Lence sent him a withering look. 'What do they teach you at the abbey?'
Fyn flinched.
'The spars make poor farmland. The warlords are constantly looking to expand their territory and Rolencia is the richest prize. They're always sniffing around, looking for weakness in each other or us,' Byren explained. 'Killing King Rolen's heir would make one of them look strong to the other warlords. It might be enough to unite them against us.'
'Why now?' Fyn asked.
'The balance of power is about to change,' Byren said, 'Lence is to be betrothed to the Merofynian kingsdaughter.'
'Buck teeth for sure,' Lence muttered, shaking his head.
Byren grinned, glad Lence was back to normal, even if it had taken an assassination attempt to cheer him up.
'I don't understand,' Fyn protested. 'Why does Lence have to marry a girl from the Merofynian royal family? We haven't had trouble from them since before mother and father — '
'No. But…' Byren glanced to Lence. He was being no help. 'But when mother's younger brother, King Sefon, died in mysterious circumstances — '
'He fell off his horse while hunting,' Fyn corrected.
'They found him with a broken neck in the forest and his horse walked back to the stables,' Byren countered. 'That was just over seven years ago. His death made mother the rightful heir to Merofynia. While Merofynia was having its war of succession, father could have invaded and claimed the crown in her name. We didn't and mother's cousin became king. King Merofyn the Sixth has no love for Rolencia but he does have a daughter. Marriage between second cousins, Lence and the kingsdaughter, will cement a shaky peace.'
'But why — '
'Enough history. You saved my life again, Byren.' Lence faced him, a grin on his lips, but a penetrating look in his eyes. 'Two minutes later and you'd be kingsheir right now.'
'No thanks needed.' Byren laughed, relieved. 'Besides, if I was kingsheir I'd have to marry your bucktoothed kingsdaughter!'
'That reminds me.' Lence grimaced. 'Duty calls. Come on.'
As they climbed the stairs to the bell tower, Byren rolled up the cockatrice cloak. It was one of the more common ones, a mix of brown, red and gold feathers, but still expensive. It meant whoever had sent the assassins had deep pockets.
He was aware of Fyn following quietly. Sometimes Fyn seemed so knowing, and other times he failed to understand the real world. That's what came of being reared by a pack of prayer-chanting monks.
Lence stopped on the top step. He glanced to the rolled-up cloak in Byren's hands. 'We'll have to tell them about the assassination attempt — '
'But we don't want the Merofynian ambassador knowing about our troubles with the warlords,' Byren anticipated. 'I'll hide the cloak to show father later.'
Lence nodded and went ahead.
After this close call, Byren wished he'd found Piro. In all probability, she was safe back at the castle playing with her foenix, but this escalation of violence would be one more thing to make their parents' eyes gleam with worry.
No wonder he'd never wanted to rule Rolencia!
Still shaky from walking in on the assassination attempt, Fyn followed his brothers into the chamber on the fifth floor of the bell tower, where their parents waited. Through the open doors, he could see the balcony and the roof tops of the grand merchant houses which framed Rolenton Square.
'There you are. What kept you?' his mother greeted them as she hurried over. 'Just look at you, Lence. Anyone would think you'd been fighting!'
As she folded Lence's ermine-edged cloak neatly over his shoulders, Lence rolled his eyes. Byren winked at Fyn, who did not understand how they could be so cool-headed. His heart still hammered.
'You do your father proud,' Queen Myrella said, arranging Lence's kingsheir emblem in the centre of his chest.
Lence brushed her hands away. 'Leave be, mother. I'm not six years old.'
She ignored him and stepped back, a fond smile on her face as she turned to Fyn and Byren. 'Let me look at my three boys.'
Lence and Byren were dressed in rich red and black, the royal colours, their cuffs trimmed with gold embroidery. Their vests were decorated with red garnets and black onyxes. Fyn wore only the simple saffron robe of an acolyte.
'They're fine, Myrella,' King Rolen assured her, linking his arm through hers. 'The ambassador will be here any moment. Where's Piro?'
The queen cast Byren a quick look. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head which Fyn caught. He held his tongue. Only he knew where Piro was, and he hoped she stayed safely hidden until all the acolytes left Ruin Isle.
'Oh, Rolen. I forgot to tell you. She had a sore throat so I told her to stay in bed,' his mother lied straight-faced, which surprised Fyn. Or perhaps Piro had pretended to have a sore throat. He wouldn't put it past her. She was such a minx.
Then he heard boots on the stairs. 'Here comes the Merofynian ambassador. '
He stepped aside as the elderly man entered, followed by several servants, among them a page boy who carried a small, gilt chest. They were all dressed in the height of Merofynian court fashion. Their sleeves were so long they would have dragged on the ground if they had not been pinned up with jewelled broaches. Fyn frowned. Were those real foenix feathers in their velvet hats? His father would not approve. King Rolen had tried to breed foenixes in captivity to restore their numbers.
'Ah, Lord Benvenute,' his mother greeted the ambassador. 'I see you brought the miniature of Isolt Kingsdaughter.'
'Welcome.' The king clapped the ambassador's shoulder and the man winced. 'Let's get this started.'
Then King Rolen took the queen's arm and they stepped out onto the balcony to enthusiastic cheering. It made Fyn's heart lift. The people of Rolencia were loyal, even if the warlords weren't.
Normally Lence would have gone next, but the ambassador followed before any of the kingsons. As the Merofynian king's representative, he ranked above them.
Standing out on the balcony in the crisp winter air, Fyn was suddenly aware of their vulnerability. Several good bowmen on the roof opposite could have wiped out the Rolencian royal family in a couple of heart beats.
Where was Piro? Was she safe?
His father held up his arms signalling for silence and the cheering died away. The king turned to the queen, lifting her hand, kissing it. They shared a private smile. It pleased Fyn to see them happy.
Rolen turned to the crowd. 'Rolencia has known many years of peace and prosperity since I was lucky enough to make Myrella Merofyn Kingsdaughter my queen.'
The crowd cheered again. From the level of noise they'd already been imbibing heavily. Hot honeyed mead for the farmers and best Rolencian red for the merchants and nobles. It was a festival, after all.
'Today we celebrate for a special reason,' King Rolen said, and the people grew quiet. 'Today, Lence Kingsheir will take Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter for his betrothed!'
The roar of approval deafened Fyn.
The ambassador turned to his page who opened the chest. From its azure velvet bed he took out a gold locket and opened it, holding it up for the crowd to see.
'Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter,' Ambassador Benvenute said. The crowd cheered again, though no one could have seen the miniature portrait when Fyn, who was only a body length away, could not see her face.
Fyn glanced to Lence. His brother looked grim. He'd made it clear how he felt about having to marry a girl he had never met. No doubt the artist had flattered King Merofyn's daughter. But even if she were beautiful, she was the daughter of a man who, if what Byren said was true, had come to the throne by murdering their mother's younger brother and defeating all other contenders. If the daughter was as ruthless as her father, poor Lence would never have an easy night's sleep!
'I am here in Isolt's place, to give her betrothal vows,' Benvenute said. He placed the locket in Lence's hand. The words of betrothal were said, and when the ceremony ended, Lence slipped the miniature over his head. It settled just above the foenix emblem. For the first time, Fyn saw those symbols as chains of servitude. His brothers had no more choice as to how they served Rolencia than he did. That reminded him, he still had to prove himself to the mystics master. But how? His stomach churned.