The Usurper (30 page)

'Kneel before the duke!' A soldier kicked Byren in the back of the knees so that he fell to the wharf.

Palatyne walked his horse closer. Sliding a leg over the saddle, he jumped to the ground and grabbed a handful of Byren's hair, hauling his head up. 'Let's see what King Rolen's traitor looks like. This is the son who ran off, leaving his brother and father to fight his battles, leaving his mother and sister to die. Then he tried to claim the kingdom for himself. Is this the sort of man we want as the king of Rolencia?'

People jeered.

'Who killed King Rolen under a flag of truce?' Byren yelled. 'Who killed Queen Myrella in her own hall? Not I. It -'

Palatyne backhanded him with such force he saw stars. Men hauled him away, unlocked the chains at his wrists and ankles, picked him up and threw him into a cage on a cart. Head ringing, Byren stared out through the bars at angry faces.

Fyn woke to find himself in a strange bed. Sunlight streamed through the window panes, making rainbow patterns. For one perfect moment he was glad just to be alive and free of fear, before it all came back to him.

Master Catillum was dead, his body possessed and his Affinity used to betray Byren. If his brother still lived, he would have made it back to Feidton by now, so he must be dead. How could everything go so wrong?

Fyn turned his head away from the window. On the other side of his bed Isolt curled up, asleep in a chair. The shawl had slipped from her shoulders, silk tassels hanging on the floor.

With Byren and Lence dead, Isolt was officially betrothed to Fyn. His mouth went dry with longing and his heart hammered against his ribs.

Terribly thirsty, he tried to lift the mug by his bed, but it slipped through his clumsy fingers and fell to the floor, rolling on the carpet.

Isolt woke with a start, springing from the chair. 'Oh, you're awake!' She picked up the mug. 'Now you'll need some more broth and -'

'Broth? I'm not a toothless old man.'

She laughed. 'Certainly not. You just bit my head off!'

He wanted her for his own. Heat flooded Fyn as realisation swept him. He had wanted her all along but refused to admit it, because she'd belonged to Byren.

Byren... How could he feel glad his brother was dead? His eyes burned with unshed tears and he turned his face away from Isolt.

'What's wrong, Fyn?'

Now was not the time to tell her that he loved her, not when she had been feeding him like a baby. Besides, what if she laughed at him? He could not bear it.

The door swung open. Piro raced into the chamber, face glowing with happiness. 'Good news, Byren lives! He was sent to Palatyne to be executed. Lord Dunstany's spies saw him arrive.'

Fyn closed his eyes, overwhelmed.

For a moment he could not bear to think.

Isolt belonged to Byren. She would never be his.

Thank the goddess he had not revealed his true feelings. A morass of emotion swelled in his chest.

His duty was clear. He must rescue his brother.

When he tried to sit up, his elbows trembled with the effort. Frustration raged through Fyn. How could he save Byren when he was so weak? 'When is Byren to be executed?'

'Palatyne has him in a cage. He accused Byren of treason against his own family. It's very clever the way he worded it. I think Cobalt had a hand in that,' Piro admitted. 'The traditional means of execution is death by starvation, but Lord Dunstany's servants will slip him food and water if they can.'

'I must get up.' Fyn tried to swing his legs to the floor, groaning as his head swam.

Isolt held him down without trouble. 'You've been all but dead for days. You need time to recover.'

He brushed her hands off him. 'I don't have time. Why doesn't the mage send Lord Dunstany's people to free Byren, Piro?'

She looked away. 'I don't know the mage's plans. Maybe he will.'

'I must get up,' Fyn muttered.

'And I say you must stay in bed.' Isolt glared at him.

She looked so adorable when she made that fierce expression, Fyn had to turn away.

He came face to face with a wyvern. It stood on its hind legs, with a paw on the high bed. Fyn's heart missed a beat. 'Freezing Sylion. Where did that Affinity beast come from?'

'Hush, you'll hurt Loyalty's feelings,' Isolt said. 'She was the last elector's pet and now she's mine. Speaking of which, they will crown the new elector tonight. Will you be well enough to come? You look flushed. Are you running a fever?'

She felt his forehead. Fyn knew it was the touch of a healer for her patient, but he ached for more. He sank into the pillow, heart-sore and weary beyond belief.

He would have to leave Mage Isle as soon as he could, for he couldn't bear to be near Isolt, knowing she belonged to his brother.

Piro watched Fyn close his eyes, a bitter twist to his mouth. He was in pain. Suddenly, he lifted onto one elbow and fixed on her.

'Go to the agent, Piro, find out when he's sending someone to save Byren. I'll go with them.'

Isolt cast Piro a swift worried look.

'Of course,' Piro said. 'I'll ask him now.'

Out in the corridor, she headed straight for the war table room, where she found Tyro studying the pieces.

'Is Fyn well enough to come to the elector's inauguration tonight?' he asked her. 'He can rest all day. We can take the carriage and he can sit down while we're there.'

'Fyn wants to save Byren. He wants to know if the mage is sending a rescue party. Is he? Are you?'

'Your brother is being held in the heart of the enemy's stronghold. How many men would you send to their deaths to rescue Byren, Piro?'

She opened her mouth, then closed it. 'There must be some stealthy way, some way that uses subterfuge.'

'I'm working on it,' Tyro muttered, as if he'd never cupped her cheek and tried to reassure her. 'I'll have formal clothes sent to Fyn's chamber. He must dress appropriately for the celebrations tonight. As must you and Isolt.'

'Strangely enough, I don't feel like partying when my brother is being starved to death,' Piro snapped. 'How can these Ostronites feast with war hanging over their heads?'

'Would you deny the Ostronites their butterfly existence? Their symbol is the abeille, after all. The beautiful but industrious butterfly-bee.'

She stiffened. 'The people of Ostron Isle play games while people are dying.'

'Could a butterfly stop the serpent from devouring its prey?'

'No.'

Tyro smiled and his dark eyes glittered. 'Then why not enjoy the butterfly? Don't deny its right to exist, leave the serpent-slaying to the mongoose.'

A shiver moved over Piro's skin. 'You mean to see Palatyne dead!'

Tyro nodded. 'He is a dangerous man. If he becomes king, he will not accept Lord Dunstany's guidance.'

'Why not free Byren and let him kill Palatyne for you? At least tell Fyn your plans.'

'What happens if a cook takes the cake from the oven before it is ready?'

'It sinks,' she answered automatically.

He nodded and would not elaborate.

She fumed. Tyro thought he was so clever, but he could not think of everything. Besides, she didn't like her fate to be in anyone's hands but her own.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Byren had slept well, considering he was lying on the bars of a cage, hanging in the square in front of the palace. After forced marches to deal with spar upstarts he'd learned to sleep anywhere. He'd tried licking the condensation from the bars to slake his thirst. Now he was hungry.

Merofynian ceremonial guards stood at intervals along the courtyard walls. They wore brilliant azure cloaks and blue and black feather crests on their helmets, but the swords they carried were not just for show.

Byren's stomach rumbled. He could smell baked potatoes and cinnamon cakes in the market beyond the courtyard. Already the market was busy. Voices carried, as did the pipes of a performer.

Byren heard a shout, several curses. Something was knocked over and crockery smashed. A child screeched. No, it was a dancing monkey, which had broken free of its chain and run into the courtyard. The guards along the wall above him laughed as a pretty young woman ran around the courtyard after the monkey, trying to catch it. It managed to stay just out of her reach, scampering back to the market.

The guards began laying bets on whether the monkey would escape her altogether. While their attention was distracted a beggar boy scurried into the courtyard, coming over to Byren's cage. The floor was level with his chest.

He tossed something at Byren who ducked, used to rubbish and abuse being hurled at him after last night. At the last moment he caught the object, which was clean cloth and tied with string.

Byren hid it under his cloak, picking at the ties. By the smell, it contained hot cinnamon buns. His mouth watered.

With his back to the guards he snuck mouthfuls of bun and silently thanked his unknown benefactor. It seemed some of his men had managed to infiltrate Port Mero. Things were not hopeless!

Fyn strode back and forth across the orchard courtyard, driving himself. His arms and legs were weak and strangely numb, but the more he used them, the better he felt. He had slept for most of the day and now it was late afternoon. Depending on the winds, it would take four to five days to sail to Port Merofyn. He feared Palatyne would change his mind and order Byren's execution by a more immediate method such as beheading.

He ducked under a mandarin tree, its branches bending under the weight of early-ripening fruit. All around him other trees were blossoming and the whole courtyard was awash with their fragrance, but he could not enjoy it. Not when Byren's life hung in the balance.

'Fyn, that is enough pacing. You'll bring on a fever,' Isolt warned.

'Twice more,' he said, not looking her way.

He knew Piro and Isolt were exchanging looks. They sat under a cherry tree, their hair and clothes speckled with pale pink blossoms. He had been sitting there with Piro until Isolt joined them, bringing hot pastries fresh from the kitchen. He'd eaten three, then had to get up to pace. He knew his withdrawal had hurt Isolt.

'Fyn,' Piro called. 'You are taller than me. Pick one of those passion fruit for Isolt. They are her favourite.'

He stopped his pacing and went to the trellis. Plucking several, he offered Isolt one with a quick smile. 'Sweets for the sweet.'

'Don't start sprouting poetry, Fyn.' Isolt laughed. 'Next you'll be singing like Captain Nefysto.'

'So, you are well enough to pick fruit,' Tyro said, coming up behind him. 'Good, Mage Tsulamyth wants you to attend the elector's ceremony tonight as Fyn Kingson.'

Fyn frowned. 'If the mage would only give me Captain Nefysto and the
Wyvern's Whelp
, I'd lead a raid deep into Merofynia to rescue Byren.'

'The mage doesn't want you both dead. He has his own plans. Byren is safe for now.'

'Safe? In a cage at Palatyne's mercy?' Fyn exploded. His head swam and he staggered. Isolt rose to help him. He brushed her aside. 'Freezing Sylion, Tyro. You can tell your mage, Byren is not a piece in his Kingdoms game. If Fyn Kingson appears in Ostron Isle tonight, Palatyne will find out. He knows about the alliance, he might kill Byren!'

'Or he might offer to ransom him to you.'

'He might,' Fyn conceded slowly. 'But I don't want to gamble with my brother's life.'

'Fyn's right,' Piro spoke up. 'Who would pay this ransom? We are destitute. The food we eat and the clothes we wear come from the mage.'

'He would gladly pay,' Tyro revealed. 'He wants to restore the balance of power in the three kingdoms.'

Piro seemed convinced, but Fyn was not.

'You can tell the mage I am too weak to attend the ceremony tonight,' he told Tyro. 'I'm going back to bed.'

'I'll help you,' Isolt said.

'I can manage.'

'I am a healer, Fyn.'

'Rest is all I need.' He marched off. It was only when he got out of sight that he leant against the wall to catch his breath and wait for the grey specks to vanish from his vision. He cursed himself for being rude to Isolt.

She would hate him. Good.

That was better than her ever guessing how he really felt. And he needed privacy for he was going to rescue Byren. As soon as the others left for the elector's coronation he would slip off Mage Isle.

Piro watched Isolt climb into the mage's carriage, lifting her ankle-length silk skirt and revealing the jewelled clasp on her slippers.

'What took you so long?' The mage thumped the roof of the carriage with his cane and it lurched, sending Isolt onto her seat with a thud.

Piro hid a smile. Tyro was good at this.

'I had to check on Fyn,' Isolt said primly, slipping back into her Merofynian court persona. 'He was sleeping. I think he overdid it in the garden today.'

'The arrogance of youth,' Mage Tsulamyth muttered. 'Now you two keep your ears open. Any interesting gossip, report back to me.' His deep-set eyes gleamed. 'Many men make the mistake of thinking power comes from the sword, but real power comes from information. Remember that. One day you will both be queens.'

Piro snorted. 'I don't want to be queen.'

'But think of the good you could do,' Isolt countered.

'How will you do good, while married to Palatyne?'

'I will never marry Palatyne. In fact...' Isolt's small mouth settled in a grim line, 'I will never marry!'

Fyn's skin felt clammy with sweat as he jumped down from the borrowed horse. Luckily the wharfs were almost deserted. Everyone who could wrangle an invitation was up at the gardens for the inauguration ceremony. Fyn headed for the
Wyvern's Whelp
. Everything rested on his ability to bluff Nefysto, and the captain was no fool.

A single sailor stood on watch, having his own feast of wine and a leg of ham. He waved to Fyn. 'Good to see you back on your feet, little monk!'

'Captain in his cabin?' Fyn asked.

'You missed him. He's with his family, up at the ceremony.'

Fyn cursed silently. He should have anticipated this. He slid out a message cylinder, pinched from the war table room. 'We're supposed to sail at first light. Give this to the captain when he comes in.'

The sailor shook his head. 'Can't be done. Half the crew won't be back till midday and the ship has to be provisioned.'

'Very well. But my mission is of the greatest urgency. I will return at lunchtime tomorrow.' Fyn strode off. As soon as he was out of sight he bent double to catch his breath.

A snatch of music and laughter wafted down from the elector's gardens.

Isolt was up there. He'd pretended to be asleep when she came to check on him. It had been on the tip of his tongue to apologise. Since he was going to rescue Byren, so his brother could marry her and unite their kingdoms, he deserved one more chance to see her.

Fyn headed up the slope. He would blend into the crowd, watch her from afar. He entered through one of the many garden archways and made for the lantern-dotted terraces. Now that he was here and saw the crowds he realised how hopeless it was. Still he wandered, listening for Isolt's voice in the laughter and music. There were rock pools amid artfully constructed gardens, and heavenly scented flowers glowed in the velvety night.

He thought Isolt would be up on the main terrace where the elector was, with the aristocracy of Ostron Isle, but he found her alone by a pool. Pale flowers floated on its surface, barely disturbing the stars' reflection.

She wore something white and filmy, and her head-dress was threaded with zircons that glinted like stars in the black sable of her hair. She was so beautiful, she took his breath away. He should leave.

He meant to take one look and go but she gulped back a sob and wiped her fingers across her cheeks.

'What's wrong?'

'Oh, Fyn. What are you doing here?' She turned away from him and hastily wiped her face, turning back with a smile. 'I thought you were sleeping...' She frowned, putting it all together. 'You're leaving, aren't you? You're going to rescue your brother.'

He nodded. 'I'm sailing on the
Wyvern's Whelp
tomorrow. Don't tell the mage.'

'Of course not. Take me with you!'

There was nothing Fyn would have liked more.

Piro paced the terrace searching for Isolt. That stupid woman, the new Elector Cera, had told Isolt her father was very sick. Her friend had gone very pale and slipped away as soon as she could.

Now Piro couldn't see the kingsdaughter anywhere. Her heart missed a beat. What if Isolt had been kidnapped? Should she find Tyro in his mage's disguise, or keep looking for Isolt?

Piro leant her elbows on the balustrade and stared down into the lantern-lit gardens below. Was that Isolt's white gown by a rock pool? Was someone with her?

Trying to keep the location fixed in her head, Piro threaded her way down shallow steps, through arches, around fountains and winding streams. A night-bird sang its sweet mournful song. Piro rounded a bend in the path and saw Isolt and her companion through the fronds of palm trees. Even by starlight Piro recognised Fyn.

She was about to call out when she overheard Fyn speak.

'I can't, it's too dangerous.'

'I can help rescue Byren. After all, I am still Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter.'

'The guards would tell Palatyne and you'd end up his captive.'

'Not all the guards are loyal to him. Some are still loyal to my father. Besides, we'd be away before Palatyne discovers we've been into Port Mero.'

Fyn considered this. 'We'd have to tell Piro. She -'

'We can't tell her. She'd give us away.'

'Nonsense!'

'Oh, Fyn. You haven't been here. I've seen the way she and Tyro send each other secret looks.'

Fyn looked stunned. 'Piro's in love with the mage's agent? Are you sure? She doesn't seem to be in love to me.'

Isolt gave an odd little laugh. 'Men, what would they know about love? So, I'll pack a few things and meet you tomorrow. But how will I get away? I know. I'll wait in the grotto under the tower. Sail a boat around to me.'

'You would risk your life for Byren?'

Piro suspected Isolt was risking her life for Fyn.

But Isolt only nodded. 'It's decided then. I'll meet you in the grotto.'

Piro's first impulse was to tell them they were wrong. She was loyal. But it would mean disclosing why she and Tyro had been exchanging meaningful looks, and his secret was not hers to reveal. Sad at heart, she retreated.

On the terraces the celebrations continued, and Piro found Mage Tsulamyth hobbling around looking annoyed.

Seeing Piro, he beckoned. 'You don't join in the games and entertainment? A pretty young thing like you should have some fun.'

'One party is much like another. I'm no butterfly -'

'What are you then, Piro?' he asked, slipping into Tyro's voice.

She looked away. She had been Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter, expected to marry well for the sake of her family, but she had hated it. Ironically, in some ways she had been happiest as Lord Dunstany's slave. Then she recalled how Palatyne had claimed her for Isolt's slave and how Isolt was considered a prize for the victor... 'I wish I were a man!'

He laughed and her cheeks burned at his tone.

'Consider this, Piro,' Tyro said. 'Who taught you to speak three languages, heal and stitch a wound?'

'My mother. But it was a man who killed her.'

'True,' he acknowledged. 'In the Duelling Kingdoms game which piece is the most powerful?'

'The king.'

'No. The game is lost if the queen falls before her king does. But if the king falls, the queen fights on.' He smiled and slipped back into the mage's voice. 'Find Isolt. We have done our duty. We can leave now.'

Piro nodded. Should she tell Tyro about Fyn and Isolt's plans? She was sure he had plans of his own. But he still wore the amber soul-pendant around his neck.

If he did not trust her, she could not trust him.

The next morning, Piro looked up as Isolt bustled into the room to collect her basket of herbal remedies.

'Fyn's awake at last. I'm going to check on him.'