they did not have the mage to guide them? 'What about King Merofyn? Couldn't Lord Dunstany warn him about Palatyne's plans?'
'The king barely knew his own daughter. I fear the Utlander has weakened his mind to such an extent that Merofyn will never recover his wits.'
'Then we have no choice.' Fyn sprang up and prowled the length of the room. He came to the window, which looked up at the palace far above. The wyvern padded after him, her claws scraping on the mosaic floor. She rested her chin on the window sill and whimpered, almost as if she knew Isolt was at the palace. Fyn empathised with the Affinity beast and rubbed behind her horn knobs. The wyvern had nearly died to save Isolt. He would do no less.
A rush of conviction filled him. 'We can't let the marriage go through.'
'We can't let Palatyne execute Byren, and he will if we make a move against him,' Orrade said. 'That cage — '
'I already have a copy of the key. That's not the problem.' Tyro crossed to take a chair at the table, opposite Orrade.
Fyn joined them. 'Freeing Byren isn't enough, Orrie. Palatyne has been feeding the Merofynians a pack of lies. They believe he is their saviour and Byren is a threat.'
Orrade bristled. 'It's Palatyne who's the ambitious coward, not Byren.'
Tyro lifted his hands. 'The mage says what is written in history books is only the victor's version of the truth.'
Orrade laughed. 'I like this mage, already.'
Tyro looked away.
The foenix flew over to settle next to Tyro's chair.
'He misses Piro,' Fyn said.
The Affinity beast turned his head inquisitively to one side, much as Piro often did.
Tyro stroked the foenix's neck.
'Can't you foresee a way to reveal Palatyne's real nature?' Orrade asked Tyro.
'The past is like a road unfolding behind us, but the future is unwritten. The day of the wedding has solidified as a nexus point, the focus of many possible paths. Piro's Affinity gives her visions at nexus points.' Tyro's fists closed in frustration. 'Palatyne made sure Lord Dunstany can't get near her.'
Orrade cleared his throat. 'Ah… I get Affinity visions. Mostly they are just flashes of danger that seem to make no sense. They make my head ache so badly I can hardly think.'
'Any headaches now?' Tyro asked with a half-smile.
'None.'
'Then we are lost,' Fyn whispered.
'Not at all,' Tyro corrected. 'We must force Palatyne to reveal his true self. Fyn, I'll give you the key to Byren's cage. Dress as a player, so you can get close enough to free him. Tell him not to move, until he gets the sign. We'll have sea-hounds throughout the crowd, ready to act.
'Fyn, your part is crucial. After Palatyne marries Isolt, there will be speeches. Lord Dunstany will speak. When he rises, throw off your disguise to reveal yourself as one of Halcyon's monks, eager for revenge. Attack King Merofyn, but don't kill him. Palatyne will be right beside the king. We need to give people the time to see what Palatyne does. He'll make no attempt to defend Merofyn, because I know for a fact that Palatyne means to kill him. Isolt will spring to her father's defence. Take her captive, Fyn. Threaten, but don't hurt her. Byren can save her from you.
'This will give Byren a chance to win the people's love, while revealing Palatyne's true nature.'
Fyn nodded to himself. It seemed like a good plan.
Orrade cleared his throat. 'In my experience, plans never go the way you expect. There are too many factors beyond our control.'
'I know,' Tyro conceded. 'We'll have to adapt as things happen. But we must reveal Palatyne's true nature and give Byren a chance to clear his name.'
'Agreed.' Orrade glanced to Fyn, then back to Tyro. 'What of Fyn? You say his part is crucial. He could be killed.'
'Lord Dunstany will be there. He'll protect Fyn.'
'I don't mind taking a risk for Byren,' Fyn insisted. As long as Isolt was safe. He licked his lips. 'But what of the Utland Power-worker and the mystics from Cyena and Mulcibar Abbeys?'
'They are the factors we have no control over,' Tyro admitted. 'It could get interesting.'
Orrade laughed. 'That's one way of putting it.'
Fyn smiled. He'd missed Orrie.
'Right.' Orrade sat forwards. 'I'll watch Byren's back. Lord Dunstany will watch Fyn's. Who will make sure Piro is safe?'
'As far as Palatyne knows, Piro is a lowly slave girl,' Tyro said. 'If she keeps her head down, she's safe.'
Fyn said nothing. Since when could you rely on Piro's discretion?
It was dusk and Byren's stomach rumbled. It was always rumbling. He was grateful for the food Fyn had slipped him.
From the insults the townsfolk had hurled at him, he knew Isolt married Palatyne tomorrow, legitimising the ambitious murderer's claim to the Merofynian crown. Meanwhile, Byren hung here in a cage, impotent.
It was getting dark. Over the wall, he heard the market hawkers offering the last of their wares at bargain prices. The smell of roast chicken carried to Byren, making his stomach cramp painfully.
'Half a dozen roast potatoes going a begging,' a hawker called, wheeling his barrow into the courtyard.
'Be off with yer,' the guard nearest the entrance told him.
'Have one on me and tell me if they're not the tastiest tatties you ever had? Here, I'll top it off with onion and bacon.'
Several more guards came over, lured by the smell and the offer of free food.
Byren's stomach tied itself in knots.
As the potato hawker opened his barrow doors to prepare the guards' food, a figure slipped out from under the barrow.
Byren recognised Orrade, who darted over, taking advantage of the twilight to shove a couple of hot potatoes into his hands. 'We make our move at the wedding. Be ready.'
Then he was gone, before Byren could ask if there had been news of Florin. He hoped not, no news was good news. He hugged the potatoes, letting them warm him from the outside, before eating them to warm his innards.
His heart raced. Tomorrow, they freed him. He was more than ready.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As Piro woke on the morning of the wedding, a brooding dreamscape faded, leaving her with a sense of menace. If it was a vision, it was hardly useful, since she had woken before she knew the details.
Untangling her legs from the bedclothes, she padded over to the door to Isolt's chamber. Her thigh muscles trembled as if she had been running all night. That triggered a memory of running in her dreams.
Opening the door to the next chamber, she checked on Isolt, who lay fast asleep on the silk sheets. Squares of early morning sunlight came through the balcony doors casting patterns across the floor and the bed. Everything looked safe and normal, but Piro knew otherwise.
She didn't need Tyro to tell her that today was a nexus point and her dream a warning. All day yesterday Isolt had been overrun with officious persons trying to arrange the marriage and coronation. There had been no sign of Lord Dunstany, although Palatyne's guards may have excluded him.
'What's the matter, Piro?' Isolt asked, sitting up, her cheek creased from the pillow.
'For someone who's about to marry a man she hates, you look to have slept well!'
'I'm not going to marry him. And if I do, I'll kill him on our wedding night, before he can touch me. So I'm not
