He slipped away from the royal balcony, annoyed and more than a little worried. But first, he had to find his sister.
After making a quick search of the guildhall, without success, he heard a carriage draw up. After pimping and preening, the Merofynian ambassador had arrived with his retinue.
Byren had run out of time to find Piro. He only hoped she was safe back at Rolenhold with her foenix, even if that meant she was deliberately misbehaving. He made for the stairs to the bell tower. Their father would just have to make the announcement without Piro, not that it mattered. It was Lence's big moment.
But halfway up the steps, he met his twin, headed down.
'Hey, you're going the wrong way. The balcony's up there!' Byren protested.
Lence grinned. He'd been drinking with his honour guard and Byren could smell the fine Rolencian wine on his breath. As usual, his spirits had improved for being just a little bit drunk.
'But I'm headed for the back stairs, Byren. That's where I'm meeting the prettiest little serving maid you ever saw.'
Byren frowned. There wasn't time for dalliance. Their parents would make the announcement as soon as the Merofynian ambassador joined them. Even now, he was being greeted by merchants on the front steps. They would probably delay him for a few minutes as they invited him to dinner with the intention of setting up trade deals with Merofynia. 'But — '
Lence shook off his hand. 'They've lined me up with the Merofynian king's daughter, Byren. She's probably got buck teeth and bad breath. I think I deserve a bit of fun!' He took off down the steps. 'Don't worry, I won't miss the announcement of my own betrothal. I'll arrange to meet this maid later, but first I'll collect a kiss.'
'What of Elina?'
'What the eyes don't see the heart doesn't grieve!' He called over his shoulder.
Byren hesitated. Lence wouldn't want his company, but if the maid was as pretty as he said, he might get distracted and keep their father waiting. King Rolen's temper was legendary. Better follow and keep an eye on him.
Just as he started down, Byren heard the thump of a body hitting the wall and the scrape of a sword being drawn. His heart missed a beat and his hand went to his belt, reaching for his missing sword hilt.
Cursing, Byren took the stairs four at a time, barrelling into the dark little foyer at the base. There was no sign of the serving maid, only three swordsmen, none of whom could be called pretty.
Despite his slightly inebriated state, Lence had disarmed one man. Now he swung this attacker around, using his body as a shield to protect himself from the remaining two. The man's cockatrice cloak impeded his struggles. Byren drew his ceremonial dagger and threw. Though it wasn't designed for throwing, it took the nearest attacker in the back. He fell to his knees with a cry. The other spun around, sword lifting.
Byren had nothing, not even a cloak to wrap around his arm as a shield.
Lence shoved his man forwards. He collided with Byren's attacker, knocking them both off balance while the cloak remained in Lence's hands. Seizing this chance, Byren kicked the attacker's sword arm and the weapon flew from his fingers. Byren drove his fist into the man's jaw. The swordsman staggered back, knocking his companion to the ground.
The man scrambled for the sword and sprang to his feet. Lence backed into the corner. The men advanced on him.
Piro huddled, shivering in her hiding place while she waited for Fyn and his friends' voices to fade as they moved off. Fyn was right, she should not have come here. If she was discovered, the abbot could order her execution. Not that she thought he would, but she couldn't be certain, for no kingsdaughter had ever insulted the goddess of Halcyon before.
She felt sick to her stomach.
This was worse than the time she'd climbed onto Byren's hunter and been thrown.
If she was caught on Ruin Isle today she would disgrace her family. If only she'd thought before she acted, instead of looking forward to pleasing Fyn. That had proved a disaster. Now he was furious with her.
Hot tears stung her eyes. Blinking them away fiercely, she hugged her knees and waited until she heard the horn which meant the acolytes were safely back in Rolenton. Then she crawled out.
Slinging her skates over her shoulder, Piro rubbed her arms and legs to get her circulation back. She had meant to help Fyn become a mystic. Now which branch of the monks would he join?
He wasn't like most men.
Last midsummer, Fyn had taken her into a deserted stable where the straw was thick on the ground, and had shown her how to escape if someone tried to grab her, how to throw her attacker and where to kick to do the most damage.
It had been a wonderful midsummer. They'd rowed out to Ruin Isle so he could teach her how to use his bow. She had barely been strong enough to draw it but was soon hitting the target. Fyn had never once told her she couldn't do something because she was small and female. And she hadn't ridiculed him when he asked if he could use her paints. She still had the watercolour he had done of Rolenhold with Lake Sapphire reflecting the castle's golden onion domes like a mirror. No, Fyn wasn't like the others.
And now, because of her, he wouldn't be a mystic.
Tears burned her eyes. Wiping her face on her sleeve, she turned towards Rolenton. She had to find Fyn and apologise. She wouldn't be happy until everything was right between them.
Reaching the island's shore, she strapped on her skates and looked across the lake to Rolenton. Just then the bell tower's song rang out. Piro cursed roundly, using words the stable boys used when they thought she wasn't listening.
She'd forgotten her parents' big announcement!
Byren looked about for a weapon, anything to divert the attacker from his twin. Nothing.
The door to the stairwell swung open and Fyn stood there, saffron robe gleaming in the dimness. His eyes widened as he took in the situation.
Seeing one of Halcyon's renowned warrior monks, the swordsmen collected their wounded companion and backed out the far door, blades raised defiantly.
Lence cursed. 'They're getting away!'
'Let them,' Byren snapped. 'In case you hadn't noticed, they're the ones with swords!'
Fyn stepped inside and let his door swing shut behind him. 'What's going on? Are you all right?'
'I'm fine,' Byren said. 'What about you, Lence?'
He rubbed his head. 'I can't believe that pretty little serving maid set me up.'
'I can't believe someone made an attempt on your life in our own home town,' Byren whispered.
'Who?' Fyn asked.
'One of the warlords.' Lence lifted the cloak for Byren to see. It hung from his fingers supple and rich, feathers as fine as fur. Cockatrice cloak. Too expensive for any but a nobleman or a wealthy merchant, or…
'A warrior from Cockatrice Spar?' Fyn guessed.
'Too easy,' Byren muttered. 'And there's no reason for that warlord to turn on us.'
'Agreed.' Lence rubbed his jaw. 'Besides, he'd never be fool enough to send his own men.'
'Are you saying someone set him up? Another of the warlords?' Fyn muttered. 'But they are all here to renew their oaths of allegiance.'
'Not all of them,' Lence countered. 'The Unistag warlord is missing.'
'His successors can't decide — ' Byren began to explain.
'They could have heard a rumour about the betrothal,' Lence said, thinking aloud.
Fyn looked confused.
'We've been keeping the warlords in line with Lence as bait, a possible alliance with one of their daughters, you see. Now that he's getting married…' Byren shrugged.
'Married?' Fyn mouthed, glancing to Lence.
'Don't you dare congratulate me!' he warned.
Byren grinned. 'We'd be in trouble if the warlords ever stopped fighting amongst themselves long enough to unite against us!'
Fyn's eyes widened. 'But father is their king.'