catch his breath and wait for the grey specks to vanish from his vision. He cursed himself for being rude to Isolt.
She would hate him. Good.
That was better than her ever guessing how he really felt. And he needed privacy for he was going to rescue Byren. As soon as the others left for the elector's coronation he would slip off Mage Isle.
Piro watched Isolt climb into the mage's carriage, lifting her ankle-length silk skirt and revealing the jewelled clasp on her slippers.
'What took you so long?' The mage thumped the roof of the carriage with his cane and it lurched, sending Isolt onto her seat with a thud.
Piro hid a smile. Tyro was good at this.
'I had to check on Fyn,' Isolt said primly, slipping back into her Merofynian court persona. 'He was sleeping. I think he overdid it in the garden today.'
'The arrogance of youth,' Mage Tsulamyth muttered. 'Now you two keep your ears open. Any interesting gossip, report back to me.' His deep-set eyes gleamed. 'Many men make the mistake of thinking power comes from the sword, but real power comes from information. Remember that. One day you will both be queens.'
Piro snorted. 'I don't want to be queen.'
'But think of the good you could do,' Isolt countered.
'How will you do good, while married to Palatyne?'
'I will never marry Palatyne. In fact…' Isolt's small mouth settled in a grim line, 'I will never marry!'
Fyn's skin felt clammy with sweat as he jumped down from the borrowed horse. Luckily the wharfs were almost deserted. Everyone who could wrangle an invitation was up at the gardens for the inauguration ceremony. Fyn headed for the Wyvern's Whelp. Everything rested on his ability to bluff Nefysto, and the captain was no fool.
A single sailor stood on watch, having his own feast of wine and a leg of ham. He waved to Fyn. 'Good to see you back on your feet, little monk!'
'Captain in his cabin?' Fyn asked.
'You missed him. He's with his family, up at the ceremony.'
Fyn cursed silently. He should have anticipated this. He slid out a message cylinder, pinched from the war table room. 'We're supposed to sail at first light. Give this to the captain when he comes in.'
The sailor shook his head. 'Can't be done. Half the crew won't be back till midday and the ship has to be provisioned.'
'Very well. But my mission is of the greatest urgency. I will return at lunchtime tomorrow.' Fyn strode off. As soon as he was out of sight he bent double to catch his breath.
A snatch of music and laughter wafted down from the elector's gardens.
Isolt was up there. He'd pretended to be asleep when she came to check on him. It had been on the tip of his tongue to apologise. Since he was going to rescue Byren, so his brother could marry her and unite their kingdoms, he deserved one more chance to see her.
Fyn headed up the slope. He would blend into the crowd, watch her from afar. He entered through one of the many garden archways and made for the lantern-dotted terraces. Now that he was here and saw the crowds he realised how hopeless it was. Still he wandered, listening for Isolt's voice in the laughter and music. There were rock pools amid artfully constructed gardens, and heavenly scented flowers glowed in the velvety night.
He thought Isolt would be up on the main terrace where the elector was, with the aristocracy of Ostron Isle, but he found her alone by a pool. Pale flowers floated on its surface, barely disturbing the stars' reflection.
She wore something white and filmy, and her head-dress was threaded with zircons that glinted like stars in the black sable of her hair. She was so beautiful, she took his breath away. He should leave.
He meant to take one look and go but she gulped back a sob and wiped her fingers across her cheeks.
'What's wrong?'
'Oh, Fyn. What are you doing here?' She turned away from him and hastily wiped her face, turning back with a smile. 'I thought you were sleeping…' She frowned, putting it all together. 'You're leaving, aren't you? You're going to rescue your brother.'
He nodded. 'I'm sailing on the Wyvern's Whelp tomorrow. Don't tell the mage.'
'Of course not. Take me with you!'
There was nothing Fyn would have liked more.
Piro paced the terrace searching for Isolt. That stupid woman, the new Elector Cera, had told Isolt her father was very sick. Her friend had gone very pale and slipped away as soon as she could.
Now Piro couldn't see the kingsdaughter anywhere. Her heart missed a beat. What if Isolt had been kidnapped? Should she find Tyro in his mage's disguise, or keep looking for Isolt?
Piro leant her elbows on the balustrade and stared down into the lantern-lit gardens below. Was that Isolt's white gown by a rock pool? Was someone with her?
Trying to keep the location fixed in her head, Piro threaded her way down shallow steps, through arches, around fountains and winding streams. A night-bird sang its sweet mournful song. Piro rounded a bend in the path and saw Isolt and her companion through the fronds of palm trees. Even by starlight Piro recognised Fyn.
She was about to call out when she overheard Fyn speak.
'I can't, it's too dangerous.'
'I can help rescue Byren. After all, I am still Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter.'
'The guards would tell Palatyne and you'd end up his captive.'
'Not all the guards are loyal to him. Some are still loyal to my father. Besides, we'd be away before Palatyne discovers we've been into Port Mero.'
Fyn considered this. 'We'd have to tell Piro. She — '
'We can't tell her. She'd give us away.'
'Nonsense!'
'Oh, Fyn. You haven't been here. I've seen the way she and Tyro send each other secret looks.'
Fyn looked stunned. 'Piro's in love with the mage's agent? Are you sure? She doesn't seem to be in love to me.'
Isolt gave an odd little laugh. 'Men, what would they know about love? So, I'll pack a few things and meet you tomorrow. But how will I get away? I know. I'll wait in the grotto under the tower. Sail a boat around to me.'
'You would risk your life for Byren?'
Piro suspected Isolt was risking her life for Fyn.
But Isolt only nodded. 'It's decided then. I'll meet you in the grotto.'
Piro's first impulse was to tell them they were wrong. She was loyal. But it would mean disclosing why she and Tyro had been exchanging meaningful looks, and his secret was not hers to reveal. Sad at heart, she retreated.
On the terraces the celebrations continued, and Piro found Mage Tsulamyth hobbling around looking annoyed.
Seeing Piro, he beckoned. 'You don't join in the games and entertainment? A pretty young thing like you should have some fun.'
'One party is much like another. I'm no butterfly — '
'What are you then, Piro?' he asked, slipping into Tyro's voice.
She looked away. She had been Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter, expected to marry well for the sake of her family, but she had hated it. Ironically, in some ways she had been happiest as Lord Dunstany's slave. Then she recalled how Palatyne had claimed her for Isolt's slave and how Isolt was considered a prize for the victor… 'I wish I were a man!'
He laughed and her cheeks burned at his tone.
'Consider this, Piro,' Tyro said. 'Who taught you to speak three languages, heal and stitch a wound?'
'My mother. But it was a man who killed her.'
'True,' he acknowledged. 'In the Duelling Kingdoms game which piece is the most powerful?'
'The king.'
'No. The game is lost if the queen falls before her king does. But if the king falls, the queen fights on.' He
