A flash of annoyance warmed Fyn. The monks who should have been loading the sleds had wandered off. He lowered the bale and glanced back up the winding path to the abbey high upon Mount Halcyon. Almost dusk, no one else in sight.
The sleds stood on frozen Viridian Lake, waiting to be loaded so the monks could set off tomorrow. As a final-year acolyte it was not his place to tell first year monks what to do, but…
Jeering male laughter made Fyn stiffen. The sound carried from the next inlet along the lake's shore. He made his way carefully along the snowy bank, towards the outcropping that hid the inlet. Climbing onto the ledge, he crawled along until he could stretch out and look down onto the scene below, his head almost level with the monks'.
There were four of them, their different coloured robes revealing their affiliation with different abbey masters, but these four had always been fast friends, united by their similar natures. The monks had cornered a flock of grucranes. These large, cumbersome Affinity beasts survived Rolencia's cold winters by cohabiting with people. In exchange for a warm roost at night near the chimney pots of homes, they kept watch over the buildings. One of the flock was always awake, a stone clutched in its claw. If it fell asleep, the stone would fall and wake the others, so the birds made excellent sentries. Many a household had been saved from thievery or fire, always a constant threat with wooden homes, by the raucous cry of the sentry grucrane.
This particular flock slept on the abbey's chimney vents and spent their days on the lake, swimming and fishing in summer, fossicking along the shore in winter. Now they were confronted by Monk Galestorm and his three friends. The flock's leader had shepherded the birds into a hollow in the shoreline, effectively trapping them because, unless the heavy, ungainly birds took to the air, the only way out was closed off by Galestorm and his friends. Used to nothing but kindness from the monks, the birds milled about in confusion.
While his three companions watched, Galestorm shoved a stick at the Affinity beasts, then made an opening, only to dart in and block it off before the grucranes could escape.
Indignation filled Fyn. He wanted to jump down and defend the grucranes, but there were four monks and only one of him. It would be madness to risk a beating over a bird, even an Affinity-touched bird.
Galestorm misjudged the distance, or else really intended to harm the grucrane, for his next jab took it in the chest. It gave a raucous squawk of protest.
'Hey!' Fyn yelled, swinging his weight over the ledge and jumping down to the frozen lake below. A snow bank absorbed the impact of his landing.
'Fyn Rolen Kingson, what're you doing here?' Galestorm strode towards Fyn, swinging the stick so that it cut the air with a sickening swish.
Fyn's heart thundered and he glanced over his shoulder, but the rocks behind him were too steep to climb. He faced Galestorm. 'Leave the grucranes alone.'
'And what are you going to do about it, coward?'
Cruel laughter followed Galestorm's taunt.
Fyn shrank inside. The moment Galestorm was distracted, the lead bird took off, flapping madly to gain height, then circling protectively as the others spiralled above him, heading towards the abbey.
'Did you hear?' Galestorm asked his ready audience. 'The kingson faints at the sight of blood — '
'Watch out. The birds are getting away,' Onetree yelled.
Galestorm spun around, swore, then tossed the stick aside. He pulled out his slingshot, grabbed a stone from his pouch and let fly into the mass of grucranes. One bird gave a forlorn cry, falling to the lake with a solid thump.
Fyn could not believe his eyes. 'You idiot!'
Galestorm faced him, his top lip lifting in a sneer.
Fyn tried to go to the aid of the injured bird but Galestorm stepped into his path, reaching for him. Without thinking, Fyn evaded the grab, caught Galestorm's arm and flipped him off his feet. The air left Galestorm's lungs with a satisfying whump as he hit the ice, then skidded across the lake on his back.
The other three monks protested.
Fyn ignored them, hurrying over to the bird. It was trying to rise with an injured leg, wings flapping unevenly. Taking off his cloak, Fyn threw the woolen mantle over the bird, then gathered it in his arms. The Affinity beast was trembling badly and he pressed it against his chest to reassure it. Nothing infuriated Fyn more than wanton cruelty.
Shouts from Galestorm and his companions told him they were coming up fast behind him. He could not protect himself, let alone the bird. What had possessed him to interfere? They would kill the bird and beat him black and blue.
Still, he turned to face his tormentors.
'What's going on here?' a deep voice called.
Fyn looked beyond them to see Oakstand, the weapons master, approaching with Sandbank, a third-year healer.
'Why aren't the sleds being loaded?' the weapons master demanded. Oakstand was short, with a deep chest and a scar that puckered one side of his forehead, creeping up into his hair which grew white along the scar's length. It must have been striking once but now the rest of his hair was iron-grey. For a man who knew how to disarm and kill an armed opponent in three swift moves, he was amazingly patient with the boys.
'I've got an injured bird.' Fyn indicated the bundle in his arms. One long clawed leg projected from it in an ungainly manner. The bird had calmed down.
'A grucrane?' Healer Sandbank asked. 'Give it to me. I'll take it back to the abbey.'
Fyn handed the bundle over. 'Careful, something's wrong with its wing and I think one of its legs broke when it hit the ice.'
'So the kingson is a healer now?' Galestorm asked.
The weapons master frowned. 'Enough, Galestorm. I want the sleds packed and ready to leave at first light. Fyn, get back to the abbey.'
For a heartbeat Fyn considered revealing how the bird had been hurt, but it was his word against four monks and they could cause trouble for him later, so he hurried off. Behind him, Fyn could hear the weapons master ordering Galestorm and the others about and knew they would regret failing in their duties.
Monk Sandbank was already three body lengths ahead of him, following the winding trail up the slope to Halcyon Abbey. As Fyn watched, the healer rounded a curve, disappearing behind snow-cloaked evergreens.
Taking to his heels, Fyn ran up the slope, rounded the corner and looked up. No sign of the healer, who must have been hurrying to pass the next bend so quickly. Head down, Fyn concentrated on where he put his feet, not wanting to slip on the icy snow. Already the chill of the night was settling in and he was without a cloak. He rounded the next bend and nearly ploughed into a snowdrift.
That was strange. He didn't remember stepping off the path.
Fyn spun around only to find himself eye to eye with an old woman wearing moth-eaten furs. Her lips pulled back in a gap-toothed leer that might have been a smile.
Startled, he took a step back, overbalancing into the snowdrift. The snow broke the impact of his fall but he was still a little winded. Gasping, he lay stretched out on his back. When he went to get up the old woman prodded him in the chest with her staff, effectively pinning him there.
'You struck a monk.'
'He tried to kill a grucrane.'
'What's that bird to you?'
What indeed? Fyn shook his head, not even sure why he had bothered to answer her the first time. She was obviously mad, god-touched in her own way.
'No idea, just like the other one.' She shook her head and laughed to herself. It wasn't a pleasant sound, ending in a raw hacking cough.
After the fit had passed, while she was labouring to regain her breath, Fyn gestured up the rise behind him. 'If you are ill, seek out the healing monks. They have a hot potion for a cough like that.'
She glanced up behind him. The light was fading rapidly and he could hardly see her face for the glow of the nacreous sky behind her. Here, under the pines, it was already twilight.
Alert black eyes fixed on him. 'Most surely they do, Fyn Kingson, but not for the likes of me. No, not them pure and mighty servants of Halcyon!'
He did not know what to say to that.
'Not much longer.' She hawked and spat to one side, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Obviously weary and ill, her eyes met his and held. 'Now, mark my words, Fyn Kingson.'
Her body jerked and her head tilted back until he could see the lines of dirt under her chin.
Fyn drew away in revulsion as an aura of power gathered around her frail form, making her seem larger. Even with his weak Affinity, Fyn could tell this was the untamed power of a Renegade.
'A seer!' He tried to scramble back, but the snowdrift held him. He should have been terrified. He should have denounced her to the mystics master, who would have ordered her immediate execution.
But he was fascinated, despite himself.
One clawed hand lifted to point at him, though from the angle of her head she could not see him. She was relying on Unseen sight.
'Unwanted youngest son, god-touched, nameless boy. I see you fleeing for your life. I see a day when the Goddess Halcyon's name is said only in whispers — '
Fyn laughed. He could not help it. The goddess was revered throughout Rolencia, served by seven hundred faithful monks in the abbey alone, all trained by the weapons master, sheltered behind defensive walls, built into the very mountain itself. Nothing could…
'Pah!' She shuddered and spat again, frowning down at him now that her vision had passed. 'None so blind as they who will not see! Very well, I wash my hands of you.'
She put her back to him, hobbling off between the snow-coated pines, their white skirts joining with the deep snowdrifts.
'Don't go that way. You're not following the path,' Fyn called after her.
She laughed softly and kept going. 'Follow me own path, boy, always have.'
He rolled over onto his stomach and came to his feet, determined to set her right, at the very least warn her off approaching the abbey, but when he turned around, she was gone.
'You there?' he called, brushing snow from his breeches.
'Is that you, Fyn?' the weapons master asked. The glow of his lantern gave the snow a golden cast as he weaved between the snow-shrouded pines. 'What are you doing off the path, lad? Don't you know it's not safe to be out alone so close to midwinter?'
At midwinter the cruel god, Sylion, reluctantly relinquished his hold on Rolencia, giving the kingdom over to the goddess's care. With a major change of power the barriers between the Seen and the Unseen world were dangerously weak. And to think, he'd been too surprised to use any of the wards to protect himself from renegade Affinity.
Fyn blinked, the after image of the master's light dancing in his sight. With the arrival of the lantern came full dark.
'Well?' the weapons master demanded. 'The others have all returned to the abbey.'
'I wasn't watching my feet, Master Oakstand,' Fyn said, knowing he sounded foolish. 'I…' He was about to mention the old woman, but was surprised to find that he could not speak of her. When he tried his tongue grew thick and clumsy in his mouth. He swallowed and the sensation passed, but he suspected it would return.
'Eh, well, come on then.' The burly master led him through the snow and Fyn found he was only a few steps off the path.
They trudged up the hill in silence for a bit, then the weapons master slowed, his heavy eyebrows drawing together.
Fyn waited expectantly. Their lantern failed to illuminate the great looming towers of the pine trees that stood silhouetted against the froth of sparkling stars. Twilight seemed to have passed abruptly, something to do with the seer, Fyn guessed. He wondered if she was out there even now, watching them. He should denounce her but he couldn't, not when she seemed so frail and sick, not when she had a ring of dirt under her neck. He had never visualised a renegade Power-worker like that. Evil, perhaps… but not vulnerable.
Fyn glanced to the weapons master. Oakstand's scar from the last great battle with Merofynia reminded him that his mother had been betrothed to his father as part of the peace. Strange to think of Queen Myrella as a child, leaving her home in Merofynia to come and live in Rolencia, and his father waiting seven years for her to grow up. For the first time, Fyn wondered if the eight-year-old Myrella had felt as homesick as he had, when his parents sent him to the abbey at six years of age. It was not as if either of them had had any choice.
'They'll run the race for Halcyon's Fate on Midwinter's Day,' the weapons master said abruptly.
Fyn had to collect his thoughts. He nodded. 'The Proving.'
'Wanted to get this said before the race, Fyn. You're small, but winning's not about brute force, it's about strategy. You've got a good head on your shoulders.'
Fyn could see where this was going, and his stomach churned. His father expected that Fyn would eventually become weapons master, leader of the elite band of warrior monks, able to support Lence, when he became king. But…
The weapons master grinned. 'I'm offering you a place in the ranks of my elite warrior monks. Who knows. I've got plenty of fine warriors, but it's thinkers I need to train as leaders.'
Fyn's heart raced. This was everything his father had hoped for him and for the future of Rolencia. But… 'I can't do it.'
'What?' The weapons master looked stunned.
Fyn felt equally surprised. 'I'm sorry. I'd be the joke of the abbey.' Heat raced up his cheeks. All he wanted to do was run to Master Wintertide and ask his advice. 'Surely you've heard what they're calling me. Coward, snivelling — '
'Hold up. Is this about that time with Hawkwing?'
Fyn nodded miserably. 'I fainted when his finger was cut off.'
Oakstand laughed. 'The moment I turn my back to take a leak, you acolytes chop each other up. Teach you to be more careful next time!' He sobered, sharp eyes on Fyn. 'Now, as I remember it, you held his finger in place until the healers came while everyone else panicked.'
'He still lost most of his finger and I fainted.' Fyn felt the master wasn't taking this seriously. He'd suffered enough jibes since then to make his life miserable.
'True, but you fainted after the healers took him away.' The weapons master grinned. 'So what if he lost his finger? What's a man without a few scars?'
Fyn shook his head miserably. 'It's just — '
'Enough, lad.' Master Oakstand placed a hand on Fyn's shoulder and began to stride up the rise towards the gates, which were just around the next bend. 'You don't have to give me your answer right now. Think on it. Three of the last ten abbots came from my branch. Come on. Let's get inside before we freeze our balls off.'
Fyn had to lengthen his stride to keep up with the master. Oakstand was right, the role of weapons master was a step towards becoming abbot. Halcyon's fighting monks had earned their reputation through years of conflict. But that was in the brutal past. They were living in a new, more civilised age of study and prosperity.
As Fyn walked through the abbey's huge gates, he was relieved he did not have to accept the weapons master's offer immediately. It shamed him to admit he couldn't bear to see a bird suffer, let alone a person.
He'd never be a great warrior.
While Byren made camp, building a snow-cave on the bank of the canal, he kept one eye on Orrade. Working fast from long practice, he made the cave just large enough to crouch in, just large enough for two men and their travelling packs to stretch out. Once it was complete, they climbed inside and Byren heated some food on their small travelling brazier, tossing in salted meat and finely chopped vegetables, all prepared by the Dovecote cook. Halcyon bless her. This was their second night out and Orrade had been strangely silent all afternoon. Every now and then he grimaced with pain, and there wasn't a thing Byren could do.
'Hungry, Orrie?'
'Think I'll just turn in,' he muttered, rolling up in the blanket, huddling with his head in his hands.
'Head hurting?' Byren asked softly.
'Something awful,' Orrade admitted. So it must have been bad.
Byren wondered if this meant his friend was about to have another Affinity-induced vision and if Orrade had sensed the change in himself yet. 'How did you know the raiders were coming?'
'You asked me that before,' Orrade muttered. He rolled onto his back, eyes hidden under his forearm. 'I don't even remember warning you. Must have felt their approach through the ice like you said. Sorry, can't think now, Byren.'
Feeling useless, Byren stirred the food, cooking by the light of a single lamp. What would he do if Orrade became worse? The seer had said he would live, but men had been known to die from head wounds several days after getting up and walking around. At least they'd camped on the canal, so he could rig a stretcher and drag his friend. Get him straight to the castle healers.
That made Byren realise he would have to explain why Orrade hadn't stayed at Dovecote estate with their healer. He would have to tell his parents Orrade had been disinherited. Old Lord Dovecote wouldn't want him to reveal the real reason, which meant thinking up a lie. Byren wasn't good at lying.
Soon dinner was ready. The meat had already been cooked and, as for the carrots, he didn't mind if they were a bit crunchy, so long as they were hot.
'Sure you don't want any?' He tried to tempt Orrade, who shook his head. At least he was still aware. That was good.
Byren forced himself to eat, leaving plenty in case Orrade was hungry later, then turned in. On a major canal during midwinter, this close to Rolenton there was not much chance of a predator attacking their snow-cave, so he did not bother to keep watch. He had made sure their snow-cave was hidden in a fold in the canal bank. Unless someone was looking specifically for them, it would be hard to find. Still, he slept lightly, a warrior's sleep.
Several hours later he rolled awake, on alert. Though he could not see the stars he guessed it was near midnight. A dull blue luminescence came through the arc of the snow-cave roof, a pale imitation of the stars' brilliance.
What had woken him?
There it was again, the softest squeak of snow being moved. He stared at the snow-cave entrance which he'd packed shut to retain their body heat. Snow shifted and fell in. Something, or someone, was trying to get in.
Byren left his blanket roll and crept around until he was beside the closed opening, drawing his borrowed hunting knife. A hand poked through, followed by a head and shoulders. Byren grabbed the intruder and hauled him onto his back, knife at his throat.
'Arrgh!' Garzik gasped. 'It's me, only me.'
'Garza?' He released him. 'What are you doing here?'
The boy brushed off snow and crouched on his heels, warming his hands over the coals in the brazier. 'Looking for dinner. I had to run off without food or cook would have told father.'
'Garza?' Orrade surfaced, turning towards their voices. 'You ran away from Dovecote?'
'Don't sound so disapproving. Father disowned you.'
'Why are you here?' Byren tried again.
'I've come to serve on the king's honour guard,' Garzik announced.
Byren snorted. 'You have to earn the right to serve on the honour guard. A boy of fourteen is no — '
'Nearly fifteen. Besides, I've killed a wyvern — '
'Freshwater,' Orrade qualified.
'True,' Garzik admitted. 'But I saved you both from the ulfr pack, killed two — '
'It's not all about killing,' Orrade told him.
Garzik silently appealed to Byren.
'Well, you're here now,' he said, replacing the pot on the brazier. 'Let's get you fed. We can decide tomorrow if you go back.'
'I'm not going back.'
'Father will disown you,' Orrade warned. 'He'll make Elina his heir.' He grinned ruefully. 'He should. She'd do a better job than either of us.'
Garzik rolled his eyes.
'Don't roll your eyes at me,' Orrade snapped.
Byren dropped the ladle in the pot. 'What did you say?'
Orrade gestured to Garzik. 'I might be disowned but I am still his older brother and I — '
'By Halcyon, you can see!' Byren fumbled in his pack for the lamp and lit it.
Orrade winced at the light, turning away, then realised what he had done. 'I can see and my head's stopped hurting.' He sat up, blinking slowly as though testing his sight. 'There's some grey spots floating across my vision but I swear, I can see!'
Garzik threw himself on Orrade, hugging him fiercely. Byren watched, his own joy tempered because he feared Orrade's sight wasn't permanently restored. He didn't like the sound of grey patches moving over his vision.
'Now everything's all right.' Garzik sat back on his heels. 'We can both swear loyalty to King Rolen and next time you teach spar raiders a lesson, I'll come too!'
Byren grimaced. If only life were that simple. He was going home with the threat of his supposed association with the Servants of Palos hanging over him. All it would take was a slip of Garzik's tongue to land him in trouble. How would his father react? He wasn't called King Rolen the Implacable for nothing.
He should send Garzik back to Dovecote estate.
Garzik grinned at Orrade. 'Now that you can see, you can perform some deed of bravery and win a title and estate of your own!'
'Don't you care that I'm like Palos?' Orrade demanded.
Garzik laughed. 'You're still my brother.'
Orrade smiled, and shook his head in wonder, making Byren realise he couldn't send the lad back, even if he would go.
Garzik glanced his way. 'And Byren is still the finest warrior I have ever seen.'
Orrade snorted. 'And you've seen so many. But Garza, it's not true. Byren only claimed to own the pendant to try and save me from father's wrath.'
Garzik turned awed eyes to Byren. 'You did that for Orrie?'
He shrugged this aside. 'Come and eat. Truth be told, I didn't even think, just reacted.' No, if he'd given it any thought he would never have put himself in this position. Shouldn't have had to. Orrade and his stupid pendant.
Byren summoned a smile as he passed the boy a bowl of reheated dinner. 'Here, have this. We should be at the castle by lunchtime tomorrow.'
'Good.' Garzik accepted the bowl. 'Piro will get such a surprise.'
'No more picking on her,' Orrade told him, watching his brother fondly as he gulped down the strew. 'Piro Kingsdaughter is nearly a woman now, and won't want to play silly childish games.'
'Since when?' Garzik challenged.
'Speaking of my family.' Byren cleared his throat. Time to deal with unpleasant truths. 'I'll have to tell mother and father that you've been disinherited, Orrie. It would be wrong to let you eat at their table without letting them know.'
Orrade nodded. 'I've been thinking. They don't need to know the details. I'll tell them it's between father and I. That's true enough. I'll offer King Rolen my sword. I've always liked Captain Temor.'
Byren nodded. Temor had served his father since the Merofynian war and trained them all when they were boys. He would probably accept Orrade, but it would be a big drop from Dovecote heir to one of the king's honour guard.
Piro shifted from foot to foot, trying to contain her impatience. She was terribly disappointed, and the scent of glues and stiffeners used to create the milliner's elaborate head-dresses made her feel dizzy. Maybe, if she inhaled deeply several times in a row, she'd look sickly enough for her mother to cut the shopping short. Could she manage a believable faint?
She thought she could fool the milliner but not her mother. Queen Myrella knew how good she was at play acting. If only the milliner had sent a message to say that the hercinia feathers hadn't arrived yet, then she wouldn't have come shopping. She hated being polite and having to mind her manners. But it had seemed worth it to see feathers that glowed in the dark.
Because the hercinia birds were so rare they had almost died out and her father had banned the use of their feathers for all but royalty. Not that Piro wanted a head-dress adorned with hercinia feathers, no, she just wanted to see them for herself to discover if they were as brilliant as the feathers of her own pet foenix. Privately she doubted that any bird, Affinity or otherwise, could be as handsome.
While the milliner fitted her mother's new head-dress for the midwinter ceremony, Piro gazed out the window into Rolenton Square. She could just see the base of the shop's sign.
A familiar profile, carried on broad shoulders, strode by.
Piro gasped. 'Byren!'
'Byren?' her mother echoed. 'Surely he hasn't brought the Royal Ingeniator back already?'
'It is Byren!' Piro dashed towards the door, throwing it wide open. Sure enough. There he was, unmistakable because he was so much taller than everyone else. And he was with Garzik as well as Orrade, so he must have gone on to Dovecote estate. They all wore packs on their backs, slung with skates.
'Byren!' With a yell she set off after him. Heads turned.
He spun around, saw her racing across the cobbles and gave that crooked grin that made one dimple appear in his cheek.
She laughed, throwing herself at him. He caught her around the waist, lifting her into the air and swinging her around. She loved it.
Effortlessly, he set her down. 'Uh. You're getting too big for this, Piro!'
'I don't even come up to your shoulder!' She laughed.
'I meant too old.'
She ignored that. The longer she could put off growing up, the better. Being a grown woman meant always behaving with decorum and a thousand restrictions that would drive her mad. No, she'd fight every step of the way. Why limit herself, when she'd rather be out riding with Byren than sitting in her mother's solarium balancing the castle's books or cross-checking the kingdom's laws? 'What are you doing back already, Byren?' She nodded to Orrade and grinned at Garzik. 'So your father finally let you out without a nursemaid, Garza? Where's Elina? What happened to your head, Orrie?'
The three of them exchanged looks and Orrade fingered the bandage.
'A branch fell on me,' Orrade said. 'Elina's not well. She may not come to the midwinter ceremony.'
'Oh, no.' Piro didn't try to hide her disappointment. 'What's wrong with her?'
Orrade opened his mouth but nothing came out.
'Piro?' Byren frowned at her. 'What are you doing running around Rolenton like a seamstress's apprentice on half-day? Mother wouldn't approve. Where is she by the way? Have you snuck away again?'
'Not this time,' Piro admitted then saw his expression. 'Oh, don't be angry with me, Byren. It's such a pain being expected to behave like a — '
He looked past her. 'Tell that to Mother. Here she comes!'
Piro winced but the queen only had eyes for her son, as she swept towards them.
'Byren, it is you!' Queen Myrella grabbed his vest and pulled his face down to hers, planting a kiss on each cheek. Then she stepped back beaming. Only a single stray curl revealed how she must have thrown off her head-dress to dart after Piro. She smiled at the two Dovecote brothers. 'Orrade. And Garzik, how you've grown! I trust your father is well.'
'Well enough,' Orrade answered stiffly.
The queen touched his bandage briefly. 'What happened to you, Orrie? Are you all right?'
'A small head wound. It's nothing.'
'That must have given your father a fright. Where is he?'
'What are you doing, Mother, strolling around Rolenton without the honour guard?' Byren chided. 'You're setting a bad example for Piro. No wonder she's half-wild!'
The townspeople, who watched them at a respectful distance, smiled as the queen laughed like a carefree girl. It wasn't as if they needed a guard in their own home town.
'Lence took the guard to get an ale while we did our shopping,' the queen explained.
'Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Byren,' Piro announced. 'You can take me down to the wharfs to watch the sled ships.'
'You're just glad to see me because you hate shopping,' he teased, then grew serious. 'Mother, have you heard from Winterfall or the Royal Ingeniator?'
'No. Is something wrong?'
'We found a new seep, but don't worry. They're sending for sorbt stones and the Affinity warders will control it.'
'Queen Myrella,' Orrade began. 'There's something you should know. I've — '
'Queen Myrella!' An old woman threw off her hood, shuffling out of the crowd to confront them. Even though her voice was little more than a rasp, it carried on the cold, still air. 'Queen Myrella, true heir to Merofynia, heed my words!'
Byren swore under his breath. Piro glanced to him. Why was he worried? An old woman couldn't hurt them, could she?
'Be off with you!' He went to drive her away.
'Byren,' the queen protested. Piro knew their mother always listened to the poorest of their kingdom. That's why the people of Rolencia loved her, even though she was the daughter of a Merofynian king.
But when the queen took a good look at the old woman, her face went slack with shock. Was this someone from her mother's past, Piro wondered, a Merofynian palace servant, who had come down in the world?
Byren gestured. 'Be off with you, old — '
The woman silenced him with a single piercing look.
The laughter died on Piro's lips as the woman dropped her staff and stiffened, her eyes rolling back in her head.
Since Piro became a woman at autumn cusp unwanted Affinity had been growing in her, so she had no trouble recognising it at work now. Tension made the very air taste strange and Piro's vision blurred. She blinked repeatedly until she realised she was seeing the shift caused by Unseen power acting on the Seen world.
Piro went very still, like a deer startled by a predator. A seer with renegade Affinity — her secret would be revealed and she would be sent away like Fyn!
'You live a lie, Queen Myrella, queen of lies!' The old woman shrieked.
Discovering she was not the object of the old seer's prediction, Piro relaxed fractionally. Her mother took a step back, colliding with Byren who steadied her.
'Your lies will be the downfall of Rolencia and the death of those you love. You think you're safe but one rotten apple turns the rest!' Blind-to-the-seen-world eyes turned to Piro. She felt sure this seer would recognise her growing Affinity and denounce her.
'Like mother, like daughter!' the old woman wheezed. 'Do not make the same mistake — '
'Filthy untamed Affinity!' Lence swore, thrusting through the crowd. A dozen young honour guards wearing the symbol of the royal house of Rolencia followed him. Rich red foenixes, their scales picked out in gold thread, gleamed against the black background of the surcoats.
'Be silent, Utland Power-worker!' Lence ordered.
The old woman's trance left her and she cast him one swift glance before fixing Piro with urgent jet-black eyes, stumbling towards her. 'Piro Myrella Queensdaughter, don't deny your — '
Piro smelt death on the old woman. It turned her stomach and she pulled back instinctively.
'Here, leave m'sister alone!' With one shove Lence sent the Power-worker flying across the swept cobbles.
She hit the wall of the Three Swans Inn and collapsed in a snowdrift, her head at an odd angle.
Piro stared, stunned. The old seer was dead.
Now she could never reveal Piro's secret. A surge of relief filled her, followed swiftly by guilt as she turned on Lence. 'You killed her!'
He lifted his large hands, looking down at them as if surprised by what he had done. Like Byren he was a head taller than most men, but he had a deep barrel chest and the arms of a blacksmith.
Lence grimaced and wiped his hand on his thigh. Revulsion twisted his handsome lips. 'She shouldn't have brought her filthy untamed Affinity into Rolencia!'
Dismay swamped Piro. Would Lence dismiss her as quickly if he knew about her Affinity? 'But she was just an old woman. She wasn't even a very good seer!'
It was true. Piro was nothing like her mother.
'Hush, Piro,' the queen whispered. She looked ill. 'Lence did the right thing. We cannot have — '
'But she should have been arrested and given the choice of banishment or death,' Piro insisted. 'That's the law. You're always making me memorise the law.'
'Enough, Piro. It's for the best,' Byren urged. His attention was on their mother, who was visibly wavering as if her legs might give way. He slid an arm around her shoulder. 'Come sit down, mother.'
Orrade took her other arm.
'Uh, Orrie, Garza. Didn't see you there,' Lence muttered, then looked about eagerly. 'Where's Elina?'
'She's sick,' Garzik whispered, still staring at the seer.
Like him, Queen Myrella stared at the old woman's body, which lay abandoned like an empty husk.
Piro shuddered. She had never seen violent death. Surely the seer knew the laws of Rolencia? What had been so important that she risked death to warn them? Piro tried to remember what had been said to her mother, something about living a lie because she was the true heir to Merofynia and this would cause Rolencia to fall and her loved ones to die.
Impossible. Rolencia was strong, so strong that when her mother's younger brother, King Sefon, died seven summers ago, her parents had decided not to get involved in Merofynia's civil war, not because they couldn't have ridden into Merofynia and taken the throne, but because they didn't want to waste the blood of young Rolencians on foreign soil.
Piro licked dry lips. How could avoiding war cause death?
She shuddered, glad the old seer hadn't had a chance to betray her Affinity. Perversely, though, Piro wished she could have heard the rest of the old woman's prophecy, if only to discover how mistaken she was. Rotten fruit, what next?
Lence turned to one of the honour guard. 'Fetch the Affinity warders and get rid of the body.'
They would burn the old woman then scatter her ashes over water, saying the words to dispel her power. It was the only way to be sure that no taint of her untamed Affinity lingered.
'You.' Byren beckoned another of the honour guard. He still supported their mother, who looked lost and distracted. 'I need you to borrow a carriage to take my mother and sister back to the castle.'
A clattering of hooves made them turn. Astride his sturdy roan, King Rolen bore down on them, the crowd parting hurriedly.
'Father!' Now Piro knew everything would be all right.
Taking in the situation, King Rolen swung his leg over the horse and dropped to the ground with a grunt, the landing jarring all his old wounds. Piro winced for him. Her father had been growing stiffer recently. But he still radiated the energy that had saved their kingdom from invasion thirty years ago.
'Myrella, are you all right?' he demanded, enfolding the queen's small frame in his arms. Byren stepped back while their mother assured the king that she was fine. Their father looked to Lence. 'What happened?'
'Mother and Piro were assaulted by a renegade Power-worker,' Lence spoke up. 'I dealt with her.' He gestured to the body, which the honour guard had yet to remove.
King Rolen's heavy brow gathered in a frown. Piro knew that look. Now there would be trouble. Ever since his own father and elder brother had been killed by renegade Power-workers on the battlefield, her father had set out to eradicate everyone with untamed Affinity from Rolencia.
'Right.' King Rolen began roaring orders.
Piro marvelled. Within a matter of moments, a carriage had been found and she and her mother were bustled into it. As they tucked the blankets around their legs and adjusted the heated bricks, she overheard her father telling Byren, 'It's just as well you're back early. We've had a complaint about a rogue leogryf that's taken to preying on the villagers up near the pass to Foenix Spar. You and Lence can handle it.'
Piro peered out the carriage window. She had never seen a live leogryf.
'Can I go too?' Garzik demanded. Then remembered his manners and dropped to one knee, placing a hand over his heart. 'I mean, I offer my service — '
Her father laughed, hauling him to his feet. 'Of course you can. We need every able-bodied man, even if he is not much more than a boy!'
Garzik looked as if he was torn between being pleased or slightly affronted.
King Rolen turned to Orrade. 'What happened to your head, lad?'
'Took a fall. King Rolen, I — '
'How's the old Dove, feisty as ever?'
Orrade nodded and went to speak, but the king turned away to deal with his honour guard and the disposal of the seer's body.
The carriage gave a jolt and began to rattle over the cobbles so Piro saw no more.
'It's not fair,' she muttered. There was Garzik, only a year and a bit older than her and he was allowed to go hunting with Lence and Byren, but she never would. She sighed. Right now she was heading for the safety and boredom of the castle while Byren and Lence went off on the king's business. The high point of her day was seeing a feather that glowed in the dark and even then she'd been let down. 'Why can't I go with Byren and Lence?'
Her mother's distracted gaze drifted across the carriage as if she was seeing something beyond its panelled walls.
'Why can't I go?' Piro insisted. 'I would love to see a leogryf. I'd be no trouble.'
The queen blinked.
Piro frowned. What was wrong with her mother? By now she should be lecturing her on the proper behaviour for a kingsdaughter.
It was that renegade Power-worker.
Startled and dismayed, Piro slid off her seat, dropping to her knees on the floor of the carriage and taking her mother's hands in hers to offer comfort. 'Don't worry, Mother, that… that…'
But she could not do it. She could not form the words to speak of the old seer.
The queen's luminous, obsidian eyes focused on Piro. A sense of imminence filled Piro and her heart quickened.
'That…' her mother stumbled then, as she forged on, Piro felt a shiver of relief. 'That seer!'
'Yes!' Piro nodded. 'She pretended to be a seer but she had no idea. Everything she said was wrong.'
Distress tightened her mother's features. The queen's lips worked and her chin trembled as if she was holding back tears or fury.
'What is it?' Piro whispered, empathy making her skin prickle. She felt as if her mother was about to reveal something vitally important.
The queen pressed her fingers to her mouth, took a shuddering breath then shook her head. She tucked a strand of hair behind Piro's ear. 'It's nothing.'
But it wasn't. Piro pulled back to sit on her seat. Something the old seer had said had disturbed her mother deeply.
Surely nothing could threaten Rolencia, not while her father held the kingdom together. At nearly fifty he was getting old, but in Lence and Byren he had strong warriors to defend Rolencia from beasts, spar warlords and Utland raiders.
It was probably the part about loved ones dying that worried her mother. After all, anyone could fall from a horse and break their neck like poor Uncle Sefon had, or catch a cold that went to the chest. And Lence and Byren were always facing danger. If their ongoing joke about who was due to save the other's life could be believed, they could have died a dozen times these last five years.
An image came to Piro, a body in the snow. In her mind's eye she dropped to her knees turning the body over, fearing the worst. But it was not Byren or Lence. It was Fyn.
She almost retched.
Stop it, she told herself. Fyn is safe with Halcyon's monks. It would break her heart if anything happened to any of her brothers but, despite the time he had spent at the abbey, she was closest to Fyn.
That image had to be the product of her over active imagination. She was not a seer — her growing Affinity had shown no sign of developing in that direction. Thank the goddess!
Suddenly afraid she'd betrayed herself, Piro focused on her mother. The queen stared distractedly out the window as the carriage climbed the steep road that repeatedly turned back on itself before reaching the gates of Rolenhold. Good, her mother hadn't noticed.
As if sensing her scrutiny, the queen met her eyes.
'Why do you look so worried, Piro?' she asked. 'Is something wrong?'
'What? No.' Piro looked down, adjusting the blanket over her knees. If she admitted her unwanted Affinity her parents would have to gift her to Sylion abbey. She'd be shut up with hundreds of other women, forced to worship the cold god of winter when she loved the sun and laughter. 'Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all.'
That seer was mistaken, Piro told herself. She must have been wrong about everything else because she was wrong about me being like Mother!
'We're home.' The queen sounded relieved.
Piro looked up at the castle's steep walls. Its domes and towers gleamed in the winter sun but instead of feeling a sense of homecoming, she fought a sense of entrapment. Piro put it down to wanting to hunt the leogryf, rather than sit and study.
Why couldn't her life be simple, like Byren's?