travelling bundle. After a moment, Florin and Leif joined him. Neither spoke as they picked up their bundles. In their silence, he heard condemnation.
How was it possible to do the right thing by his people and by the Affinity beasts who had adopted him?
Byren grabbed Orrade's bundle and slung it over his shoulder. Then he lifted his head and gave the bird cry that would bring his friend back. He caught Florin's eye. 'Go to the other side of the clearing and wait.'
He heard Leif's soft question and Florin's brusque but unintelligible answers as they walked off. Byren glanced around. They hadn't seen another living soul for days. But they should hide their tracks. He looked up, studying the clouds. Snow tonight. That would be enough.
'Byren?' Orrade broke from the tree line, heading across the clearing to join him. 'I was headed back anyway. The forest is thick with ulfrs. Thank Halcyon, they haven't attacked. I — ' He broke off as he spotted the tracks leading both in and out of the clearing. Frowning, he strode parallel to the ulfr tracks, pausing to study where Byren had sat, then joined him. Orrade was on the high side of the clearing and this made him as tall as Byren. 'Are you all right?'
'We had… I had a visitor.'
Orrade frowned, weighing up the evidence. 'Then that's why we haven't been troubled by Affinity beasts. The pack's been following us to protect you.'
It was the same conclusion Byren had come to, but to have Orrade confirm his suspicions finally made it real. 'Florin found the pack leader in the camp,' he said. 'She tried to scare it off but it tried to defend me from her.'
A grin tugged at Orrade's mouth and he nudged Byren. 'Bet she wasn't pleased about that. The way she fusses over you…'
Byren glanced to the young woman and her brother, who waited at the edge of the clearing, just out of hearing range of their soft conversation. 'They must see me as little better than an Affinity beast now.'
'Rubbish.'
'No. It's true. If my honour guard knew about this, they'd refuse to follow me.'
Orrade took a step closer. 'I'd never turn my back on you.'
His hand lifted. Byren brushed it aside, suddenly angry.
During this journey there had been a lot of touching. At first he'd been weak and needed help, then they'd slipped into an easy habit of physical closeness but it couldn't go on. With every touch, Orrade proclaimed his love. Now that they were almost back at camp it had to stop.
'Your things.' Byren handed his friend the bundle.
Orrade was silent for a moment, staring fixedly at the rolled-up blanket, then he took it and slung it across his shoulder as though nothing had happened. But they both knew Byren had rejected him. Again.
Orrade cleared his throat, face stiff. 'You're right. Your honour guard would not understand.'
Byren wanted to protest there was nothing to understand. He had not courted Affinity and he was not a lover of men. But facts had little to do with perception.
'Come on.' Byren headed off and Orrade fell into step at his side. 'We'll just have to make sure they don't find out. Florin and Leif are loyal,' he said, knowing that they could hear him now that he and Orrade approached. He met Florin's eyes. 'I want you to forget what you saw on this journey. Never mention it.'
The way she did not glance to Orrade told him she had already leapt to unwarranted conclusions.
She shrugged. 'Forget what?'
'The ulfr, silly,' Leif told her. His hand slipped into Byren's. 'Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. But I don't see why not. Do you think you could call a leogryf for me to ride? I'd love to fly.'
A laugh escaped Byren. Florin joined him. Orrade grinned, but his eyes were strained.
It hurt Byren to see how much he'd wounded his friend, but he could no more protect the ulfrs from hunters greedy for their pelts than he couldn't protect Orrade from the harsh judgement of others. This deliberate distancing was for the best.
Fyn sat cross-legged on the deck next to Jakulos, who was teaching him to repair rope. With the light fading, his stomach rumbled in anticipation of the evening meal. He had gained his sea legs within a day and, since then, every day had dawned fine and crisp, the ship cutting through the sea like an arrow. If he hadn't been consumed with the need to get back to Rolencia, he would have enjoyed the voyage.
Jakulos was not the chatty type and Fyn's thoughts revolved around the things he had left undone back in Rolencia. Overlord Palatyne still lived. He would arrive in Merofynia victorious, having attacked a peaceful country and murdered most of King Rolen's kin. Fyn only hoped Byren remained hidden long enough to recover his strength.
Somehow, Fyn had to return to Rolencia to help cousin Cobalt find Byren. Together they could raise an army to drive out the Merofynians. Meanwhile, every day they sailed further from Rolencia, yet he would not let himself despair. If anything, the focus of his determination became purer for being contained.
Someone dug him in the ribs with a dirty, bare foot. Fyn had discovered the sailors didn't bother to wear shoes. Bare toes gave them a better grip when climbing the masts. He looked up to find the quartermaster standing over him.
'Cap'n Nefysto wants to see you, little monk.' Bantam grinned. Every time he used the word monk it was a calculated insult.
Fyn came to his feet, flexing muscles stiff from sitting so long. One of the Ostronite messenger birds had arrived a little while ago and, since then, Fyn had been mentally preparing himself for this interview.
As he stepped through the narrow cabin door, Captain Nefysto gestured to a quill and paper. 'Write down everything you can remember about the size of Palatyne's army, where they were deployed and anything you heard about Byren Kingsheir. My master is particularly interested in the state of the Rolencian army.'
'Why should I help you and your master?' Fyn countered. 'Maybe I want something in return. I'll strike a bargain — '
He gulped as Bantam grabbed him from behind. A scrawny but tough arm caught him under his jaw and a cold blade pressed to his throat. Fyn could have tried any one of the disarming techniques the weapons master had taught him, but the captain was also armed and there was nowhere to run.
Nefysto advanced on him, his face a cold mask, making him look older.
'I could order your death and no one would question it, monk. In fact they'd leap to obey me. Unlike you, my men have never known a privileged life,' Nefysto said. 'Do you understand?'
Fyn managed a small nod and, at the captain's signal, Bantam released him.
Nefysto gestured to the desk. 'If you make yourself useful, I may just let you live.'
Bantam shoved Fyn forwards. He staggered, ending up in the captain's seat.
'This is not Halcyon Abbey, lad. The rules are different here,' Nefysto told him. 'You'd do well to remember that. Now get to work.'
He went out on deck, leaving Fyn under Bantam's watchful eye.
Fyn wondered how much to reveal. He knew a lot more about the state of his father's army than a monk would. Nefysto's master might have other sources, so he kept as close to the truth as possible, while writing a brief outline of what he had observed.
As he did this, he was vaguely aware of cries on deck and a change in the ship's rhythm. At last he put the quill aside and massaged his cramped hand.
Captain Nefysto returned. 'Finished? That was good timing. Give him a weapon, Bantam.'
Fyn's heart lurched. Were they about to kill him for sport? If so, why give him a weapon?
He rose from the captain's seat, stretching his tense shoulders, playing for time. Bantam handed him a short curved sword. Fyn took the weapon, feeling the welcome but unfamiliar weight and balance.
Bantam regarded him keenly. 'I don't doubt you'd like to spill my guts on the deck, little monk. But before nightfall you'll be too busy saving your own miserable life!'
Fyn looked to the captain for an explanation.
'We've sighted a fat ship ripe for plucking. She's running before the wind, but her canvas is no match for ours. We should have her boarded by dusk and then we'll see if the fighting prowess of Halcyon's warrior monks is as great as rumour has it.'
Fyn's stomach knotted. A ship ripe for plucking? It sounded like a merchant ship. It seemed these sea-hounds did a little plundering on the side after all. And he was expected to kill at Captain Nefysto's command. Everything the abbey had instilled in him revolted. If he could not kill the man who had murdered Piro, how could he kill an
