Palatyne rose to meet them, going around the table to inspect their trophy as they laid the body of the imposter kingsdaughter at his feet. The noble scholar joined him, kneeling to inspect the body.
'Broken neck. Her nose was broken first,' Dunstany said softly in Merofynian.
'I don't care how she died,' Palatyne announced dismissively.
Piro huddled against the edge of the fireplace, letting her hair fall over her tear-streaked face, tucking her clean toes under her skirt hem.
'Where is the emblem?' Palatyne demanded in Merofynian.
The nearest man fumbled, feeling around the dead girl's neck until he pulled off the royal pendant and presented it to his overlord. 'Here it is, my lord.'
'And here's the queen's Keys of Office.' Dunstany undid the waist sash to remove them. With a twitch of the skirt he straightened the supposed kingsdaughter's gown. Piro whispered a prayer of thanks to Halcyon, goddess of luck, for the gown was a fraction too long and covered the maidservant's grubby feet.
Dunstany tossed the keys to Palatyne, who caught and pocketed them, well satisfied. Then he hung the royal emblem around his neck, where it settled with the others on his chest. He sent the men off to collect their reward and perched on the table, swinging one leg.
The Utland Power-worker rejoined the overlord's party, pausing to inspect the supposed kingsdaughter.
'So this is Pirola Myrella Queensdaughter?' he muttered, glancing down at her. 'This one might have been useful alive. What can one little girl do?'
'You saw what the mother was capable of, and her hardly able to lift that sword.' Palatyne drained his wine. 'What of Cobalt? Will he live?'
This made Piro wonder why Palatyne suffered Cobalt to live if he believed one of King Rolen's kin would be his downfall, or did the stain of illegitimacy that had kept Cobalt's father from inheriting the throne, save Cobalt?
'I've done what I can for him,' the Utlander said. 'Only time will tell.'
'That's what I hate about you Power-workers, never a straight answer,' Palatyne growled, but he was in too good a mood to dwell on this. 'Fill your goblet.'
Topping up his own goblet with fine Rolencian wine, he lifted it in a toast. 'To King Rolen's kin, may they all be dead by nightfall!'
The Utland Power-worker echoed the toast, as did the noble scholar and the warriors, who Palatyne had favoured with a place at the high table. Among them, Piro saw battle-hardened faces, men she guessed had been with the overlord since his days on Amfina Spar. She had expected to see the young lords of the great families of Merofynia, but there were none. Surely the great families of Merofynia had not sent Palatyne off to crush Rolencia without making sure their sons had a share of the booty and glory?
'More wine!' Palatyne called. 'If there's one thing Rolencia can do right, it's make a good red!'
His men cheered and one leapt to his feet to offer a toast to Palatyne's clever strategy. The overlord grinned and accepted the adulation as his right. All the while, he stood over the dead girl's body as though she were nothing more than a farm animal.
Piro shuddered. Not far from her, the servants huddled together, whispering and weeping. No one looked her way. There were some amongst them who, if they'd bothered to take a good look at the dead girl's bloodied face, would have realised she wasn't Piro.
She felt herself under observation and saw Halcyon's healer speaking with Seela, both turning away quickly. Piro's heart seemed to miss a beat. The healer and her old nurse would not give her away, but would the rest of the castle's servants remain loyal?
It would take only one slip to reveal her deception. Anxiously, Piro studied those who served their new masters. Perhaps they were too busy to notice one dishevelled serving girl. Perhaps they avoided looking at the body, which was just a heap of red velvet and dark hair. Or perhaps they wished to see Overlord Palatyne tricked, for no one spoke up. No one wanted to share the fate of the queen and the spit-turner.
That reminded Piro. She looked, but there was no sign of their bodies, only a stained patch on the stones.
Palatyne stood and gestured to the body at his feet. 'Get rid of this. It's putting me off my roast!'
His men laughed as if this was impossible, and Palatyne enjoyed their reaction. He didn't bother to return to his chair, but sat himself on the table and grabbed a turkey leg, tearing into it.
'There is still the other kingson, my lord,' the Utland Power-worker said, his voice carrying in a lull. Piro realised that since they did not expect anyone to speak Merofynian, they felt free to talk strategy in front of the servants.
'The abbey will have fallen by now.' Palatyne grinned wolfishly and gestured to the Utlander. 'I expect your brother to bring me Fyn Kingson's emblem by tomorrow night.'
Piro's vision blurred. Fyn, dead? Impossible. How could the abbey fall when it was protected by the warrior monks?
'What of the one that escaped?' the Utlander asked.
Lence had escaped? That meant the emblem was Byren's. Palatyne had said not to worry about him. Piro's heart sank. Remorse lanced her. How could she wish for Byren's survival when it meant Lence's death?
'He's probably hiding in the mountains with what remains of that estate's people,' Palatyne jeered. 'King of a pig pen!'
His men laughed and clapped, for in Merofynian it was not only an alliteration, but rhymed as well. Piro shivered. He was clever, this overlord, and quickwitted. And she still didn't know which twin lived, although she thought it was Lence.
'See, Dunstany, I make my own fate!' Palatyne lifted his goblet to the noble scholar.
Dunstany tipped his head in silent acknowledgement to his overlord, while the Utland Power-worker smiled, pleased to see his rival mocked.
The noise level rose as the wine flowed and the men celebrated. Piro's head began to thump with their shouting. The remaining captive servants seem to have been forgotten.
A man hurried between the gilt-edged columns, radiating self-importance as he crossed the hall. He bowed to Palatyne and waited until the overlord indicated he was to speak.
'We've found King Rolen's trophy room, my lord. Treasures that — '
'Take me there.' Palatyne swung his legs to the floor and strode off, passing within touching distance of Piro, who felt the wind of his passage on her hands as she hugged her knees. Since she had been living hand to mouth, her nails were bitten down to the quick and matched her disguise.
Half a dozen of Palatyne's warriors and the Utland Power-worker hurried past.
Lord Dunstany was the last. As he approached Piro, the healer waylaid him. On the edge of her vision Piro sensed old Seela watching them closely.
'Your pardon, Lord Dunstany,' she said in Rolencian. 'I am a healer. I should be treating the injured. May I take my servant and go?' She gestured to Piro.
The noble scholar glanced in Piro's direction.
Silently thanking the healer for her quick wits, Piro scrambled to her feet and bobbed a quick bow, head bowed. She hardly dared to breathe.
A quick glance told her Dunstany frowned, his dark eyes on her. She stared at the hem of his robe. All she could see was his muddied boots, buckled around the ankle Merofynian-style. Piro could feel waves of power exuding from him like heat from a furnace. He might be an educated noble but he was also a Power-worker, and he terrified her.
'You forget you are captives of war. Slaves. Go back to your place, healer. The overlord will assign you to serve someone.'
The healer backed off as Seela cast Piro a quick warning glance. Piro sat down again, hugging her knees. This was not so bad. As a common slave, she could escape and run away to the mountains where she could find Lence, if it was he who had survived. Tears stung her eyes. She brushed them away, furious. She had no time for weakness.
Lord Dunstany walked off but had only gone a dozen paces when he returned and stood over Piro, blocking her view of the rest of the hall. She dared one quick look.
'I have need of a slave. Stand.' He held out one hand twisted by the bone-ache.
As he pulled Piro to her feet, she felt the strength in his arm. Then she cursed, for her gesture had been that
