Dismay flooded Piro. She did not want to leave Rolencia. Should she steal the amber pendant, sneak into the overlord's bedroom tonight and kill him, and stow away on a sled-boat back to Rolenton?
Lord Dunstany caught her eye as he stood. His gaze held a warning. It seemed he was always one step ahead of her. The pendant never left his neck, even when he slept.
Piro fought a yawn. Freezing Sylion, she was tired. At least she didn't have to listen to Soterro's snores. He and the cook were already in bed in the servants' quarters. During the journey, Lord Dunstany had kept her with him as if she really was his page. He had even told Soterro and the cook to call her Seelon, the male version of her assumed name.
Lord Dunstany was fastidious, to the point of being prim. He wouldn't let her help dress him and had insisted she dress behind a screen. Then he had closed his bed curtains, telling her not to disturb him. In truth he had seemed exhausted. If it hadn't been for the amber pendant, Piro would have taken the chance to escape before this. Instead, she had slept on the floor at the foot of his bed like a dutiful page.
Thankfully, the noble scholar made no attempt to use her as she had first feared. She believed this was because of his weariness and ill health. His joints were swollen with the bone-ache. This morning she had seen him fumble while trying to open the stopper of a glass jar, so she had taken it from him, and rubbed healing oils on his knuckles. Her old nurse would have done as much for someone in pain.
That was the last quiet moment she'd had all day. Overlord Palatyne made everyone uneasy. He was quick to anger and slow to forgive. Accompanying the noble scholar while he served Palatyne was exhausting.
Now Piro looked forward to her warm bed, as she followed the Merofynians up a flight of stairs and along a corridor to the best chambers, which looked out from the hilltop mansion over Port Marchand. She almost trod on Lord Dunstany's long robe when Palatyne drew up suddenly.
'For all his talk of profit before politics, I still mistrust that merchant, not to mention that Ostronite sea-hound captain,' Palatyne muttered and gestured to the Power-workers. 'Take a look in my chamber, see if you can sense a threat.'
The Utlander thrust the door open and strode in, staring about violently. Lord Dunstany followed. Piro peered in. It was a large chamber, with tall windows shrouded by thick curtains to keep out the cold. A fire burned in the grate and Ostronite carpets decorated the floor. The merchant had not stinted himself on the furniture. Rich brocade curtains hung from the bed's polished brass rails and a large wardrobe stood against the far wall, its carved wooden doors gleaming. Several branches of candles burned in welcome.
Curious, Piro watched the Utlander prowl around the room, sniffing like a dog. Unbeknown to Palatyne or the Utlander, Lord Dunstany caught her eye and the corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile, raising one side of his long thin moustache. She smiled back before she could stop herself.
'Well?' Palatyne demanded.
'You are right. I can sense a threat, overlord.' the Utlander said. 'But what form it will take — '
'What about you, Dunstany?' Palatyne demanded. Piro had noticed that he never used the scholar's title.
The noble scholar went very still. Piro felt a familiar tingle travel over her skin and her mouth watered. Dunstany had said her Affinity made her aware when he worked his and he was right. She shivered.
'You are surrounded by threats, overlord, perhaps this confuses my learned colleague,' Dunstany said smoothly. 'I sense nothing peculiar about this room. And to put your mind at rest I will take your chamber tonight.'
The Utlander cast him a furious glance. 'Overlord Palatyne, I insist you take my room. I will sleep at the foot of the bed, ready to protect you.'
'Very well. As long as I get to bed!' Palatyne marched off.
Lord Dunstany sent one of the merchant's servants for their bags, then shut the door and slipped his long indigo cloak from his shoulders, handing it to Piro. 'Hang this up.'
'You did sense something, didn't you?' Piro insisted as she unlocked the wardrobe door and reached up to find a hook. Without warning Lord Dunstany pushed her into the wardrobe, slammed the door and locked it.
A cry of protest leapt to Piro's lips.
'I'm sorry, but you were right,' he said through the keyhole. 'I did sense a threat and I want you safe.'
'Let me out!' Piro thumped the door in frustration, but the wardrobe was solidly built. Four grown men would be needed to move it. Dunstany didn't even bother to answer.
Furious, she muttered a few choice words then settled down for the night, pulling clothes off the hooks to make a little nest, grumbling to herself all the while.
She could hear the noble scholar moving around the room. The servant returned with their bags, and the candles were extinguished. No light came through the key hole. Piro drifted off to sleep, wondering why she did not hate Dunstany as much as she should.
She was still hidden in the cupboard when the attacker made his move.
Fyn had arrived in Port Marchand with the setting of the sun and asked around the market, where he learnt Overlord Palatyne was spending his last night here in a turncoat merchant's mansion, overlooking the harbour.
He fell in with a talkative delivery boy bringing fresh fish to the merchant's cook and ended up in the kitchen chatting with the servants, and by the time the meal was over he knew exactly where Overlord Palatyne slept.
The merchant's house was all abustle with extra servants hired to impress the overlord, so no one questioned Fyn when he made himself useful. Once the meal was over, he slipped away and went up the servants' steps to the bedroom wing, determined to kill Palatyne with his first strike.
Creeping along the hall, he counted down the doors. His soft boots made no noise on the polished wood. With his eyes adjusted to the dark, he did not need a light to find the door handle. The room was unlocked. It was dim but, with the bed curtains pulled back, he could see Palatyne's outline as he lay facing the wall, swathed in blankets.
Fyn slid the knife out of his boot. Moving soundlessly across the carpets, he stepped up to the high bed. Fyn's stomach churned and he hesitated. Everything Master Wintertide had taught him revolted at the thought of killing a defenceless man.
Now was not the moment to discover that he could not do this!
Surely, if anyone deserved to die it was the overlord, slayer of his mother, father, brother and Piro.
Licking dry lips, Fyn raised the knife. He had to kill this sleeping man, whether it seemed right or not. Before he could strike, someone threw a cloak over his head and tore the weapon from his fingers.
He dropped and twisted, but his attacker knew the same tricks. Disadvantaged by the enveloping cloak, struggling for breath in its heavy folds, Fyn twisted and writhed, thinking only of escape.
They careered away from the bed, onto the floor, colliding with something solid that caught him in the ribs. Fyn grunted in pain. Twisting again, he almost had the cloak off when his attacker pinned him, catching his arm so the slightest pressure would dislocate his shoulder.
Fyn groaned with pain and despair. Why had he hesitated? He should have killed Palatyne when he had the chance. Now he would die for nothing!
His attacker forced him onto one knee and pulled the cloak from his face. Fyn blinked, dragging in great gulps of air.
The banked fire's flames roared to life, illuminating them both. At the same moment Fyn felt Affinity flare and knew he faced a renegade Power-worker, everything the abbey had taught him to fear.
Still, he stared in amazement at his attacker, who was an old, iron-haired noble scholar with piercing black eyes. Despite his age, the Power-worker had fought like a young man. Fyn had been bested by a man older than Master Oakstand. Shame flooded him.
'What have we here? A vengeful monk out to kill the overlord?' his attacker muttered, studying him closely. Fyn's cap had come off in the struggle. It was seven days since the abbey had fallen and his tattoos were still visible beneath the stubble. 'I did not know Halcyon's followers were assassins as well as warriors.'
No one rose from the bed to enquire about the noise and Fyn realised he'd been fooled by the oldest trick in the book, a bundle of bedclothes. Had the servants given him away? No, he could have sworn they suspected nothing.
Affinity itself must have given him away, giving Palatyne time to set this up. Fyn's mouth went dry. This scholar must be one of the Power-workers who advised Palatyne.
'I've been wondering when you would turn up,' the noble scholar whispered, and Fyn recognised him. This was the Affinity worker who had nearly captured him twice through Halcyon's Fate. 'Let me see…' The scholar had
