Rejulas… my daughter, Piro.'
She gave him the minimum dip of her head. After all, she was a kingsdaughter and Rejulas was a mere warlord.
Cockatrice Spar was not the largest of the ridges that fanned out from the Dividing Mountains, but it was the one nearest Merofynia. Border wars were always going on over the Disputed Isles, a cluster of islands off the coast from the spar. As a student of history, Piro understood her father was marrying her to this warlord to ensure the safety of Rolencia's borders. She would be expected to spy on her husband and report back to her father and brothers. It was necessary, but she still resented it.
Piro looked up and caught the warlord staring at her. He smiled as if he knew what she was thinking.
A jolt ran through her. This Lord Rejulas was an unusual man with a 'witchy' look around his narrow eyes and high cheek bones. There had to be a bit of Utland raider in him, back a generation or two. She guessed he was several years older than the twins, but not near thirty, for there was no silver in the hair at his temples. Rather than the much-admired black eyes, his were brown, and met hers thoughtfully.
So this was the warlord she was supposed to marry? She would be hard put to find a more striking man. But he dressed like the barbarian he was. He even wore a vest of wyvern scales. How many men had died so that he could show off that sun-on-sea rippling blue vest? His shirt leather was so soft the women of his tribe must have chewed their teeth down to stubs on it. He was in for a surprise if he thought she would chew his leather!
A gold clasp in the shape of a cockatrice, the tall bird with the serpent's tail, held his cloak at the shoulder. The cockatrice cloak was one of the rare pure black ones, the feathers so fine they were nearly fur. Most of his long black hair was plaited behind his head. The front half was drawn over to one side and hung in a long pony tail by his right ear. It was held at intervals by gold bands, one for every man he had killed in battle. His battletale, as it was called, was almost solid gold. If she was really lucky, he would get himself killed in a border skirmish. Small chance of that!
And, judging from the appraising look he gave her, he was intelligent. Good. She hated stupidity.
She met his gaze. He grinned, confidently. She disliked him on instinct but, before she could speak, her father indicated the board game which sat on a low table in the bay window.
'Why don't we play Duelling Kingdoms? You have probably played a version of this game, warlord Rejulas. The way we play it here at court is more complex. The rewards are greater but then so are the risks. Will you play?'
Was her father being subtly cryptic? Piro wondered, and glanced to Rejulas to see if he thought so.
'How can I refuse?' he replied, with a smile that said he would rise to the challenge.
'Would you like to be the Elector of Ostron, Piro?' her father asked. The ruler of Ostron Isle was in charge of the wild cards, Unknowables. The elector could not win, but neither could he lose, since the real battle was between the two kings. 'I'll take King Rolence the First's piece. And you can play King Merofyn the First, Rejulas.'
Piro's father smiled grimly as he sat down at the triangular table. She took her seat and studied the familiar board. Rolencia and Merofynia were two crescents, one opened to the north, the other to the south. They were linked at their closest ends by the Snow Bridge. In real life this was a series of high ridges where the air was so thin only the locals could live comfortably. The people of the Snow Bridge formed fiercely independent city states, which monitored the three passes between Rolencia and Merofynia, taking their cut of all land trade.
From the mountains that bordered the outer crescents, long spikes stretched into the sea. In real life these ridges were broken, with small islands scattered about them.
Piro picked up the piece she was to play. The carving of the Elector of Ostron was as tall as her shortest finger and engraved with lifelike detail. Tiny jewels were set in his turbaned crown. Judging from Lord Cobalt, this style of clothing was well out of date. The wild cards were stacked on Ostron Isle which lay to the east of Merofynia.
'Turn over the first Unknowable, Piro,' her father said.
When the game began, each king was evenly matched with the same number of trained warriors, plus five warlords and their warriors. The object of the game was to invade the other kingdom.
There were three ways to attack. One was over the Snow Bridge which linked the two kingdoms. Snow closed the passes from autumn to spring. The thin air and exertion could wipe out half the army, or the inhabitants of the Snow Bridge could open the gates of their city states and turn on the men, to loot the army.
The next way to invade was to sail around the warlords' spars and navigate the outlying islands where the ships were prey to storms, Utland Raiders and wyverns. All these obstacles had to be overcome to reach the two kingdoms' vulnerable crescent valleys.
The last and least used way, because it entailed bribing a warlord to betray his king, was to march across the spar nearest to the invading king's harbour. In Merofynia's case, Cockatrice Spar.
That made Piro wonder. If her brother was betrothed to the Merofynian kingsdaughter they did not need to ensure this warlord's loyalty, did they?
It struck Piro that the game assumed the two kings would always seek to conquer one another. What if they were both content to rule their own lands? He father certainly was.
'Ready, Piro?' her father prodded.
She stacked the cards neatly. As the Elector of Ostron Isle, she held the Unknowables, factors beyond the kings' control, storms that sunk ships, Utland Raiders that destroyed fleets, treacherous warlords who betrayed their king, or the elector himself might support one king against the other.
Piro picked up the top card and read aloud. 'The city states of the Snow Bridge refuse to open the passes to the king's army.'
It was a setback for the warlord. Her father smiled and his eyes gleamed. 'Your move, Rejulas.'
The warlord rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
'Piro, we will have our wine,' her father said.
She pulled the trolley closer and poured two elegant silver goblets of the gleaming, rich wine. Its celebrated colour appeared on the royal emblem. She loved the fruity smell, associating it with winter nights, festivals and story telling.
King Rolen accepted his wine and Rejulas did likewise.
'To Rolencia, may her borders always be free from threat,' her father gave the traditional toast.
'To Rolencia and Cockatrice Spar, brothers-at-arms,' Rejulas replied. At the same time he moved half of King Merofyn's army into the waiting fleet and embarked on the sea journey to Rolencia's vulnerable inner crescent.
King Rolen would have to counter. He savoured a mouthful of wine and studied the board.
'You don't drink, Piro Kingsdaughter?' Rejulas's smile was quizzical. He had an easy charm, as if he was used to getting his own way.
'I don't know yet if I have reason to celebrate,' she replied, watching for his reaction.
His eyes widened. Good.
'Piro, the sweetbreads,' her father suggested swiftly. He sent five ships to meet the Merofynian fleet. 'Your move, Rejulas. You will find I am most experienced at keeping what is mine!'
Piro cut a small loaf into thin slices. Its surface was crusted with honey-glazed almond slivers.
She could feel Rejulas watching her. She desperately wanted to know what manner of man he was. She felt an itch crawling across her skin, heralding the build-up of Affinity in her body. With every sense strained to interpret his actions, she held out the plate of sweetbread.
He took it from her. Dropping a dollop of cream on a slice, he offered it to her. It was neatly done, not something you would expect from a barbarian, and the smile that accompanied it was rueful, as if he was apologising for having misjudged her.
Piro accepted the bread with a cautious smile of her own. She took a bite, anticipating the sweetness of almonds and honey as the sweet bread melted on her tongue. Instead her mouth was filled with a vile taste. Burning fumes rushed up the back of her nose, threatening to choke her. She could not possibly swallow.
Piro grabbed a napkin as she sprang up from the table, sending the game of Duelling Kingdoms to the floor. Turning away she spat the food into the napkin but still the fumes lingered. A fit of coughing shook her. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
She could not get the taste from her tongue. Fearing she might throw up, she stumbled a few steps further. Both men stood. Rejulas reached out to steady her. She sprang away from him, clutching her father's arm, and held
