'Ah, Byren Kingson,' she greeted him. 'I don't have a chamber to spare. I've already had to turn out half a dozen merchants for warlord Rejulas and Lence Kingsheir — '
'Lence? My brother's here? Where is he?' Byren repeated. Pretending to be a trifle drunk he raised his voice. 'Lence?'
'Lensh?' Garzik echoed, not having to pretend.
'Hush, Garza,' Orrade warned. Only he knew the real reason for their roistering.
The innkeeper glanced to the second door of the private chambers. Garzik interpreted her look and weaved over before Orrade could stop him. Flinging the door, Garzik revealed a crowded private room. The solid oak door shuddered on its hinges. A sudden silence filled the room.
At a glance Byren saw that Lence and Cobalt were at a table with the warlord himself, while two dozen Cockatrice men cast dice with Lence's honour guard.
'There he izh!' Garzik announced. 'Hey, Byren. I found Lensh. Want to come drinking with us, Lensh?'
Lence muttered something under his breath and sprang to his feet, striding towards them.
The innkeeper wisely hurried off, leaving Byren to face his irate brother. There was nothing for it. He had to carry on now.
'Lence!' Byren swung a friendly arm around his shoulders, his new ceremonial knife digging into his ribs. He wouldn't be able to draw in a hurry. Pretending to lurch drunkenly, he shifted to give himself access to the weapon. If there was nothing wrong he would look a fool, but he didn't care as long as his twin got home safe.
'What are you doing here?' Lence demanded.
Byren glanced at his friends, who had wandered into the room and were laying bets on the outcome of the dice. Tankards were being passed around. Orrade tried to intercept Garzik before he took one, without success. Rejulas's men seemed to have overcome their enmity, though they were quick to raise a bet and mutter an oath. For all that it appeared a friendly scene, Byren could sense a lot of tension even from this quick jumble of impressions.
'What are you doing, Byren?' Lence repeated.
'Why, we're celebrating of course! Can't celebrate your betrothal without you.' Blinking owlishly, Byren fixed on Rejulas as he joined them. He went to pat Rejulas on the shoulder but missed and clutched at him to steady himself. Leaning closer, he spoke secretively. 'As for you, you made a lucky escape. Our sister's no angel, more like a cockatrice. All smiles one moment, spitting poison the next. But maybe that's the kind of woman you fancy, coming from Cockatrice Spar!' He went off into a peal of laughter.
Cobalt's eyes narrowed, but Rejulas obviously decided he was too drunk to take offence and laughed along with him.
Lence looked disgusted. Of them all, he should have known Byren would never jeopardise an alliance.
Byren sensed Cobalt watching him closely and was careful not to let his cousin catch his eye.
'So let's share a drink!' Byren linked an arm around Lence and Rejulas's shoulders and stumbled towards the small table, away from the dicers. A single lamp illuminated this end of the room. Three tankards and a scrap of scribbled paper lay on the table. 'What're you drinking?'
He swooped a hand down to grab the empty tankard and sniff it, while trying to see what was written on the back of a torn broadsheet, the sort that advertised minstrels. But before he could make sense of it, Cobalt swept the table clean as though the paper had only been rubbish and called for more hot mead.
Byren spun a tavern chair around and dropped his weight onto it, hearing it creak in protest. Even though he sprawled his forearms on the back of the chair, he made sure his knife was free of obstruction and his back was to the wall.
'Yes, a toast to your betrothal, Lence Kingsheir,' Rejulas said. 'Or would you prefer Rolencian red?'
'No more drinking,' Lence objected. 'Byren's had quite enough. I should get him back to Rolenhold.'
That was what Byren wanted, but it wouldn't look right if he agreed too easily.
'Can't go back yet, not without celebrating,' he objected. 'Just one tankard and then we'll go.' He fixed on Rejulas. 'So are you coming for the Jubilee? Going to give little Piro another chance? If you take my advice — '
'We don't need your advice, Byren,' Lence spoke up quickly. 'Rejulas has agreed to come back to the castle tonight and renew his vow of fealty. It was all a misunderstanding, caused by a thoughtless, spoilt brat.'
Piro was no spoilt brat, but Byren let this pass for now. He lurched out of the chair and extended his arm across the table towards Rejulas. 'Then let me be the first to — '
He deliberately overbalanced and fell under the table. Where was that scrap of paper? His hand closed over it, just as Lence reached under and hauled him upright. Cobalt was still watching him. Did their cousin see through this act?
Better get out quick.
Byren let Lence take his weight. Clutching his stomach to hide the paper tucked in his hand, he groaned. 'Don't feel so good, Lensh.'
'That's all I need!' Lence muttered.
'I'll take him home,' Orrade said quickly, joining them.
'Yes, take him home,' Cobalt urged. Byren could hear the unspoken, 'before he can do any more damage' and bristled, even though this was exactly what he wanted.
'I should go back to Rolenhold now, swear my fealty oath,' Rejulas said. He stood and signalled his men.
Lence called for the innkeeper.
Byren had to keep up with the pretence of being a nauseous drunk, while the rest of the party gathered and Lence borrowed a carriage to take him back to Rolenhold. Rejulas called for their horses, intending to follow with his men.
Lence helped Orrade lift Byren into the carriage, none too gently. He sprawled in a dark corner as Orrade sat opposite him.
'What possessed you, Byren?' Lence demanded from the doorway. 'You know how important Rejulas's support is. It's just as well I'd already won him over. Your stupid behaviour has gone a long way towards undoing the good I've done!'
Byren said nothing. Lence should have known better. Cobalt hardly knew him and even he'd been suspicious. Byren wanted to justify himself but if he revealed the ruse now it would only make Lence furious. Seething, Byren remained silent.
'Well?' Lence demanded.
Byren produced an effective snore.
Lence swore. 'Get him to bed, Orrie.'
He slammed the door and walked off.
Orrade said nothing until the carriage began to rattle over the cobbles.
'Well, what did it say?' Orrade prodded.
'What?' Byren muttered, still fuming. Usually it was he who helped Lence to bed after a night of too much drinking.
'The paper you grabbed from under their table.'
'Eh?' Byren sat up. 'Did anyone else notice?'
'I doubt it. You should have been a player, Byren.'
He grinned and pulled the crumpled paper out from inside his vest. By the silvery starlight coming through the window, he and Orrade tried to interpret the drawings. It seemed to be a scribbled map of Cockatrice Spar in relation to Rolenhold, with the major estates, roads and canals marked. It had been drawn with smudged charcoal and was hard to interpret, with arrows and splotches that may have represented fighting men on the march.
'They were discussing strategy,' Orrade said.
'Working on the best way to defend Rolencia,' Byren agreed. His twin had been safe all along, looking out for Rolencia's future. Perhaps tomorrow, when Lence cooled down, he'd reveal the subterfuge and they'd laugh over it.
He rubbed his knee which still ached from the impact after Lence had shoved him into the carriage. Then again… perhaps he would never reveal the ruse.
'You'll have to go straight to bed,' Orrade said. 'I'll return to the great hall, let you know how it goes.'
'Huh?' Byren had made himself look a fool in front of Lence, Cobalt and Rejulas, and was beginning to regret it.