Tears stung Fyn's eyes and he welcomed them. He would not become a callous killer like Palatyne.
Fyn folded his hands in his lap and cleared his mind, seeking the solace of Halcyon's blessing. He sat there for a long time but the mental state he used to be able to achieve back at the abbey eluded him. Eventually, a soft noise broke his concentration. He looked up to see Isolt in the doorway.
'I'm sorry. I did not know you were praying. I'll go.'
'No.' Fyn rose. 'This is your cabin, you must be tired. I'll go.'
'There are tears on your cheeks.'
'Tonight I killed a man.'
'The sentry? But -'
'I know. I know...' Fyn sighed. 'I was raised to believe life is precious. Every time I kill, it kills something in me. A single death here, a few more there. Every time it will get easier, until the day I order the execution of an innocent man because he is in my way.' He hesitated. He'd almost mentioned his mother's brother, Sefon, but held back since it had been Isolt's own father who'd ordered the young king assassinated. 'I will not become that man.'
Isolt frowned. 'Then why do you serve the mage?'
'I must, to win back Rolencia and restore Byren to the throne.'
'What about you? If Byren died you would be the uncrowned king.'
Fyn stepped back, revolted by the thought. 'He's my brother.'
Isolt studied him, beautiful eyes thoughtful. 'Then Byren is a very lucky man.'
That was when Fyn realised Byren was a very lucky man indeed. Not because Fyn knew his duty but because he was betrothed to Isolt.
Startled by this revelation, Fyn took another step back and bowed stiffly. 'Goodnight, kingsdaughter.'
Chapter Fifteen
Fyn smiled and stretched. It seemed like he had been running, living on his wits, avoiding death since the abbey fell. It was good to be safe. They'd left the shipping lanes and been sailing east all morning, picking their way through the islands too barren for even the hardy Utlanders to settle. These islands were nothing more than spires of rock. Now that it was spring, it was warm enough to stay on deck without a fleecy jacket.
'Good boy,' Piro cried as she scooped up the foenix and rewarded him with a morsel of meat. She was teaching her pet to come when she called by giving him dried fish scraps.
'You'll make that bird too fat to fly,' Fyn teased.
Piro just tossed her head and crossed to the far rail of the ship to put the foenix down, then returned to Fyn, to call the bird gain. The man at the wheel watched her. All morning he'd been dividing his time between watching Isolt and Piro. He'd made no secret of his appreciation of them both and Fyn could not help bristling.
The foenix had grown since Fyn last saw him. With his long legs and elongated neck, his head now came up to Piro's waist. And he was beginning to grow the elaborate comb on his crown, but he was still only an infant. The foenix lifted one wing, preening and ignoring Piro's soft calls.
'That Affinity beast is more like a cat than a dog. He only comes when he wants to,' Fyn said, and although he was not watching her face, he knew Isolt smiled. He was deeply aware of her, standing by his side as they leant on the rail. His body ached with the knowledge that he could simply reach out and touch her. If he dared. If she was not betrothed to his brother.
Isolt turned to look down onto the sparkling sea. 'I always wanted a pet, but father would never let me have one. He said pets made you weak, that caring for things made you weak. No one could accuse him of that.'
Fyn didn't know what to say. He watched as a cold mask settled on Isolt's face.
'My brother's not like that,' Fyn assured her. 'Byren's kind. He found the foenix egg and gave it to Piro -'
A sudden downdraught of air and a thump made them both turn. Fyn could hardly credit his eyes as an old, battle-scarred male wyvern, easily twice as tall as him, landed on the deck between them and the foenix. Judging by the scars, this beast had faced down many wyvern males in mating battles.
It must have been drawn by the foenix's scent. Affinity beasts would often fight, the winner devouring the victor to absorb its power. The wyvern exuded a rank predator scent that, combined with the untamed power which rolled off its skin, almost stunned Fyn. Fear held him immobile. He was armed only with a short all-purpose knife.
Above and behind them, the lookout give a belated cry of warning.
The wyvern pivoted, leathery wings lifting in an aggressive display. Fyn's heart quailed. The beast was so big it might just be able to carry one of them off. The wyvern fixed on the foenix, which had frozen instinctively. One day it would stand taller than a man, with a chestplate of hardened scales and spurs that could tear through armour, but now it was vulnerable.
'No!' Piro sprang forwards, trying to distract the wyvern from her pet.
The wyvern's great head, with its massive jaws, swung to face her. She was defenceless.
Through the rushing in his ears, Fyn heard the sea-hounds shouting as they called for weapons, but they were too far away.
'You idiot, Piro!' Fyn shouldered her aside and tore off his cloak. He swung it around so that he seemed twice his height, mimicking the wing display male wyverns used to intimidate their opponents.
The wyvern backed off a step. Isolt darted in to drag Piro behind Fyn. The wyvern's gaze followed them. It opened its jaws and roared a challenge.
Fyn swung the cloak again, yelling a challenge of his own.
How long would his trick confuse the beast?
Wyverns weren't stupid. If raised by people the fresh-water kind were more intelligent and loyal than dogs. All too soon the beast would realise Fyn was a single puny creature, not a rival wyvern.
Jakulos roared as he raced up beside Fyn with a long spear, its tip ended in a vicious barbed spike. The big man sprang in, jabbing the beast's belly where it met the chestplate.
The wyvern took a swipe at Jakulos with its short front paw, claws splayed. Bantam sprang forwards on Fyn's other side. With a crack, the quarter-master flicked a whip at the wyvern, stinging its skin and drawing blood.
It roared its dismay and fury. Fyn flung his cloak into the beast's face.
In a frenzy it tore at the cloak, teeth sinking through the fabric, claws shredding it. Then it leapt into the air, dropping the mangled material like a dead body. The downdraught of its massive wings nearly knocked Fyn off his feet. Jakulos went for it again as it hovered a body-length above them, the spear's tip just missing its target. Bantam's whip cracked a warning.
With a bellow of anger, the old male worked to gain height, circling above them, before heading off.
Fyn dragged in a chest full of air and bent double. Jakulos clapped him on the back so hard he fell to his knees on the deck.
Bantam dragged him to his feet. 'Thought you'd tackle a lone male wyvern without us?'
Fyn shook his head, unable to speak.
Captain Nefysto joined them and studied the sky through his farseer, then lowered the tube and clicked it shut. 'Looks like he was a loner. But still... Bantam, set a watch. Select three of our best archers and have them on deck.'
Bantam hurried off to obey and the captain looked at Fyn. 'You never cease to amaze me, Agent Monk. Well done.'
'I was only protecting... Isolt's maid.' Fyn managed not to reveal Piro's identity. Had he shouted her name? He didn't remember.
Nefysto glanced at Piro.
'The wyvern came after my mistress's foenix,' she explained.
'So you thought you'd take on an adult wyvern to protect it?' The captain grinned. 'Wyverns consider foenix flesh a delicacy. I suggest you take that bird into my cabin until we are sure it's safe.'
Bantam arrived back on deck with the bowmen.
'Fun's over, back to work!' Nefysto called.
Jakulos took his spear below decks. Piro collected her foenix and climbed down the ladder to the cabin. Now that it was all over, Fyn felt shaky and slightly nauseous.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see Isolt standing there with his torn cloak.
'I'll mend this for you.' She smoothed the material over her arm.
He gaped.
So stunned was he by the thought of Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter mending his clothes that she was gone before he had time to speak. Now she would think him a lout.
Once in the cabin, Piro sat her foenix on the floor. The bird went straight to the screen, which the pica pair were caged behind. Luckily, he was too small to be a threat to them, but had he been larger he might have found a way past the screen to devour them.
Isolt entered with Fyn's cloak.
'Seela.' Isolt used her assumed name even when they were alone. 'See if you can find me a sewing kit.'
'You don't have to mend Fyn's cloak. I'll do it,' Piro said. 'As your maid I should do it.'
Isolt hugged the cloak to her chest. 'Bring me the sewing kit.'
When Piro returned with a pouch of needles, thread and a pair of sharp scissors, Isolt had spread the cloak out to survey the damage. There were several long rents caused by the wyvern's razor-sharp claws and a whole section had been chewed to ribbons.
'It's going to take more than invisible darning to mend that,' Piro said.
'I wanted to mend it as a way of saying thank you.'
'Well, there's enough good material left in it to make a jerkin.' She smiled at Isolt's expression. 'I often helped my mother make-down my father's clothes for my brothers. At least until they grew bigger than him.'
'Queen Myrella had to make-down clothes for her sons?' Isolt looked aghast. 'Why didn't she pass them on to servants and get new ones?'
Piro stiffened. 'Father wasted nothing. The Merofynian war, combined with the revolt by the Servants of Palos, nearly ruined the kingdom. So times were tough. It was only after I was born that peace bought prosperity. And, by then, Father was set in his ways.' She felt a half-smile tug at her lips. 'Besides, my mother didn't mind. Why, sometimes she would roll up her sleeves and prepare a meal for him with her own hands, just for the fun of it. He loved it when she did that.'
Isolt shook her head slowly. 'I'd trade every gown and jewel I have for what you have.'
'
Had
.' Anger, sharp and hard as winter wind sliced through Piro's memories. 'My parents are dead, Lence is dead, and all because your father wanted Rolencia for his own.'
The kingsdaughter went very still. Then she looked up at Piro. 'Why would my father attack, if he'd betrothed me to your brother?'
'That was a diversion, to lull us into a false sense of security. He meant to invade all along. Deeds speak louder than words.'
The silence stretched. After a moment, Isolt spread her hand across the remains of Fyn's cloak. 'Can you show me how to make this down into a jerkin?'
Piro had to draw a long, slow breath to change tack. Then she nodded. 'First I'll need one of Fyn's for size.'
When she came back, Isolt was fingering the torn material thoughtfully. 'I've never seen anyone take on a full-grown wyvern armed with nothing but a cloak before. Fyn must know no fear.'
Piro laughed, remembering Fyn's reason for not joining the warrior monks.
'What?'
'A secret I can't share.' Piro saw Isolt's expression. 'I would not betray my brother's confidence, even for you.'
Isolt was silent for a moment.
'How strange,' she said. 'A warrior who hates to kill. A brave man who is afraid.'
Piro's Affinity tingled, making the foenix nudge her hand with his head.
'You'll make a good queen one day,' Piro said, with a strange air.
Isolt shivered. 'You just gave me goose bumps. Why?'
Piro shook her head and placed Fyn's jerkin on the desk. 'Let's see if we have enough material.'
Byren hid his annoyance. The warlord of Leogryf Spar had sent his nephew, a man who insisted on being called Lord Leon and had an exaggerated sense of his own importance. At least Lord Leon came promising his uncle's support.
Last night they had feasted. Today they talked tactics. Lord Leon was not like most spar warriors. Byren did not blame a man for being wary, but Leon's smile did not reach his eyes. Still, he had come with the promise of seven hundred warriors, so he had a right to his place at the council of war.
They stood around Feid's war table, Master Catillum, Orrade and Feid himself. Unistag's representative had sailed home to await Byren's call for the promised warriors.
This war table was not as finely detailed as the one Byren had grown up with. Instead of three-dimensional models the map was drawn on a square of fine vellum, stretched on a frame. Instead of delicately moulded metal inset with jewels, the pieces were carved from wood.
Lord Leon indicated Feid's spar. 'So you plan to go over the pass, take the fort and attack Rolenhold from behind?'
Byren nodded. Anyone could guess his plans. There were only so many ways he could attack. Feid went to speak but, just in case he had been about to reveal the secret pass, Byren spoke over him. 'We have four hundred men from Unistag Spar, Foenix's six hundred, my own men and the seven hundred your uncle promises. Plus, as soon as I march over the Divide the people of Rolencia will rise up.'
Lord Leon nodded, his eyes on the map. He tapped the last spar, the one that ran north from the far tip of Rolencia's crescent. 'Nothing from Manticore?'
'Nothing from Manticore, yet.' Byren felt his supporters watching him, felt the weight of their expectation. 'And nothing from Cockatrice. After Rejulas's death the warriors of Cockatrice Spar had to appoint a new leader. We've heard they have chosen one now and I expect he'll be eager to swear his allegiance.'
'And when will you attack?'
'When the moment is right.'
Lord Leon lifted his hands palm up. 'It will take days to return to Leogryf Spar, call in our warriors and return.'
'I know,' Byren said. 'I'll figure this into my calculations.' The alternative was to send for the warriors now and let them eat Feid's food set aside for summer, while waiting to attack. 'I'll let you know when I need Leogryf's men.'
'Why not call them in now?' Orrade suggested.
Byren tensed. It wasn't like Orrade to speak at cross purposes to him, especially in front of the others.
Lord Leon turned to Byren. 'Is that what you want?'
'No. I'll let you know.'
'Very well. I set sail tomorrow, to report to my uncle.'
As Feid and Catillum escorted the Leogryf warrior from the room, Byren fell behind, catching Orrade's arm. 'What were you thinking? We can't ask our host to feed seven hundred men.'
'I don't like this Lord Leon. I wanted to call his bluff. Did you see how he reacted?'