Piro hovered a step behind Isolt, who squared her shoulders as though determined not to be brow-beaten.
'I see you have returned with my little bird,' Palatyne greeted the Utlander, clearly pleased. 'We will have to make sure the cage doors are secured this time.'
'Rescuing the bird was easier than I thought. On his own isle the mage thought himself invincible,' the Power-worker boasted. 'A mistake I would never make.'
Palatyne downed his tankard and called one of the warriors over, paying him off with a bag of gold. As soon as the man and his companions left, the duke called an unsavoury-looking man from the room beyond and whispered something to him. He nodded, following the other warrior out.
Piro and Isolt exchanged another uneasy glance. They both suspected the warriors would not live to tell how they had kidnapped Palatyne's reluctant bride. The duke did not want to be the laughing stock of Merofynia.
'To my bride and her trophy maid.' Palatyne came to his feet, lifting a fresh tankard. 'Welcome home, my pretties.'
Isolt gave him a distant, queenly bow. 'I thank you, Duke Palatyne. Without your help I might never have escaped the mage. My father will be most grateful.'
'I heard Mage Tsulamyth presented you to the elector as his companion, not captive,' the duke countered. To Piro he appeared amused by Isolt's tone, but if he were truly secure in his power, he would not feel the need to assert his authority.
'The mage is a great Power-worker. I did not dare to make a move while I was in his clutches,' Isolt replied swiftly. 'I wish to see my father. I have been most concerned for his health.'
Piro bit her bottom lip to hide a smile, for it was the prim kingsdaughter talking now, not the Isolt she knew.
'Understandably, kingsdaughter.' Palatyne shared a look with the Utlander. 'But I must warn you, you will find your father changed. The healers fear his mind is going. He dreams of wyverns stalking him and screams so much in his sleep that he can hardly talk the next day. It has become so bad, he refuses to fall asleep. The healers have been giving him dreamless-sleep to ease his mind.'
'Then I must go the palace, immediately,' Isolt insisted, growing just a little agitated. Even though King Merofyn was a cunning, ruthless man, Isolt loved him. Piro supposed it was evidence of her good heart. She didn't think she could have been so forgiving.
'He will be better for seeing me,' Isolt said.
'Let us hope so.' Palatyne bowed, eyes gleaming maliciously. 'If you will excuse me, I will finish my meal. Do you care to join me?'
Isolt shook her head. Piro swallowed and ignored the rumbling of her stomach.
He sat down, sawing off a hunk of meat. Recalling his insistence on using a food taster in Rolencia, Piro realised Palatyne must trust his own cook. Could she use that against him in some way?
Then she noticed the unistag horn lying next to his plate as though it was nothing more than another knife, and not a rare and valuable Affinity tool. So that was where Byren's unistag horn had ended up. He'd given it to Lence, to present to King Merofyn, who went in dread of poison. Well, it explained Palatyne's lack of a food taster, for the pure white horn would discolour if the food it touched was corrupted.
'Take a seat.' The duke waved a hand to the other chairs. 'When I'm ready, I will escort you myself.'
Isolt gave a gracious bow. 'You are too kind, Duke Palatyne. But I will not break my fast until I have seen Father.'
She nodded to Piro and they retreated to the window seats, where Isolt gave her a tight smile. Piro squeezed her hand. She dared not speak in front of Palatyne and the Utlander, but the king's suffering sounded very much like what Fyn had suffered from. She suspected the dreamless-sleep was making King Merofyn susceptible to hallucinations planted by the Utlander, hallucinations designed to rob him of his reason and the support of the nobles.
It was cruel but clever. A kingdom needed a king who was in his right mind.
By the time Palatyne and the Utlander were finished destroying King Merofyn's credibility, the people would be eager for the duke to take over.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Fyn stood on the deck of the Wyvern's Whelp as the boat was made fast to Port Mero wharf. She flew a Merofynian merchant ship's flag.
Once ashore, Tyro headed for Lord Dunstany's grand town house, striding off up the street, followed by a servant carrying the foenix in a covered cage. The wyvern would follow in a closed crate, later. Lastly came Fyn. His head had been shaved to reveal the abbey tattoos.
Servants opened the gate to the courtyard, greeting Tyro by name, and explaining that Lord Dunstany was not presently at home. He arranged for 'Monk Sunseed,' as he introduced Fyn, to be housed in the mage's regular chambers, then left, with the news that Lord Dunstany would be arriving presently.
Not twenty minutes later, Lord Dunstany arrived with his travelling bags and, after going to his chambers, sent for Fyn to welcome him. Fyn was there in the background as one of Lord Dunstany's spies reported that Isolt and her maid had been seen disembarking that morning. They had been escorted to Duke Palatyne's mansion and, as yet, had not come out. Meanwhile, the captured Rolencian king had been hanging in the square outside the palace for several days now, and the spy had arranged for food to reach him once a day.
'But they doubled the guards, after someone was caught talking to him during the night.' The plump middle-aged man, who looked like a friendly baker, sniffed in disapproval. 'That person made it much harder for us to reach him.'
'Who was it?'
'Had to be one of King Byren's supporters. The local people hate him. Palatyne has them convinced he hid while his family were killed, then tried to take the crown for himself.'
Fyn stiffened, but said nothing.
Lord Dunstany thanked the spy, then dismissed him and stared out the window at the Landlocked Sea, which sparkled under the midday sun.
Even though Fyn knew Lord Dunstany was Tyro, a youth not much older than Byren, the greying hair and dignified bearing made Fyn instinctively treat Dunstany with the respect due a grandfather. And he caught himself waiting for Lord Dunstany to speak.
Reminding himself, yet again, that it was only Tyro, Fyn paced. Byren was safe for the moment. It was Isolt he worried about. 'If only I could get inside Palatyne's mansion.'
Dunstany pulled a bag out from under his desk and tossed it to Fyn. 'With the contents of this bag you can go anywhere.'
Fyn caught it eagerly, opened the drawstring and sniffed. 'Grease paint?'
'Player's make-up, but we can disguise the smell. From candle maker to tanner, every trade has a smell.'
'Then I can get into Palatyne's mansion, but how will I get Isolt and Piro out again?'
'He will bring them out and deliver them to us. I have spies in the palace. This morning I want you to reach your brother.'
'Right. I'll free him and — '
'No. Give him food and water. We'll free him when the moment is ripe.'
'Why not now?'
Tyro studied him. Fyn tried to see the mage's agent, behind Lord Dunstany's disguise, but failed. 'Do you trust me, Fyn?'
That was a difficult question. It was not in Fyn's nature to lie. 'To a certain extent.'
Tyro smiled grimly. 'Then trust me on this. It is not enough to free your brother. Palatyne has convinced the people that Byren is a coward. To defeat Palatyne, we must restore Byren's reputation and win over the people of Merofynia.'
Byren's stomach rumbled. Since Orrade came two nights ago, the guard had been doubled and only one food parcel had reached him. He longed for a wash, a shave and a change of clothes. Above him bees hummed, busy in the flowers of the linden tree. The blossoms' scent made the air fragrant and reminded him that summer's cusp was drawing close.