The Uncrowned King (17 page)

Piro swallowed. Where had they taken all the townsfolk? If this had been a normal battle, she would have been tending the wounded. She'd trained in basic healing at her mother's side. Many was the time she had helped stitch up Byren and Lence. Now she was at a loss.

Crossing the courtyard, she took a short cut through the menagerie where her pet foenix was housed. The bird's eager cry drew her and she hurried across, furious to discover he had been caged. She had never locked him away, letting him roam the glass-roofed courtyard freely.

'Oh, you poor thing!' she dropped to her knees, unlocking the cage. Freed, he made a soft crooning noise in his throat and rubbed his head on her face.

She stroked his soft, fur-like feathers. It pained her to see how dull his colour had grown in just a few days. She glanced inside the cage where there was water and food aplenty. That wasn't the problem. He'd missed her and her Affinity.

At the thought of it, she felt her power stir and, before she could stop it, her hands began to tingle with a build up of Affinity.

This winter she'd grown into the habit of letting the unistag lick the excess power off her fingertips but, when they'd been forced to leave the Affinity beast with the new warlord of unistag, she hadn't been able relieve her Affinity build-up. Now the foenix grew excited as it rubbed its throat and cheeks on her hands and, even as she watched, its feathers regained their usual brilliance.

'So you were absorbing Affinity from me all along and I wasn't even aware of it,' she whispered.

'Here? You!' A Merofynian warrior addressed her in badly accented Rolencian. 'Leave that... that... Is that a foenix?'

'Yes, sor.' Piro instinctively dropped into the dialect of a badly educated servant girl. 'Belonged to Piro Kingsdaughter, herself. Was my job to feed the beastie.'

He swung the cloak off his shoulders and approached, obviously intent on capturing the foenix.

Piro sprang to her feet. 'You can't eat it, sor. It's full of Affinity.'

'I know that.' He glared at her. 'That's why I'm taking it to the overlord. He collects treasures. Close your mouth and lend a hand.'

'He won't hurt it, will he?'

The warrior clipped her over the ear. 'You'll get more of that if you give me cheek. Now, catch it for me.'

The foenix had ducked behind Piro and was shaking with fright. Stomach churning, she took the cloak from the man and spoke coaxingly as she scooped it up.

She turned to face the Merofynian. 'He needs -'

'I'll take that.' He snatched the beast from her greedily as though it was pure gold. 'As for you, get inside. All servants are to gather in the great hall.'

She nodded and turned to slip away, unable to believe her good luck.

'Wait.'

It was midsummer's day and Byren walked across the shingles on the shore of Sapphire Lake, the soles of his feet burning with each step. Try as he might, he could not reach the inviting cool shallows of the lake, which remained forever just out of reach. So thirsty, so hot... He could have roared with frustration, but only a whimper escaped him. To make matters worse, someone was poking him in the side with a spear, driving him on, making every breath a sharp pain. Couldn't they see he was doing his best to reach the lake?

From a great distance he heard a voice muttering.

'...burning up with fever. Shakin' like a leaf.'

He struggled to open his eyes but they would not obey him for more than a heartbeat. Frustration made him grind his teeth.

'Kingson, hold on. I'm taking you to a healer.' The dyer spoke slowly to reach Byren through the delirium of the fever.

But no healer could save him. At least, not one you'd find in a Rolencian village. Maybe the greatest of healers could have used their Affinity... he should have gone to Sylion Abbey the moment he realised the dagger had pierced his lung, but he'd wanted to reach his father. And, if he had, he would never had met up with the ulfr pack.

Pity he'd never get the chance to tell Orrade about it. Sylion take him, Orrade was angry with him. He'd compared his best friend to Lence. He should never have done that. Orrade's heart was true. It was his preference for men that was a problem.

He missed Orrade. Missed the pack. Missed their warming presence, missed their song. He seemed to hear it in his head, feel it in his body. It soothed him.

Byren felt a small hand pat his chest in sympathy. The boy laughed. 'He's just like Puss. He's purring, Da.'

Byren felt the dyer press his hand to the same place.

'You're right, Rodien. He's not shakin', he's purring like a cat. Wonders never cease.'

'Thirsty,' Byren managed to croak.

Something cool touched his face and watered wine slipped past his lips. His drank eagerly.

They took it away much too soon. He tried to grab them, but they'd tied his arms down. For a moment he fought panic as he imagined them handing him over to the Merofynians, then he remembered them securing him to the sled. Now they were taking him to a healer. No point.

Who would mourn him? Certainly not King Rolen.

Lence was gone and Elina... his gut clenched and a moan escaped him. He'd failed Elina. He should never have left her at Dovecote. But she'd refused to speak with him because she believed he was in love with her brother.

Orrade, Sylion take him. Orrade was angry with him because he'd let Elina die. But Byren could not have saved her, not when she'd tried to turn Lence's sword to save his life. Her wrists were not strong enough to stop the full force of the blow. Elina had known. She'd given her life for his and thought it a fair trade.

Tears stung Byren's eyes, slipping down his cheeks, trickling into his ears where they tickled. The sled gave a jerk and started moving again, making his body vibrate, making him ache in every bone.

He was sick, very sick, not thinking clearly.

That's right, he was dying. Why didn't they let him do it in peace?

Piro paused, heart thudding. As she turned back to face the warrior, she summoned a stupid expression.

'Are there any more Affinity beasts?' the Merofynian asked, eyes bright with avarice.

'No, sor. The unistag died this winter just gone.'

He looked disappointed, then grinned, patting the foenix. 'Better than nothing, and easier to transport than a unistag. Get going, girl.'

She darted away, entering the connecting passage where she saw two men-at-arms, the azure crests on their black garments stained purple with blood. They confronted several castle servants and Halcyon's healer.

'I can't go to the hall. I must tend the injured,' the healer objected. She was nearing seventy and Piro had known her all her life.

Thwack
.

The nearest Merofynian backhanded her. Knocked off her feet, the healer flew into the wall, reminding Piro how Lence had unintentionally killed the old seer with one swing of his hand.

Before Lence had thrust her aside, the seer had said the queen lived a lie and because of it Rolencia would fall and those she loved would die. Piro had been certain she had been mistaken. But now she wondered what they might have learnt if they had used the seer's foresight to their advantage.

No point in
if onlys
. Her father would never have listened to a seer. He wouldn't even listen to her!

The Merofynian's blow had not killed the healer, for she moaned and clutched her shoulder. The two maidservants gasped and bit back cries of protest.

'Help her up and get moving.' The Merofynians drove their captives around the bend. Piro longed for a keen sword and the strength of her older brothers. But it was clear from today's events that strength and a good heart were no match for treachery and cruelty.

Blood rushed in Piro's ears, filling her head with a roaring sound as a waking memory superimposed itself over the now empty hall. In Piro's mind's eye she saw her recurrent nightmare given flesh. Today wyverns stalked the halls of Rolenhold. Her vision had come true and that made her wonder about the old seer's unspoken words.

The seer had been about to direct a foretelling to Piro, whose fear at the time had been that her Affinity would be exposed. She'd been grateful to Lence when he silenced the seer, then shocked when she realised he'd killed her. What would they have learnt if the seer had lived?

Had she been about to warn them that the castle would fall? Why couldn't the seer have been more specific? A hint about Cobalt's betrayal and the postern gate would have been really useful. Piro felt a bitter smile tug at her lips.

Well, no one was going to wipe out her family!

She had half a mind to slip away and find Lence and Byren right now, but her mother had told her to dress the part of a kingsdaughter, so she hurried to where she had stashed her bundle and hastily changed in the dubious privacy of a store room, amidst jars of cherry and apricot preserves. Doing the best she could with a wet cloth she cleaned her face, hands and feet, hearing her mother's voice in her head.
No daughter of mine will appear before visiting nobles grubby as an urchin!

Tears stung her eyes as she slung an old cape over her shoulders and took the servants' stairs to the great hall. From an archway on the mezzanine floor she stood in the shadows trying to locate the queen amid the confusion. Servants scurried about, terrified by the Merofynian men-at-arms, who were swift to speed them on their way with a blow as they set the tables for a great feast. As yet, there was no sign of the victorious overlord.

Through the forest of decorated columns Piro identified her mother. The queen and most of the servants had been herded into the space to one side of the great hearth. The Rolencian royal banner had been torn down from above the fireplace, leaving a square of pale golden sandstone. The remaining servants clung to one another, terrified. In their midst Queen Myrella stood pale but resolute with old Seela at her side.

Piro's heart swelled with pride. Now all she had to do was wait and follow her mother's directions.

A ripple of excitement drew her gaze to the far end of the hall where a group of powerful men entered. Piro recognised Cobalt. He walked a step behind the leader, and a surge of pure fury made her body burn at the sight.

Had he truly been lord protector of the castle, he would be dead, not following in the overlord's footsteps like a faithful dog.

As for the overlord, if she hadn't known him by his swagger and his elaborate surcoat - emblazoned with the twin-headed golden-scaled amfina on a black background - the reaction of his men would have told Piro who he was. They sprang to attention, greeting him with a respectful and wary silence that spoke of fear.

Piro shivered.

She recognised the same indefinable aura which had surrounded her father. Like King Rolen, Palatyne was big and raw-boned, a leader of men, but her father's men had followed him out of love and admiration. Palatyne's men watched him, as though their lives hung on his reaction.

She had expected the overlord to be accompanied by mystics from the two great abbeys of Merofynia, but there were no religious Affinity workers with him. Instead, there were two advisors. The first was a stooped, iron-haired man who had once been tall and broad-shouldered. He wore the indigo robes of a noble scholar but even without calling on her Unseen sight she could see the power shimmering off his skin.

Taking two steps to every one of his was a thin little silver-haired man, an Utland Power-worker by his warding tattoos and the fetishes woven into his waist-length beard. In Rolencia, these men would have been trained to serve the abbey and the common good. But these two Power-workers were motivated by personal ambition rather than religious fervour.

The overlord took off his azure crested helmet and shook his head. His hair was worn loose down his back in the style of Merofynian nobles and, right now, it was lank with sweat. Tucking the helmet under one arm, he lifted a goblet of wine, gulped a mouthful and spat the wine with great deliberation onto the Rolencian banner which lay on the flagstones. 'Throw it in the fire!'

Hastily, three men ran forwards to lift the intricate tapestry and toss it into the fireplace. The overlord crossed the hearth stone in two long strides and tossed the rest of his wine into the fireplace. Instantly flames surged up, devouring the Rolencian banner.

Palatyne spun to face the hall, both arms raised. 'So falls Rolenhold. And they said it could not be done!' His deep voice carried, and he spoke Merofynian with the accent of the spars.

Even as his men dutifully cheered, one hurried forwards with the foenix wrapped in his cloak. 'A treasure for you, my lord.' He pulled the cloak back a little to reveal the foenix's brilliant neck and chest colours. 'A royal foenix, the pet of the kingsdaughter herself!'

The overlord stiffened, regarding the beast intently, then he smiled and his whole stance radiated satisfaction. He nodded to the noble scholar. 'See, Lord Dunstany. What was theirs, will be mine. This foenix will be a gift for my betrothed.' He pulled a ring from his finger and tossed it to the man, who caught it eagerly. 'Have the beast cared for.'

As the man hastily backed out, Palatyne raised a hand to stroke the pendant resting on his chest plate. With a start Piro recognised her father's royal emblem. And his death hit home. She bent double, her stomach cramping with pain.