He would have to leave Mage Isle as soon as he could, for he couldn't bear to be near Isolt, knowing she belonged to his brother.
Piro watched Fyn close his eyes, a bitter twist to his mouth. He was in pain. Suddenly, he lifted onto one elbow and fixed on her.
'Go to the agent, Piro, find out when he's sending someone to save Byren. I'll go with them.'
Isolt cast Piro a swift worried look.
'Of course,' Piro said. 'I'll ask him now.'
Out in the corridor, she headed straight for the war table room, where she found Tyro studying the pieces.
'Is Fyn well enough to come to the elector's inauguration tonight?' he asked her. 'He can rest all day. We can take the carriage and he can sit down while we're there.'
'Fyn wants to save Byren. He wants to know if the mage is sending a rescue party. Is he? Are you?'
'Your brother is being held in the heart of the enemy's stronghold. How many men would you send to their deaths to rescue Byren, Piro?'
She opened her mouth, then closed it. 'There must be some stealthy way, some way that uses subterfuge.'
'I'm working on it,' Tyro muttered, as if he'd never cupped her cheek and tried to reassure her. 'I'll have formal clothes sent to Fyn's chamber. He must dress appropriately for the celebrations tonight. As must you and Isolt.'
'Strangely enough, I don't feel like partying when my brother is being starved to death,' Piro snapped. 'How can these Ostronites feast with war hanging over their heads?'
'Would you deny the Ostronites their butterfly existence? Their symbol is the abeille, after all. The beautiful but industrious butterfly-bee.'
She stiffened. 'The people of Ostron Isle play games while people are dying.'
'Could a butterfly stop the serpent from devouring its prey?'
'No.'
Tyro smiled and his dark eyes glittered. 'Then why not enjoy the butterfly? Don't deny its right to exist, leave the serpent-slaying to the mongoose.'
A shiver moved over Piro's skin. 'You mean to see Palatyne dead!'
Tyro nodded. 'He is a dangerous man. If he becomes king, he will not accept Lord Dunstany's guidance.'
'Why not free Byren and let him kill Palatyne for you? At least tell Fyn your plans.'
'What happens if a cook takes the cake from the oven before it is ready?'
'It sinks,' she answered automatically.
He nodded and would not elaborate.
She fumed. Tyro thought he was so clever, but he could not think of everything. Besides, she didn't like her fate to be in anyone's hands but her own.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Byren had slept well, considering he was lying on the bars of a cage, hanging in the square in front of the palace. After forced marches to deal with spar upstarts he'd learned to sleep anywhere. He'd tried licking the condensation from the bars to slake his thirst. Now he was hungry.
Merofynian ceremonial guards stood at intervals along the courtyard walls. They wore brilliant azure cloaks and blue and black feather crests on their helmets, but the swords they carried were not just for show.
Byren's stomach rumbled. He could smell baked potatoes and cinnamon cakes in the market beyond the courtyard. Already the market was busy. Voices carried, as did the pipes of a performer.
Byren heard a shout, several curses. Something was knocked over and crockery smashed. A child screeched. No, it was a dancing monkey, which had broken free of its chain and run into the courtyard. The guards along the wall above him laughed as a pretty young woman ran around the courtyard after the monkey, trying to catch it. It managed to stay just out of her reach, scampering back to the market.
The guards began laying bets on whether the monkey would escape her altogether. While their attention was distracted a beggar boy scurried into the courtyard, coming over to Byren's cage. The floor was level with his chest.
He tossed something at Byren who ducked, used to rubbish and abuse being hurled at him after last night. At the last moment he caught the object, which was clean cloth and tied with string.
Byren hid it under his cloak, picking at the ties. By the smell, it contained hot cinnamon buns. His mouth watered.
With his back to the guards he snuck mouthfuls of bun and silently thanked his unknown benefactor. It seemed some of his men had managed to infiltrate Port Mero. Things were not hopeless!
Fyn strode back and forth across the orchard courtyard, driving himself. His arms and legs were weak and strangely numb, but the more he used them, the better he felt. He had slept for most of the day and now it was late afternoon. Depending on the winds, it would take four to five days to sail to Port Merofyn. He feared Palatyne would change his mind and order Byren's execution by a more immediate method such as beheading.
He ducked under a mandarin tree, its branches bending under the weight of early-ripening fruit. All around him other trees were blossoming and the whole courtyard was awash with their fragrance, but he could not enjoy it. Not when Byren's life hung in the balance.
'Fyn, that is enough pacing. You'll bring on a fever,' Isolt warned.
'Twice more,' he said, not looking her way.
He knew Piro and Isolt were exchanging looks. They sat under a cherry tree, their hair and clothes speckled with pale pink blossoms. He had been sitting there with Piro until Isolt joined them, bringing hot pastries fresh from the kitchen. He'd eaten three, then had to get up to pace. He knew his withdrawal had hurt Isolt.
'Fyn,' Piro called. 'You are taller than me. Pick one of those passion fruit for Isolt. They are her favourite.'
He stopped his pacing and went to the trellis. Plucking several, he offered Isolt one with a quick smile. 'Sweets for the sweet.'
'Don't start sprouting poetry, Fyn.' Isolt laughed. 'Next you'll be singing like Captain Nefysto.'
'So, you are well enough to pick fruit,' Tyro said, coming up behind him. 'Good, Mage Tsulamyth wants you to attend the elector's ceremony tonight as Fyn Kingson.'
Fyn frowned. 'If the mage would only give me Captain Nefysto and the Wyvern's Whelp, I'd lead a raid deep into Merofynia to rescue Byren.'
'The mage doesn't want you both dead. He has his own plans. Byren is safe for now.'
'Safe? In a cage at Palatyne's mercy?' Fyn exploded. His head swam and he staggered. Isolt rose to help him. He brushed her aside. 'Freezing Sylion, Tyro. You can tell your mage, Byren is not a piece in his Kingdoms game. If Fyn Kingson appears in Ostron Isle tonight, Palatyne will find out. He knows about the alliance, he might kill Byren!'
'Or he might offer to ransom him to you.'
'He might,' Fyn conceded slowly. 'But I don't want to gamble with my brother's life.'
'Fyn's right,' Piro spoke up. 'Who would pay this ransom? We are destitute. The food we eat and the clothes we wear come from the mage.'
'He would gladly pay,' Tyro revealed. 'He wants to restore the balance of power in the three kingdoms.'
Piro seemed convinced, but Fyn was not.
'You can tell the mage I am too weak to attend the ceremony tonight,' he told Tyro. 'I'm going back to bed.'
'I'll help you,' Isolt said.
'I can manage.'
'I am a healer, Fyn.'
'Rest is all I need.' He marched off. It was only when he got out of sight that he leant against the wall to
