King Breaker (48 page)

Isolt held out her arm. ‘Lead me to her, captain.’

Years of training made Elrhodoc take the queen’s arm.

Fyn hid a smile. With that command, Isolt had re-asserted her authority. Now he went one step further.

‘I know where the war-table is. My queen?’ Fyn offered Isolt his arm. She released Elrhodoc and Fyn walked off with her. ‘We must interview Lady Sefarra to determine who led the attack.’

Fyn could feel Isolt trembling. To give her time to recover, he said, ‘But first we must be sure the Affinity beasts are settled.’

And they headed for the grotto, leaving Elrhodoc stranded. The further they got from the captain, the better Fyn felt.

At last they reached the pond. A soft glow came from the grotto’s entrance, reflecting in the water. Pale, silvery beams pierced the dome’s glass panels, reaching into the night.

Isolt squeezed Fyn’s hand. ‘Thank you.’

‘Cortomir is safe for now,’ Fyn said. ‘As long as Dunstany and the Affinity beasts are with him...’

‘I hate him!’

Fyn didn’t need to ask who she meant. ‘We won’t go back until—’

‘I’m not stupid. I grew up with this. I thought I’d escaped, but...’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘I’ll never be free. Not as long as I’m queen.’

Fyn looked for something to cheer her, and noticed a winged creature fluttering in one of the beams of light.

‘Would you look at that? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was a lacewing moth.’ He frowned. ‘They feed on the pollen of the starkiss flowers. Back at the abbey, Master Sunseed had a theory that the moth and flower formed a relationship, because wherever starkisses were found in the wild, lacewing moths would be nearby.’

The moth hovered over the grotto, weaving in and out of the silvery shaft of light.

‘It’s very beautiful,’ Isolt whispered.

‘But odd,’ Fyn said. ‘In the Rolencian foothills, the lacewings grow only as big as my hand. That moth’s wingspan has to be from my finger tips to my elbow. Why would they grow so big?’

‘Oh, look.’ Isolt pointed. ‘Here comes another lacewing, and it’s even bigger.’

Sure enough, the wingspan of this moth had to be the length of Fyn’s arm. Now five lacewings danced in the silvery beams.

‘They’re attracted to the light,’ Isolt said.

‘That and Affinity,’ Fyn guessed, as it all fell into place. ‘We distil dreamless-sleep from starkiss pollen. It contains a kind of Affinity. Like all Affinity beasts, lacewings are attracted to power. Since last spring, several new seeps have opened up in Rolencia. Has Merofynia—’

‘Yes. Back when the Power-workers were trying to heal my father, I overheard them talking about the new Affinity seeps. They said it was an omen.’

‘Did the abbot or abbess deal with the untamed power of these new seeps?’ Fyn asked.

‘Yes. No... I don’t know. They should have, but everything’s been topsy-turvy since Palatyne declared himself overlord.’

Fyn nodded. ‘I think the lacewings have been gorging themselves on new seeps, accelerating their growth. I wonder...’ Fyn held up his ring hand, calling on his limited Affinity. He felt it gather and urged the power to focus in the stone, which glowed pale silver.

‘The lacewings are coming over!’ Isolt was delighted. ‘Can you make the stone glow brighter? I want to see them clearly.’

Could he? He focused and was rewarded with a bright flare, just as the first lacewing fluttered down.

Horns, claws and a questing mouth with a spike-tipped tongue...

Isolt gasped.

Fyn grabbed her hand, turned and ran for the palace.

As they darted around bushes and between fruit trees, Fyn felt something rush by his head.

Fear spurred him on. He dragged Isolt with him. Another lacewing just missed his head. He ducked. They passed the hedge, then the fountain, ran up the steps. When they reached the terrace, it was deserted.

Where were the queen’s guard when she needed them?

A lacewing dived, hitting Fyn square between the shoulders. He felt the impact but kept running, intent on getting Isolt to safety. The creature’s slight weight bounced as it clung to his shoulders.

Something brushed the back of his neck. He felt a sharp sting and a dreamlike peace descended on him.

Why was he running?

Why was this beautiful girl pulling him towards the palace, away from this starlit night? He planted his feet.

‘Fyn, what’s wrong?’ Her frantic eyes searched his face then widened in horror. ‘There are wings behind your shoulders. Cyena help me, there’s one on your back!’

Her words made sense, but only if he concentrated, and the moment she stopped speaking he was captivated by her beauty. He wanted her, always had.

She tugged on his arm, opened those luscious lips to speak and...

He pulled her close, caught her face in his hands and kissed her. For a heartbeat, she did not move. Then she bit his lip, hard.

The pain cleared his head. He pulled back, shocked.

She sprang behind him to attack the lacewing. He fell to his knees under the onslaught of her pounding fists.

‘It’s feeding off you, Fyn. Fight it!’ Whimpering with fear and horror, she dropped her shawl over the creature and pulled at it.

Fyn felt the lacewing fighting to hold him, felt claws pierce his skin, then felt a sharp pain as the creature was torn from him.

‘Filthy thing!’ Isolt flung the creature away and pulled Fyn to his feet.

He felt dizzy. She ran, dragging him with her, until they reached the glass doors that led to the boys’ living quarters. She darted inside, slamming the door after them.

Several lacewings batted against the glass doors, trying to get in.

Fyn groaned. He felt shaky and cold.

Isolt knelt beside him. He didn’t remember sinking to the floor. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I...’ Fyn tasted blood and his lip stung where she’d bitten him. ‘I think I owe you an apology.’

‘No need. It was the Affinity creature acting through you.’

But it hadn’t been. It had been him, acting without inhibitions. Clearly the kiss had meant nothing to her. She’d had the presence of mind to bite him. What a fool he was.

Isolt glanced to the doors. ‘They’ve gone.’ She came to her feet and peered outside. ‘I think they’ve gone back to the grotto. Will Dunstany and the boys be safe?’

‘If the moths try to get into the grotto, Dunstany can deal with them.’

Isolt nodded, then gestured somewhat wildly. ‘I can’t believe the captain of my own queen’s guard ignored my orders!’

‘You could remove him from his post.’

‘That would mean admitting I’d lost control of my own guards.’

‘
Almost
lost control.’ Fyn smiled but it was short lived. ‘Much as I hate to admit it, Elrhodoc has a point. If we don’t execute Corto—’

‘I’m not killing him.’

‘I know. But the lords and margraves will see it as weakness. They’ll see it an excuse to make decisions without you, for your own good.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Rhalwyn wanted to go back to sea. The bay lord’s grandson could offer to train him.’

‘And Cortomir?’

‘Him too.’

‘But—’

‘Who would recognise Cortomir, other than you and me, Dunstany and Rhalwyn?’ Fyn’s mind raced. ‘This is a big city. Boys die all the time. They fall off horses or catch fevers. And their parents take their bodies to Mulcibar’s Abbey to be fed to the god.’

She shuddered. ‘You’re suggesting we ask the abbot to find a boy of similar build who has died within the last day or so? Do you trust Murheg?’

Fyn thought about it, and was surprised to discover he did. ‘He wants to ingratiate himself with me. If he does this, he has something to hold over—’

‘Oh, Fyn...’

‘It means we’ll have a body to hang from the linden tree.’

‘Dressed in Cortomir’s spar vest.’

‘Hang him high enough... no one will spot the deception.’

Isolt frowned. ‘Elrhodoc might.’

‘With Rhalwyn weeping under the tree?’

Admiration lit her eyes. ‘Fyn, you are even more cunning than my father!’

‘There are times when cunning is better than confrontation.’

‘That’s true.’ She came to her feet. ‘And there are times when we can’t avoid spilling blood. We need to see Sefarra and find out what happened on Benetir Estate.’

Fyn nodded, but the room spun and he almost fell.

Isolt put her arm around him. ‘Are you able to do this?’

‘I must.’

Isolt glanced over her shoulder. ‘I don’t know where Elrhodoc and his men went, or what they’re up to. You need to send for Camoric.’

‘He’s on his way here.’ Fyn found he could stand. ‘We have a game of Duelling Kingdoms under way. I’ll have him sent to the war-table.’

Chapter Thirty-Nine

W
HEN
G
ARZIK ENTERED
the Utlanders’ long-hall, he was reminded of the night he’d first come here, as a captive slave. Back then, Affinity beast trophies had decorated the walls, but Vultar had stolen them. At the back of the hall were dark storage chambers. Under the steeply pitched roof, a mezzanine floor held bed chambers. The kitchen was in a separate building nearby. And, by the looks of it, the cooks must have been working since the ship was first sighted, because there was food laid out on the long table.

Lauvra and the women of her generation took pride of place with the elders. The captains and their crews came next, then came the beardless, then the children.

Tonight Garzik took his place at the table, as part of Rusan’s crew.

They were served by the slaves, but there were fewer captives than he’d originally thought. Lauvra and the elders dished out punishment to suit the transgressions. If someone was too proud, they had to wash the dishes. If someone was greedy, they had to give away their most prized possession.

The dinner was supplemented with luxuries from the hot-lands, and everyone spoke at the top of their voices. When the meal was finished, people moved around the table, catching up. Garzik found himself leaning against one stair rail with Ilonja at his side. She offered him a tankard of wine.

He thanked her, then looked her up and down. ‘Say, did you get smaller?’

She thumped him hard, making him smile.

One of the beardless yelled, ‘Tell us how you sailed into the hot-lander jaws and stole their dinner out of their very mouths!’

‘You raiders have all the fun,’ Ilonja complained.

‘I saw a shade-ray in the starlight,’ Garzik whispered. ‘Saw it fly through the sea on silvery wings.’

She shivered with awe.

‘Tell us, Rusan. Tell us!’ the gathering shouted.

‘Very well.’ He grinned and moved to the centre of the hall, where all could see. Olbin joined him. ‘After you hear how we stole into Port Mero, you won’t be teasing us about our half-grown beards!’

They acted out how their ship had slipped into the bay and how they’d stolen the stores. Rusan gave Garzik his due for coming up with the idea, and for leading the attack to secure the merchant ship. But he avoided explaining why the sea-hounds had spotted them. The listeners were so caught up in the drama of the ship’s race for the headlands, and their miraculous escape through Mulcibar’s Gate, that they didn’t notice the omission.

Rusan was a natural storyteller. By the time he finished, the hall rang with cheers.

Not Jost’s mother. She came to her feet. ‘Rusan made his reputation at the cost of my sons’ lives. All three of them, dead!’ Her voice shook. ‘I demand Rusan pay the death price for each of them!’

Everyone was stunned. Everyone but Vesnibor. He looked pleased. Garzik frowned. Didn’t Vesnibor realise this would reflect badly on Jost? Perhaps he didn’t care. As Byren’s old nurse used to say, fling enough mud, some of it will stick.

Garzik expected Rusan to defend himself, or Olbin to defend his captain, but it was Lauvra who came to her feet.

‘This was not murder, Pramoza. Your sons gave their lives to bring back supplies. A captain does not need to pay the death price for crew members lost on raids. The price is paid in the bounty that we all share.’

Several of the elders nodded, but some said nothing, watching the mood of the gathering.

‘Rusan was careless with his crew.’ Jost’s mother looked around the long-hall, seeking out certain faces. ‘Twenty-seven sailed, fourteen did not return. How many women have lost a husband? How many have lost two? How many children have lost fathers?’ She pointed to Rusan. ‘All because he craved glory!’

Another woman sprang to her feet. ‘Both my husbands are dead. Who will help me feed the children? I demand the death price!’

There was muttering, some in favour, some against, and Garzik glanced to Rusan, willing him to speak up.

‘Your family is too proud, Lauvra.’ Pramoza’s voice took on a malicious edge as it gained in confidence. ‘You look too high. I always said so.’

‘When my three husbands’ ship disappeared, did I come to the elders and demand their death price?’ Lauvra asked. ‘No, because that is not our way. When my two oldest sons died while raiding, did I demand their death price? No. It is not our way.’

‘I know our ways,’ Pramoza snapped. ‘And it is not our way to sail into Port Mero to win glory. Your sons did not die so that their captain could become the talk of the Northern Dawn peoples. Mine did!’

Garzik glanced to Rusan, and finally he spoke up.

‘Did your sons die for glory?’ Rusan asked, looking around. ‘Yes, they did. But it was not my glory. I promised Jost a ship, but that was not enough for him. He chose death.’

People muttered, turning to each or looking to Rusan for an explanation. Some had already made the leap, and were watching Jost’s mother. Garzik glanced to Vesnibor to see if he regretted setting her on this course, but the raider had slipped away.

Jost’s mother backed up a step, mouth working even though no sound came from her.

‘Pramoza is right about one thing,’ Rusan said. ‘Too many have died. Let me honour our dead.’ He pulled out his pipes.

As he played the Lament for the Dead, Olbin joined him, naming their dead, but he did not have Sarijana’s voice, which had soared above all others.