King Breaker (70 page)

‘But I want to discuss strategy.’

‘Come, my queen.’ Fyn offered his arm. Isolt’s talk of luring the defenders out had given him an idea, and he tossed a comment over his shoulder as he left. ‘Spar warriors don’t have the same code of honour as you do, Lord Travany. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did try to escape. Spar warriors would rather live to fight another day.’

Fyn climbed down the steps with Isolt. Now that he’d planted the idea, he could circumvent Travany by leading an assault on the pretext that he’d caught the defenders trying to escape and Travany would not be able to prove otherwise.

When they reached the base of the tower, Isolt turned to him. ‘Do you need a distraction?’

Fyn blinked. She
was
a distraction.

‘Do you need something to distract the defenders so you can get into the house?’

‘Yes. A fire would have been perfect.’

She nodded, looking pleased with herself.

He’d seen that look on Piro’s face and it never boded well. ‘What are you up to?’

Loyalty and Resolute landed.

‘Isolt?’

She smiled and walked off with the Affinity beasts in tow.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

F
LORIN STRODE DOWN
the corridor. She hadn’t thrown up since the day after they’d arrived, and the nausea had faded until she was hardly aware of it. She was ready to join Byren, but he hadn’t sent a message since that first one, and she didn’t know where he was. She walked so fast Piro had to take two steps for every one of hers.

Impatience gnawed at Florin’s belly. ‘If Byren...’

Loud cries of distress reached them from the Istyntir women’s chambers.

‘Fetch help,’ Florin told Piro. Then she drew her knife and took off down the corridor.

Throwing the door open, Florin prepared to defend the women from attackers. Instead she found Lady Travenna and her five daughters all weeping. The eldest girl stood alone in front of the fireplace. The other four clustered around the mother, who had collapsed on the day-bed.

All of them stared at Florin, startled by her sudden appearance with a naked blade.

‘I heard cries. I thought we were under attack.’

‘So you’re Piro’s bodyguard,’ the mother said, as if she’d been trying to figure out Florin’s position in the household.

Florin let this pass. ‘What’s wrong? I thought someone was being murdered.’

‘It’s Isfynia.’ The youngest girl gestured to the eldest. ‘She—’ One of her sisters elbowed her.

Piro ran into the chamber with Soterro and three sturdy footmen, all armed.

‘False alarm,’ Florin said but she caught Piro’s eye.

Taking her cue from Florin, Piro dismissed the men and turned to the mother. ‘Can I help, Lady Travenna?’

‘No.’ The mother wept while the four younger daughters tried to console her. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do. We’re ruined.’

‘Byren will recapture your estate,’ Florin told her. ‘Then you can go home.’

The woman glared at Florin. ‘What would an ignorant Rolencian girl know? My son’s dead and my husband’s dying. Even if the Rolencian king retakes Istyntir, it won’t be our home for long. There’s no male heir. One of the other lords will claim it for his younger son.’

‘You could appeal to the queen,’ Piro said. ‘She could recognise Isfynia’s right to inherit, and arrange for her husband to change his name...’

She ran down as Lady Travenna wept inconsolably.

Piro turned to Isfynia for an explanation.

The eldest daughter lifted her hands. ‘I—’

‘She’s gone and gotten herself pregnant,’ the sixteen-year-old said. ‘She’s ruined herself and ruined us, too.’

‘Tari is right,’ the mother said. ‘No man will have her—’

‘I was trying to tell you but you wouldn’t listen,’ Isfynia said. ‘Rishardt loves me. He was going to go to Father, but the spar warriors attacked.’

The mother shook her head. ‘If he’s anything like his uncle, he’ll sail off—’

‘Rishardt would never desert me.’

‘Why should he marry you, when you’ve already given yourself to him for nothing?’ the mother demanded, voice shrill and hard.

‘It was only the once, right after Father collapsed.’ Isfynia spoke calmly, despite the hectic colour in her cheeks. ‘I was weeping in his arms and it just happened.’

Florin flushed, remembering how it had almost ‘happened’ with Byren.

The mother covered the youngest daughter’s ears. ‘How can you speak of such things in front of your sisters?’

‘Mother...’ Isfynia pleaded.

Florin wanted to shake Lady Travenna. She glanced to Piro, who looked to be out of her depth. ‘I don’t see what the problem is. This Rishardt should be grateful he’s getting a wife who can bear children.’

Lady Travenna gave a slightly hysterical laugh. ‘She’s ruined!’

‘All this talk of ruin!’ Florin threw up her hands. ‘You noble women make life hard for yourselves.’

She walked out. If she didn’t get away from weeping women and rejoin Byren, she’d do something violent. At least the eldest daughter had a man who wanted her.

Byren couldn’t even bring himself to... Florin refused to think about him.

F
YN AND
C
AMORIC
studied the great house. It was dusk and the camp fires were lit, but the sky still held the afterglow of the setting sun.

‘See that portico?’ Fyn nodded to a door that had been boarded shut. ‘I’ll climb the trellis onto the portico roof, force the grate, slip inside and open the door. Once I do, I’ll signal my men. As soon as you hear us shouting, run to Travany’s tent. Tell him the spar warriors are trying to escape. Grab Travrhon and come to my aid.’

‘And Travany will be none the wiser.’ Camoric grinned. ‘If you get any craftier...’

‘The queen!’

Fyn sprinted towards the front of the house, where men were gathering, looking up into the sky. Loyalty came into sight, circling above the besieging army. There was something odd...

‘Isolt Wyvern Queen!’

Isolt was astride her wyvern.

Fyn cursed. ‘What does she think she’s doing?’

‘Distracting the defenders.’ Camoric indicated a third floor balcony where a dozen spar warriors pointed and marvelled. As Fyn watched, another three joined them. But his gaze was drawn to Isolt. She looked so small up there on the wyvern’s back.

Camoric signalled a dozen of his men. ‘Come on, Fyn. We’ll never get a better chance.’

He ran back the way they’d come, the men following. Fyn had no choice but to make for the great house, where Camoric gave him a boost up onto the portico roof. He pushed in the grate, wriggled through and dropped down onto a chest that had been wedged up against the door.

It was dark inside. No lamps had been lit, and the house smelled of wine and stale food.

Heart pounding, Fyn dragged the chest aside, unlocked the door and forced the planks out with several well placed kicks. The sound echoed through the ground floor, but no one came.

Camoric and his men tore off the rest of the planks and poured in.

‘Clean out the ground floor,’ Fyn said. ‘I’m going after the warlord.’

He ran up the stairs, followed by a dozen men. In one of the best bedrooms, he found a huddle of frightened women and sent them to safety.

The upper floor seemed mostly deserted. Isolt’s antics had drawn the spar warriors to the top floor balconies at the front of the great house. As yet, the besiegers had not taken advantage of the distraction. Fyn’s men poured out onto the first balcony, attacking the spar warriors from behind. They barely had time to draw their weapons.

Fyn’s heart nearly stopped when he caught a bowman taking aim at Isolt. With a roar, he shouldered the man aside, tipping him over the balustrade. The bowman’s terrified scream was cut short as he hit the terrace. Fyn looked over the balcony in time to see Travrhon lead a charge against the front of the house.

‘This way!’ Fyn led his men into the dim hall, where they found a dozen spar warriors had rallied. ‘To me!’

Shoulder to shoulder, they hacked and slashed in the failing light. As more defenders raced up the hall, they were driven back into a chamber. The spar warriors followed, swords swinging. Furniture splintered, vases smashed and bed curtains collapsed on struggling men, but the tide was turning.

The moment the last defender dropped, Fyn darted out onto the balcony to check on Isolt.

He was in time to see Loyalty swoop down to land. The wyvern stumbled and lost her footing. The queen was thrown forward, turned a somersault in the air and hit the ground hard. She lay still.

He was running before he knew it, running down the corridor, leaping over the bodies of fallen warriors.

Passing Travrhon on the grand staircase, he yelled, ‘Check the third floor.’

He didn’t wait for a response, but took the steps two at a time, kicked his way through a half-boarded door and ran up the slope towards Isolt, who was surrounded by worried men-at-arms and the two Affinity beasts.

They parted so that the abbot and his four monks could carry Isolt. She looked so pale and small, Fyn’s heart twisted with anguish. He caught up with Murheg. ‘How is she?’

‘Hit her head. No obvious broken bones. I’ll take her down to the boat.’

Ahead of them, Trafyn backed out of his father’s tent, drawing his sword. ‘Hurry up, or we’ll miss the fighting.’

Travany stepped out with the scribe, still strapping on his armour. He took in the monks and their burden.

‘Fell, did she? I’m not surprised.’ Travany turned on Fyn. ‘What were you thinking, putting her up to this? Call yourself her lord protector?’

Fyn took two steps towards Travany. He didn’t know he was going to punch him until the lord lay flat on his back. Trafyn stared, stunned.

Murheg took Fyn’s arm. ‘Enough of that! The queen needs you.’

They hurried after the monks.

On the boat, Fyn told the Affinity beasts to wait on deck. Then he paced outside in the passage, as Murheg checked Isolt for injuries.

Finally, the abbot came out of the cabin. ‘She must have been born under a lucky star. Apart from a few bruises and a lump on her head, she’s fine. You can...’

But Fyn had already brushed past him.

He found Isolt sitting on the bunk, looking pale and dishevelled but pleased with herself.

‘Did you recapture the great house, Fyn?’

He caught her by the shoulders. ‘You’re all right?’

She laughed. ‘Of course, I’m—’

‘What were you thinking? You could have been killed.’

‘I’ve flown before.’ She saw his surprise. ‘Back home. I’ve been practicing since I saw Cortomir fly. Loyalty and I are getting pretty good, although we do need to work on our landings.’

‘You never told me.’

‘I didn’t want to worry you. I’ll teach you, if you like. With your Affinity, Loyalty should accept you on her back. That’s if you’re not scared of heights.’

It was a deliberate ploy to divert him. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. He pulled her close and...

Loyalty barrelled into the cabin, knocking the door off its hinges. Resolute followed and the beasts jostled Fyn aside.

Loyalty knelt, placing her head in Isolt’s lap. As the queen stroked the wyvern’s beautiful, horned head Fyn understood. ‘You’ve bonded with her.’

‘Yes. Piro helped us bond the night before she left.’ Isolt smiled as the foenix nudged her, wanting attention. Loyalty snapped at Resolute, but there was no malice in it. After a moment, she allowed Resolute close enough to Isolt to be stroked.

‘My queen?’

They turned to find the abbot in the doorway. ‘You’re both needed up at the great house. Lord Travany has captured the warlord of Ulfr Spar.’

‘He’ll want you to witness the man’s execution,’ Fyn told Isolt. ‘You don’t have to go. I can say you are recovering from your fall.’

‘If I don’t go, Travany won’t respect me.’ She stood, then swayed a little.

He steadied her. ‘Are you up to this?’

‘Of course.’

Admiration filled him. He yearned to claim her, wanted everyone to know that she was his.

‘Fyn?’ Isolt tilted her head.

‘My queen.’ He offered his arm.

She took it. ‘My lord protector.’

And they went up to the great house together.

F
LORIN PUSHED THE
board game aside so Piro could climb up onto the bed to read the message. Lord Dunstany nodded his thanks to Florin. She really had grown fond of the old man. Perhaps it was because he didn’t look down on her. But she still had every intention of sailing with the captain of the Wythrontir pleasure yacht when he returned to Byren.

‘That’s odd,’ Piro said, tilting the message towards the lamp. ‘This is Orrade’s writing. I wonder—’

‘Has Byren been injured?’ Florin fought the urge to snatch the message from her.

Piro eyes darted down the page.

‘Read it aloud, child,’ Lord Dunstany urged, ‘before we die of curiosity.’

‘Byren hurt his hand, but Orrade says it’s already healing,’ Piro said.

Florin suspected Orrade had been cooperating with Byren to speed up his healing.

‘They march for Nevantir Estate with the freed slaves. Orrade says... “By the time we reach the palace, Byren will have a loyal army.”’

‘He’s a clever lad, your brother,’ Dunstany said. He gestured to the kingdoms’ board. ‘It looks like they’ll meet at either Istyn or Elcwyff’s estate.’

‘I must tell Fyn.’ Piro went over to the desk to write.

Florin retrieved the message and pored over it, looking for her name. Seeing it, her heart skipped:
I
trust Florin is feeling better and look forward to seeing you both in port
.

Devastated, she replaced the message. Byren didn’t want her to join him.

G
ARZIK FELT LIKE
a failure as he returned to the settlement. He’d failed Byren, and now he’d failed Rusan. Yet he’d only ever tried to do the right thing. He couldn’t have turned his back on Favkir and Inac.

He’d hoped to slip in quietly and find Rusan first, but the moment they entered the narrow bay, the storm struck with a vengeance. Rain lashed them, hitting so hard it stung their bare skin. The wind extinguished his lantern, and Garzik had to judge distance and speed by the glimpses revealed by the lightning.