King Breaker Read online

  Fyn filtered out the captain’s voice. Before Byren and Orrade set sail, they’d held a war table discussion. Queen Isolt was new to her throne, young and untried. It was decided she should make a royal tour to visit each of the ten lords around the Landlocked Sea and accept their oaths of loyalty.

  Benetir Estate was the first to the east. The lord’s wife was Isolt’s aunt—more correctly her father’s aunt—and they were sure of the estate’s loyalty. After each visit, the lord would follow the queen on his pleasure yacht. Eventually, all the lords and their families would complete the circuit of the Landlocked Sea and return to the palace for a grand celebration.

  The warlords of the five spars also had to give their loyalty oaths, but Isolt would not go to them. They would come over the Dividing Mountains for the midsummer celebrations. So many Merofynian customs were the same as in Rolencia that Fyn had to keep reminding himself this was not his home.

  Then something unfamiliar would happen and he would remember Merofynia was the ancestral enemy of his father’s kingdom. But it was also his mother’s homeland, and he’d sat at her knee as a small child listening to her tales.

  Servants approached, offering white wine and little savoury pastries. The abbot and abbess helped themselves. Murheg was in his mid-thirties, while Celunyd was around fifteen years older. The abbess had been a bitter enemy of the previous abbot, and she was wary of Murheg.

  A servant presented Isolt with a tray of pastries. She smiled and turned him away. ‘If I keep eating at this rate, I’ll be the size of a house.’ She offered Fyn her arm. ‘Take a walk with me.’

  They strolled towards the ship’s figurehead in full view of everyone, and there, Isolt turned to Fyn. It was the Merofynian fashion to pluck the eyebrows and elongate the eyes with kohl. The first time he’d seen her in a vision triggered by Halcyon’s Fate, he’d thought her lack of eyebrows odd. Now he thought her perfect.

  ‘I know what they’re saying.’ Isolt glanced to the abbot and the others. ‘If Loyalty doesn’t bond with me, she could become violent and hurt someone. But I can’t send her away. She’s too gentle to live amongst wild wyvern. She trusts you. If the worst happens, promise me you’ll kill her. Promise?’

  Fyn stared into Isolt’s beautiful black eyes. He could refuse her nothing. ‘Of course. But you don’t have to worry. Loyalty loves you.’

  ‘For now,’ Isolt conceded. ‘But I’m not like you and Piro. I don’t have Affinity. What if she rejects me?’

  They both turned to watch the wyvern stretch, supple scales gleaming like jewels.

  ‘I don’t think you need Affinity,’ Fyn said. ‘You just need patience and love.’ But he was only guessing. Maybe there was a book on Affinity beasts that would reveal more. ‘I’ll check the palace library.’

  ‘Look up foenixes, too,’ Isolt urged, as Resolute extended one wing to preen his brilliant red feathers.

  She was right. Everyone had just assumed that the foenix would bond with Piro. Only his sister wasn’t here, and the Affinity beast was maturing fast. If Resolute went rogue and had to be killed, Piro would be heartbroken.

  In the wild, wyverns and foenixes were enemies. Fyn’s stomach clenched. What if these two turned on each other?

  Agent Tyro had taught Fyn the power of popular opinion. If the wyvern and foenix fought in a public place, the populace would think it foretold war between the two kingdoms. ‘Perhaps we should separate—’

  ‘Is that the Benetir pleasure yacht?’ Isolt shaded her eyes. ‘According to Lord Benvenute, the Flying Sarre is faster than all the other nobles’ yachts.’

  ‘Without wind, the royal barge is faster than her today,’ Fyn said. He squinted against the glare of the sun-kissed sea. ‘She’s dead in the water.’

  ‘It is the Flying Sarre!’ Isolt said. ‘Come on.’

  As the royal barge drew nearer, however, it became clear that this was no welcome party. People waved urgently from the overcrowded deck.

  The barge captain cupped his hands. ‘What news?’

  ‘Spar raid,’ several voices yelled.

  ‘But the accord,’ Isolt protested, turning horrified eyes to Fyn. ‘The spars have not raided for two hundred years!

  The Merofynians muttered. Their shock quickly turned to outrage as they helped the wheezing gaffers, walking wounded and frightened children aboard. Isolt had been trained as a healer and she assessed the injured, while Fyn pieced together events.

  ‘They came in the night,’ an old man said.

  ‘With no warning,’ a woman added, shivering. ‘They attacked us as we prepared for the queen’s visit.’

  ‘Spar warriors?’ Captain Neiron spat. ‘No better than Utlanders!’

  The barge captain cursed. ‘May Mulcibar burn their homes and families!’

  That reminded Fyn of the flaming balls flung by catapult during the battle of Narrowneck. Supposedly Mulcibar himself blessed the balls with his fiery breath, ensuring they incinerated everything they touched. Fyn turned to the abbot. ‘Can we call on Mulcibar’s mystics to save Benetir Estate?’

  ‘Unfortunately, the balls of flame are—’

  ‘Hard to control.’ The abbess’s eyes gleamed with malicious joy. ‘They resulted in a tragic loss of life at the Battle of Narrowneck. The nobles—’

  ‘Fire does not distinguish between enemy and friend,’ Murheg spoke over her. ‘I warned the previous abbot some weapons should be used only as a last resort.’

  Intrigued, Fyn asked, ‘Which branch of the abbey did you serve?’

  ‘I was the history master.’

  Fyn had always loved reading about the past. ‘In Rolencia, we have a saying. “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”’

  The abbot met his eyes. ‘We have the same saying.’

  With a flick of her long robe, the abbess moved off to help Isolt. Disturbed by the new arrivals and the smell of blood, the Affinity beasts sought comfort from the queen.

  ‘Lady Gennalla!’ The queen darted through the crowd to reach a middle-aged woman who had climbed aboard with a small child. Isolt took the little boy and settled him on her hip. ‘What happened, Aunt Genni? Where’s Rhyderic? Where’s—’

  ‘They’re dead.’ The woman shuddered. ‘They’re all dead—my husband, my son and his...’ She gestured to the child in Isolt’s arms. ‘Little Benowyth and I only just escaped!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Fyn said. ‘We’ll send for the warlord and demand that he hand over these renegades—’

  ‘They weren’t renegades!’ Lady Gennalla’s voice shook with outrage. ‘The warlord himself led the attack.’

  ‘What’s the world coming to?’ the abbess cried.

  ‘The spar warlord was behind this?’ The abbot sent Fyn a warning look. ‘This breaks with two hundred years of—’

  ‘My queen, you can’t allow this outrage to go unpunished,’ Captain Neiron insisted. ‘The warlord must be dragged through the city in chains and hung from the linden tree.’

  Others echoed him and Isolt was swamped with advice.

  Lady Gennalla swayed.

  ‘My lady...’ An old servant offered her his arm even though his white hair was caked with blood and he was himself supported by a young lad. The old man sought Fyn’s eyes. ‘We’ve been awake since yesterday. The Lady Gennalla is exhausted. She should rest.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Gennalla protested. ‘Not until we save Sefarra.’ With a sob, she dropped to her knees, clutching Isolt’s free hand. ‘You must save Sefarra, my queen. She’s only fourteen.’

  ‘Sefarra?’ Fyn looked to Isolt.

  ‘Her daughter. My cousin,’ Isolt said slowly, eyes wide with shock.

  Fyn knew exactly what would happen to Sefarra. Had already happened to her.

  ‘She’s a dreamer, always has her head in a book. This will shatter her.’ Lady Gennalla bit back a sob. ‘You must save her!’

  Fyn frowned as he helped Lady Gennalla to her feet. ‘How many men did Warlord...?’

&nb
sp; ‘Cortigern.’ Isolt’s eyes narrowed. ‘Cortigern the Oath-breaker. I was there when he renewed his fealty oath last midsummer.’

  ‘Looks like his fealty died with your father,’ Fyn said.

  Lady Gennalla turned to the queen. ‘You must save my Seffi.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Aunt.’ Isolt gestured to the abbess. ‘Take Lady Gennalla and her grandson into my cabin, and see to their needs.’

  As the abbess led them away, Fyn turned to the old servant. ‘How many warriors did Warlord Cortigern have?’

  ‘At a guess, nearly two hundred.’

  Fyn cursed. ‘So many...’

  The old man nodded, his voice choked with anger. ‘It’s an outrage. It’s—’

  ‘It’s Palatyne,’ Fyn told Isolt. ‘He united the spars, then declared himself overlord. He grew powerful enough to sit at King Merofyn’s table, trusted enough to lead the king’s army into Rolencia and cunning enough to defeat my father. When he returned to Merofynia, he became a duke and aspired to wed the king’s only daughter. After seeing what Palatyne achieved, Cortigern wanted—’

  ‘Merofynia?’ Isolt whispered. ‘He can’t—’

  ‘He’s taken Benetir Estate and Lady Sefarra...’ The old man swayed.

  Isolt gestured to the lad. ‘Help him inside. I’ll be there in a moment.’ She faced Fyn. ‘We must save Sefarra, but—’

  ‘We only brought twenty queen’s guards on the barge.’

  ‘We’re sworn to protect the queen.’ Captain Neiron had caught the gist of their conversation. ‘I won’t send my men on a pointless attempt to rescue a girl who’s already ruined.’

  Isolt gasped and Fyn went to protest.

  ‘The captain’s right,’ the abbot said. Seeing their shocked expressions, he picked his words with care. ‘There’s no point saving the Benetir girl now, my queen. The damage has been done. These spar warriors...’ He shook his head. ‘When King Merofyn welcomed Palatyne to his table, I said no good would—’

  ‘Father had to recognise Palatyne,’ Isolt insisted. ‘Once he’d united the spars, he was too powerful to ignore.’

  ‘We cannot leave Sefarra in their hands,’ Fyn said.

  Neiron and the abbot exchanged looks.

  ‘I don’t know how it is in Rolencia,’ the captain said. ‘But in Merofynia, if a highborn girl is raped, she’s ruined. No respectable man will have her.’

  Abbot Murheg nodded. ‘The best she can hope for is to dedicate herself to the goddess of winter and live out her days in the Cyena Abbey.’

  ‘If she doesn’t take the honourable way out,’ Captain Neiron added. ‘If it was my sister, I’d—’

  ‘You’d what?’ Isolt rounded on him. ‘Kill her yourself?’

  ‘No, I... I’d kill the bastard who ruined her.’

  ‘You keep talking about her like she’s a piece of rotting fruit.’ Isolt dismissed him with an impatient gesture. ‘She’s a girl who deserves better.’

  The abbot took Isolt’s hand in a fatherly way. ‘You’re young and idealistic, my queen. You do not know the ways of men. What if Cortigern realises how vulnerable we are? You’re not safe, my queen.’

  Isolt brushed off his hand, but she could not brush off his words. She turned worried eyes to Fyn.

  He beckoned the barge captain. ‘How soon can we return to Port Mero?’

  ‘No wind.’ The man grimaced. ‘We’ll have to row. Be there around midnight.’

  ‘Do it,’ Isolt ordered.

  The captain hurried off.

  ‘The warrior monks of Mulcibar are at your service, my queen.’ Abbot Murheg gave a bow. ‘But our ranks were decimated in the Rolencian invasion. Every Merofynian is in the same position.’

  ‘Except the spar warlords,’ Fyn muttered. ‘The nobles refused to fight alongside spar warriors.’

  Isolt wrung her hands.

  Fyn hated to see the line of worry between her plucked eyebrows. He wanted to take her in his arms and promise that everything would be all right. Even more, he wanted the right to do this. At the very least, he wanted to be rid of this nosy abbot. ‘Comfort the survivors, Murheg.’

  The abbot went with good grace and Fyn turned to Isolt, ready to offer solace.

  But she lifted dark, determined eyes. ‘We need to call on the lords to gather their men. The sooner we crush Warlord Cortigern, the less chance the other warlords will get the same idea.’ Her eyes widened. ‘What if all five spar warlords attacked Merofynia? Fyn, we must send for Lord Dunstany.’

  ‘Dunstany...’ He frowned. They’d been stunned to learn her father’s trusted advisor was really Mage Tsulamyth’s agent, Tyro, in disguise. ‘He’s sailing for Ostron Isle. As soon as we return to port, I’ll go to Dunstany’s townhouse. His servant keeps a pair of pica birds.’

  ‘I’d forgotten,’ Isolt admitted. ‘It’s odd, I know Lord Dunstany is really the mage’s agent, but I still miss him. Dunstany, I mean.’

  Fyn glanced to Isolt. She’d grown up turning to Dunstany for advice and support, and he suspected she would rather not have learned he’d died and been replaced by the mage’s agent.

  Isolt frowned. ‘Even if Tyro sets sail the moment he gets the message, it’ll take at least five days for him to reach Merofynia. We must save Sefarra before then. When I think of her... ’ She gave an odd little shiver. ‘At least Palatyne never laid a hand on me.’

  It made Fyn wonder if Isolt had come close to suffering the same fate as Sefarra. He took her by the shoulders. ‘Palatyne’s dead and gone. Loyalty saw to that.’

  ‘I know, and I’m grateful. But Sefarra has no one to protect her.’ Isolt raised determined eyes to Fyn. ‘No one but us. Promise me you’ll save her?’

  ‘If it is at all possible, I’ll save her.’

  Chapter Five

  FLORIN HADN’T BEEN outside except to view the body in the cart. Now, as she climbed the stairs, she caught a glimpse of distant Mount Halcyon painted gold by the setting sun, and realised the day was almost over. No wonder she was tired. There had been so much to learn... all the servants’ names, their responsibilities, the castle’s customs... and still it went on.

  ‘Now we must see his lordship to approve the seating arrangements,’ the castle-keep said. ‘He’ll be changing for the feast. Even as a boy, Illien was fastidious. And private. He won’t have anyone but his manservant in his bedchamber.’

  Florin nodded, growing nervous. Soon she would see Cobalt in his private chambers. Maybe she’d have the chance to kill him tonight and get it over with.

  They left the stairs and entered a corridor.

  ‘I’ve put the female servants in here.’ The castle-keep gestured to a door on their right. ‘No shenanigans on my watch. Not that Old Mirona would be up to it.’ As they went down the passage, the castle-keep’s boots clicked on the polished wooden floor. She walked so fast Florin was glad of her long legs. ‘Tonight we had planned a feast to celebrate the investiture of Abbot Firefox. Now the feast will be a solemn affair in honour of Fyn Rolen Kingson’s passing.’ She patted the pocket of her over-smock. ‘I have the guest list here. Mark my words. Who gets precedence is important...’

  She trailed off as they rounded the corner and saw a female servant weighed down by two buckets.

  ‘Here, you.’ The castle-keep snapped her fingers. ‘Why are you fetching his lordship’s bathing water? There’s manservants for that. And where’s Old Mirona?’

  The servant gave a jump of fright and put the buckets down. It was the pretty chambermaid who’d been hired that morning. She bobbed her head respectfully. ‘Mirona took bad, my la... ma’am. I didn’t know about the manservants. Back home—’

  ‘I don’t care how you did things back home. This is the royal castle. Do not speak unless spoken to and repeat nothing that you hear in his lordship’s chamber. If I catch you gossiping, I’ll tear strips off your hide.’

  The girl blanched.

  ‘And call for a manservant to carry those.’

  ‘The bath’s nearly full.�
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  ‘Have it your way.’ The castle-keep strode past her.

  Florin went to take one of the buckets.

  ‘What are you doing?’ The castle-keep rounded on her. ‘You’re my assistant, not hers. Come along.’

  Florin gave the girl an apologetic look and hurried after the castle-keep, remaining one step behind her as she’d been taught. The stiff brocade of Florin’s servant tabard brushed her thighs. With her hair pulled back in a braid and a male servant’s cap fitting snugly on her head, she didn’t look like the bedraggled messenger who skated night and day to deliver news of the Merofynian invasion. Not that she needed to worry, Cobalt had only ever seen her the once.

  The castle-keep knocked on the door, waited for a muffled answer, then strode in.

  They entered in time to catch a man in the act of pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He was illuminated by a flickering candle. Turned side-on to them, with his long black hair and broad shoulders, he reminded Florin of Byren.

  Then he faced them and she saw that although he was tall and well-proportioned like Byren, his features were more classically handsome. She wouldn’t trade perfection for Byren’s crooked grin. And she would never mistake Cobalt for Byren, not when Cobalt was missing his right arm.

  Florin was used to seeing maimed men, survivors of the war against Merofynia thirty years ago. But they were old men and Cobalt was beautifully formed, in the prime of life, which made his shoulder stump more shocking. She’d heard Byren’s mother had tried to kill him and only the ministrations of the Merofynian healer had saved him.

  Seeing the castle-keep, Cobalt smiled. ‘Yegora.’ With his white teeth and flashing black eyes, he was the most handsome man Florin had ever seen. But it was his affection for the castle-keep that made him appealing. ‘I was wondering when you’d get here. Show me the list.’

  The castle-keep joined him at the desk, leaving Florin by the door.

  Cobalt gestured to Florin. ‘I see you’ve replaced your assistant. Did the girl run off?’