who wore the white of pure snow.

‘I’ve come to serve.’ Following instructions, Piro presented herself as an aspiring novice.

The old woman told the girl to open the gate and take Piro to the abbess. The novice led her across the courtyard, through a maze of corridors and buildings. They went past other courtyards, where Piro saw novices tending vegetables, and yet other courtyards where they were spinning and weaving.

She remembered her mother saying Halcyon and Sylion Abbeys were wealthier than all but the king. They owned land and businesses and had tithes coming in from all over Rolencia. Cobalt’s confiscation of Sylion Abbey’s properties must have hit the abbess hard. They were lucky she had remained loyal.

The novice let Piro into a greeting chamber. She’d heard the earthly palace of the winter god was furnished with every possible luxury. Piro walked on white marble floors, and two statues embedded with semi-precious stones stood to each side of the great double doors. The doors were covered in silver and embossed with Lord Sylion in all his guises: the lizard that could extinguish flames with his breath, the man-lizard, and the man with the pure white skin and eyes like winter skies. Along one wall was a tapestry so brilliantly coloured it seemed about to come to life.

‘Fifty nuns laboured for twenty years to produce that tapestry,’ the abbess said.

Piro jumped. ‘Abbess Afanazia.’

‘Pirola Rolen Kingsdaughter.’ The abbess was a short, plump woman who Piro had always thought should have been making pastries rather than running the winter god’s abbey. But the last half-year had not been kind to Afanazia. She’d lost weight. Her face was lined with worry and there were white streaks at her temples. The abbess gestured to the tapestry. ‘The stitches are so fine several of the nuns went blind.’

‘How...’ Piro had been about to say
how awful
, but restrained herself. ‘How sad for them.’

‘They should be honoured to serve Lord Sylion.’ A second woman joined them. She was half a head taller than Piro, with wide cheekbones and a pointed chin like a cat. She should have been beautiful, but her mouth was thin and hard.

Surely Piro would have remembered a face like that. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

‘This is the new mystics mistress, Zoraya,’ the abbess said.

‘Mystics mistress.’ Piro dipped her head. The last mystics mistress had been very old.

‘Come, through here.’ The abbess led Piro into her private chamber. It was even more richly appointed. The only touch of colour was the torc made of red carnelian stones that the abbess wore around her neck to signify her status.

There was no sign of the mage’s Rolencian agent. Not wanting to give the woman away, Piro did not ask after her.