'He offered to bring the warriors.'
'Yes, but...'
'But?'
Orrade shrugged as if he couldn't explain.
'Have you had an Affinity vision?'
'No...'
Byren waited. Orrade didn't elaborate, so he strode off to catch up with the nephew of one of the stronger warlords.
Later that evening, while their men played games of dice in the castle's great hall and sang drinking songs, Feid turned to Byren. 'You didn't tell him our plan to go over the old pass and attack the fort from Rolencia's undefended side?'
Byren had just taken a mouthful of mutton and Orrade answered for him.
'Because the fewer who know, the fewer who can betray us.'
No one spoke as they watched the men eat their way through the castle's stores. It would be a lean, late summer before the crops came in. Byren was surprised Feid wasn't encouraging him to attack already.
'And besides,' Orrade muttered, 'Lord Leon has probably already guessed how we came across the Divide. I wouldn't be surprised if each spar had a secret pass.'
Byren blinked. Of course, that made sense.
Here he was, obsessed with his own problems and Orrade saw further. What would he do without him? He put his ale down and turned to Feid. 'Are there more secret passes?'
The warlord lifted his hands in a shrug. 'If there are, the warlords haven't shared their whereabouts with me.'
Byren was not surprised. Alliances between the spar warlords were short-lived and prone to betrayals. He drained his ale. Across the hall, near the stairs to the bedchambers, he noticed Florin. She beckoned and his body tightened in anticipation.
But this was not an assignation. Florin did not play those kinds of games. Whatever she wanted to see him about it would not result in him tupping her up against the wall. More's the pity. And, after the trouble he'd gone to, to ensure Winterfall and others like him didn't get the wrong idea about her, he should be ashamed to even think it.
The problem was he couldn't help his body's reaction.
Byren stood and stretched casually, glad his jerkin came down to mid-thigh. 'Think I'll turn in.'
Orrade met his eyes, not fooled for a moment. But he said nothing.
They hadn't seen much of Florin. She'd spent her days with Feid's wife, who avoided the great hall and its noisy drinking.
Byren caught Orrade's eye and nodded to Feid.
When his friend diverted the warlord with an arm wrestle, Byren slipped away, his heart pounding despite himself.
He passed the monks' table, where Catillum spoke earnestly while his men listened. It was unlike the table where Old Man Narrows sat. There, the maimed player entertained them with ribald stories, amidst shouts and laughter.
When Byren approached Florin, she backed out of the hall into the dark corner at the base of the stairs. Despite everything he'd told himself, Byren's body quickened in anticipation. He saw her only as a dark shape, her pale face surrounded by midnight hair.
She reached for him, pulling him closer. Not into an embrace, but so that her words would not be overheard. 'You can't trust the warlord!'
'I don't trust him. He says one thing, but his eyes say another. Still, he has given his word to bring seven hundred fighting men and I can't afford to -'
'Not Lord Leon. Feid!'
Byren blinked. 'Mountain-girl, you -'
She thumped his chest. 'I might be nothing but a mountain girl, but I have eyes and the wits I was born with. You asked me to watch Feid's lady.'
To keep her out of harm's way.
Florin did not wait for his reply. 'Lady Cinna has pet birds. She spends hours talking to them in her own language.'
'No harm in that. She's lonely.'
'They talk back to her.'
'Eh.' Byren grinned. 'My mother had a pet parrot. It could say a dozen things. She wept when it died. I remember, I was seven and -'
'These aren't parrots.' Florin's glare seared him.
Ah, but she was fetching when she was angry. He hid a smile.
Florin glanced over her shoulder and stepped closer still. 'Today, after we heard about Lord Leon's offer, Cinna disappeared into the chamber where she keeps her birds. Later, I checked. One of them was missing. She said it must have escaped and pretended to look for it, but I think she sent it off with a message.'
Byren felt the laughter leave his body. 'Are these bird black and white?'
'Yes.'
He took a step back, and felt the solid wall behind him. Ostronite messenger birds? Only the elector and his spies had access to pica pairs.
'Byren?'
What would a humble kitchen maid be doing with Ostronite messenger birds? What if she wasn't a humble kitchen maid, but one of the elector's spies? Ostron Isle was a powerful ally, if a fickle one. Byren's head spun. Why plant a spy on Foenix Spar, of all places?
'You believe me now,' Florin said.
'Aye.' He believed the warlord's lady had black and white birds for pets that could be possibly be a pica pair. But he also believed Feid's marriage was a love match. Perhaps it was, and the elector's spymaster had enlisted her? Yet, Lady Cinna seemed to adore her warlord husband and Byren's gut instinct told him to trust Feid.
'What will you do?' Florin pressed.
'Nothing... for now.' Byren smiled at her impatience. 'As my old nurse used to say,
actions speak louder than words.
Feid has taken us in and fed us.'
'But -'
'Watch the Lady Cinna. If Feid betrays us, we will not be taken by surprise. Thank you, Florin.'
She shrugged his thanks off as if annoyed and went up the stairs. Byren watched her go, mesmerised by the unconscious sway of her hips.
If Feid was betraying him to Ostron Isle, then the warlord was a better actor than Byren had given him credit for. If the warlord's lady was the betrayer, then she was a consummate actress.
Chapter Sixteen
Piro laced up Isolt's bodice, her fingers flying. Being a lady's maid was not so hard. She stepped back and Isolt let her hair fall down. Long and sleek, it fell to her waist, a sheet of black silk. They were about to meet the mage or, at the very least, his agent.
'You look every bit a kingsdaughter,' Piro told her.
Clothes had been provided in both their sizes. They wore rich satins, laces and velvets with tight bodices and full skirts that finished just above the ankle to show off their exquisite slippers, Ostronite-style.
'Either they have some marvellous seamstresses, or the mage knew my size and the colours I like,' Isolt said. She turned Piro around to do her laces, though her fingers were not as skilled. 'But how did he know your size?'
Piro shrugged and held her hair out of the way. When Isolt finished she gave a wriggle to settle the bodice in place then let her hair drop. 'Who knows? Perhaps they have a range of clothes ready-made. Perhaps the mage is a good guesser.'
Isolt met her eyes, suddenly serious. 'We must be wary of this mage,
Seela
.'
Piro understood the warning and heard the added emphasis on her assumed name. But the singing of the porters unloading cargo came through the open cabin windows on warm air, bringing the scent of salt-water and fish, mixed with spices and seaweed left in the sun too long.
Piro shrugged off Isolt's fears with a laugh. 'Spring is here.' There was a knock at the door. 'That'll be Fyn. Shall we go?'
Isolt rolled her eyes. 'This time, don't let Captain Nefysto get me alone. If I have to listen to another of his songs composed in my honour, I'll fake a fainting fit.'
Piro grinned and opened the door. She hardly recognised Fyn. He looked very fine in Ostronite fashion, a well-cut velvet vest, full silk sleeves, leggings and boots. But he was not so fine as the captain, who wore a hand's span of lace at each cuff. She hid a smile, thinking what her father and Lence would have made of a sea-hound who wore lace and wrote love songs.
'Ready?' Fyn asked. He looked Piro up and down. 'Don't you have a dress more fitting for a maid?'
'I can't help it. All the dresses in my size are like this.'
'They fight like brother and sister.' Nefysto shook his head and offered his arm to Isolt. 'May I escort you to the carriage?'
Piro saw Isolt put on her Merofynian face, the mask that hid her emotions.
'You are too kind,' she said, but Isolt's voice held a hint of warmth that hadn't been there in Merofynia, for the kingsdaughter genuinely liked Nefysto.
Piro hid a smile, then noticed how Fyn's mouth tightened.
Piro's foenix gave a soft call of dismay as she walked out. She glanced back to where he sat in the cage. 'They'll send him with our things?'
'It is all organised,' Fyn said.
They went out on deck and across the gangplank to the waiting carriage, which rattled over the cobbles. It was hard to see much of Ostron Isle through the small window. Piro caught flashes of lattice-covered balconies, and heard laughing people chatter in a language spoken too quickly for her to follow. She was better at reading Ostronite than speaking it. As of today, she would get the practice needed to improve her mastery of the spoken language.
'Will you be coming to see the mage with us?' Piro asked Captain Nefysto before he could take out his citole, run his fingers across the strings and serenade Isolt with another ode to her beauty.
'Only as far as the courtyard. I report to one of his agents.'
'We're nearly there,' Fyn announced. 'Look out the window, Isolt, and you will see the tallest tower in the world.'
As they rolled across a stone bridge, Piro peered out of Isolt's window. They had to crane their necks to see the top of the slender tower. It glistened white and fresh against the intense blue of the sky.
They entered the shadow of the bridge's gate-towers and rolled into a courtyard. Eager to help Isolt from the carriage, Captain Nefysto stepped down and slung the citole over his back. Fyn stood on her other side, offering his arm. Isolt laughed and ignored them both, jumping lightly to the ground. Both men began pointing out things of interest, ignoring Piro, who shook her head in wonder as she climbed down. What was it about Isolt that made men act so stupidly? Isolt certainly didn't welcome their attention.
Nefysto pulled off his feathered hat and swept a courtly bow, taking his leave of them. A boy of about twelve, wearing a less ornate, miniature version of Nefysto's clothes right down to the feathered cap, came over to them. He swept an identical bow and asked them to follow him.
'How's your brother's foot?' Fyn asked.
The lad frowned at Fyn and turned his back with great dignity. 'Follow me.'
Fyn dropped back, whispering to Piro and Isolt. 'Beware what you say in front of him. In fact, beware what you see. Things are not as they seem here.'
Piro nodded, although she didn't know what he expected them to do. Did they have to prod everything to make sure it was real?
She took another look at Fyn. He seemed outwardly composed, but his shoulders held tension, there was a grimness around his mouth, and his eyes were too sharp. Her stomach clenched in response to his unspoken trepidation. If he feared this meeting, then so should she.
They were led inside, up three flights of stairs and down several corridors until they came to a circular chamber. A balcony at the far end overlooked the Ring Sea.
Sunlight reflected from the water below, creating rippling patterns across the white ceiling. From the circular shape of the chamber, she guessed they were in the tower. The floor was covered with blue tiles so shiny they glistened like water. A large war table dominated the room, with a perfect replica of the known world.
A single figure stood on the balcony, the slight breeze stirring his long black hair.
'I hoped we'd see the mage himself,' Fyn muttered. 'This is only his agent, Tyro. But he has renegade Affinity too, so watch out for him.'
Piro nodded, relaxing a little. Then she stiffened as the agent strode into the room. She had the strangest feeling she knew him. But she would have remembered this intense, thin, young man. From his narrow chin to his high forehead and black eyes, he was... Those eyes...
Fyn gave an abbreviated bow. 'Meet Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter and her maid, Seela. Turns out, Isolt knew nothing of the betrothal and did not want to marry Palatyne.'
Piro was aware of something unspoken passing between Agent Tyro and Fyn.
'So she is happy to take sanctuary on Ostron Isle,' Fyn finished. 'Where is Mage Tsulamyth?'
'Dealing with other, more important matters,' the agent said. 'I have been his voice for many years.'
Piro thought this must be an exaggeration for he looked no older than Lence. But then Lord Dunstany had been much older than he looked. Ah, that was it. The agent bore a strong family resemblance to the noble scholar and Dunstany did say his long life was a by-product of his Affinity.
Every now and than, as if his shielding was imperfect, she could feel a wash of Affinity roll off the agent. It reminded her of the way the air around Lord Dunstany used to hum with power. It made her dizzy.
She took a step back and Isolt steadied her, sending a look of query.
Too much Affinity,
Piro mouthed.
When Tyro turned towards Isolt, Piro blended into the background as a maid should.
The agent gave Isolt a Merofynian bow as he spoke in her own language. His deep voice also struck Piro as familiar. 'You have come a long way, kingsdaughter. Welcome to Mage Isle.'
Piro watched as the kingsdaughter assumed what she thought of as Isolt's Merofynian court face.
'I thank Mage Tsulamyth for offering me sanctuary. In truth, I had little choice. Duke Palatyne will be furious when he learns where I am. I don't wish to be a burden to Ostron Isle.' Isolt looked down, then up, her mask slipping to reveal a flash of defiance. 'But I refused to stay and play Palatyne's game of Duelling Kingdoms.'
'In my capacity as his agent, I offer the mage's protection. You don't need to worry about Palatyne. He leads by fear, not example, and such men do not live long,' Agent Tyro said. Piro thought him slightly pompous. 'Palatyne will be furious but, while you are on Mage Isle, you are safe. However, you cannot hide forever. Have you thought what you will do?'
Fyn spoke quickly. 'Since Lence Kingsheir is dead, by the laws of Rolencia and Merofynia, Isolt is betrothed to Rolencia's uncrowned king, Byren.'
Agent Tyro fixed Fyn with gleaming dark eyes. Piro thought she saw a hint of laughter in their depths. 'At this moment Byren Kingsheir, or should I say the deposed king, is trying to unite your father's warlords, Fyn Rolen Kingson. So far, only two have offered their support. He needs the support of all five to stand a chance of retaking Rolencia.'
Piro hid her joy. This was the first real news she'd had of Byren.
Fyn's eyes narrowed. 'How -'
'Mage Tsulamyth has a very good spy network, Fyn. Now perhaps you would like to share another of your secrets?' When Tyro turned to Piro, she had the feeling he had been avoiding looking her way. 'Introduce me to your sister.'
Piro's heart skipped a beat and heat raced up her cheeks. She hated being caught in a lie. How had he guessed?
Fyn cleared his throat. Piro could tell he was quietly furious but he spoke courteously. 'Lord Tyro, this -'
'I am no lord,' the agent said, voice cold and cutting. 'My father did not acknowledge me. My mother sold me to the mage when I was five.'
Isolt took a step back as did Piro, scalded by his fury. Born the wrong side of the blanket - now she understood why the agent was so pompous. She'd seen the same response in those who felt disadvantaged in her father's court.
'I've met lords with less scholarship than you, Agent Tyro,' Fyn said.
Tyro's eyes widened, then he almost smiled. 'Your tongue is as fast as your sword. A valuable trait. Now, introduce your sister.'
Fyn cleared his throat. 'Agent Tyro, meet the sister I thought dead, Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter.'
The agent bowed then took a step back, looking at Piro. Waiting. Waiting... His obsidian eyes held hers, intense and quizzical. When she merely stared right back at him, a wry smile tugged at his lips. 'Don't you know your old master, Seelon?'
'Lord Dunstany!' Piro gasped. 'But... but you're young. The noble Power-worker was ninety even though he looked fifty.' She frowned. 'You must have used your Affinity to augment a player's disguise and -'
'No,' Isolt spoke up. 'Lord Dunstany has served the Merofynian royal family since my great-grandfather's time, so this agent can't be him.'
Tyro turned to her. 'You are right. Lord Dunstany died of natural causes, without any heirs. He was my master's trusted friend and agent. Dunstany arranged with the mage to keep his death a secret. Since I bore a strong resemblance, being born on the wrong side of the blanket on Dunstany's estate, I took his place so that Lord Dunstany could continue to serve the mage.'
'But I slept on the floor next to your bunk,' Piro objected. 'I rubbed lineament on your... on Lord Dunstany's swollen fingers.'
'You offered and I could not resist. So kind.' For a heartbeat his eyes twinkled as Lord Dunstany's used to and Piro felt a tug of recognition. Then he was the cold, pompous young man again. Maybe not as young as he appeared. 'A disguise is only as good as its detail, kingsdaughter. A maid servant would not have clean toes and fingers.'
'You knew it was me from the start!'
'Why do you think I was so quick to get you away from Palatyne? His Utland Power-worker is a dangerous man.'
'But you... when you were Lord Dunstany, you mocked the Utlander, made him out to be weaker than you,' Piro countered.
'I did,' Tyro conceded. He glanced to Fyn. 'What happens if two equally skilled swordsmen meet?'
'They don't battle unless they are forced to, because they know one or both will die.'
'What if one swordsman knows the other is more powerful?'
'He bluffs,' Fyn said, and his eyes widened. 'Sounds as if you were playing a dangerous game, Agent Tyro.'
'We play the game we must. Each of you knows that.'
They were all silent for a moment.
Then Piro had to ask, 'But why? Why play at all? Why did you accompany Palatyne when he invaded Rolencia? Why didn't the mage go? Is he too frail and old? Is he truly over two hundred years old?'
'The mage is a very great man and he does not discuss his plans with a slip of a girl,' Agent Tyro told her, turning to speak to Fyn.
Furious, Piro walked away, pretending to study the war table. She hated Agent Tyro, felt he'd made a fool of her. Her face burned, as she tried to recall everything that had passed between Tyro and herself, when he had been disguised as Lord Dunstany.
Believing him an old man she had treated him like a grandfather, but Dunstany had not treated her like a slave. He had been kind to her.
Only Tyro wasn't Dunstany. He was a cold, arrogant young man. Her mind raced.