worried.'
Piro studied Isolt. Was she delusional or just desperate? Palatyne could easily overpower her.
'What's wrong?' Isolt asked.
'I had a dream,' Piro said.
'A vision?'
Piro nodded.
Isolt patted the bed. 'Come, tell me.'
Piro climbed onto the high bed. Leaning against the headboard, she set about diverting Isolt. 'Before Palatyne took my father's castle, I was troubled by dreams of wyverns prowling the corridors, terrorising servants and hunting me. This became reality when Palatyne's soldiers did just that. But this time…' And she had a dream flash so vivid, her whole body jerked with fright.
'What is it?' Isolt reached for her.
'I had to escape. A grown foenix stepped in front of me.' Piro shuddered. 'It had clever cruel eyes and it hated me. Terror filled me. I couldn't move.'
Isolt rubbed Piro's arms. 'Your skin's gone cold and clammy.'
Piro turned to her. 'Don't you see? If the wyverns represent Palatyne, then the foenix represents a threat from Rolencia. That means one of my brothers is a traitor!'
'No, Piro. I refuse to believe Fyn a traitor. As for — '
'Byren is the best of brothers. He'd never hurt me or Fyn,' Piro insisted. 'The dream makes no sense. If only I could ask Tyro.'
'Well, we'll see him soon enough. The wedding starts at noon.'
'But we'll be surrounded by courtiers, and the Utlander will be watching.' Just then there was a knock at the door.
'What is it?' Piro called.
'Breakfast. Fresh-baked apple tarts and cream, and hot chocolate.'
Piro slid off the bed, getting to her feet. She struggled to smile. 'Come, kingsdaughter, this is your wedding day, and my last day as your maid. I'll run your bath and scent it with starkiss perfume.'
Isolt wrinkled her nose. 'Wasted on Palatyne, I fear.' But she called for the servants to enter and set the table.
Fyn peered into the mirror. After painting his face with the traditional jester's white, he exaggerated his eyes, drawing his eyebrows as big arcs of surprise. Everything was going according to plan, if you ignored the fact that they had only the barest of plans.
'All set?' Tyro asked, entering the chamber.
'Yes.' Fyn turned as Orrade came to his feet. He wore unremarkable clothes, so he could blend in the crowd.
'Where will you be during all this?' Orrade asked Tyro.
'Hidden, watching.'
Orrade nodded. 'How will we see your signal?'
'Fyn will know.' Tyro dropped a large key in Fyn's hand. 'In that costume you'll be able to get close enough to Byren to unlock the cage and slide him this sword.' He drew the weapon from under his robe.
Orrade took the sword, testing its weight. 'You're a good judge. It feels just like Byren's old sword.' He laughed. 'Byren would say a man makes his own future.'
Tyro gave him a grim smile. 'And so he will, with a little help from us.'
Byren tensed as the guards came towards him. They carried buckets of water. Ice-cold, he did not doubt.
'Come to clean you up for the wedding,' his chief tormentor said. 'Can't have you stinking up Duke Palatyne's coronation.'
'Be King Palatyne by sunset,' another said. 'And about time too.'
'Palatyne can't be king while the old king lives,' Byren pointed out, then dredged up his mother's lessons on royal protocol. 'Kingsdaughter Isolt will be regent, and her husband becomes her consort.'
'Oh, he'll be king soon enough,' one guard said, with an exaggerated wink.
Before Byren could comment, they tossed the cold water over him. He shivered and shook himself like a dog as a horse dray was backed under the cage. The cage was lowered onto the dray and the horse walked the streets of Port Mero to the palace's terraced gardens overlooking the Landlocked Sea.
They left his cage on the dray, but released the horses, propping the dray in place. It was parked below the first terrace where the wedding would take place. He could just see through the balustrades of the terrace railings. At least he was in the sun and would soon dry off. Below him the terraces descended to the sea.
While Byren and his guards waited, most of the population of Port Mero and surrounding countryside filtered into the gardens, or sailed their boats across the Landlocked Sea to get a view of the proceedings.
Byren's stomach rumbled. One way or another he would not be hungry after today.
Piro tucked her hair behind her ears, to keep it out of the way while she did Isolt's. Though it was only late spring a summer storm brewed, nature reflecting the gathering of forces at this nexus point, and humid, oppressive heat hung over the city, as the sun neared the zenith.
For the wedding and coronation, Isolt wore an azure gown of Ostronite silk, gathered under the bust with a long train at the back. Her bodice was encrusted with zircons. Zircons also covered her crown, but for now, her hair needed to be done simply so that the crown could sit in place once she was made regent.
Piro gathered Isolt's long hair into a fine silver net and fastened it to a clip at the back of her neck. Sapphires hung from her ears. She looked perfect, but her face was a mask as she stared, hard-eyed, into the mirror.
Piro tried to reassure her. 'Fyn will — '
'I don't want Fyn to risk his life for me.' Isolt squeezed Piro's hand. 'No. I must save myself. I had hoped to kill Palatyne before the wedding but he has not come near me, not even to boast. So I must kill him after. He has to take that ring off sometime and when he does I will take the poison out and save it.'
Piro bit her bottom lip.
'You doubt me?'
Piro shook her head. 'What if Palatyne tries to poison your father on your wedding day? He's so weak it would carry him off quickly and no one would suspect a thing.'
A travesty of a smile illuminated Isolt's face. 'I shall be watching the duke. When he slips the poison into my father's drink, I will distract him while you switch drinks.'
Piro gulped. That just might work. If Palatyne had already tested his drink, he would not test it a second time. So much rested on her.
Isolt twisted from the waist, clutching Piro's arm. 'You must do this for me. Palatyne murdered your parents and brother — we can't let him get away with murdering my father too!'
Piro agreed, but she feared the Utlander's cunning eyes. If he and his twin were powerful enough to kill Mage Tsulamyth, what chance did she have against him?
Isolt stood. 'I am ready.'
Piro squeezed her hand.
Palatyne's guards escorted them down to the terrace, where favoured nobles of Merofynia had already taken their places on the stage overlooking the gardens and the Landlocked Sea.
The Utlander had been busy indeed. Food had been delivered by the wagon load and prepared in the stifling heat of the kitchens, ready for the feast.
A dais had been hastily built for the royal entourage, right up against the balustrade in the centre of the top terrace, so that Isolt and Palatyne could be observed during the ceremony and feast.
The Utlander had made good use of his army of palace servants, Piro thought as they took their place on the dais. Urns as high as her waist were filled with dark red bougainvillea, topped with azure flags that hung limp in the still air. Sprays of flowers tumbled from hanging baskets, their scent almost overpowering.
Piro's diaphanous gown stuck to her shoulders and her hair hung limply, damp tendrils clinging to her neck and back. Nothing stirred in the oppressive heat, even the birds were still.
Clouds obscured the sun, sullen and threatening. But the impending storm hadn't deterred the people, who had turned out in their thousands. A huge crowd had gathered in the gardens along the Landlocked Sea shore. Many
