His bitter words made Byren grit his teeth. 'You've already saved your mam and Tikhon, and led six Merofynians to their deaths. What other boy your age has done so much?'
Vadik looked surprised.
Judging the moment right, Byren sought Orrade's eyes, finding unwanted admiration and affection there. With a nod, Byren sent them off. His friend urged the horse out onto the track.
Byren watched them go, thinking that kiss had been a mistake. But he'd thought he was dying.
Only he hadn't, he'd lived. And now Orrade wasn't the friend who'd protected Byren's back since they were fourteen… well he was, but he was also a potential danger. If Byren's honour guard knew Orrade was a follower of Palos, the legendary warlord and lover of men, they would assume Byren was also one. They'd lose faith in him. He'd never retake Rolencia and avenge the murder of his family.
'War is a cruel thing,' Seela muttered. 'No respecter of age or goodness of heart. I'd hoped my little Myrella's sacrifice would bring an end to all this.'
Hearing his mother described as 'little Myrella' struck Byren as odd, but then Seela had been his mother's nurse, accompanying her from Merofynia, when she was sent as a child bride to ensure the peace after the last war.
The midwinter just gone, his parents had celebrated thirty years of peace, while hoping for another thirty with Lence's betrothal to the new kingsdaughter. Now his parents and Lence were dead, Fyn was missing and Piro… little Piro had been enslaved and sent to Merofynia. He only hoped she reined in her temper and kept her tongue between her teeth. But when had she ever done that?
Byren gathered the reins of the remaining horses and swung into the saddle of the largest. There wasn't a horse big enough to carry him easily. He would have to rotate mounts.
So much rested on him, the second son, the spare heir. He'd never wanted the crown, never thought he would have to right the wrongs of his generation.
Chapter Two
Merofynia
Piro had never expected to return to her mother's home as a slave. Breath misting, she gripped the ship's rail and stared at Port Mero, painted in dawn shades of grey, gleaming only where early workers had lit lamps.
Her skin prickled with foreboding and she did not need to turn around to know that the little Utland Power-worker approached. His smell was enough to warn her, that and the waves of Affinity, which rolled off him like cold off an icy forge.
Now she wished Lord Dunstany had not gone down to his cabin. There was bad blood between the two Power-workers.
'You're just like him,' the Utlander whispered, hate making his voice thick and tight. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, to outward appearances a friendly gesture.
But Piro felt his fingers dig into her body, while his power burrowed into her Affinity, cold tendrils seeking the source of her power, seeking to steal it, just as he had stolen her mother's essence when she died, sealing it in the stone on the end of the staff that never left his side.
She tensed, shoring up her defences. During this last year, she'd built walls to keep her Affinity a secret from the abbeys' monks and nuns, and she had been safe. But the walls had never had to withstand an assault like this. Her body locked up, refusing to move as she bit down on her bottom lip and strained to keep him out.
'You think you're clever, but I won't be beaten by a pampered Merofynian noble and his pretty little spy. I know Dunstany's given you to Overlord Palatyne as a bride-gift for Isolt Kingsdaughter. I know you're a spy and I've warned Palatyne. You won't — '
'I see you've come on deck to catch a glimpse of Mount Mero, too. Poets have written odes to the dawn sun on these slopes,' Lord Dunstany said, as his hand came down to settle on Piro's other shoulder.
She felt a wave of warmth emanate from the noble scholar and roll through her, driving out the creeping cold of the Utlander. Her knees quivered. Nausea rode up her throat. She swallowed, but failed to keep it down. With a moan, she lurched forwards to retch over the side of the boat.
She shuddered, emptying her stomach in involuntary spasms. At last, she straightened up, wiping her chin on the back of her hand. Since she hadn't had breakfast there hadn't been much to bring up.
'I see your slave still suffers from sea-sickness,' the Utlander observed.
'I see what my slave suffers from,' Dunstany said, voice thin and stretched with fury. His hand rubbed in gentle circles between her shoulder blades. 'Hurt her and you hurt me.'
The Utlander stiffened, the bones woven into his waist-length plait clicking. Piro risked a look.
The Utlander's tilted eyes narrowed. 'What is she to you, Dunstany? By tonight she will be Palatyne's to use as he wishes.'
She felt the noble scholar's hand fall away from her. He'd had no choice but to gift her to the overlord. Palatyne planned to present her to King Merofyn's daughter, as a prize of war, a seven-year slave. Lord Dunstany, try as he might, could not protect her.
A smile parted the Utlander's thin lips, but it did not reach his narrow, sunken eyes. Satisfied, he slipped away.
Piro waited until he was out of hearing. 'He hates you. Why?'
'I wish I knew.' Dunstany sounded tired, as though keeping the Utlander out had cost him more than he liked to admit. 'I fear I haven't done you any favours, Seelon.'
Piro was so used to answering to her assumed name, she didn't even blink. And she knew what Dunstany meant. 'It's even worse. The Utlander told Palatyne I will be spying for you.'
'The overlord's no fool. He could figure that out for himself. But he underestimates women. He thinks Isolt will agree to be his biddable wife but he's very much mistaken.'
'She was betrothed to Lence Kingsheir,' Piro said. Lence was the one brother she was certain was dead, as Seela had heard from Byren and no one knew where Fyn was. A ferocious protective surge warmed Piro as she prayed, yet again, for his safety.
'Oh, Isolt knows her duty,' Dunstany said. 'But there is a world of difference between King Rolen's heir, a youth who was as sturdy and reliable as his father, and a jumped-up spar warlord who seeks to make himself emperor of the known world.'
His description of Lence and her father brought tears to Piro's eyes. As far as Dunstany knew, she was a palace servant with a touch of Affinity. If he discovered who she really was, would he use her as a tool to further his own goals?
She rather suspected he would. Despite herself, she liked him, but she had no illusions.
Going over to the water barrel, she took a mug to rinse her mouth and spat it over the side. She still felt shaky from the confrontation. How was she to survive in the Merofynian palace, if she could not protect herself from one Utlander Power-worker? According to her father's spies, King Merofyn surrounded himself with renegade Power-workers in his quest to prolong his life.
The sun's first rays had reached Mount Mero's snow-tipped peak, making it glisten a rich salmon-pink, but below that everything was still shrouded in shades of grey. Lamps gleamed on Port Mero's docks.
She returned to Dunstany's side as the overlord's ship — first in a convoy of eight, laden with stolen bounty from Rolencia — made its way towards the Port. The sea-hounds, four ships of fierce sea-warriors who had accompanied the convoy to fight off Utland raiders, still patrolled like anxious sheepdogs, only now they were anxious to collect their payment.
Piro could make out the still water stretching far ahead of them. It curved around the base of Mount Mero, reflecting the peak with hardly a ripple. It was a pretty sight but, privately, she thought this mountain did not compare with Mount Halcyon.
The two kingdoms were like mirror images, but there were differences. The fertile valley of Rolencia was dotted with five deep lakes, linked by canals, while in the centre of Merofynia's fertile valley lay a small inland sea which lapped at the far side of Mount Mero. Nearly two hundred years ago, the Landlocked Sea had been linked to Mero Bay by the Grand Canal, a feat of engineering the Merofynians were inordinately proud of.