There was no need for words. They slipped away, Fyn leading her out the west passage towards Eagle Tower. The air was much cooler in this section of the Hold and the sound of the revelry soon faded, cut off by the thick stone walls.
'What is it?' Piro asked, her breath misting in the cold.
'Not here.' Fyn jerked his head upwards, indicating the tower where they could be private.
Byren sipped his red wine, savouring the rich taste, while waiting for a chance to speak with his father. Finally the hunt-master and Lence moved off to refill their drinks, and he was alone with the king for a moment. He looked for his mother but she was entertaining the Merofynian ambassador. A pity, he would have liked the queen to hear this too.
'Has the warlord of Unistag sent anyone, father?' he asked. The warlords were supposed to renew their allegiance to the Rolencian King each midwinter and, if the warlord couldn't come, his delegate should.
'No,' King Rolen muttered. 'Not unless his delegate arrives before tomorrow evening — '
'Don't expect anyone. His heirs are fighting over who will take his place. My guess is, they couldn't agree who should represent him, because if they did it would be agreeing on his successor.'
'And where did you hear this?' Lence demanded, coming up behind him with Cobalt and Captain Temor.
Byren repressed an irrational surge of guilt. 'The villagers.' He was not about to reveal that they'd come to him, and not Lence, as the king's representative. 'They were complaining about Unistag raids on Foenix Spar driving people over the Divide.'
King Rolen nodded. 'Looks like we'll need to teach the Unistags a lesson this spring.'
'Sooner, before they can come over the pass and raid our villages,' Lence agreed with relish, having caught the last part of the conversation. 'I claim the honour of leading the fleet to the Utlands.'
'That reminds me,' Byren said, on another track entirely. 'I saw a band of thirty raiders in the valley. Have you had reports of an attack?'
His father shook his head. 'None. Are you sure they were from over the Divide and not from one of our lords' estates?'
'They wore no lord's emblem and they moved with deadly purpose.'
'But how can you be sure they were warlord's men?' Cobalt asked.
Byren hesitated. He'd been fighting spar warriors for five years now and his gut feeling told him they were not Rolencian. But, if they were spar warriors, why would they come down into the valley? Most raids occurred just over the pass on the high villages and mostly when they were desperate to feed their people. There had to be a better way…
'They were raiders, I just know,' Byren muttered. 'Father, I've been thinking. What if we built granaries — '
'Halcyon Abbey has a great granary,' Lence reminded him.
'Yes. But I meant to share with the spars.'
'What?' Cobalt mocked gently. 'Give away Rolencia's bounty? That would only make the people of the spars lazy. Why work when they could come a-begging?'
Lence and King Rolen laughed.
Byren felt his face flame. 'I'm trying to think of a way to stop the raids, Illien.'
'Teach them a lesson!' his father snapped. 'That's what m'father did and his before him. It's all they understand.'
'Not much better than Utlanders!' Lence added.
He and King Rolen laughed and refilled their wine goblets.
'The queen seems very close to the Merofynian ambassador,' Cobalt remarked in the lull that followed. 'Does she miss her home?'
Lence scowled. 'Rolencia is mother's home.'
Byren glanced to their mother. She was listening to the old ambassador. Probably talking about Lence's planned wedding, which would be announced on Midwinter's Day.
'My wife knew the ambassador when she was a child in Merofynia. He was a friend of her father's,' King Rolen said.
'That explains it then, Uncle,' Cobalt said. 'You are a lucky man, Queen Myrella is still a lovely as ever.'
Byren's father glanced to the queen, smiling fondly. 'We'll have been married twenty-one years this spring cusp and it will be three hundred years since King Rolence claimed the valley, uniting it under his banner. Yes, I am a lucky man. You must stand on the royal dais at the Jubilee, Nephew.'
'I would be honoured, Uncle.'
Obviously pleased to see their cousin acknowledged and formally welcomed back into the family, Lence slung an arm around Illien's shoulder. 'A toast to Rolencia!'
As they refilled their cups Byren experienced a stab of intense emotion. It took a moment for him to realise it was jealousy and he dismissed it as unworthy.
'Ever killed a saltwater wyvern, Illien?' Lence asked.
'No, but the Elector of Ostron Isle has a pet one. It's all the fashion.'
'Eh, Ostron Isle! What'll they come up with next?' King Rolen rolled his eyes.
Lence launched into the tale of his first wyvern kill and Byren excused himself. He had to write to Elina, to let her know that Garzik was safe and Orrade had recovered his sight. Retreating to his chamber, he spent a long time over the ink well. He longed to beg Elina's forgiveness and make everything right between them, but he couldn't find the right words. So in the end he stuck to the facts, sealed the note and sent for a courier to take it to Dovecote.
Piro followed Fyn up the steep steps to Eagle Tower. The stairs had been built curving around the inner wall so that defenders could back up, shielding their bodies if the castle walls were ever breached. Not that they would be. Rolenhold had never been taken.
She concentrated on keeping up with Fyn's longer legs. Why couldn't she have been born tall and strong like her namesake? On top of the tower Fyn paced to the battlements and Piro joined him, glad of a chance to catch her breath. Silently, he looked down across the snow-covered Rolencian valley with its network of iced-over canals and streams linking the lakes, right across to Mount Halcyon and the abbey.
Now that he had her attention Fyn seemed to be having trouble getting started.
'That leogryf… no wonder father is proud of Byren,' Piro said. 'And he will be even prouder when you are welcomed into the weapons master's branch of the brotherhood. Why, one day you may be weapons master yourself!'
He glanced at her, then looked away, uncomfortable.
Her heart sank. 'What is it?'
'The weapons master already offered me a place in his ranks, but I turned him down.'
She stared at him, horrified. If King Rolen knew, he would be furious.
Fyn grimaced. 'I couldn't kill on order.'
She searched his face. Lence and Byren had no trouble leading raiding parties. 'I don't — '
Fyn sighed. 'I hate to see anyone hurt, even animals. I could never be a warrior.'
'Oh,' Piro whispered. She had never given much thought to the warriors her brothers killed or injured. Lence and Byren had always seemed so powerful, larger than life, like her father. Now, after seeing the leogryf and hearing how Byren killed it to save Lence's life, she grew fearful for them. 'But sometimes you have to kill or be killed.'
'I know. If anyone hurt you or mother I'd protect you,' Fyn muttered grimly. His obsidian eyes fixed on Piro and she caught a glimpse of the man he might become. It made her shiver. His voice softened and he was a worried youth again. 'But how could I kill men who are simply serving their warlord?'
Piro worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Fyn had always been kinder than the twins. It had never occurred to her that this could make his life harder. 'I don't know what to say. Father expects you to become weapons master so you can support Lence when he is king.'
'I know!' He was clearly frustrated and worried. 'I've been thinking and I see only one way out of this. When the masters make their selection from this year's acolytes, the mystics master must choose me.'
'It would be a great honour to be chosen for a mystic,' Piro said slowly. 'Not as useful to father or Lence, but — '
