The King's Bastard (42 page)

Byren was aware of a gentle tug on his arm and turned to see the castle scribe waiting patiently with a roll of vellum. Amongst his tasks were making a record of the hearings, transcribing any new poems and sagas that took King Rolen's fancy and keeping track of the tithes for the queen. He could also draw a good likeness, or embellish a shield with the royal foenix. But Byren hadn't asked him to do any of these things.

Despite the large meal, Byren's head was spinning and all he really wanted to do was go to his bed and sleep. 'What's this?'

'The emblem for Byren Kingson's honour guard,' the scribe said and unrolled it with a flourish. There was a moment's stunned silence as Byren took in the illustration - a foenix on defence against a leogryf with its wings raised.

'Do you like it?' Garzik tugged on Byren's arm. 'I asked Piro to do the original design to commemorate your leogryf kill. The scribe has embellished her work.'

Byren did not know what to say. The drawing itself was excellent... but he wasn't ready to formalise his honour guard with an emblem.

'Excellent idea,' Cobalt agreed. 'Lence Kingsheir should have an emblem for his honour guard.' As he turned to Lence, Byren noticed that all his twin's honour guard wore their hair loose on their shoulders, Ostron Isle style. 'If you will give me the honour, I will design one and have the scribe embellish it. Now... what will it be? As heir, Lence should be represented by the foenix.'

Everyone nodded and turned back to the emblem the scribe held. Suddenly, Byren saw it in the worst possible context. If Lence was the foenix - and he had more right to that symbol than Byren - then that meant Byren was the leogryf, doing battle with the foenix. He was dismayed.

'But it's not meant to be taken that way,' Garzik protested, following the same train of thought.

'Lence, your foenix's feathers could be picked out in gold thread,' Cobalt suggested, as though unaware of the connotations his last comments had triggered. Byren believed otherwise.

'Lence? I...' Byren began, then hesitated, not sure how to go on.

Lence tossed back his wine, ignoring Byren. 'Red and gold... I like that, Illien.' He beckoned the scribe. 'Meet me in my chambers first thing tomorrow. We'll have a design ready for you. I want surcoats for my men and shields. When can they be ready?'

'Soon.' The scribe was eager to please. 'Once you approve the design, I can have the pattern transcribed, ready to be embroidered. As for the shields, you'll have to speak with the weapons-master. But they could be completed for the Jubilee.' He glanced to Byren. 'The material has been purchased. And the seamstress is waiting to measure your honour guard for your surcoats. You'll want shields as well.'

Byren went to tell him not to bother but he didn't get a chance.

'My honour guards' shields and surcoats must be finished first,' Lence insisted, belligerent with wine.

'Of course,' Byren snapped. 'It's your wedding.'

The moment he said it, he wished it unsaid. It rubbed salt in the wound.

Sensing trouble, the scribe bowed then hurried off. Byren wanted to apologise but Lence did not give him the chance.

'Come, Illien.' Lence shoved between Winterfall and Chandler and marched off, followed by his honour guard, all eager to advise him on the design of their emblem.

Byren's honour guard began filling goblets to celebrate with a toast. Was he the only one who sensed the widening rift?

Isolated in a sea of celebration, Byren caught Orrade's gaze on him. His friend's eyes held a kernel of worry, so Byren wasn't imagining things.

Garzik tugged on his arm. 'I didn't mean for it to be taken that way, Byren. I was only trying to please you.'

'I know, lad,' he said softly.

'I suspect Lence would take anything Byren does as a challenge,' Orrade muttered.

'But why?' Byren turned to him, frustration welling up.

'Because you'd make a better king and he knows it.'

Byren starred at Orrade.

A goblet full of rich Rolencian red was thrust into his hand, as happy faces crowded his vision.

'A toast,' Winterfall cried. 'A toast to Byren, the leogryf slayer!'

For Byren the wine had no taste. He could think only of the old seer and her seemingly impossible prophecy.

It took the better part of the evening, but he finally managed to escape his honour guard. He headed up the stairs to the family's wing of private chambers, deep in wine-befuddled thought. How could he stand by and watch Cobalt insinuate himself into Lence's trust? He had to act before it was too late.

The clink of keys made him look up to see his mother coming down the stairs.

'You can't trust Cobalt,' he blurted.

She blinked, her preoccupied expression clearing as she focused on him. She sniffed, disapproval tightening her mouth. 'You're drunk.'

'A little,' he admitted. 'But that's not the problem. It's Cobalt. He's turned Lence against me.'

'You did that yourself, Byren. I warned you not to outshine him. Even giving him the unistag staff was an insult of sorts.'

This was so unfair that Byren gaped, then tried to focus on what was important. 'Cobalt's -'

'I'll not hear a word against Illien. Many years ago, when you were a child, he was kind to a lonely young woman, who could do him no favours.'

He stiffened, not liking the implications. 'But -'

'Oh, Byren. Sleep it off. I have real problems to deal with. Your father's offended both Halcyon and Sylion's healers by refusing to let them treat him!'

Byren recalled the time he'd walked in on his father receiving treatment from the manservant. 'Valens was Cobalt's manservant, he -'

'He's helped Rolen walk without a limp. That's good enough for me. Let it go, Byren.' His mother stepped past him, keys clinking as she hurried down the steps.

Chapter Twenty

Piro had always wanted to take her place at the war table, but not like this. She sat across from her family, isolated by her Affinity, as her mother explained the unwelcome discovery. Byren looked dismayed, Lence and her father stunned, while Captain Temor shook his head sadly.

'...so Piro must join the abbey of Sylion,' her mother finished.

'Ah, Piro.' Her father came to his feet, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. 'My pretty little Pirola... who would have thought?'

Her own eyes stung.

'I'm sorry,' the queen whispered. 'I'm so sorry, Rolen.'

'Why? It's not your fault,' he told her.

She covered her mouth. He opened his arms and the queen went to him, sobbing softly on his chest.

'Can't we hide Piro's Affinity?' Lence demanded, casting her an annoyed look.

She bristled. It wasn't as if she chose to have Affinity.

'Break the law? My own law?' King Rolen shook his head.

'But this means Piro will turn Rejulas down. Again. After I patched it up and promised she would have him.' Lence sprang to his feet, thumping his fist on the table. 'I'll look a fool!'

'You couldn't know that Piro had Affinity,' Byren pointed out, calmly.

Lence swore like a stable hand.

'Lence!' Their mother turned a voice of steel on him. 'That doesn't help.'

'No. And what will?'

She straightened, wiping the tears from her cheeks. 'You'll have to go to Cockatrice Spar and make our apologies. Any sensible person can see that we have no control over whether Piro has Affinity or not. Go before the Jubilee celebration to give Rejulas time to come to terms with it. Make him see it from our point of view. We have lost two of our four children to Affinity.'

Piro felt this as if it was a personal failing.

'People will say the royal family's cursed,' Lence muttered. 'Very well. I'll go. I'll ride out this very day.'

Byren rose. 'Do you want me to come with you?'

'Why?' Lence rounded on him. 'Do you think I can't manage?'

Byren took a step back. Piro flinched with him.

'Lence!' King Rolen's voice cracked like a whip.

Lence glared at their father. 'We wouldn't be struggling to control our warlords if you'd just listen to me. If we'd declared war on Merofynia they'd be right behind us, eager for their share of the bounty. And I wouldn't have to marry Isolt. Illien says -'

'I know what Illien says, I've...' King Rolen ran down, looking tired. He grimaced as if something tasted bad. When had her father grown old? 'The cut and thrust of political manoeuvring is never a simple as the cut and thrust of real battle. I've given my word and I won't break it.'

Lence glowered. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode out, slamming the door after him. The reverberation echoed through Piro like a physical blow.

'Should I follow him?' Captain Temor asked softly.

The king considered.

'Father, I don't trust Cobalt,' Byren said. 'I know he is our cousin by blood but what if he is feeding us a pack of lies?'

'What lies?' her father countered. 'Palatyne has been named overlord of the spars. King Merofyn's health is failing daily. Cobalt has the elector's trust. What Ostron Isle knows, Cobalt knows. No, Byren. It is too easy to destroy a man's good name. I won't stand by and see it done.' He shook his head grimly. 'My own father refused to acknowledge his bastard son. That left us vulnerable to the wiles of the Servants of Palos. They would have used Spurnan as their puppet king, but my half-brother refused to play their game. He went to father and proved his loyalty by revealing the plot. I owe Spurnan's son a debt. I won't hear a word against Illien!'

Byren compressed his lips, obviously holding back things he wanted to say. Piro was pleased. At least Byren could see through Cobalt. If only the others could.

'Do you want me to go to Cockatrice Spar with Lence?' Temor asked.

Her father debated.

'Yes,' her mother said.

'No,' the king said, hard on her heels. 'Let Lence handle this.'

'You sent Temor with Byren,' the queen pointed out.

'That was different. The warlord of Cockatrice Spar has already sworn fealty to the crown.'

'Temor could -'

'No, Myrella.' The king was firm.

Piro watched her mother's lips compress in the same thin line as Byren's. What was happening to her family? Worry sat like an indigestible lump in Piro's stomach.

As Byren made his way to the stables, his mind returned to his cousin. Maybe Cobalt's Merofynian reports were based on truth, but what of his conclusions? From what Lence was saying, he'd been urging war, which happened to suit his twin. What had possessed Lence to confront their father like that?

Byren went to his hunter's stall. Speaking softly, he checked the horse's foreleg to see if the poultices had healed its shin. Satisfied, he let the beast's hoof drop and straightened up. It paid to look after their mounts. There weren't many horses he and Lence could ride.

This time of year, the quickest path to Cockatrice Spar would be to skate via the canals and hire ponies to take them over the pass but, knowing his twin, Lence would choose to ride, it did not suit a kingsheir to travel on foot. So Byren was not surprised to see Lence stride in with his travelling kit and call for his horse to be saddled.

He cast a glance at his twin's companions. Cobalt, well that was no surprise... but Brookfield and Dellton? Both were seventeen and had only recently come into their titles. They would be out of their depth amidst spar politics.

Byren managed to nod casually to Cobalt, who returned the nod as though he had not threatened to reveal him as Orrade's lover. Byren found his hands curling into fists. Since they'd returned to Rolenhold, Byren had been wondering what Orrade had reported to Cobalt. Illien of Cobalt had stolen his place at his twin's side, his father's confidence in his decisions and now, it seemed, Byren's trust in his best friend.

'You're riding to Cockatrice Spar, Lence?' Byren made it a question.

'Yes.' His twin slung travelling gear over the rail and stepped back to let the stable boys saddle his mount. Lence folded his arms and eyed Byren. 'I suppose you'll be escorting Garzik back to Dovecote Estate? Knowing you, you won't pass up the chance to see Elina.'

Byren struggled with the complexities of this. He could hardly reveal that he had been banned from the estate. This would raise too many questions. Lence was right, he should escort Garzik back to his home to honour the lad's bravery facing down the amfina.

Had everything been right between them, it would have delighted old Lord Dovecote. Byren was very tempted to slip onto the estate and find Elina, but she'd be just as likely to order the stable lads to throw him out. Maybe he should send the poem first then approach her, but what if the poem was intercepted?

Lence shifted impatiently and Byren glanced at him. His twin was being a dog in the manger. If Lence couldn't have Elina then he didn't want Byren to have her either. He fixed on Lence. 'Elina can never be yours, so what is it to you?'

Lence glared. 'Nothing, and don't you dare pity me. My decisions are all made for me. Who I'll marry, whether I claim my birthright or not!'