King Breaker (36 page)

‘I didn’t know what I was doing. It was instinct.’

‘Then go with your instincts.’ Orrade came to his feet. ‘What did you do?’

Byren glanced away. They’d been naked, and he’d held Orrade close to warm him.

‘The monks told us not to let Power-workers touch our bare skin,’ Orrade said. ‘You need skin, the more the better, right?’

Byren nodded and watched with growing misgivings as Orrade unlaced his jerkin and hung it over the chair. After tugging off his boots, Orrade pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his breeches, which left him wearing nothing but a linen breechcloth.

Byren looked away.

Orrade unrolled a blanket and spread it on the floor, then went to the door and bolted it shut.

Byren still hadn’t moved.

‘Come on,’ Orrade told him. ‘If I can do this, so can you.’

He was right. Byren gave an apologetic nod and gestured to his bad knee. ‘I’ll need a hand.’

Orrade helped him to undress and stretch out on the floor, then joined him.

Byren pulled Orrade’s back against his chest. ‘Now let down your barriers and summon your Affinity if you can.’

‘I’m always repressing it,’ he admitted. ‘What if I get lost in the visions?’

‘Has that happened before?’

‘No...’ Orrade swallowed. ‘But I did some reading in Lord Dunstany’s library and...’

Byren hated hearing fear in his voice. Instinctively, he tightened his hold. ‘I won’t let you go.’

Orrade nodded.

A heartbeat later, Byren felt a teeth-grating sensation as Orrie’s power rose. Taking shelter in the seep with the ulfr pack had irrevocably changed him, just as asking the crazy old seer to heal Orrade had changed him. She’d warned Byren his friend would never be the same, and for days afterwards Orrie had been blind. At first, Byren had believed this was what she’d meant, his life in exchange for his sight. But...

‘Ready,’ Orrade whispered.

‘Ready.’ Byren slipped into the ulfr breathing pattern. He let each breath take him away and, as if from a great distance, he heard a deep rumble like a great cat purring. A healing warmth built in his body and he focused the power on his injured knee.

Everyone believed he and Orrade were lovers. As he tapped into Orrade’s Affinity to heal himself, Byren realised that what they shared went much deeper than that.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

F
YN MISSED
I
SOLT
. She hadn’t spoken to him since the war-table meeting two days ago. He’d put the time to good use, researching what was known about bonding with Affinity beasts, but all he could find were myths, and he didn’t put much credence in such things.

Isolt ran into the chamber of knowledge. ‘Here you are.’ She seemed hot and flustered, and unreasonably annoyed with him. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you, and you’re reading!’

Heart racing, Fyn marked the place in his book and came to his feet. The urge to grab her and kiss her was very strong.

And completely irrational.

The force of his feelings surprised Fyn. He’d always been the sensible one, yet with Isolt a kind of wonderful madness threatened to overwhelm him.

‘The nobles have called a meeting in the war chamber,’ she told him. ‘Did anyone send for you?’

‘No.’

‘They didn’t let me know, either. I only just heard.’ She bristled and held out her hand. ‘We need to make it clear that we’re in charge. Come on.’

Fyn took her hand, welcoming any excuse to touch her. As they made their way to the war chamber, Fyn spotted Mitrovan. Clearly the scribe had been trying to find him to warn him.

They strode into the chamber, but Isolt dropped Fyn’s hand the moment the gathering turned to her. Everyone looked angry and troubled. There were half a dozen merchant margraves, five of the ten lords of Merofynia, and both captains, Aeran and Elrhodoc.

A chorus of voices greeted Isolt.

She signalled for silence. A servant arrived with wine and another with food. Isolt took a glass, before sending the servants around the gathering. ‘Now, what is the problem?’

‘The spars have attacked my estate!’ Neiron announced. ‘Amfina and Lincis warlords have come over the Dividing Mountains. My man reports seven hundred spar warriors—’

‘Seven hundred...’ Dismayed whispers filled the chamber. ‘So many...’

‘My people had no warning. My estate is already in spar hands. The spar warriors have headed west—’

‘West?’ Young Wythrod looked horrified ‘To my estate?’

‘He said west, not southwest,’ Yorale said. ‘It’s my estate that’s under threat.’

‘They have to take my estate,’ Wythrod insisted. His land jutted into the Landlocked Sea. ‘They can’t leave an enemy behind their lines.’

Fyn was inclined to agree with him.

‘This is terrible.’ Wythrod turned on Fyn. ‘You encouraged my grandfather to save the Benetir Estate, to teach the spar warlords a lesson. He died for nothing!’

‘He died to avenge your aunt’s murder,’ Fyn said. ‘If Amfina and Lincis Spars have already taken Nevantir Estate, that means they planned this attack before Benetir was taken. There hasn’t been time for them to hear about the fate of the Centicore warlord.’

‘First Centicore, now these two. If three of the spar warlords have dared to come over the Divide, what’s stopping the other two?’ Travany asked, jowls trembling.

‘When they hear I hold the Centicore warlord’s son hostage—’

‘It’ll be too late then!’ Travany snapped. ‘Spar barbarians are no better than Utlanders. Look what they did to the Benetir girl. Now Neiron’s sister is in their clutches. Our wives and daughters are not safe in their own homes!’

Neiron gasped. ‘My sister!’

‘Don’t worry.’ Elrhodoc slid an arm around Neiron’s shoulders. ‘You can’t do anything for her. She’s ruined.’

Lord Rhoderich ran his hand through his receding hair. ‘How dare they—’

‘They dare because...’ Yorale bowed to Isolt. ‘Forgive me, my queen, but I must speak frankly. When the spar warlords look on Merofynia, they see a fifteen-year-old queen, her armies depleted by war. They see a queen who is betrothed to a deposed Rolencian king and they think us weak!’

‘Then they’re wrong!’ Fyn stepped forward. ‘They might look over the Divide and see your rich estates and think you soft. They might think to emulate Palatyne. But Cortigern already tried it and we proved him wrong. We executed him, driving his warriors over the Divide with their tails between their legs. And we’ll drive these two warlords back to where they came from!’

The margraves voiced their support. War meant the nobles needed armour, weapons and supplies; war meant profit.

Fyn deliberately drew Isolt forward. ‘It’s time to unite behind Isolt Wyvern Queen.’

‘My lord protector’s right,’ Isolt said. ‘It’s time to teach the spars a lesson!’

Fyn lifted his glass. ‘To another two hundred years free of spar rebellion!’

The lords and merchants raised their glasses, repeating the toast. This time there were no complaints about lack of men.

Fyn gestured to Yorale and Wythrod. ‘The spar warriors are marching towards your estates, but Istyntir and Elenstir Estates lie east of the invasion. Where’s Lord Istyn?’

‘He’s in mourning. His only son was killed when Travany’s ship was taken, leaving him with five daughters!’ Elrhodoc’s lips twitched. ‘He’s already offered me my pick.’

‘Five daughters...’ Rhoderich shook his head.

Fyn ignored him. ‘Neiron, I want you to gather as many fighting men as you can in Port Mero. Elenstir Estate is under threat, so Elrhodoc’s brother needs to help you retake Nevantir, Neiron. Once you’ve reclaimed your estate, march west in pursuit of the warlords’ main force. Meanwhile, Wythrod will march his men north towards the mountains and Lord Yorale will march east.’ Fyn traced the path of the advancing lords and tapped a point where all three would meet. ‘The warlords will be trapped between the mountains and our pincer attack.’

‘And you?’ Neiron asked. ‘What will you be doing while our men take on the spar warriors, Lord Protector Merofyn?’ Fyn hesitated. If he stayed here in the palace, they’d call him a coward. If he accompanied the lords, they’d resent his interference. He’d only led the retaking of Benetir Estate because Lady Gennalla’s male relatives were all dead or under-age. He drew breath, not sure what to say.

‘Lord Protector Merofyn will be with me,’ a familiar voice announced, ‘coordinating his battle plan.’

‘Dunstany...’ Isolt whispered. Fyn glanced to her. They both knew Lord Dunstany was really the mage’s apprentice; even so, she looked relieved.

Abbot Murheg and the abbess had entered behind the old lord. Dunstany wore the indigo robes of a scholar, and as he made his slow way along the table, leaning heavily on his staff, Murheg slipped around the nobles to stand beside Fyn, and Celunyd joined Isolt. Meanwhile, the lords greeted Dunstany with a deference that barely masked their resentment and fear. He exuded a perceptible aura of power, which Fyn found pleasant but, from their expressions, the other lords found it unnerving.

‘They fear him,’ the abbot whispered to Fyn. ‘And well they should. Dunstany is close to a hundred years old, yet he looks like a spritely fifty. He was already an adult when the oldest of them were born. They cannot forget that the day Palatyne died, lightning struck the tip of Dunstany’s staff, leaving him unharmed.’

Dunstany bowed to the queen, then turned to Fyn. He gestured to the windows overlooking the Landlocked Sea. ‘You’ll need to travel swiftly. Allow me to offer my pleasure yacht. From the
Dunsior
you can coordinate the attack.’

Fyn nodded in thanks.

‘You offer your yacht, Dunstany,’ Yorale said. ‘I trust you’ll honour the alliance you made with my grandfather sixty years ago and offer men as well.’

‘But of course.’ Dunstany gave an apologetic shrug. ‘I would lead them myself if it were not for these old bones.’

‘I’d offer to help Neiron,’ Captain Elrhodoc said. ‘But my duty is here in Port Mero, protecting the queen.’

‘I won’t be here, captain. I’ll be on the
Dunsior
,’ Isolt announced. ‘After all, I cannot remain in the palace while my lords fight for the kingdom’s future.’ Isolt favoured Dunstany with a sweet smile. ‘That is, if there’s room for me, my lord?’

‘I’d be honoured, my queen.’

‘The queen cannot sail unprotected. I’ll tell my men to make ready,’ Elrhodoc announced.

The abbot nodded. ‘This venture will need Mulcibar’s blessing.’

‘And the queen will need the cool-headed advice of Cyena’s representative,’ the abbess added.

Fyn hid his disappointment. Once again, Isolt would be surrounded by whispering, fawning courtiers.

‘Since Lord Protector Merofyn sails with you, my queen, you’ll need someone to coordinate the attack on land,’ Neiron said, bowing low. ‘Allow me to offer my services as your lord general.’

Isolt glanced to Dunstany.

‘Three lords will be leading their men,’ Dunstany said. ‘Someone must be in charge.’

Neiron cast Fyn a look of triumph.

Fyn caught Isolt’s eye and glanced to Yorale.

‘You’re right, Neiron.’ Isolt smiled. ‘Lord Yorale?’

The elder statesman sank to one knee before the young queen as she named him her lord general.

It was preferable to Neiron, but it still rankled with Fyn. As lord protector of Merofynia, the nobles should turn to him to lead them.

What more did he have to do to win their respect?

T
HE STORM SHROUDED
the ship in perpetual twilight, but Piro guessed it was still afternoon. After two days of battling the weather, she had grown adept at moving on a heaving deck. She’d treated numerous small injuries as well as setting Old Dalf’s arm.

She’d been waiting for the storm to ease off a little, before going below to check on her patients, but there seemed to be no end in sight. Slipping off her bunk, she made for the cabin door. The ship shuddered and lurched to one side so violently she fell to her knees.

Cursing the wind shear, she wrapped her cloak around her before plunging out the door and down the passage to the middeck. Ankle-deep water sloshed back and forth in the passage.

She threw open the door to the deck and the sound of the roaring wind hit her like a physical blow. The ship’s nose began to dip into the next wave trough. Even though the ship flew very little sail, the spars creaked and the ropes snapped as the canvas strained above her.

Before Piro could grab for the rope that ran from the hook by the door across the deck to the mast, the ship reached the valley between the waves. Lightning flashed and she saw a wall of water coming towards them.

Her stomach plunged, and her hand went to the stone around her neck.

The ship’s nose lifted, trying to climb the wave. Water broke over the prow, forming a knee-high roller. It bore down on her, capped by a crest of foam. She darted back into the passage and slammed the door shut, bracing against it as the water hit.

Judging it safe, she opened the door to middeck to find seawater pouring off the deck through the gaps along the ship’s sides. She spotted Bantam making his way down the steps from the reardeck above her. He looked grim. The ship tilted nose-down as it slid into the next wave trough.

Piro stepped onto the deck and stood with her legs braced, holding onto the rope.

Despite his seal-skin coat and cap, Bantam was wet through. He had to shout to be heard above the roaring of the wind, and even then she only caught a few words. ‘Shut the bloody door... back... your cabin.’

‘I must check on the injured.’

Lightning flashed again, revealing mountainous seas all around them. The ship, which had appeared so sleek and proud in port, now looked small and fragile. Piro’s heart quailed. At this moment, Cobalt’s duplicitous marriage didn’t seem so important, and proving herself to Siordun felt like a petty concern.

Right now she didn’t care how long it took to reach Rolencia. She just wanted to be safe on dry land.

‘Check them tomorrow.’ Bantam gestured for her to go inside.