more had hired boats or paid for places on the decks of merchant ships.
The noble families of Merofynia, each with their own loyal guards in the coloured cloaks of the house, filled the next terrace, and more were scattered throughout the crowd. To Piro it was obvious no one trusted anyone in Merofynia. Isolt's father had acquired the kingdom through deceit, and this had tainted his rule.
A little shiver crept over Piro's skin and she turned to see the Utland Power-worker watching her. Did he have her ability to sense nexus points? Had he foreseen Isolt's plan?
She must stay calm and give nothing away.
Piro looked down into the gardens. It gave her a pang to see that Byren's cage had been brought around to rest just below the terrace so that he could stare up through the bars at the new regents of Merofynia, and starve as they feasted.
She willed him to look up and see her, but he didn't. His attention was on the crowd.
Fyn edged through the nobles, gentry and wealthy merchants, until he was within a body length of Byren's cage. Dressed as a jester, in black leggings, boots, a multi-coloured tunic, and a tasselled cap on his shaved head, he passed unremarked, if not unnoticed.
Two guards stood in front of Byren's cage, which sat on a dray so that everyone could see the Rolencian pretender's degradation. Fyn caught his older brother's gaze.
Byren's eyes widened slightly as he recognised Fyn, with Orrade behind him. Byren nodded his understanding. They were ready to make their move.
A hushed murmur ran through the crowd as Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter arrived on the terrace and took her position on the dais. Fyn caught a glimpse of Piro, standing one step behind Isolt. The Merofynian kingsdaughter looked beautiful, but distant. He longed to reassure her.
Luckily they'd put Byren's cage right under the terrace. This meant, once Tyro-disguised-as-Dunstany gave his signal, all Fyn had to do was climb onto the cage roof, and onto the terrace.
As yet Fyn saw no sign of Lord Dunstany. He searched the crowd urgently for Bantam or Jakulos. It was noon, so the sea-hounds should be here now.
'I always knew you'd make a fine jester!' Bantam nudged Fyn's ribs. 'Let's see your tricks.'
Relief flooded Fyn. He gave a mock bow. 'At your service, sir.' Dropping his voice, he asked, 'Where's Jaku?'
'Not far,' Bantam whispered. 'Our ship's down there.'
Fyn followed Bantam's gesture and recognised the Wyvern's Whelp's masts. 'Good.'
Byren's heart raced as Fyn, dressed as a jester, capered towards him. He teased the guards with his bell and ribbon-tipped staff, then scuttled away when they threatened him.
The crowd cheered him on, always happy to see authority mocked.
Surreptitiously, Byren flexed his shoulders and stretched his legs. Just let him get out of this cage and he would make Palatyne regret the day he had invaded Rolencia.
Fyn darted in, poking Byren with his bell-tipped staff. On impulse Byren grabbed the bells. They came off in his hand. Fyn, the jester, stomped his foot and made a big show of demanding his bells back.
The crowd laughed.
The two guards looked at each other and shrugged. Too bad. They hadn't liked the jester anyway. Fyn scuttled away.
Byren looked down at the bells. Tied amid the little silver baubles was a key. The key to his cage. He hid a smile.
Piro had seen Fyn pass something to Byren, right under the guards' noses. She smiled, admiring his skill. People laughed as the jester wandered off forlornly. He blended into the crowd, where many players kept people entertained until the real performance could begin.
Trumpeters sounded from the turrets at each end of the royal terrace and a hush fell over the crowd. All around her, the cream of Merofynia's nobility jostled for position, pushing Piro towards the back of the dais. Rich matrons and jewelled lords fanned themselves fiercely, their make-up and elaborate costumes wilting in the heat.
Piro climbed onto an urn base to get a view over the nobles' ornate head-dresses. Isolt stood silent and stiff in her zircon-embroidered silk. Palatyne joined her, a hungry, possessive gleam in his eyes. The old king sat in a litter drooling, unaware that the prize he had murdered to gain was about to be taken from him, as an upstart barbarian spar warlord married his only daughter.
The Utlander stood behind and to the right of Palatyne. He looked very pleased with himself. Piro felt a surge of intense dislike. It was clear he intended to be Palatyne's right-hand man when the duke became king.
Where was Tyro? Surely Lord Dunstany was invited to the wedding? If only she could get near enough to ask him about her dream. She had thought her dream's events took place at dusk but, with the heavy grey clouds, it felt like twilight now.
Her spirits lifted as she caught sight of Dunstany's iron-grey hair. Tyro, in Lord Dunstany's guise, met her eyes over the heads of the nobles. His expression was tense and preoccupied.
Piro stepped off the urn base and began to wriggle through the press towards him. No one wanted to relinquish their position, especially to an unimportant servant. Try as she might, Piro could not get near Lord Dunstany. She climbed onto another urn base and tried to catch his eye, but the abbot of Mulcibar and the abbess of Cyena had arrived. The wedding was about to start.
Piro despaired. Isolt was right. What could Fyn do to save them, or Byren? Palatyne had won the people with his half-truths and lies. They would have to win the hearts of everyone in Merofynia to defeat Palatyne.
The trumpets sounded again and the crowd fell silent.
The abbess of Cyena and the abbot of Mulcibar called on their goddess and god, praying for wisdom for the queen, who would be regent in her ailing father's place, with support from her husband, the royal consort.
Piro held her breath, willing something to happen but, apart from foreboding dark clouds coming so low that they seemed to touch the topmost spire of the palace, and the sultry heat growing ever more intense, nothing intervened to stop the ceremony.
The abbess took Isolt's hand. The abbot took Palatyne's and placed it over Isolt's. They gave their vows.
With a flourish Palatyne removed the pendants from around his neck. He draped them over Isolt's head so that they rested on her chest, glinting gold and silver. 'As a bridal gift, I present my queen with these tokens, the royal emblems of Rolencia!'
Resentment flooded Piro. To Palatyne those emblems were symbols of triumph, to her family they had contained the dignity of office.
In unison, the abbot and abbess each blessed the crown, then lifted it, taking one side each to place it on Isolt's head. Together they proclaimed her regent. Piro hid a smile. Clearly, the rivalry between the two great abbeys was as strong here as it was back in Rolencia.
Then the abbot and abbess repeated the process with Palatyne's crown, but it was Isolt who lifted it from the cushion.
The ambitious duke knelt at Isolt's feet. She picked up the crown, held it high for all to see, then placed it on Palatyne's head. Piro thought Isolt very restrained, considering she wished him dead.
And, suddenly, the combined wedding-coronation ceremony was over. The crowd cheered.
Piro sagged, exhausted by the heat and the tension.
The nobles parted so that the servants could carry the long tables forwards to the edge of the terrace. Other servants waited with food-laden trays. As soon as the tables and chairs were in position the nobles scurried to claim their places. Below them on the next terrace, less lucky nobles, gentry and wealthy merchants waited while their servants spread food on tables they had brought with them. Down on the lower terraces, people spread blankets on the grass and opened their picnic baskets. Musicians began to play from each turret, the music oddly thin and dull in the thick air.
All around Piro, the nobles talked and congratulated themselves, while the sky grew darker and the clouds took on an odd greenish tinge, giving the day an unreal quality. Piro's head throbbed. The very air felt strange to her, it seemed alive with more than the threat of the thunderstorm.
Her Affinity screamed a warning. She sensed Tyro drawing his power to himself, but with the Utlander ready to counter anything he attempted, Piro did not see what he could do.
