Tsulamyth?'
'Others have died for daring to do what you have done,' he told her, his old voice paper-thin but menacing.
'I had to see you, had to explain. It wasn't Tyro's fault. I was the one who insisted we open the gates. You mustn't be angry with him.'
The mage said nothing.
Had she offended him? She was only trying to make things better.
'Mage Tsulamyth?'
He stepped out of the shadows, a fragile old man, stooped by age so that he stood barely taller than her. The light from the balcony flooded his face. She caught a flash of clever dark eyes, set deep behind those bushy white eyebrows in a nest of wrinkles.
'What are you doing here, kingsdaughter?'
She sensed power. Familiar power. Of course it would be familiar, she'd met him before. 'I thought you might be lonely. So I came up to keep you company.'
'Over the balcony?' A wry smile tugged at his lips.
Tyro's smile. Tyro's power!
Anger banished her fear. Why was the agent playing with her? Did he think she was stupid?
'I am sorry, mage.' Eyes down so he could not read her anger, she took his arm as if she believed he was old and weak and led him in front of the fireplace.
'I had to come over the balcony. Your chamber door was locked.' She gave him her best cheeky smile and patted his veined hand. It looked so real, felt real. Equal parts resentment and admiration for Tyro's skill churned within her.
'The door was locked for a reason. Can't an old man get any peace?'
'Peace is for the grave,' she repeated her old nurse's saying. 'Could the door be locked because you have something to hide?'
Without warning, she tucked her leg behind his, just as Fyn had taught her, and shoved.
Quick as a cat, the frail old mage regained his balance. His image shifted then settled back into that of Tsulamyth. If she'd blinked, she would have missed it.
But she hadn't. 'It is you!'
Hands grasped her upper arms, swung her around, and slammed her up against the wall. For a moment all she saw was stars. When her vision cleared, it was Tyro who pressed her to the wall, her feet off the ground, her eyes level with his. Tyro who had coarsened his features with player's putty and bushy eyebrows.
Tyro who looked very, very angry.
Her mouth went dry, even as her heart raced, but she would not be cowed. 'Did you think I was stupid?'
'No. Never that. Just young and foolish.' His gaze dropped to her mouth, and lingered.
Suddenly he let her go, stepping back stiffly. 'What are you doing here, Piro?'
'I told you. I thought the mage might be lonely and… and I thought he might be angry with you. I shouldn't have worried.' For some reason she was more angry than frightened now. Why did she feel as if he had betrayed her?
When he didn't speak she plunged on. It was all quite clear now. 'You played the mage the night of the elector's death That's how he ran so fast.'
'I did. But that didn't make you suspicious. What gave me away just now?'
'I've seen you play Lord Dunstany. With some player's putty to change your face and your Affinity to smooth the illusion, you are a consummate actor. But, when you smile at me, your smile is the same whether you are Dunstany, Tsulamyth or Tyro!'
He said nothing, seemed to loom over her. Why was he so serious? It was clever, this deception. It meant the mage could be in more than one place.
'Have you told anyone your suspicions, Piro?'
'Of course not. So where is the mage?'
'Tell anyone what I am about to tell you and I will have to kill you.'
She laughed, then realised he wasn't joking. It was no longer a game. She was out of her depth. She should never have come here. But she would never betray a trust and he should know that. 'As if I would!'
He let his breath out on a long exhalation. 'The mage is dead.'
Piro's knees went weak and she sank onto the chest in front of the fireplace, knocking a velvet-covered book to the carpet. Automatically she picked it up and smoothed the dust from the cover. 'Dead? But I thought he was all-powerful.'
'No one is all-powerful, Piro.' Tyro paced the chamber. 'Are you sure you haven't told anyone, not even Isolt?'
'She's placed her faith in the mage. I don't want to see her haunted expression return.' Piro frowned and put the book down. 'Maybe you should tell her. She has a right to know the truth.'
'Tell no one!' Tyro strode over to her and dropped to his haunches. His eyes held hers, intense and compelling. 'You want the truth? The truth is that I am the mage. No one lives for two hundred years. Upon his death I was supposed to inherit the role of Mage Tsulamyth from my master just as he inherited it from his. Only we did not anticipate him dying for at least another twenty years.'
Tyro sprang to his feet and threw himself into the chair by the fireplace. For once he didn't look pompous and composed, he looked like a troubled youth. And she felt for him.
'No one must know, Piro. I don't ask this for me. If it was known that Palatyne's twin Utland Power-workers had killed Mage Tsulamyth, Ostron Isle would no longer be safe. Palatyne would sail his army across the sea and strike. You must not reveal the truth.'
'The Utlanders killed Mage Tsulamyth?'
'They meant to kill Dunstany.' Words poured from him as if a dam had broken. 'I'm sorry I lied to you, Piro. I had assumed Dunstany's identity. This much you guessed. Lord Dunstany was a good friend of my master's. He believed in my master's dream. He died at a nexus point, when King Sefon was murdered. Rather than lose Dunstany's influence in the Merofynian court, my master assumed his identity. And he trained me to do likewise. Sometimes, I played Lord Dunstany, sometimes the master did.
'Two summers ago while both the master and I were in Merofynia, the Utlander and his twin brother laid a cunning trap for Lord Dunstany. They had been fierce rivals ever since Palatyne climbed over the Divide and marched his army into the king's very palace, claiming he was there to pay homage to his king.
'I had a head cold. Lord Dunstany didn't, so my master played him that day. The twin Utlanders ambushed Lord Dunstany and they battled, two against one. Somehow, my master escaped and made his way back to me. I was frantic, he had been missing for hours. I found him dying in the secret passage under the Dunstany town mansion. I couldn't save him.' He sat back, long legs stretched out, and stared past her into the fire. Brooding. 'But for a head cold, I would have been the one who died.'
'I don't understand. How could the Utlanders kill the mighty Tsulamyth, even two against one?'
'They didn't set out to kill Tsulamyth. They wouldn't have dared. They set out to kill Lord Dunstany. The Utlanders were prepared with stolen Affinity.' He saw she did not understand. 'They keep Affinity-slaves. The Utlander's twin had one when we arrived in Rolencia. She escaped when he was killed.' Tyro's top lip lifted in a grimace of distaste. 'They siphon Affinity off the living. It's the opposite of what you do with your foenix. Worse than this, they can steal a person's Affinity when they die. Your mother…' He glanced at her, as if not sure whether to go on.
'I saw the Utlander capture my mother's essence in the stone on the tip of his staff. Is she in there? Does she know — '
'I don't know. I hope not.' He shuddered. 'Upon her death, her Affinity would have returned to the world. The Utlander stole it. And it was just this kind of stolen Affinity that he and his twin had gathered in preparation for the day they ambushed Lord Dunstany. They never realised they had Tsulamyth cornered. I believe he would've fought them off, if not for his heart. It gave out. He was lucky to escape alive. They thought he'd crept off to die. But they never had the chance to gloat.' Tyro's lips parted in a fierce grimace that was not a smile. 'For I assumed Lord Dunstany's disguise and met the Utlanders at court the very next day, hale and hearty, but for a slight head cold. They nearly passed out. After that they were most careful of Lord Dunstany. And now that one of them is dead, the
