Over near the fountain, the guards chattered and laughed, their voices a fraction too loud. From the market beyond the wall, Byren registered a subtle change of tone, a suppressed excitement mingled with bravado. He pressed against the bars of his cage, trying to make out individual words from the marketplace. Could Orrade be making his move?
'Ready for your bath?' Three guards approached with buckets of ice-cold water. 'After all, we don't want you stinking up the palace courtyard.'
As they tossed the first bucket of water over him, Byren opened his mouth to get a gulp of fresh water. It was so cold he gasped.
'Not with the kingsdaughter due back today,' the next guard said, as a second bucket hit Byren full in the face. 'Can't have your stench offending her pretty nose.'
Byren flicked water from his hair and eyes.
'Rescued her, Palatyne did, all the way from Ostron Isle. Bet those merchants didn't know what hit them!' The third bucket sluiced over him and the guards marched off, their duty done.
Byren shivered, creeping to the far corner of the cage where a patch of sunlight filtered through the tree's canopy. The dappled spring sun hardly warmed him. But now he understood why the market bubbled with repressed excitement, and why the guards were so edgy.
Soon he would see the young woman Lence had been betrothed to, the young woman who, despite anything Palatyne might say, was legally betrothed to him. She would ride by in a gilt carriage, while he hung in a cage. If he was lucky, she probably wouldn't even look at him.
Dressed as a beggar, wearing a moth-eaten wig, Fyn limped through the crowd, leaning heavily on a staff. People jostled him, eager to see Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter pass by. They spoke of how she had been rescued by Duke Palatyne, who swore revenge on the wicked mage and arrogant elector for this insult to Merofynia.
If Palatyne was planning to invade Ostron Isle, as Tyro had suggested, he had primed the people well.
Mingling with the crowd, Fyn worked his way into the courtyard, where Byren's cage was suspended from the branches of a huge linden tree. A long avenue of these trees led across the courtyard to the palace steps.
Bored with waiting, people had gathered around the cage, throwing rubbish through the bars. Guards looked on, enjoying the sport. Byren huddled in the far corner, shielding his face. His clothes were tattered, his hair in tangles, his face half-hidden by a beard. He seemed utterly beaten and dejected.
But he was alive, and Fyn's heart leapt with fierce joy. While the Merofynians taunted Byren, he kept his eyes down, waiting for the right moment.
'She comes!' someone cried. 'The kingsdaughter comes!'
The crowd rushed to see, including Byren's tormentors. For a few moments the guards were also distracted. Fyn drew out food and a water-skin from under his rags. Before he could approach, another beggar pulled a knife from his rags and rushed towards the cage. Fyn intercepted him, grabbing the knife, twisting his wrist, and only just preventing himself from breaking the assassin's wrist as he recognised Orrade.
'Orrie?'
'Orrie?' Byren echoed, having come to the very edge of the cage. 'And Fyn?'
All the while, people cheered and called out to the Merofynian kingsdaughter. Fyn released Orrade and helped him to his feet. 'I thought — '
'I came to free Byren.'
'We can't — '
'Fyn, I thought you dead.' Byren's eyes gleamed with unshed tears and he reached through the cage to catch Fyn's arm, pulling him into a hug.
Fyn thrust the food in through the bars. 'Take this.'
Byren accepted the food. Meanwhile, Orrade put his knife to the cage lock, trying to pry it open.
Fyn glanced over his shoulder. Any moment now, the guard could look this way. 'Put the knife away, Orrie.'
'Not on your life. I'm setting Byren free. I may not have another chance.'
'We can't free him yet. It must be done right.' Fyn saw Orrade did not understand. 'If we free Byren now, the people of Merofynia will always believe him a coward.'
Orrade stiffened. 'I've heard what they're saying. It's not true.'
'I know. But it is what they believe. There's a better way,' Fyn said, hoping Tyro would prove him right. He was very aware of Byren's gaze on his face, weighing what he'd said. 'Trust me.'
'What better way?' Orrade asked.
Fyn hesitated.
'I'm ready,' Byren said. 'I'm stronger than I've made out. Someone's been slipping me food — '
'I know,' Fyn said. 'That's Lord Dunstany's doing. I'm working with him to free you. But not just yet. It must be done in such a way that it clears your name.'
'How?' Orrade persisted.
'Yes, how?' Byren muttered. 'I must admit it eats at me to be called a traitor.'
Fyn reached through the bars to squeeze Byren's hand. 'We'll get you out and save your name. Don't give up hope.'
Byren grinned. 'Not with you two come back from the dead.'
Fyn noticed the cheering had lessened. 'We must go.'
Orrade hesitated.
'Go with Fyn.' Byren jerked his head.
'Here, what's going on?' a guard demanded.
Fyn stepped back, rattling his staff on the cage, yelling abuse at the prisoner. Orrade followed his lead, while Byren hastily hid the food and water under his clothing.
Fyn blended into the crowd, Orrade one step behind him.
'I hope you know what you're doing, Fyn. Who is this Lord Dunstany and why is he helping Byren?' Orrade asked.
'You'll see.' Fyn kept walking, weaving his way across the square towards the palace. He had to get a glimpse of Isolt. All about him, people spoke of her innocence and beauty.
'With the old king fading we'll need a new king,' a sensible matron told her companion.
'So true. We can't have war in Rolencia and the merchants of Ostron Isle encouraging sea-hounds to rob our ships. We need a strong king to look after our rights,' her companion agreed. 'Palatyne can marry Isolt and claim the throne with my blessing!'
The matron nodded.
'Stay near me, Orrie.' Fyn worked his way to the palace steps, to where he could see Isolt and the royal party. It was relatively easy. No one wanted to get too close to a couple of smelly beggars.
'Is that Piro?' Orrade whispered. 'What's she doing with the Merofynian kingsdaughter?'
'I'll explain later.' Fyn's heart turned over as Isolt walked up the broad steps to the entrance, where King Merofyn waited. Fyn could only think of him as the usurper, Uncle Sefon's murderer. He could still hear his mother's voice, Poor little Sefon. He'd been a boy of two when she was sent to Rolencia, and he had always remained that little boy in her mind.
King Merofyn sat on a litter, with a blanket over his knees. Isolt gave a cry and ran up the last few steps to him, throwing her arms around the king's shoulders.
The people cheered. Fyn's throat felt tight. He knew that Isolt had good reason not to love her father, yet she did. It did not mean she was weak, only good-hearted.
Palatyne drew Isolt's arm through his and turned her around to wave to the crowd. Then he led her inside. Piro followed behind the king.
At least Piro and Isolt were safe for now. Tyro, as Lord Dunstany, was waiting for them inside the palace.
Satisfied that there was nothing more he could do for them or Byren, Fyn turned to make his way back towards Dunstany's mansion. 'So how did you get here, Orrie?'
'A farmer took me in and sewed up my leg. I heard they had Byren and tried to reach Port Marchand in time to save him, but I was too late, so I took passage on a ship and followed. What of you? Last I heard, you tried to hold the gate. We thought you dead.'
'I looked dead. That's what saved me. My sea-hounds realised I was Affinity-wounded and stole my body. They took me back to their ship. Where are you staying? We'll get your things.'
'I don't have any things. I've been sleeping in the streets.' A grin creased Orrade's thin face. 'This isn't a costume.'