resisting it and the urge to run, Fyn had done what he believed to be right, despite the risk to himself. This had been a test, a very subtle test of his mettle.
Fyn might not have a strong Affinity but he could sense the force of it coming from the stranger now. It reminded him of Palatyne's Utland Power-worker, who had radiated ice-cold Affinity like a forge radiated heat. But the Utlander had been bluffing and had dropped the pretext the moment it was no longer needed.
If this stranger was trying to impress Fyn, he had.
The stranger stood, reaching for the flute, which leaped off the foot stool and into his hands. He tucked it under one arm as he stepped into the sunlight, but only far enough to reveal his elegant clothes. His face remained in shadow. 'I am one of Mage Tsulamyth's agents, and you were told to wait.'
'Some things cannot wait,' Fyn said slowly. 'Besides, you were testing me. Did I pass?'
The other stiffened slightly.
Fyn allowed himself a small smile.
'You must forgive me,' the agent said, though it was more of an order than an apology. He stepped closer. 'The mage likes to know what manner of man he deals with.'
Now that Fyn could see the stranger's face, he was startled. Since Tsulamyth was so old and powerful, Fyn had expected his agents to be at least as old as his father, but this man looked about Byren's age, only his eyes were older. 'You're the mage's agent?'
'One of them. You can call me Tyro.'
He was taller than Fyn, but who wasn't? His body held a wiry strength, different from Byren, who was more densely muscled. Fyn guessed the agent would move fast if attacked.
He swallowed. If the mage's agent was this powerful, the mage himself must be truly impressive, which meant Fyn was out-classed. But he had known that when he decided to approach Tsulamyth.
'Come this way.' A section of the plastered ceiling swung down to reveal stairs. Fyn followed the agent up the narrow steps into what had to be the roof cavity. This opened into another building entirely.
They went down corridors and around corners until, finally, double doors parted to reveal a large, circular chamber. At the far end, through a set of doors, inset with glass panels, Fyn could see a balcony that looked out onto the distant inner slope of Ostron Ring.
Sunlight reflected from the Ring Sea below, ripples dancing across the chamber's white ceiling. Combined with the blue-green floor tiles this made Fyn feel as if he was beneath the waves.
In the centre of the room was a war table similar to his father's, only this one was twice the length of a tall man. Down the end nearest to Fyn was Ostron Isle, and about halfway along came Merofynia with its crescent opening to the south, then the Snow Bridge, its mountains taller than anywhere else, and then Rolencia with its north-opening crescent.
On the blue, ripple-glass sea were miniature boats, just as there were miniature buildings on the land masses and quite a few carved people. They were out of proportion, as tall as the model ships' masts. Fyn guessed they were pieces from the game of Duelling Kingdoms, but there were more of them than in a Kingdoms game. Everything else was to scale and cleverly made. Fyn went to pick up the nearest boat, to admire its workmanship.
'Ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you,' Agent Tyro advised then turned to face him. 'You impressed the gate- keeper with an Affinity tool. Show me.'
What if the agent demanded he hand over the Fate?
It wasn't his to give. Nevertheless, Fyn tugged on the chain, bringing it up for the agent to see. Would Tyro recognise it?
'Halcyon's Fate. How did it fall into the hands of a sea-hound?'
'I'm not a sea-hound. I'm…' Fyn hesitated, not sure if he should reveal who he really was. 'I'm from Halcyon Abbey and I'm — '
'Here to see Mage Tsulamyth. Why, if not to ask for his help against Merofynia?'
Fyn nodded, almost wishing it unsaid. What if the mage refused to help him? Worse, what if the mage agreed, but his terms were impossible? Would the agent let Fyn leave? He doubted he could even find his way out.
'Why should the mage help a penniless monk?' Tyro asked. 'Do you offer the Fate?'
'It's not mine to barter with.'
'Good. The mage would have turned you down. He has Affinity tools aplenty.'
The silence stretched. Fyn wondered what came next. Should he plead his case?
'Perhaps the mage knows more than you think,' Tyro said, voice silky. Fyn mistrusted his shrewd black eyes and felt a moment's disorientation as the agent picked up a Kingdoms piece. 'Here's a cunningly wrought piece, King Rolen's third son, masquerading as a lowly monk. Many believe him dead. This means he can go places no one expects.'
Fyn hid his surprise. Had he given himself away or was it a guess? Whatever happened, he had to keep Byren safe.
Tyro studied the carving. When he tilted the Kingdoms piece this way and that, Fyn felt the room sway. No, he was disoriented by the rippling light dancing across the ceiling.
'Now what would King Rolen's youngest son want, I wonder,' Tyro whispered. 'Vengeance?'
'I don't know. I can only speak as a monk.'
The agent's black gaze flew to his face. Then, as if he had come to a decision, Tyro put the piece in his pocket. 'The mage might have a use for one of Halcyon's monks, trained in the martial arts. If this monk proved loyal, the mage would look more kindly upon his request.'
He beckoned Fyn and walked to the far end of the war table.
Tyro pointed to ships making their way through the Rolencian Straits past the warlords' spars, weaving through the Utlands around to Merofynia. 'These are merchant ships returning to King Merofyn with the stolen wealth of Rolencia. Before leaving Rolencia, Palatyne ordered forts built on the passes over the Divide to keep the warlords in line and he has crushed the might of Halcyon Abbey.'
'What of Sylion?' Fyn asked.
'They had warning and sealed their gates. Palatyne is not worried about them as their power wanes with winter's passing. But the valley merchants, the fisher folk and farmers are vulnerable.'
Fyn felt this as if it was his personal failing. His family had a duty to protect the people of Rolencia.
'Palatyne has appointed Cobalt as his puppet king. Cobalt has declared Rolen and Myrella's marriage illegal because, according to him, the Merofynian kingsdaughter had Affinity. This makes his claim to the throne as good as any of King Rolen's kin.'
Fyn blinked. Cobalt had done this? It made no sense, not when he'd asked Fyn to find Byren so they could defeat the Merofynians. But he'd also warned Fyn, he would have to do things that made it appear he was Byren's enemy.
The agent continued. 'Palatyne has been rewarded with a dukedom but this does not satisfy him. He plans to wed — '
'King Merofyn's daughter,' Fyn guessed.
'Exactly.' Tyro strode past the Snow Bridge until he reached Merofynia. 'According to my sources, she is travelling along the coast road to Cyena Abbey. It would interfere greatly with Palatyne's plans if someone prevented this marriage.'
Murder a girl hardly older than Piro? Fyn took an instinctive step back, hands lifting in denial. 'I won't do it.'
The agent was silent for a moment, watching him from eyes that seemed to weigh his soul.
'Why not?' the agent countered. 'Her betrothal to Lence Kingsheir lulled King Rolen into a false sense of security and gave Palatyne his chance to invade. Surely, she is as false-hearted as her father? Agree to serve the mage and he will place a ship at your disposal, as well as trained men.'
Fyn knew that without the mage's help he could not hope to aid Byren. Yet… his brother would not ask him to murder Isolt, who could yet prove to be innocent.
He could not do it. Best to be honest.
'Back in Port Marchand, I had Palatyne defenceless under my knife and I could not kill him. If I could not kill an ambitious murderer to avenge my family, I could never kill a girl who might be innocent.' His mind raced as he
