Piro stared down to the courtyard where the fighting was hand-to-hand, with the men in dark red falling before the azure and black-clad forces, as the townsfolk tried to grab their children and run.
But there was nowhere to run to.
'What is it?' Seela demanded from inside the cell. 'I must see.'
Piro could just make out the old woman's silver head as she peered into the courtyard. The panicked screams from below made Piro's stomach churn. Her old nurse withdrew and, after a moment, the queen reappeared at the window.
'Who would betray us, Mother?'
'Illien of Cobalt, if it suited him.' The queen spoke in a strange flat voice. 'Only in the last few days have I realised the depths of his trickery. I've been a fool.'
'No.' Piro's denial was instinctive, but no one could deny the searing clash of metal on metal. Men shouted, screaming as they died. The king was dead and Queen Myrella imprisoned, just when they needed her to rally the castle's defenders. Or was she? Piro judged the width of the small decorative ledge that connected the two window sills. 'I know. You can climb out the window and work your way along the ledge to this one.'
Her mother stared at her in disbelief.
'You can hold onto the roof to keep your balance,' Piro insisted.
'I could never -'
'I'll come out and lead you around.' Piro swung her weight onto the window sill and prepared to lift herself out.
'Stop, Piro. You'll fall.'
'I won't. I know I can do it.'
Her mother shook her head. 'Maybe you could, but I couldn't and I'm certain Seela couldn't get through the window.'
She was right. Piro slumped on the window sill.
Her mother leant sideways, hand outstretched towards Piro who craned as far as she could so that their fingers just touched.
'It is for the best, Piro. Soon they will come for me. If this is all part of Cobalt's plan I will be his prize for surrendering the castle.' Her mother tried to smile. 'Don't worry, he won't let them hurt me. The sooner we negotiate our surrender, the better. There is no need for this slaughter. Merofynians are not barbarians.'
'Surrender?' Piro baulked at the thought. Had the queen reverted to her birth allegiance?
'How else can we regroup and fight back?' her mother countered.
Pride filled Piro. How could she have doubted her mother? 'I will stand at your side. I'm not afraid.'
She was petrified.
'Of course you are afraid,' Seela snapped, out of sight but not out of the conversation.
The queen smiled. 'Go, put on your best gown. You must look every bit a kingsdaughter if we are to use you to our advantage. When the time is right, I will say your full name, then you must come out of hiding and join me. If I don't call you Pirola then stay hidden, for you are more use to me as a free agent. Remember how you played the goatherd when Byren was negotiating with the overlord of Unistag Spar?'
Piro nodded. 'That was fun.' When it hadn't been terrifying.
'Good. Lence is now king. If I call you Piro you must take this message to him. Tell him not to let fear for my safety stay his hand. He must retake the castle. Can you remember that?'
Piro nodded. 'But it doesn't feel right leaving you.'
'I'm a captured piece in the game of Duelling Kingdoms. I've been a piece since I was betrothed at the age of eight.' She grimaced. 'Sometimes you must sacrifice a piece to win, you know that.'
Piro nodded, blinking tears from her eyes. Her mother's face swam in her vision. 'But -'
'Go now, Piro, and may Halcyon watch over you.' The queen's fingers tightened on hers. 'And, Piro, promise me this?'
Piro nodded, ready to promise anything.
'I prayed my children would not inherit my Affinity, yet you have it. Do not deny it as I have done. Learn from my mistakes.'
There was so much Piro wanted to say, but her throat felt too tight to speak. She nodded and let her mother's fingers go. Her shoulder and side ached from the strain of leaning so far and the hard stone sill had cut into her thighs.
She jumped lightly to the floor, heading down the stairs. In the shadowed doorway of the first-floor landing, she hesitated. The courtyard was empty of living things, except for a boy of about eleven wearing Merofynian blue. He chased a chicken around the yard, swinging another one by its legs, both squawking indignantly.
The boy cornered the chicken at last.
'I'm going to wring your neck m'self then throw you in the pot!' he told it and promptly dispatched both birds.
Piro had been taught the court Merofynian and he spoke a rough common version, but she had no trouble understanding him.
He tucked the bird under his arm and left. Nothing remained but three dead bodies, crushed cages, trodden animal dung and assorted chicken feathers.
Piro swallowed. Where had they taken all the townsfolk? If this had been a normal battle, she would have been tending the wounded. She'd trained in basic healing at her mother's side. Many was the time she had helped stitch up Byren and Lence. Now she was at a loss.
Crossing the courtyard, she took a short cut through the menagerie where her pet foenix was housed. The bird's eager cry drew her and she hurried across, furious to discover he had been caged. She had never locked him away, letting him roam the glass-roofed courtyard freely.
'Oh, you poor thing!' she dropped to her knees, unlocking the cage. Freed, he made a soft crooning noise in his throat and rubbed his head on her face.
She stroked his soft, fur-like feathers. It pained her to see how dull his colour had grown in just a few days. She glanced inside the cage where there was water and food aplenty. That wasn't the problem. He'd missed her and her Affinity.
At the thought of it, she felt her power stir and, before she could stop it, her hands began to tingle with a build up of Affinity.
This winter she'd grown into the habit of letting the unistag lick the excess power off her fingertips but, when they'd been forced to leave the Affinity beast with the new warlord of unistag, she hadn't been able relieve her Affinity build-up. Now the foenix grew excited as it rubbed its throat and cheeks on her hands and, even as she watched, its feathers regained their usual brilliance.
'So you were absorbing Affinity from me all along and I wasn't even aware of it,' she whispered.
'Here? You!' A Merofynian warrior addressed her in badly accented Rolencian. 'Leave that… that… Is that a foenix?'
'Yes, sor.' Piro instinctively dropped into the dialect of a badly educated servant girl. 'Belonged to Piro Kingsdaughter, herself. Was my job to feed the beastie.'
He swung the cloak off his shoulders and approached, obviously intent on capturing the foenix.
Piro sprang to her feet. 'You can't eat it, sor. It's full of Affinity.'
'I know that.' He glared at her. 'That's why I'm taking it to the overlord. He collects treasures. Close your mouth and lend a hand.'
'He won't hurt it, will he?'
The warrior clipped her over the ear. 'You'll get more of that if you give me cheek. Now, catch it for me.'
The foenix had ducked behind Piro and was shaking with fright. Stomach churning, she took the cloak from the man and spoke coaxingly as she scooped it up.
She turned to face the Merofynian. 'He needs -'
'I'll take that.' He snatched the beast from her greedily as though it was pure gold. 'As for you, get inside. All servants are to gather in the great hall.'
She nodded and turned to slip away, unable to believe her good luck.
'Wait.'
It was midsummer's day and Byren walked across the shingles on the shore of Sapphire Lake, the soles of his feet burning with each step. Try as he might, he could not reach the inviting cool shallows of the lake, which remained forever just out of reach. So thirsty, so hot… He could have roared with frustration, but only a whimper escaped him. To make matters worse, someone was poking him in the side with a spear, driving him on, making every breath a sharp pain. Couldn't they see he was doing his best to reach the lake?
From a great distance he heard a voice muttering.
'…burning up with fever. Shakin' like a leaf.'
He struggled to open his eyes but they would not obey him for more than a heartbeat. Frustration made him grind his teeth.
'Kingson, hold on. I'm taking you to a healer.' The dyer spoke slowly to reach Byren through the delirium of the fever.
But no healer could save him. At least, not one you'd find in a Rolencian village. Maybe the greatest of healers could have used their Affinity… he should have gone to Sylion Abbey the moment he realised the dagger had pierced his lung, but he'd wanted to reach his father. And, if he had, he would never had met up with the ulfr pack.
Pity he'd never get the chance to tell Orrade about it. Sylion take him, Orrade was angry with him. He'd compared his best friend to Lence. He should never have done that. Orrade's heart was true. It was his preference for men that was a problem.
He missed Orrade. Missed the pack. Missed their warming presence, missed their song. He seemed to hear it in his head, feel it in his body. It soothed him.
Byren felt a small hand pat his chest in sympathy. The boy laughed. 'He's just like Puss. He's purring, Da.'
Byren felt the dyer press his hand to the same place.
'You're right, Rodien. He's not shakin', he's purring like a cat. Wonders never cease.'
'Thirsty,' Byren managed to croak.
Something cool touched his face and watered wine slipped past his lips. His drank eagerly.
They took it away much too soon. He tried to grab them, but they'd tied his arms down. For a moment he fought panic as he imagined them handing him over to the Merofynians, then he remembered them securing him to the sled. Now they were taking him to a healer. No point.
Who would mourn him? Certainly not King Rolen.
Lence was gone and Elina… his gut clenched and a moan escaped him. He'd failed Elina. He should never have left her at Dovecote. But she'd refused to speak with him because she believed he was in love with her brother.
Orrade, Sylion take him. Orrade was angry with him because he'd let Elina die. But Byren could not have saved her, not when she'd tried to turn Lence's sword to save his life. Her wrists were not strong enough to stop the full force of the blow. Elina had known. She'd given her life for his and thought it a fair trade.
Tears stung Byren's eyes, slipping down his cheeks, trickling into his ears where they tickled. The sled gave a jerk and started moving again, making his body vibrate, making him ache in every bone.
He was sick, very sick, not thinking clearly.
That's right, he was dying. Why didn't they let him do it in peace?
Piro paused, heart thudding. As she turned back to face the warrior, she summoned a stupid expression.
'Are there any more Affinity beasts?' the Merofynian asked, eyes bright with avarice.
'No, sor. The unistag died this winter just gone.'
He looked disappointed, then grinned, patting the foenix. 'Better than nothing, and easier to transport than a unistag. Get going, girl.'
She darted away, entering the connecting passage where she saw two men-at-arms, the azure crests on their black garments stained purple with blood. They confronted several castle servants and Halcyon's healer.
'I can't go to the hall. I must tend the injured,' the healer objected. She was nearing seventy and Piro had known her all her life.
Thwack.
The nearest Merofynian backhanded her. Knocked off her feet, the healer flew into the wall, reminding Piro how Lence had unintentionally killed the old seer with one swing of his hand.
Before Lence had thrust her aside, the seer had said the queen lived a lie and because of it Rolencia would fall and those she loved would die. Piro had been certain she had been mistaken. But now she wondered what they might have learnt if they had used the seer's foresight to their advantage.
No point in if onlys. Her father would never have listened to a seer. He wouldn't even listen to her!
The Merofynian's blow had not killed the healer, for she moaned and clutched her shoulder. The two maidservants gasped and bit back cries of protest.
'Help her up and get moving.' The Merofynians drove their captives around the bend. Piro longed for a keen sword and the strength of her older brothers. But it was clear from today's events that strength and a good heart were no match for treachery and cruelty.
Blood rushed in Piro's ears, filling her head with a roaring sound as a waking memory superimposed itself over the now empty hall. In Piro's mind's eye she saw her recurrent nightmare given flesh. Today wyverns stalked the halls of Rolenhold. Her vision had come true and that made her wonder about the old seer's unspoken words.
The seer had been about to direct a foretelling to Piro, whose fear at the time had been that her Affinity would be exposed. She'd been grateful to Lence when he silenced the seer, then shocked when she realised he'd killed her. What would they have learnt if the seer had lived?
Had she been about to warn them that the castle would fall? Why couldn't the seer have been more specific? A hint about Cobalt's betrayal and the postern gate would have been really useful. Piro felt a bitter smile tug at her lips.
Well, no one was going to wipe out her family!
She had half a mind to slip away and find Lence and Byren right now, but her mother had told her to dress the part of a kingsdaughter, so she hurried to where she had stashed her bundle and hastily changed in the dubious privacy of a store room, amidst jars of cherry and apricot preserves. Doing the best she could with a wet cloth she cleaned her face, hands and feet, hearing her mother's voice in her head. No daughter of mine will appear before visiting nobles grubby as an urchin!
Tears stung her eyes as she slung an old cape over her shoulders and took the servants' stairs to the great hall. From an archway on the mezzanine floor she stood in the shadows trying to locate the queen amid the confusion. Servants scurried about, terrified by the Merofynian men-at-arms, who were swift to speed them on their way with a blow as they set the tables for a great feast. As yet, there was no sign of the victorious overlord.
Through the forest of decorated columns Piro identified her mother. The queen and most of the servants had been herded into the space to one side of the great hearth. The Rolencian royal banner had been torn down from above the fireplace, leaving a square of pale golden sandstone. The remaining servants clung to one another, terrified. In their midst Queen Myrella stood pale but resolute with old Seela at her side.
Piro's heart swelled with pride. Now all she had to do was wait and follow her mother's directions.
A ripple of excitement drew her gaze to the far end of the hall where a group of powerful men entered. Piro recognised Cobalt. He walked a step behind the leader, and a surge of pure fury made her body burn at the sight.
Had he truly been lord protector of the castle, he would be dead, not following in the overlord's footsteps like a faithful dog.
As for the overlord, if she hadn't known him by his swagger and his elaborate surcoat – emblazoned with the twin-headed golden-scaled amfina on a black background – the reaction of his men would have told Piro who he was. They sprang to attention, greeting him with a respectful and wary silence that spoke of fear.
Piro shivered.
She recognised the same indefinable aura which had surrounded her father. Like King Rolen, Palatyne was big and raw-boned, a leader of men, but her father's men had followed him out of love and admiration. Palatyne's men watched him, as though their lives hung on his reaction.
She had expected the overlord to be accompanied by mystics from the two great abbeys of Merofynia, but there were no religious Affinity workers with him. Instead, there were two advisors. The first was a stooped, iron-haired man who had once been tall and broad-shouldered. He wore the indigo robes of a noble scholar but even without calling on her Unseen sight she could see the power shimmering off his skin.
Taking two steps to every one of his was a thin little silver-haired man, an Utland Power-worker by his warding tattoos and the fetishes woven into his waist-length beard. In Rolencia, these men would have been trained to serve the abbey and the common good. But these two Power-workers were motivated by personal ambition rather than religious fervour.
The overlord took off his azure crested helmet and shook his head. His hair was worn loose down his back in the style of Merofynian nobles and, right now, it was lank with sweat. Tucking the helmet under one arm, he lifted a goblet of wine, gulped a mouthful and spat the wine with great deliberation onto the Rolencian banner which lay on the flagstones. 'Throw it in the fire!'
Hastily, three men ran forwards to lift the intricate tapestry and toss it into the fireplace. The overlord crossed the hearth stone in two long strides and tossed the rest of his wine into the fireplace. Instantly flames surged up, devouring the Rolencian banner.
Palatyne spun to face the hall, both arms raised. 'So falls Rolenhold. And they said it could not be done!' His deep voice carried, and he spoke Merofynian with the accent of the spars.
Even as his men dutifully cheered, one hurried forwards with the foenix wrapped in his cloak. 'A treasure for you, my lord.' He pulled the cloak back a little to reveal the foenix's brilliant neck and chest colours. 'A royal foenix, the pet of the kingsdaughter herself!'
The overlord stiffened, regarding the beast intently, then he smiled and his whole stance radiated satisfaction. He nodded to the noble scholar. 'See, Lord Dunstany. What was theirs, will be mine. This foenix will be a gift for my betrothed.' He pulled a ring from his finger and tossed it to the man, who caught it eagerly. 'Have the beast cared for.'
As the man hastily backed out, Palatyne raised a hand to stroke the pendant resting on his chest plate. With a start Piro recognised her father's royal emblem. And his death hit home. She bent double, her stomach cramping with pain.
Through the rushing in her ears she heard her mother's voice and straightened up to find the queen had stepped away from the servants to confront Palatyne.
'Queen Myrella greets you, overlord.' In the sudden silence her beautifully modulated voice carried through the great hall. 'On behalf of the people of Rolencia, I claim the rights of surrender, as it seems the castle's lord protector has failed in his duties.' Her royal demeanour faltered, voice growing rich with scorn. 'How could you, Illien?'
Cobalt lifted a hand as if to ward off her accusations.
Palatyne spun away from her, staggering back several steps so that he put a body length between them. 'What's this? I ordered all King Rolen's kin killed!'
Piro's heart missed a beat. Unable to breathe, she saw the warriors hesitate. From their expressions, none of them wanted to strike down an unarmed woman. A woman who was the daughter of their old king.
Cobalt glanced from the overlord to the queen.
An inarticulate sound of protest escaped old Seela's lips.
Piro clutched the door frame, faint with horror. She couldn't stand still and let them kill her mother. But what could she do?
Unarmed, alone and also marked for death, she raged against her weakness.
Fyn skied around a bend then froze, unable to believe his bad luck. He had stumbled right into the path of a band of Merofynian warriors. What were they doing on the little-travelled foothills below Mount Halcyon?
'You, fisherman,' one addressed him in poor Rolencian.
Heart thudding, Fyn shuffled closer.
'Have you seen an injured man?
'No, I haven't seen anyone.' How would a lone fisherman react to a party of seven Merofynian warriors? Cautiously, that was certain. Better pretend that he thought they were escorting a pilgrim to Halcyon Abbey. 'Did your injured pilgrim get lost? Should I send him this way if I see him?'
They laughed.
'Yeah, tell the kingson we want to take him home to meet our mothers!' one muttered in Merofynian.
Fyn fixed a smile on his face and nodded, as though he did not understand but his heart raced with the knowledge that Byren (it had to be Byren for, if it was Lence, they would have said kingsheir) had met up with the Merofynians. At least he had escaped, albeit injured.
'This friend of yours, how will I know him?' Fyn asked.
'He's big and bad-tempered. If you see him, keep away from him. Ski up to the abbey and let them know. Their healers can help him,' the first one told Fyn.
The others nodded, exchanging looks that said they enjoyed a private joke.
Fyn nodded. All he wanted to do was get away from them before they saw through his disguise. The tattoos of learning were still visible through his sprouting hair. If his fur cap was knocked off… he must not think like that. He must act the part of a fisherman. It was customary to offer to share food with pilgrims.
'I'm off to see my sister who's expecting her first, come spring cusp,' he said. 'Our mam sent her some fish stew. There's not much but I'm sure -'
'So that's the smell,' the rude one complained in Merofynian. 'Mulcibar's balls, send him on his way before he offers us fish stew.'
The others chuckled. Fyn managed a chuckle of his own, as though he was trying to ingratiate himself with them, despite being unable to understand their speech.
'Be off with you and watch out for our pilgrim. Remember, he's bad-tempered so don't go near him. Let us know if you see him,' the spokesman insisted.
Fyn nodded. Relief made him lightheaded as he shuffled past them and slid down the slope, weaving through the evergreens until he was well and truly out of sight. By then his knees were shaking so badly he had to stop and bend double to clear his head, so he sat for a few moments in lee of a snow-skirted tree.
After a few moments he heard the Merofynians pass on the other side of the tree, returning to the abbey.
'…all as thick as him they deserve to lose their kingdom!' the rude one was saying.
'Do you think he'll report it if he sees the kingson?' a different one asked.
'The kingson is most likely dead,' the spokesman said. 'No one could lose that much blood and keep going.'
'True,' the rude one agreed. 'And with the ulfr pack in the area, anyone travelling alone and injured doesn't stand a chance. No wonder we can't find his body. We're on a wild goose chase!'
Their voices faded, drowned by the rushing in Fyn's ears. When his vision cleared he was bent double, staring at the perfect snow in front of his nose. Wracking shivers shook him.
Byren was dead. At least, the Merofynians believed he was. Cheeky, laughing Byren. Kindest, most thoughtful of his brothers…
Fyn's heart felt as if it would break.
Determination drove him to his feet.
If Byren was dead, it was up to Fyn to carry news of the abbey's fall to their father. He set off, his resolve renewed by grief.