Chapter Twenty-Seven
Piro waited unnoticed towards the back of the crowd that filled the king's bedchamber. The great bed stood in the centre of the room on its dais. Like a restless sea, ebbing and flowing, courtiers clustered around it.
There were representatives from every noble family of Merofynia as well as warlords from beyond the Dividing Mountains. Several healers hovered over the bed consulting.
Back home in Rolencia, there would have been Sylion nuns and Halcyon monks, here they were renegade Power-workers, eager to make a name for themselves, plus nuns and monks from Merofynia's abbeys. Her father had always considered them little better than Affinity renegades. Three Cyena nuns in purest white sang and did the warding symbols at the chamber's three entrances. Five Mulcibar monks with their abbot walked around the bed praying for the king's soul as they swung tiny brass braziers filled with burning herbs. Renegade Power-workers chanted and made gestures over the bed. The room smelled of too many bodies, pungent Mulcibar herbs and beneath that, barely disguised, old age and death. It made Piro feel ill. She wished she could open a window and take a breath of clean air.
Isolt was speaking intently with the healers and, from her tight expression, the news was not good. So far the king had met his daughter's eyes only once with a flicker of recognition, and then resumed his senseless muttering.
Silence fell as Palatyne marched into the chamber with the Utland Power-worker by his side.
'Kingsdaughter.' He bowed.
'Duke.' Isolt inclined her head only slightly.
'I fear there is no hope, Isolt,' Duke Palatyne said, his voice cutting through all the others. 'The king lives but his mind has gone. For the sake of the kingdom you must appoint a regent to rule until you are of age. Consider appointing me as your regent. Better still, before he lost his reason King Merofyn asked me to put his mind at rest and marry you, so that both you and the kingdom would be cared for.' His triumphant eyes never left Isolt. 'For peace and stability we must marry as soon as possible. The people of Rolencia are planning an uprising and the elector of Ostron Isle cannot be trusted.'
Isolt opened her mouth as if she would argue, but Palatyne rushed on.
'After all, you do not know how long your father has to live, and you want him to see your wedding, don't you?'
Isolt winced visibly then recovered her composure, assuming her Merofynian court face, but Piro knew she was seething.
'And so, he springs the trap,' Lord Dunstany whispered.
Piro bit back a gasp and turned to meet Tyro's eyes. In some ways she was more comfortable with him when he was disguised as the noble Power-worker. Why couldn't Lord Dunstany be the real person, then he could be her friend, not her... what was Tyro to her, but an angry, pretentious youth, who had only recently begun to trust her? Too late for her to let her guard down.
'Fyn's safe?' she breathed.
'At Dunstany's mansion.'
'Byren?'
'Caged, but safe for now.'
'We must free him.'
'When we are ready.'
Piro felt the force of furious eyes and turned to see the Utlander glaring at them. At Lord Dunstany.
The Utland Power-worker left Palatyne's side and joined them. 'So you have come back to us, Lord Dunstany.'
'As soon as I could, I came to serve my king.' He gave a gracious bow.
'Not soon enough, I fear.' The Utlander pretended sympathy. 'Your patron has not long to live and soon my patron will be king.'
As if to confirm this they heard Isolt's clear voice. 'You are right, Duke Palatyne. We must marry soon. I see all of Merofynia's noble families are present. Since they are here, why not marry tomorrow?'
'Tomorrow?' Palatyne was surprised, but willing.
'It would take time to prepare such a grand occasion,' Lord Dunstany spoke up. 'There is the food for the feast, the decorations -'
'It can be done.
I
can do it!' the Utlander insisted. He turned to the duke. 'Give me a day to organise the joint wedding and coronation.'
Palatyne laughed. 'Very well. Make it the day after tomorrow. I want this to be a grand occasion for my bride.'
With a flourish, Palatyne kissed Isolt's hand. Her face betrayed nothing as the nobles, healers, nuns and monks all offered their congratulations.
Isolt excused herself as soon as she could, claiming she had preparations to complete. The kingsdaughter swept from the room, Piro at her heels.
When they were out in the almost deserted corridor Piro whispered, 'Why did you suggest marrying him so soon? You hate him.'
'I do. But I hate seeing my father suffer even more. As soon as I am queen I shall dismiss those healers and the Utlander -'
'You forget, you will be queen, subject to your king. Palatyne!'
'As queen, I will be subject to no one.' Isolt's eyes blazed. 'For Palatyne will not live long enough to be king. You must find out where he keeps the poison he meant to use on my father. Before the wedding you must slip it into his food while I distract him.'
'It's in the ring he wears on the little finger of his left hand. The stone lifts off.' Piro fought a surge of panic. It did not worry her that Isolt had ordered her to commit murder. Palatyne deserved to die. Like Cobalt, he was corrupt and nothing would make him whole. What worried her was carrying this off under the Utlander's nose. 'I don't see how I can get the ring off his finger.'
'Then we must ask Lord Dunstany for some poison of our own,' Isolt whispered. 'Slip it in Palatyne's food.'
That was when Piro remembered Palatyne owned a unistag horn. Poison would not get past it. They'd have to come up with another idea. Before she could mention this, they reached Isolt's chambers, where they were greeted by three of Duke Palatyne's own warriors, battle-scarred veterans from his time on the spar.
'You may go. I have my own guards,' Isolt told them.
'We cannot leave your door, kingsdaughter,' the oldest said. 'The Utlander uncovered a plot to kidnap you and if you are taken we lose our lives.'
'It is good of the duke to care for my safety.' Isolt caught Piro's eye. 'Seela, bring my dressmaker. I need a new gown for my wedding. The seamstress and her girls will have to sit up all night.'
If Isolt could not reach Dunstany, Piro could. But, when Piro turned to go, one of the men fell in step with her. Seeing her expression he explained. 'My instructions are not to let you out of my sight, Mistress Seela.'
Piro hid her dismay. And by the time she had run her errands she had decided not to tell Isolt about the unistag horn. As long as her friend had hope, she would not do something desperate.
'My spymaster tells me you've brought home a stray, Fyn?' Tyro challenged, as he entered the chamber. Fyn noted that he'd put aside his Lord Dunstany disguise before appearing.
'Tyro, this is Orrie, he...' Fyn hesitated. How was he to explain? 'He grew up with us.'
The mage's agent studied Orrade, who had stripped off his disguise and bathed, and was now dressed in borrowed clothes that were too short for him. His clothing might be slightly absurd but his expression was intense.
Tyro glanced to Fyn. 'But can he be trusted?'
'I would die for Byren.' Orrade took a step forwards, his voice rich with repressed emotion.
Tyro was not impressed. 'So you say, but Fyn is asking me to make you privy to secrets that could be the death of us all.'
Orrade made an impatient gesture. 'What can I say to convince you?'
'Nothing you say could convince me. Normally the mage would have me test his tools, but...' Tyro studied him. 'I sense you have Affinity, so I can use a shortcut. Lower your walls and let me taste your essence. If it is pure, I'll trust you.'
Orrade swallowed audibly.
Fyn shifted. Since when had Orrade had Affinity? But he kept his mouth shut.
'Very well.' Orrade dropped his arms. 'Do it.'
Tyro gestured to a chair. 'Sit, otherwise you may fall. Fyn, come hold him.'
'No one needs to hold me.' Orrade went to the chair and sat down. 'I won't resist.'
Tyro ignored this and caught Fyn's eye. Following his unspoken instructions, Fyn came around to stand behind the chair, hands resting on Orrade's shoulders.
He felt the tension in Orrade's muscles and the force of his repressed Affinity. As Tyro approached, Orrade's body tightened further.
'Who says I can trust you?' Orrade asked, his voice light. At odds, Fyn could tell, with how he really felt.
The agent hesitated.
'I jest. Just do it.'
Tyro placed his fingers on Orrade's temples, much as a monk might do when he searched for Affinity. Fyn felt a rush of awareness. His mouth watered, his eyes stung, his breath felt sharp as winter air in his nostrils. And he recognised Orrade's essence. Byren's friend would die for him because he loved him.
Naturally, they all loved Byren.
Tyro stepped back.
'Satisfied?' Orrade asked, voice bitter.
'You've chosen a hard path.'
'We don't choose our paths, they choose us.'
'Too true.'
Fyn didn't understand. 'What -'
The agent turned away. 'Isolt is to be married to Palatyne the day after tomorrow.'
Fyn cursed. 'Couldn't you... couldn't Lord Dunstany stop it?'
Tyro glanced to Orrade, then back to Fyn. 'With the king near death, Dunstany has lost power. He tried to delay the wedding but the Utlander stepped in and took over.' Tyro smiled grimly. 'He should have encouraged a quick marriage and then the Utlander would have delayed it just to spite him.'
Fyn stepped in front of him. 'We must contact the mage to ask his advice. Send one of your Pica birds.'
'By the time the bird reached him, Isolt would be married,' Tyro said. 'We are on our own.'
Fyn stared at him.
'I am the mage's agent and apprentice. He trusts me. You should too.'
Fyn nodded. But Tyro was not much older than Byren.
He went to run his hand through his hair and discovered he had none. That's right, he'd had to assume a monk's disguise, at Tyro's suggestion.
What could he do to save Isolt? Knees weak, Fyn sank into a carved cedar-wood chair beside Orrade. Everything was richly decorated, from the mosaic floor to the gilt and plaster ceiling. But what good was wealth if they did not have the mage to guide them? 'What about King Merofyn? Couldn't Lord Dunstany warn him about Palatyne's plans?'
'The king barely knew his own daughter. I fear the Utlander has weakened his mind to such an extent that Merofyn will never recover his wits.'
'Then we have no choice.' Fyn sprang up and prowled the length of the room. He came to the window, which looked up at the palace far above. The wyvern padded after him, her claws scraping on the mosaic floor. She rested her chin on the window sill and whimpered, almost as if she knew Isolt was at the palace. Fyn empathised with the Affinity beast and rubbed behind her horn knobs. The wyvern had nearly died to save Isolt. He would do no less.
A rush of conviction filled him. 'We can't let the marriage go through.'
'We can't let Palatyne execute Byren, and he will if we make a move against him,' Orrade said. 'That cage -'
'I already have a copy of the key. That's not the problem.' Tyro crossed to take a chair at the table, opposite Orrade.
Fyn joined them. 'Freeing Byren isn't enough, Orrie. Palatyne has been feeding the Merofynians a pack of lies. They believe he is their saviour and Byren is a threat.'
Orrade bristled. 'It's Palatyne who's the ambitious coward, not Byren.'
Tyro lifted his hands. 'The mage says what is written in history books is only the victor's version of the truth.'
Orrade laughed. 'I like this mage, already.'
Tyro looked away.
The foenix flew over to settle next to Tyro's chair.
'He misses Piro,' Fyn said.
The Affinity beast turned his head inquisitively to one side, much as Piro often did.
Tyro stroked the foenix's neck.
'Can't you foresee a way to reveal Palatyne's real nature?' Orrade asked Tyro.
'The past is like a road unfolding behind us, but the future is unwritten. The day of the wedding has solidified as a nexus point, the focus of many possible paths. Piro's Affinity gives her visions at nexus points.' Tyro's fists closed in frustration. 'Palatyne made sure Lord Dunstany can't get near her.'
Orrade cleared his throat. 'Ah... I get Affinity visions. Mostly they are just flashes of danger that seem to make no sense. They make my head ache so badly I can hardly think.'
'Any headaches now?' Tyro asked with a half-smile.
'None.'
'Then we are lost,' Fyn whispered.
'Not at all,' Tyro corrected. 'We must force Palatyne to reveal his true self. Fyn, I'll give you the key to Byren's cage. Dress as a player, so you can get close enough to free him. Tell him not to move, until he gets the sign. We'll have sea-hounds throughout the crowd, ready to act.