They were silent for a moment.
Feldspar shifted impatiently. 'Lonepine is dead because — '
'Lonepine is dead because he was my friend,' Fyn whispered, soul sick.
'He died because several ambitious, impatient men don't value life,' Catillum corrected.
Fyn looked down at his hands which clutched his knees, the knuckles white with tension. He cleared his throat. In the whole abbey there was one person whose opinion he valued above all else. 'I'd like to speak with Master Wintertide.'
'Wintertide could have been abbot but he chose not to force the issue. He's the abbot's strongest supporter,' Catillum told him. 'What do you think he will say?'
Fyn looked up at the crippled mystics master and the fight went out of him. 'But what of Feldspar and I? How can we sleep at night knowing Lonepine's murderers have got away with it and we could be next?'
Catillum pulled over the other stool and sat down. 'I am almost certain Lonepine's death was an accident. No.' He held up a hand. 'I don't mean to insult you by telling you that he tripped. There's a good chance Beartooth did push him. He's hot-headed and doesn't think about the consequences of his actions. I'm as certain as I can be that he was not acting on orders from Masters Hotpool or Firefox. They are not so rash. They'll punish him in their own way. As for you two… come spring cusp you will be sleeping in the mystics' chambers, safe under my protection. Until then I will keep you close by me.' Catillum held their eyes. 'I am truly sorry. Lonepine would have made a fine monk.'
Tears stung Fyn's eyes. He tried, but he could not speak past the lump in his throat. To his horror great wracking sobs tore from him. Feldspar threw his arms around Fyn and they both sobbed unashamedly, partly for Lonepine and partly for what they had lost.
They cried until they could cry no more.
At some point the mystics master must have left them because, when Fyn sat back to wipe his face on his sleeve, they were alone.
'I'm sorry I got you into this, Feldspar,' he said, voice raw from weeping.
'Master Catillum means well, but I don't think anyone can protect us all the time.' His friend cleared his throat, fixing serious red-rimmed eyes on him. 'Do you think we should kill Galestorm?'
For a heartbeat it seemed entirely logical for Feldspar to suggest murder. Then sanity reasserted itself and Fyn shuddered, shaking his head.
Feldspar went to argue, then thought better of it and looked relieved. He shook his head. 'All my life I've admired the monks and looked up to them. Now, this. It's clear we must protect ourselves. Even if the plotters punish Beartooth there's still Galestorm. Think of a lifetime trapped inside these walls, never knowing when he might move against us. We might baulk at murder, but they won't.'
Fyn looked down. He did not face a lifetime in the abbey. He was going to run away and all the people he loved and respected would think him a coward. But what could he do? He couldn't betray Piro.
'Fyn?' Feldspar pressed.
He shook his head. 'I can't think straight.' At least that was true.
Feldspar came to his feet, his face ravaged. He seemed ten years older. Fyn and Feldspar had lost more than Lonepine's friendship with his murder.
'You're right,' Feldspar said. 'It would be foolish to make a decision now. We should go wash our faces and put on our formal robes for the farewell.' He shivered. 'Lonepine's empty bunk will be next to mine.'
Fyn felt raw and bruised, as if one more blow would shatter him. It could so easily have been he who met Beartooth on the stairs. Even now, a solemn monk would have been skating across the valley to his parents to tell them of his accidental death.
Byren slid open the drawer where he kept the lincurium jewellery and the notes for Elina's poem. He was going to escort Garzik to Dovecote and he wanted to make a clean copy to take with him. When the moment was right he'd give the poem to her. He gathered the scraps of half-finished verse, thinking surely there were more of them. No matter, the best version was on the top so he began to write it out on a clean sheet.
'Byren?'
He looked up to see his mother at the door to his chamber. Quickly, he slid the paper under an innocuous book of pre-Merofynian myths.
'I've been thinking.' His mother swept gracefully into the room, accompanied by the soft chink of her keys of office. 'You should take Piro with you, when you go to Dovecote estate. Time with Elina would do her good.' Seeing his expression she added, 'You do mean to escort Garzik back to their estate before the Jubilee, don't you?'
He licked his lips, not wanting to lie.
'Byren?' Her brows gathered together in a straight line.
'I've been delaying leaving in the hope that Lence would return from Cockatrice Spar so I could invite him with us to Dovecote,' Byren revealed. Actually he had considered asking Lence to escort Garzik. Now he wondered if it would make Lence feel better or worse to see Elina.
He ached to see her, but to see her and have her reject him again would devastate him.
'We don't know when Lence will be back. He might stay on Cockatrice Spar until he's ready to escort Rejulas to the Jubilee.' His mother tilted her head watching him and he felt the beginning of a headache. 'Is there something you're not telling me, Byren?'
He frowned, concentrating despite the thumping in his temples. 'Do you ever regret relinquishing your claim on Merofynia?'
She looked surprised and the headache lifted. The queen fiddled with the keys on her waist ring, then laughed softly. 'How could I rule Merofynia? I would have had to leave your father and live there, for an absentee ruler would never be able to contain the warlords. I could not leave your father.'
She was right, an absentee king wouldn't be able to hold Merofynia. Byren cleared his throat. 'But Lence could have ruled Merofynia. He is next in line after you.'
'And you could have ruled Rolencia.' She frowned, releasing the keys. 'Is that what's troubling you? You two are twins after all. Only seven minutes stand between you and the throne — '
'No.' Byren sprang to his feet. 'I don't crave the kingship. I was thinking of Lence.'
'But he is the heir to Rolencia.'
'And Merofynia, if he chose to assert his rights.'
'And he will one day rule Merofynia with Isolt as his queen,' his mother said. 'Though I don't know how he'll divide his time between the two countries.' She paused, obviously mulling over the practicalities.
It was clear to Byren that Lence did not want Merofynia on those terms. 'But he does not love the Merofynian kingsdaughter.'
She laughed. 'Since when does love decide royal marriages? Lence must give poor Isolt a chance. The ambassador assures me she is nothing like her father.' His mother smiled winningly. It was the smile his sister used when she was trying to winkle her way out of trouble. 'So, will you take Piro with you to Dovecote?'
He was trapped. To refuse would lead to embarrassing questions. Besides, the request was not really a request, not coming from his mother. 'Yes, I'll take Piro to see Elina.'
Since he would not actually venture onto Dovecote estate without dishonouring the Old Dove, he would ask Piro to arrange a meeting for him with Elina, so he could give her the poem and plead his case.
Elina had been furious with him but surely, if she did not feel strongly for him, she would not have been so angry. It gave him hope.
Chapter Twenty-One
Byren caught Orrade's arm as they passed on the stairs. They had hardly seen each other since they had returned from Unistag Spar. Byren was still not sure how far he could trust his old friend.
Here, on the stair landing, there was no one to overhear them, still he lowered his voice. 'I'm in a fix, Orrie. I have to escort Garza back to Dovecote estate to acknowledge his bravery, and mother wants me to take Piro to visit Elina.'
Orrade frowned, then one corner of his mouth lifted. 'Yes, that's what I'd call a fix.'
