'How?' Orrade persisted.
'Yes, how?' Byren muttered. 'I must admit it eats at me to be called a traitor.'
Fyn reached through the bars to squeeze Byren's hand. 'We'll get you out and save your name. Don't give up hope.'
Byren grinned. 'Not with you two come back from the dead.'
Fyn noticed the cheering had lessened. 'We must go.'
Orrade hesitated.
'Go with Fyn.' Byren jerked his head.
'Here, what's going on?' a guard demanded.
Fyn stepped back, rattling his staff on the cage, yelling abuse at the prisoner. Orrade followed his lead, while Byren hastily hid the food and water under his clothing.
Fyn blended into the crowd, Orrade one step behind him.
'I hope you know what you're doing, Fyn. Who is this Lord Dunstany and why is he helping Byren?' Orrade asked.
'You'll see.' Fyn kept walking, weaving his way across the square towards the palace. He had to get a glimpse of Isolt. All about him, people spoke of her innocence and beauty.
'With the old king fading we'll need a new king,' a sensible matron told her companion.
'So true. We can't have war in Rolencia and the merchants of Ostron Isle encouraging sea-hounds to rob our ships. We need a strong king to look after our rights,' her companion agreed. 'Palatyne can marry Isolt and claim the throne with my blessing!'
The matron nodded.
'Stay near me, Orrie.' Fyn worked his way to the palace steps, to where he could see Isolt and the royal party. It was relatively easy. No one wanted to get too close to a couple of smelly beggars.
'Is that Piro?' Orrade whispered. 'What's she doing with the Merofynian kingsdaughter?'
'I'll explain later.' Fyn's heart turned over as Isolt walked up the broad steps to the entrance, where King Merofyn waited. Fyn could only think of him as the usurper, Uncle Sefon's murderer. He could still hear his mother's voice, Poor little Sefon. He'd been a boy of two when she was sent to Rolencia, and he had always remained that little boy in her mind.
King Merofyn sat on a litter, with a blanket over his knees. Isolt gave a cry and ran up the last few steps to him, throwing her arms around the king's shoulders.
The people cheered. Fyn's throat felt tight. He knew that Isolt had good reason not to love her father, yet she did. It did not mean she was weak, only good-hearted.
Palatyne drew Isolt's arm through his and turned her around to wave to the crowd. Then he led her inside. Piro followed behind the king.
At least Piro and Isolt were safe for now. Tyro, as Lord Dunstany, was waiting for them inside the palace.
Satisfied that there was nothing more he could do for them or Byren, Fyn turned to make his way back towards Dunstany's mansion. 'So how did you get here, Orrie?'
'A farmer took me in and sewed up my leg. I heard they had Byren and tried to reach Port Marchand in time to save him, but I was too late, so I took passage on a ship and followed. What of you? Last I heard, you tried to hold the gate. We thought you dead.'
'I looked dead. That's what saved me. My sea-hounds realised I was Affinity-wounded and stole my body. They took me back to their ship. Where are you staying? We'll get your things.'
'I don't have any things. I've been sleeping in the streets.' A grin creased Orrade's thin face. 'This isn't a costume.'
Fyn laughed. 'I bet you'd love a hot meal and a hot bath.'
An hour later, after being let inside Dunstany's mansion by his spy, Fyn watched while a much cleaner Orrade enjoyed a hot dinner.
'You look like you haven't eaten properly in days.'
'I haven't.' Orrade took a mouthful of ale and fixed sharp eyes on him. 'What's going on, Fyn?'
'You heard them out in the street. They hate Byren. They're ready to accept Palatyne if he marries Isolt. And it wouldn't take much to convince them to attack Ostron Isle.'
'I don't much care what happens to Merofynia or Ostron Isle. I just want to make sure Byren's safe,' Orrade said.
'No one, not Byren or Piro or Isolt, will be safe until Palatyne's dead, and if we assassinated him, we wouldn't get out of here alive.'
'You're right,' Orrade conceded. 'So, what are we going to do?'
Fyn sank into the window seat overlooking the Landlocked Sea. 'I've no idea. Yet.'
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Piro waited unnoticed towards the back of the crowd that filled the king's bedchamber. The great bed stood in the centre of the room on its dais. Like a restless sea, ebbing and flowing, courtiers clustered around it.
There were representatives from every noble family of Merofynia as well as warlords from beyond the Dividing Mountains. Several healers hovered over the bed consulting.
Back home in Rolencia, there would have been Sylion nuns and Halcyon monks, here they were renegade Power-workers, eager to make a name for themselves, plus nuns and monks from Merofynia's abbeys. Her father had always considered them little better than Affinity renegades. Three Cyena nuns in purest white sang and did the warding symbols at the chamber's three entrances. Five Mulcibar monks with their abbot walked around the bed praying for the king's soul as they swung tiny brass braziers filled with burning herbs. Renegade Power-workers chanted and made gestures over the bed. The room smelled of too many bodies, pungent Mulcibar herbs and beneath that, barely disguised, old age and death. It made Piro feel ill. She wished she could open a window and take a breath of clean air.
Isolt was speaking intently with the healers and, from her tight expression, the news was not good. So far the king had met his daughter's eyes only once with a flicker of recognition, and then resumed his senseless muttering.
Silence fell as Palatyne marched into the chamber with the Utland Power-worker by his side.
'Kingsdaughter.' He bowed.
'Duke.' Isolt inclined her head only slightly.
'I fear there is no hope, Isolt,' Duke Palatyne said, his voice cutting through all the others. 'The king lives but his mind has gone. For the sake of the kingdom you must appoint a regent to rule until you are of age. Consider appointing me as your regent. Better still, before he lost his reason King Merofyn asked me to put his mind at rest and marry you, so that both you and the kingdom would be cared for.' His triumphant eyes never left Isolt. 'For peace and stability we must marry as soon as possible. The people of Rolencia are planning an uprising and the elector of Ostron Isle cannot be trusted.'
Isolt opened her mouth as if she would argue, but Palatyne rushed on.
'After all, you do not know how long your father has to live, and you want him to see your wedding, don't you?'
Isolt winced visibly then recovered her composure, assuming her Merofynian court face, but Piro knew she was seething.
'And so, he springs the trap,' Lord Dunstany whispered.
Piro bit back a gasp and turned to meet Tyro's eyes. In some ways she was more comfortable with him when he was disguised as the noble Power-worker. Why couldn't Lord Dunstany be the real person, then he could be her friend, not her… what was Tyro to her, but an angry, pretentious youth, who had only recently begun to trust her? Too late for her to let her guard down.
'Fyn's safe?' she breathed.
'At Dunstany's mansion.'
