It was dusk and Byren's stomach rumbled. It was always rumbling. He was grateful for the food Fyn had slipped him.
From the insults the townsfolk had hurled at him, he knew Isolt married Palatyne tomorrow, legitimising the ambitious murderer's claim to the Merofynian crown. Meanwhile, Byren hung here in a cage, impotent.
It was getting dark. Over the wall, he heard the market hawkers offering the last of their wares at bargain prices. The smell of roast chicken carried to Byren, making his stomach cramp painfully.
'Half a dozen roast potatoes going a begging,' a hawker called, wheeling his barrow into the courtyard.
'Be off with yer,' the guard nearest the entrance told him.
'Have one on me and tell me if they're not the tastiest tatties you ever had? Here, I'll top it off with onion and bacon.'
Several more guards came over, lured by the smell and the offer of free food.
Byren's stomach tied itself in knots.
As the potato hawker opened his barrow doors to prepare the guards' food, a figure slipped out from under the barrow.
Byren recognised Orrade, who darted over, taking advantage of the twilight to shove a couple of hot potatoes into his hands. 'We make our move at the wedding. Be ready.'
Then he was gone, before Byren could ask if there had been news of Florin. He hoped not, no news was good news. He hugged the potatoes, letting them warm him from the outside, before eating them to warm his innards.
His heart raced. Tomorrow, they freed him. He was more than ready.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As Piro woke on the morning of the wedding, a brooding dreamscape faded, leaving her with a sense of menace. If it was a vision, it was hardly useful, since she had woken before she knew the details.
Untangling her legs from the bedclothes, she padded over to the door to Isolt's chamber. Her thigh muscles trembled as if she had been running all night. That triggered a memory of running in her dreams.
Opening the door to the next chamber, she checked on Isolt, who lay fast asleep on the silk sheets. Squares of early morning sunlight came through the balcony doors casting patterns across the floor and the bed. Everything looked safe and normal, but Piro knew otherwise.
She didn't need Tyro to tell her that today was a nexus point and her dream a warning. All day yesterday Isolt had been overrun with officious persons trying to arrange the marriage and coronation. There had been no sign of Lord Dunstany, although Palatyne's guards may have excluded him.
'What's the matter, Piro?' Isolt asked, sitting up, her cheek creased from the pillow.
'For someone who's about to marry a man she hates, you look to have slept well!'
'I'm not going to marry him. And if I do, I'll kill him on our wedding night, before he can touch me. So I'm not worried.'
Piro studied Isolt. Was she delusional or just desperate? Palatyne could easily overpower her.
'What's wrong?' Isolt asked.
'I had a dream,' Piro said.
'A vision?'
Piro nodded.
Isolt patted the bed. 'Come, tell me.'
Piro climbed onto the high bed. Leaning against the headboard, she set about diverting Isolt. 'Before Palatyne took my father's castle, I was troubled by dreams of wyverns prowling the corridors, terrorising servants and hunting me. This became reality when Palatyne's soldiers did just that. But this time…' And she had a dream flash so vivid, her whole body jerked with fright.
'What is it?' Isolt reached for her.
'I had to escape. A grown foenix stepped in front of me.' Piro shuddered. 'It had clever cruel eyes and it hated me. Terror filled me. I couldn't move.'
Isolt rubbed Piro's arms. 'Your skin's gone cold and clammy.'
Piro turned to her. 'Don't you see? If the wyverns represent Palatyne, then the foenix represents a threat from Rolencia. That means one of my brothers is a traitor!'
'No, Piro. I refuse to believe Fyn a traitor. As for — '
'Byren is the best of brothers. He'd never hurt me or Fyn,' Piro insisted. 'The dream makes no sense. If only I could ask Tyro.'
'Well, we'll see him soon enough. The wedding starts at noon.'
'But we'll be surrounded by courtiers, and the Utlander will be watching.' Just then there was a knock at the door.
'What is it?' Piro called.
'Breakfast. Fresh-baked apple tarts and cream, and hot chocolate.'
Piro slid off the bed, getting to her feet. She struggled to smile. 'Come, kingsdaughter, this is your wedding day, and my last day as your maid. I'll run your bath and scent it with starkiss perfume.'
Isolt wrinkled her nose. 'Wasted on Palatyne, I fear.' But she called for the servants to enter and set the table.
Fyn peered into the mirror. After painting his face with the traditional jester's white, he exaggerated his eyes, drawing his eyebrows as big arcs of surprise. Everything was going according to plan, if you ignored the fact that they had only the barest of plans.
'All set?' Tyro asked, entering the chamber.
'Yes.' Fyn turned as Orrade came to his feet. He wore unremarkable clothes, so he could blend in the crowd.
'Where will you be during all this?' Orrade asked Tyro.
'Hidden, watching.'
Orrade nodded. 'How will we see your signal?'
'Fyn will know.' Tyro dropped a large key in Fyn's hand. 'In that costume you'll be able to get close enough to Byren to unlock the cage and slide him this sword.' He drew the weapon from under his robe.
Orrade took the sword, testing its weight. 'You're a good judge. It feels just like Byren's old sword.' He laughed. 'Byren would say a man makes his own future.'
Tyro gave him a grim smile. 'And so he will, with a little help from us.'
Byren tensed as the guards came towards him. They carried buckets of water. Ice-cold, he did not doubt.
'Come to clean you up for the wedding,' his chief tormentor said. 'Can't have you stinking up Duke Palatyne's coronation.'
'Be King Palatyne by sunset,' another said. 'And about time too.'
'Palatyne can't be king while the old king lives,' Byren pointed out, then dredged up his mother's lessons on royal protocol. 'Kingsdaughter Isolt will be regent, and her husband becomes her consort.'
'Oh, he'll be king soon enough,' one guard said, with an exaggerated wink.
Before Byren could comment, they tossed the cold water over him. He shivered and shook himself like a dog as a horse dray was backed under the cage. The cage was lowered onto the dray and the horse walked the streets of Port Mero to the palace's terraced gardens overlooking the Landlocked Sea.
They left his cage on the dray, but released the horses, propping the dray in place. It was parked below the first terrace where the wedding would take place. He could just see through the balustrades of the terrace railings. At least he was in the sun and would soon dry off. Below him the terraces descended to the sea.
While Byren and his guards waited, most of the population of Port Mero and surrounding countryside filtered into the gardens, or sailed their boats across the Landlocked Sea to get a view of the proceedings.
Byren's stomach rumbled. One way or another he would not be hungry after today.
Piro tucked her hair behind her ears, to keep it out of the way while she did Isolt's. Though it was only late spring a summer storm brewed, nature reflecting the gathering of forces at this nexus point, and humid, oppressive heat hung over the city, as the sun neared the zenith.
For the wedding and coronation, Isolt wore an azure gown of Ostronite silk, gathered under the bust with a long train at the back. Her bodice was encrusted with zircons. Zircons also covered her crown, but for now, her hair needed to be done simply so that the crown could sit in place once she was made regent.
Piro gathered Isolt's long hair into a fine silver net and fastened it to a clip at the back of her neck. Sapphires hung from her ears. She looked perfect, but her face was a mask as she stared, hard-eyed, into the mirror.