Piro looked up at the castle's steep walls. Its domes and towers gleamed in the winter sun but instead of feeling a sense of homecoming, she fought a sense of entrapment. Piro put it down to wanting to hunt the leogryf, rather than sit and study.
Why couldn't her life be simple, like Byren's?
Chapter Five
Byren rode into Rolenhold's stable courtyard on a borrowed horse. With everyone about to leave to hunt the leogryf, he had to grab his father and explain Orrade's disinheritance. He stood in the stirrups. Where was King Rolen?
There, speaking with Captain Temor and Lence on the far side of the courtyard. Good.
'Come on, Orrie. Now's the best time.' Byren swung his leg over the mare and dropped to the cobbles. Orrade and Garzik followed suit. They were right behind him as he approached his father.
A group of new arrivals rode in between them, six or seven men on horseback, followed by a wagon-load of servants and belongings. They were led by a handsome man whose grim, rigid features seemed vaguely familiar. He rode one-handed, the other arm caught in a sling. His warriors wore the vivid blue surcoat of the Cobalt estate, with the coat of arms emblazoned on their chests. In the lower corner was the original Cobalt House symbol, the silver dalfino, a winged, warm-blooded fish. In the upper corner was the inverted crown, added when King Byren the Fourth's bastard married into Cobalt House.
'You, sir.' The injured man fixed on Byren, who stood a head taller than everyone else. He spoke Rolencian with a slight accent and his voice carried despite the din in the courtyard. 'Direct me to the king.'
'Who wants me?' King Rolen turned.
Orrade leant close to Byren to mutter in his ear. 'Who is that? I feel I should know him.'
The man dismounted gracefully, handing his reins to Byren, who accepted them without protest. Dressed in his stained travelling clothes Byren could easily be mistaken for one of his father's men-at-arms. Lence sent him a rueful look, one corner of his mouth lifting. Byren grinned and beckoned a stunned stable boy, who ran over and took the reins, apologising profusely. All around them the new arrivals were dismounting and handing over their reins as the stable lads took the horses away.
The general hubbub died down and everyone gathered to hear what the stranger had to say.
'King Rolen.' Even with one arm in a sling, the man managed to give an elaborate bow, reminding Byren of the Ostronite ambassador. That helped him place the accent. One thing was certain, the mannered style of clothes the stranger affected would not catch on at court. You'd never see Byren wearing a coat with shoulder pads, a nipped-in waist and lace at the cuffs and throat.
'My king.' The injured man straightened up, standing almost as tall as King Rolen. That was when Byren saw the resemblance. 'I have come to swear fealty and to demand justice.'
'Justice?' the king repeated with a frown, then it cleared. 'Why, you're young Illien, Spurnan's boy!'
His cousin, Illien? Byren stiffened. Illien's father, Spurnan, was King Byren the Fourth's bastard son by a travelling minstrel he'd bedded when he was only sixteen. The boy had been fostered out to Lord Cobalt, who'd married him to his daughter. After the old lord died, King Byren's bastard had inherited the Cobalt title and estates. Had he been legitimate, Spurnan would have been king, not Rolen, which would have made Illien kingsheir, not Lence. It had never meant anything to Byren when he was a boy. He'd adored Illien because, in those days, his cousin was everything a warrior should have been.
Now Byren studied Illien's face, trying to find the youth he used to admire in this elegant foppish man. He'd been seven and Illien twenty-two, when the old Lord Cobalt had sent Illien to Ostron Isle. There'd been an argument, something the adults never mentioned in front of the seven-year-old twins. As far as Byren knew Illien and his father had not reconciled.
'Weren't you living on Ostron Isle these thirteen years?' King Rolen asked, although their ambassador to Ostron Isle would have kept him informed.
'Yes,' Illien said, unabashed by the reference to the argument with his father. 'I've been serving my family's interests on Ostron Isle but, just this last summer, I swallowed my pride and contacted father because I was marrying into one of the great Ostronite merchant families and I wanted his blessing. Five days ago, I came home so that he could meet my bride when…' His voice wavered and he shook his head, face flushing with deep emotion, unable to go on.
Byren's throat tightened in sympathy.
'Raiders, my king,' a grizzled warrior in Cobalt-blue explained, one hand going to the injured man's shoulder. 'Old Lord Cobalt came to meet my master's ship when — '
'Raiders attacked us!' Illien ground out.
'Utland raiders dared to sail into the Lesser Sea?' King Rolen demanded. 'They haven't done that for twenty years!'
'Is that how you were injured, lad?' Captain Temor nodded to the sling.
'Yes, captain. And I am Lord Cobalt now.' He gave the slightest of bows, a dip of the head as befitted a lord addressing an old and respected man-at-arms. 'My father is dead.'
'Spurnan's dead?' King Rolen muttered. He stared hard into the middle distance, then shook himself. 'That leaves only the Old Dove.'
Garrade of Dovecote and Spurnan of Cobalt had stood by Byren's father, when he had come into the kingship. He'd only been eighteen and it had looked like Merofynia would crush Rolencia, which was still reeling from the attempt by the Servants of Palos to usurp the throne in Spurnan's name. The bastard had sworn he was not involved and his subsequent support of Rolen had proven his loyalty.
'This is bad news, indeed,' King Rolen said.
'Worse still, my bride…' Illien of Cobalt could not go on.
'Dead?' King Rolen whispered.
Cobalt nodded.
The thought of Elina in the hands of Utland raiders made Byren's heart thunder. He ached for action.
Lence stepped forwards. 'I'll lead a punitive attack on the Utlanders.'
The men around him cheered and Byren's heart lifted as Lence turned to Illien to assure him that his bride and father would be avenged. King Rolen smiled with pride and waited for the cheering to die down.
Byren had heard the stories of how his father spent the first seven years of his reign ensuring the safety of the kingdom by leading punitive raids against the savage Utlanders. There were four large clusters of islands and many small scattered ones.
'But which Utlanders?' Byren asked, turning to the new Lord Cobalt. 'Which Utlanders attacked Port Cobalt, Illien?'
Cobalt frowned at him.
'You remember Byren,' King Rolen said. 'He and Lence used to give you no peace.'
A smile lightened Cobalt's expression but only briefly. 'Which Utlanders?' He ran a hand through his long black curls. 'I don't know. It was dark, the fires, the screaming…' He fixed on Byren. 'I didn't stop to ask their names and affiliations, I was fighting for my life!'
'Of course.' Lence glared at Byren.
Byren nodded. 'But there are many Utland isles, we could attack innocent — '
'It doesn't matter which Utland isle sent the raiders,' King Rolen decided. 'All that matters is that we teach them the Greater and Lesser Seas are out of bounds.'
Lence nodded. 'If we set off now — '
'You'll miss the midwinter ceremony and insult Halcyon,' Captain Temor interrupted gently.
Their father nodded. 'Better to go after spring cusp when the seas are not so dangerous. That gives me time to call for ships and captains, get the support of the warlords. If we sail out in strength we can deal these Utlanders such a blow they'll crawl back to their hovels and not come out for another twenty years!'
Everyone cheered.
But Byren couldn't put his heart into it. From what he'd heard it was hard enough to claw a living from the
