Fyn nodded. Unlike Halcyon, the Merofynian god of summer was the patron god of war. A bull with a coat as hard as stone, its breath could incinerate. In the last great battle the Merofynians hurled burning balls, known as Mulcibar's dung. Anything they touched burst into flames.
'So, Fyn,' Orrade said, resuming their walk up to Feid's stronghold. 'Where have you been and how did you come to be sailing with sea-hounds?'
And Fyn began to lie.
That evening, after the meal, as he stood on the mezzanine overlooking Feid's great hall, Bantam and Jakulos joined him. When Nefysto had assigned them to accompany him as his honour guard, neither had been particularly impressed to learn who he really was. Fyn was relieved they treated him no differently.
'Did you make a pretty profit?' Fyn asked.
Bantam grimaced. 'No profit to be made from spar trading. They're too poor. Cap'n's taking the Wyvern's Whelp around to Port Marchand.'
Fyn nodded. No doubt Nefysto would be reporting to the mage on the state of affairs in Rolencia. Fyn was glad to have the two sea-hounds watching his back and wanted to tell them, but before he could, Feldspar and Joff sought him out.
'There you are, Fyn,' Feldspar said, eyeing the two sea-hounds warily. Bantam gave Fyn a nod and he and Jakulos moved off as if they hadn't been told to shadow him. Joff and Feldspar joined Fyn at the rail, overlooking Feid's great hall.
'Catillum wants to see you,' Feldspar said. 'What happened after you left us? How did you end up with the sea-hounds?'
Fyn straightened up. This was what he'd dreaded, but for their own good, he must deny his old friends. 'That's between the king and I.' He'd never given Byren this title before. 'Did you say Master Catillum wants to see me?'
Feldspar stiffened and took a step back. 'Yes, kingsheir.'
Fyn wanted to tell him to drop the title. But it was better to let Feldspar think he was too ambitious to maintain friendship with a monk, who could do him no favours, rather than have Feldspar tainted by association if Fyn's relationship with the mage was ever revealed.
So Fyn nodded dismissively. 'I'll be along soon. Where is the mystics master?'
'In his chamber. It's — '
'I'll find it. Thank you.' Fyn turned away from them. It was hard, but it had to be done.
What could the mystics master want with him? He stayed and watched the hall, until enough time had passed for Joff and Feldspar to go back downstairs, then he went in search of Catillum.
'You sent for me, mystics master.'
'Ah, Fyn.' Catillum turned with a tired smile. His eyes were red-rimmed and the skin below them bruised but he was still the man Fyn remembered. As Catillum glanced to Fyn's head of dark hair, Fyn noted the mystics master had shaved his head. Now that he thought about it, so had Feldspar and Joff. 'It is good to see you. Feldspar and Joff expected you to bunk down with us, but I told them you might feel you had to serve your brother, before coming back to the abbey.'
Fyn nodded. He was grateful for Catillum's tact, but he couldn't dedicate himself to the abbey now. He couldn't live a lie.
'If you mean to serve your brother until he is restored to the throne, you should return Halcyon's Fate,' Catillum said. 'As mystis master, it is my responsibility.'
'Of course.' Fyn should have thought of this. Since he no longer meant to go back to the abbey, he had no right to the Fate. His hand went to his chest, where the Fate rested beneath his vest. It was with a surprising reluctance that Fyn undid the clasp and removed the Fate from around his neck.
'Thank you for keeping it safe.' The mystic's fingers closed around the Fate and he hung it around his own neck, tucking it away safely. 'Any visions I should know about, lad?'
Fyn looked up. He could hardly admit to seeing Catillum's possible death. He swallowed. 'No.'
Since the mage had opened his gates, Piro had cared for the sick and wounded, while the battle for the electorship raged across Ostron Isle.
As she finished her day shift, Isolt arrived looking fresh and determined for the night shift. Following Merofynian royal custom, she was also trained as a healer.
'I saw Agent Tyro outside. Is there news of your brothers?' Isolt asked.
'Not that I heard. The agent didn't come in here.' Piro hadn't seen much of Tyro since she insisted he open the gates, and she was reasonably certain he was avoiding her. Perhaps Tyro had borne the brunt of the mage's anger.
She handed over care of the sick to Isolt and hurried out into the corridor looking for the agent, but he was nowhere in sight.
She should explain to the mage how she had put Tyro in a position where he could hardly say no but, since the night the elector died, they had seen nothing of Tsulamyth.
If only the Ostronites would decide on a new elector.
The solution came to Piro in a flash. Why hadn't she thought of it before? The war table piece would have the new elector's features. Driving her weary legs, she ran up the stairs and down the corridor to the war table room.
She'd avoided this chamber since she'd been in here to view her faceless piece. Now she darted over to Ostron Isle and peered across the table, careful not to touch anything.
'The elector's piece has no features yet,' Tyro said, coming out of the shadows. Piro gave a little start of fright, but she hadn't done anything wrong. She squared her shoulders.
Tyro stepped closer, the nuances of his expression hidden by the twilight. 'The piece's face went blank the night the elector died and has remained blank since. It was the first thing I checked.'
'Pity…' She tilted her head, trying to make out the agent's expression. 'Why doesn't the mage force the five great families to agree to a new elector?'
'If a decision was forced upon the five they would resent the mage. The four losing families would unite against Tsulamyth. No, Piro. It is better to let them sort it out.'
'By killing each other?'
'Ahh, but then they can resent each other and not the mage.' One corner of Tyro's mouth lifted in the wry smile she had come to know so well. Dunstany's smile.
She felt an odd tug in her belly. She'd hardly eaten today. 'Was the mage angry with you, Tyro?'
He looked blank.
'Because you opened the gate.'
He turned away. 'No. We came to an understanding.'
His reply did not ring true. She should find the mage and make it clear that she was to blame. Where to start looking?
First she had to slip away from Tyro.
Piro used Isolt's new pet wyvern as an excuse to slip away. 'I'd better feed Loyalty.'
'I'll come with you,' Tyro said.
They found the wyvern and foenix playing in a private garden courtyard, complete with its own fountain. Piro upended a bucket of fish scraps from the kitchen. The wyvern leapt on the fish, gulping them down, while the foenix nibbled one at a time.
'It's lucky for my foenix that Isolt's wyvern is too young to know they should be deadly enemies,' Piro told Tyro. With the fish fast disappearing down the wyvern's throat, the Affinity beast looked decidedly deadly. Piro eyed Loyalty uneasily. 'How long before she grows horns?'
'Another year or two,' Tyro answered. 'That's when she'll have to be let loose if she hasn't bonded properly with Isolt. She'll be too dangerous.'
'Agent Tyro?' Ovido came trotting into the garden. He ignored Piro as if she was an interloper. 'The mage has been called to meet the new elector, Comtissa Cera of House Cerastus.'
'At last!' Piro turned to Tyro. 'Now the mage can — '
'The new elector will want to clean up Ostron Isle before interfering in other kingdoms' squabbles,' Tyro warned.
