The King's Bastard (15 page)

Think of something else.

Fyn! Yesterday Fyn arrived with the abbot and the monks but she hadn't had a chance to speak with her brother yet so he didn't know about the sudden blossoming of her Affinity with the gods.

There she was, thinking of it again.

If the mystics mistress wasn't specifically looking for it, could she sense the change in Piro from a distance? Piro didn't know.

There was so much she didn't know about having Affinity.

'And have you been doing any more paintings, Piro Kingsdaughter?' the abbess asked kindly, once the formal greetings finished. She always treated Piro as if she was seven, not almost a woman at thirteen. The abbess was plump and pink-cheeked with sharp, brilliant eyes, and looked as if she should be a successful shrewd sweets merchant, not the spiritual leader of an abbey that served the cruel, hard god of snow and ice.

'Such skill with a brush in one so young is a gift from the gods.'

Piro flushed. She must not look at the mystics mistress. But she felt as if her deception was branded across her forehead.

'Pirola,' her mother admonished. The queen always used her full name when she was annoyed.

Piro opened her mouth to speak but her father stepped in.

'We discovered a renegade Power-worker in Rolenton just a few days ago.'

'We heard,' the abbess said. 'A terrible business. My sympathy, Queen Myrella, it must have been -'

'Lence dealt with her,' King Rolen said. 'Our Affinity warders made sure her body was disposed of safely.'

Piro hid a smile. There had been a fierce argument between Springdawn and Autumnwind over who would lay the old woman's spirit to rest, with Springdawn winning because she held supremacy over all things to do with winter and women. Piro had been crossing the courtyard between Sylion's oratory and Halcyon's chantry when she overheard them going at it like cats and dogs.

'Tell me, mystics mistress.' The queen lifted one hand. 'Are the predictions of seers always hard to understand?'

This had been worrying Piro too. She'd even considered asking Springdawn when the nun returned from the hunt but had discarded the idea because she did not want to be lectured for hours on end. The nun was a terrible bore and Piro had been delighted when her tutoring finished the day she turned twelve.

The mystics mistress shook her head. 'There are very few seers and they are generally avoided, as they will speak only the truth.'

Piro glanced to her mother who had gone pale.

'I don't think she was a true seer,' Piro said quickly.

'Why's that, child?' the mystics mistress asked, turning her blind but oddly penetrating eyes on Piro.

Because I have Affinity and she said I was like my mother.

Piro swallowed. 'Because she claimed mother's loved ones would die since we did not make war on Merofynia and take the throne when King Sefon died. But I don't see how refusing to make war could lead to -'

King Rolen laughed. 'There will be no war with Merofynia. The seer was mistaken.'

'That is quite possible,' the mystics mistress agreed. 'The greatest scholars of both Sylion and Halcyon Abbeys have been studying past prophecies and have come to the conclusion that the future is a many-branched tree, while the past is a single trunk. So you see the seers' visions often go down paths that may not happen.'

Her father chuckled. 'Then what good are seers?'

'They warn us of what might be, if we are not vigilant,' the mystics mistress explained patiently.

'A wise king knows he must be ever vigilant.' Rolen patted the queen's arm. 'As Myrella and I are. Plans have been made to ensure -'

A shout from the back of the great hall cut him off and the growing commotion silenced the chatter on the king's dais. Everyone peered through the forest of columns, their embossed foenix pattern picked out in gold leaf, red carnelian stones and black marble. Several of the king's old honour guard, men who had served him in those terrible early days, reached for their absent sword hilts out of habit. The ambassador from Merofynia looked around uneasily. His little page took a step closer, eyes wide.

Piro experienced a vivid flash of memory, as she saw the seer fly through the air to strike the wall and her crumpled body sliding to rest on the snow bank. Piro's heart raced and her palms grew damp with fear. Was this new threat something the seer had tried to warn them about?

But when she strained to hear, the voices sounded surprised rather than angry. Then she heard her brothers' names and relief settled her stomach.

'The twins are back!' Queen Myrella exclaimed. 'Just in time for the festivities tomorrow.'

Everyone turned to see Lence and Byren march down the centre of Rolenhold's great hall. The warlords and their honour guards stepped aside. These warriors were decked out in all their finery, fur cloaks and spar surcoats, but none were as fine as her brothers even in their rough hunting clothes.

'You must be very proud of your sons, Queen Myrella,' the abbess said, wistfully.

As her mother made some reply, Piro's heart swelled. A head taller than nearly everyone else, Lence and Byren radiated good health and vigour. No wonder the young women looked on them with desire and the older ones with appreciation.

It was mid-afternoon and the great hall was packed, but everyone pulled back and a hush fell over the crowd as the hunt-master's apprentices dragged in the body of an enormous leogryf.

Then, as if released from a spell, people began chattering excitedly. King Rolen strode down the two steps from the dais, embracing Lence, then Byren. He took his time, inspecting the beast as he walked around its great length.

'Queen Myrella?' The Merofynian ambassador offered his arm.

Piro watched as her mother graciously accepted and stepped down from the dais. That was the difference between Rolencia and Merofynia, the difference between her mother and her father. The king was a sturdy, bluff man who said what he thought. The queen was a dainty, polished woman who spoke three languages and had tried to raise her daughter to be the mirror image of herself. The problem was that Piro might look like another version of her mother, but in her heart she took after her father.

Picking up her skirts, she jumped down from the dais and darted between the excited nobles, pushing through to join Byren. Standing so close to the beast made her realise how massive it was. 'It's huge!'

Byren grinned. 'From nose to tail tip it's twice as long as I am tall!'

'And those teeth!' She marvelled as one of the men prised the jaws open. Everyone gasped in amazement.

'...driving his hunting knife in here,' the hunt-master was saying. He showed her father and the gathered nobles where the blow had been struck. 'Byren went straight to the heart, killed it with one blow!'

'You killed it?' Piro turned to her brother.

'It attacked Lence. I didn't think, I just -'

But they didn't let him finish. King Rolen strode up to Byren, clasping both his shoulders. 'Truly, I am blessed with sons any king would envy!'

The hunters and King Rolen's honour guard cheered, the deep hearty sound echoing off the ceiling above like waves on the shore.

Piro laughed and hugged Byren, glancing to their mother, eager to share the moment. Queen Myrella had gone very still, as she stared at someone behind Byren. Piro glanced over her shoulder, identifying a well-dressed stranger with his arm in a sling.

She tugged on her mother's sleeve. 'Is that Cousin Illien?'

'Cousin... yes, your father has acknowledged the blood tie,' she whispered.

Piro turned to have another look. Why, he had the same square jaw as Lence. He even carried himself like her eldest brother. Anyone could tell he was their kin. With one arm in a sling, and his elegant coat, he cut a fine figure. It was sad to think he'd lost his father and bride to the Utlander raiders.

King Rolen raised his arms, calling for silence. 'Well done, second son. It is a feat worthy of our ancestor, King Rolence the First!'

Piro hid a fond smile as Byren's face went a shade darker and he glanced about as if wishing he could slip away.

'A drink to celebrate. Bring the Rolencian red laid down the year I married Myrella!' King Rolen called. Servants scuttled off to fetch bottles and goblets. Midwinter feast was a time for drinking around the fire and telling tales of great deeds - a great deal of drinking and boasting.

Piro loved the tales of bravery and honour. If only she had lived in those times, when kingsdaughters had to ride to war to save their people!

She felt a tug on her arm and turned. She expected it to be her mother about to tell her it was not proper for her to sit around the feasting fire and listen to tales that could turn bawdy, but it was Fyn.

This close to him she was surprised by how much he had grown. He was almost a head taller than her now. At nearly seventeen he would soon leave the ranks of the acolytes and become a monk. In fact, one of the Proving trials was to be held tomorrow.

Eyes pleading, Fyn glanced to the nearest door.

There was no need for words. They slipped away, Fyn leading her out the west passage towards Eagle Tower. The air was much cooler in this section of the Hold and the sound of the revelry soon faded, cut off by the thick stone walls.

'What is it?' Piro asked, her breath misting in the cold.

'Not here.' Fyn jerked his head upwards, indicating the tower where they could be private.

Byren sipped his red wine, savouring the rich taste, while waiting for a chance to speak with his father. Finally the hunt-master and Lence moved off to refill their drinks, and he was alone with the king for a moment. He looked for his mother but she was entertaining the Merofynian ambassador. A pity, he would have liked the queen to hear this too.

'Has the warlord of Unistag sent anyone, father?' he asked. The warlords were supposed to renew their allegiance to the Rolencian King each midwinter and, if the warlord couldn't come, his delegate should.

'No,' King Rolen muttered. 'Not unless his delegate arrives before tomorrow evening -'

'Don't expect anyone. His heirs are fighting over who will take his place. My guess is, they couldn't agree who should represent him, because if they did it would be agreeing on his successor.'

'And where did you hear this?' Lence demanded, coming up behind him with Cobalt and Captain Temor.

Byren repressed an irrational surge of guilt. 'The villagers.' He was not about to reveal that they'd come to him, and not Lence, as the king's representative. 'They were complaining about Unistag raids on Foenix Spar driving people over the Divide.'

King Rolen nodded. 'Looks like we'll need to teach the Unistags a lesson this spring.'

'Sooner, before they can come over the pass and raid our villages,' Lence agreed with relish, having caught the last part of the conversation. 'I claim the honour of leading the fleet to the Utlands.'

'That reminds me,' Byren said, on another track entirely. 'I saw a band of thirty raiders in the valley. Have you had reports of an attack?'

His father shook his head. 'None. Are you sure they were from over the Divide and not from one of our lords' estates?'

'They wore no lord's emblem and they moved with deadly purpose.'

'But how can you be sure they were warlord's men?' Cobalt asked.

Byren hesitated. He'd been fighting spar warriors for five years now and his gut feeling told him they were not Rolencian. But, if they were spar warriors, why would they come down into the valley? Most raids occurred just over the pass on the high villages and mostly when they were desperate to feed their people. There had to be a better way...

'They were raiders, I just know,' Byren muttered. 'Father, I've been thinking. What if we built granaries -'

'Halcyon Abbey has a great granary,' Lence reminded him.

'Yes. But I meant to share with the spars.'

'What?' Cobalt mocked gently. 'Give away Rolencia's bounty? That would only make the people of the spars lazy. Why work when they could come a-begging?'

Lence and King Rolen laughed.

Byren felt his face flame. 'I'm trying to think of a way to stop the raids, Illien.'

'Teach them a lesson!' his father snapped. 'That's what m'father did and his before him. It's all they understand.'

'Not much better than Utlanders!' Lence added.

He and King Rolen laughed and refilled their wine goblets.

'The queen seems very close to the Merofynian ambassador,' Cobalt remarked in the lull that followed. 'Does she miss her home?'

Lence scowled. 'Rolencia is mother's home.'

Byren glanced to their mother. She was listening to the old ambassador. Probably talking about Lence's planned wedding, which would be announced on Midwinter's Day.

'My wife knew the ambassador when she was a child in Merofynia. He was a friend of her father's,' King Rolen said.

'That explains it then, Uncle,' Cobalt said. 'You are a lucky man, Queen Myrella is still a lovely as ever.'

Byren's father glanced to the queen, smiling fondly. 'We'll have been married twenty-one years this spring cusp and it will be three hundred years since King Rolence claimed the valley, uniting it under his banner. Yes, I am a lucky man. You must stand on the royal dais at the Jubilee, Nephew.'