King Breaker (2 page)

Sailors poured up from below decks, calling to each other in amazement and congratulating Byren. The boatswain came over with the cabin boy in his arms and tried to thank him, but Byren couldn’t hear for the rushing of blood in his ears. Any moment now, he’d pass out and make a fool of himself. ‘Get me to the cabin, before I puke.’

Orrade didn’t hesitate, leading him through the sailors gathered around the wyvern now discussing their good luck. The beast’s skin was worth a small fortune. Someone would have to settle the wyvern’s Affinity, but that wasn’t Byren’s problem.

As his sailors rejoiced, the merchant captain sent Byren a cryptic look that he couldn’t interpret. Relief had turned into a pounding headache. Sparks floated in his vision. It was all he could do to negotiate the steps to middeck.

‘You’re feverish again,’ Orrade said as they entered the passage to the cabins.

Byren felt his knees give way and darkness closed in.

When his vision cleared, he found himself stretched out on his bedroll by the cabin’s brazier. A shiver took him. Orrade pulled the blanket more closely around him.

‘You’re too good for me, Orrie. I don’t deserve—’

‘Yes, I know. You only ever had eyes for my sister.’

Once.

But when the fever left him, Byren had not thought of Elina, his dead first love, or Isolt, the prim betrothed he’d inherited when his older twin died. He’d thought of Florin, the mountain girl who’d helped him escape the Merofynians. She’d defied him and irritated him, yet she’d somehow slipped under his guard. But, as far as Florin was concerned, he was her king, nothing more.

And he could never be anything more. Byren knew his duty—marry Isolt to unite Merofynia and Rolencia, and put an end to the warring. Frustration churned in him. He’d never wanted to be king. Certainly, he had never wanted the throne at the price of his father’s and twin’s lives...

Orrade’s cool hand settled on his forehead, soothing away his frown and easing his racing mind. ‘Sleep.’

Byren nodded. Lence and his parents might be dead but his brother and sister were safe. Fyn was in Merofynia protecting Queen Isolt until Byren could claim her, and Piro was sailing for Ostron Isle under Mage Tsulamyth’s protection.

Exhausted, Byren let his breath out in a long sigh and felt sleep take him.

F
LORIN PAUSED TO
gaze up at the Rolencian banner strung over the castle gate. The deep red foenix, picked out in gold, gleamed in the morning sun, bright against the banner’s black background. She was surprised Cobalt hadn’t replaced it with his own banner. But then, he didn’t want to remind people that he was a usurper. He wanted to reinforce his claim to the throne, even if this meant reminding them his father had been King Byren the Fourth’s bastard.

As she strode up the steep switch-back road, her heart missed a beat. She told herself she had nothing to lose. As far as her father and brother knew, she’d been killed in the aftermath of battle.

If things went to plan, she would not leave alive.

But to implement her plan, Florin had to be employed by the castle-keep, and she had no illusions. She was taller than most men and not even her father, fond as he was, had ever called her pretty. Somehow she had to get inside the castle and get close to Cobalt. In an ideal world, she would have been a renowned Ostronite assassin; but she was simply a mountain girl with a grudge. That would have to be enough to get her past the guards, to cut Cobalt’s throat.

Only then would Byren be avenged.

She didn’t know how it had all gone so horribly wrong in the Battle of Narrowneck, only that Byren had saved her life and sent her to safety, before going in search of Orrade.

That very night she’d returned looking for Byren, but she was too late. By the time she’d heard of his capture and reached the castle, Cobalt had packed him off to port. By the time she’d reached the docks, Byren was on a ship bound for Merofynia, where he was to be executed. She hadn’t been able to afford a berth—not when all the ships were packed with Merofynian lords heading home with their war booty, not when she had no sailing skills or beauty to barter.

So here she was, back in Rolenhold, trying to win a castle servant’s position so she could have her revenge on Cobalt.

But revenge wouldn’t bring Byren back.

Her stomach cramped with pain. She’d had no idea love could hurt this much. Hadn’t even known she’d loved Byren, until she’d lost him.

Focus! If there was one thing mountain people were good at, it was holding a grudge. Illien, Lord of Cobalt, had sent Byren to his death. This meant he had to die.

She knew as soon as she killed Cobalt, his honour guard would kill her. So be it.

After going through the long gate tunnel, she came out into daylight. The cold made her shiver. It was not long until summer’s cusp, but this year Sylion, cruel god of winter, hadn’t released his hold on the twin isles. The farmers said a late summer meant a poor harvest and a lean winter to follow.

It was hiring day. There was no shortage of pretty young things and eager lads, desperate to provide for their families. More than ever, after the Merofynians had stripped Rolencia of its wealth.

Florin was surprised Cobalt hadn’t crowned himself king yet. If she had her way, he would never get the chance. But first she had to be hired, and that did not look hopeful. If she’d been slight and pretty like the two girls behind her...

Instead, she squared her shoulders and hoped she appeared reliable. The castle-keep walked along the line, her iron-grey hair pulled back in a severe bun, her black eyes sharp despite her age. Rumour had it she’d served Cobalt since he was a lad. Rumour had it she was as unflinchingly loyal as she was hard to please.

The castle-keep walked right past and Florin felt a wave of relief. Her vision faded, then returned on a surge of self-contempt.

She could hear the castle-keep, pausing to speak with likely looking lads and lasses in the line behind her.

‘What can you do?’

‘I was a scullery maid and my sister was a chambermaid. We worked at the Sleeping Sylion,’ a girl said. Although Florin was the daughter of a tradepost keeper, she couldn’t place the inn.

Florin cast a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, the castle-keep had paused to speak with the two pretty girls. The younger of the two reminded Florin of Byren’s sister, Piro. Everyone believed Piro dead but, according to the family’s old nurse, Piro had been taken to Merofynia disguised as a slave. Byren had meant to save her.

He’d meant to do so many things. Florin’s eyes burned and her chest ached. She hardened her heart and thought of revenge.

‘A couple of pretty lasses like you will do well as long as you don’t think being pretty means you don’t have to pull your weight,’ the castle-keep told them. Clearly charm would not move her. Just as well, Florin was no flatterer. ‘Mark my words, keep your legs closed. I won’t have my serving maids sent home big with child or running off with the first rich man who gives her a bauble!’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Don’t
my lady
me. I was born on a farm and worked my way up to castle-keep. Everything I have, I worked for.’

‘Yes, m...’ The first girl floundered.

‘Just go.’ The castle-keep waved them off and the two girls hurried past Florin, all long black hair, swaying hips and sweet curves.

‘What can you do?’ the castle-keep asked the next lad.

‘Chop wood,’ a youth answered, voice not yet broken. ‘Repair fences—’

‘Can you mend saddles?’

‘I could learn.’

‘Good. You can report to the stable-master. He’s been complaining all the men are cack-handed, thanks to the Merofynians.’

It was true. When the reward for news of Byren hadn’t produced results, the Merofynians had searched the countryside. If a man didn’t provide useful information, they’d chopped off his right hand—hard to join Byren’s rebellion and wield a weapon without it.

A tall skinny lad, all awkward knees and elbows, hurried past Florin, heading for the next courtyard.

‘That’s enough. Be off with you.’ The castle-keep dismissed the rest of the hopefuls.

Desperate, Florin spoke up. ‘Baubles can’t buy me.’

The castle-keep had to lift her chin to hold Florin’s gaze. Her eyes widened, then narrowed. ‘Go on?’

‘I need work. My home burned down.’ It was true enough. Everything on Narrowneck had burned the day the Merofynian god’s breath blew across Byren’s warriors. The very air had burned. They’d only escaped by jumping off the cliff into Lake Sapphire. Unable to swim, Florin still had nightmares.

The castle-keep lifted her chin to hold Florin’s eyes. ‘Give me one good reason why I should take you on.’

‘I know my figures. I can do sums and read—’

‘Read? A rough mountain girl like you?’

‘I can read a little,’ Florin conceded. ‘But I tell you this, I can work harder than any man!’

‘Hmph. Something to prove...’ She studied Florin. ‘Why are you dressed like a man?’

‘I’ve always worn breeches. Shoulda been born a boy.’

Florin held her breath as the castle-keep considered her. The woman still had all her teeth, but Florin guessed she’d never been pretty. Perhaps it was this that decided her.

‘Your name, girl?’

‘Leif.’ Florin had only met Cobalt once and doubted if he would remember her face, let alone her name, but it was best to be sure.

‘A boy’s name?’

‘Da wanted a boy.’

‘Well, Leif, my assistant charmed her way into a merchant’s bed and rode off with him two days ago. Fancied herself his lady markiza, but she’ll end up with child and nowhere to go, mark my words. You can take her place. Slack off and you’ll be out on your arse. Serve me well and I’ll see you’re fed and you learn how to read more than “a little.” At least I won’t have to worry about you charming your way into a wealthy man’s bed. Come along.’

Cheeks burning, Florin followed the woman into the castle. All she needed was a couple of days to learn Cobalt’s routine, then Byren would be avenged.

After that, nothing mattered.

Chapter Two

B
YREN WOKE FEELING
disoriented. His bed was hard. That’s right... being too tall for the bunk, he’d been sleeping on the cabin floor. He rolled over to find Orrade perched on the bed under the window, reading.

‘Feeling better?’ Orrade asked. He’d always been a great one for reading, when Byren would’ve rather been out wandering the castle courtyards, teasing his father’s master-at-arms.

Byren grinned. ‘Remember that time we asked Captain Temor to teach us sword work and he sent for my mother’s dancing master?’

‘You were furious.’ Orrade marked the page in his book and put it aside with a smile. ‘But Captain Temor was right. We needed to be light on our feet.’

‘Lence never did get...’ Byren couldn’t go on. With the death of his twin, he felt like he’d lost a limb. But Lence had turned against him. Lence should never have believed Cobalt’s treacherous lies.

‘It’s all right to mourn him,’ Orrade said.

Byren met his friend’s gaze. ‘I used to think I lost him when Cobalt returned and father formally recognised him as our cousin, but Lence and I had already started to grow apart. For some reason Lence resented me.’ His own words surprised him. ‘Why—’

‘Because he knew you’d make a better king.’

Byren shook his head. ‘I’m as flawed as the next man.’

‘But you can admit it. That’s a rare trait in a man, and especially rare in king.’

Someone knocked on the door, and Byren told them to come in.

The cabin boy entered with a bottle of uncorked wine and two fine glasses. ‘Compliments of the cap’n.’

The lad went to leave, but Byren stopped him. ‘Let me see your shoulder.’

The cabin boy shrugged off his oversized jerkin, revealing unmarked skin. ‘The wyvern’s claws hooked through me seal-skin instead of me. It’s in shreds.’

Byren shook his head in amazement. He had been afraid the child would die; wyvern wounds were inclined to fester. ‘Halcyon must smile on you. You’re one lucky lad!’

‘Uncle reckons you’re favoured by the goddess. He’s never seen a man take down a full-grown wyvern with a hunting knife before. No one has!’

‘Eh, I doubt that.’ Byren ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Off you go.’

After he left, Orrade examined the wine bottle. ‘Dovecote vineyard...’ His voice broke. ‘I wish—’

‘We did everything we could. Your father was already dead when we got there.’

‘And now he and I will never be reconciled.’

Byren said nothing. Knowing the Old Dove, he would never have forgiven Orrade for being a lover of men. Like many back home in Rolencia, Lord Dovecote couldn’t separate the legendary warrior Palos, lover of men, from the Servants of Palos. These traitors had tried to put King Byren the Fourth’s bastard on the throne, thirty years earlier.

It was unfair.

It was also a complication Byren could have done without. Orrade’s declaration of love had been an unwelcome surprise. His friend had only revealed the truth because he believed they were about to die; but they’d survived and Byren had, on more than one occasion, wished the words unsaid.

Still... you couldn’t help who you loved. Byren knew that now. It would be best for them all if he never saw his mountain girl again. ‘Pour two glasses. We’ll drink to the Old Dove.’
And to doing our duty, not matter what our hearts want
.

‘No wine for you. You’re getting over a fever.’

‘You sound like Seela. Hope she’s safe.’ Seela was Byren’s old nurse. ‘Have a glass for me.’

‘I don’t drink alone.’

Byren frowned. ‘Why didn’t your Affinity warn us of the wyvern attack, Orrie?’

‘Visions don’t come to order. I’ve had a recurring dream about a wyvern, but the wyvern is on a rock and I’m the one fighting for my life.’ He shrugged. ‘Useless.’

‘Surely it means something?’

‘Byren...’ Orrade shook his head. ‘Every night, I dream of what could go wrong when you try to reclaim Rolencia. They can’t all be prophetic. Besides, my dreams have always been filled with vivid visions.’