'Over time, Affinity can seep into those who would normally be unaffected by it,' her mother said. 'It wears down their natural resistance.'
'Oh.' Seagrass was right. Piro had to go to the abbey, where her life would be spent amidst hundreds of women, serving the cruel god of winter when she loved summer and growing things. Somehow she summoned up a smile. 'At least I won't have to marry warlord Rejulas.'
Her mother and Seela exchanged looks.
'What?'
'He will be furious. He'll think Piro has chosen abbey life rather than marry him,' Seela predicted.
'We should tell him before the Jubilee,' her mother decided. 'It would be rude to have him ride in and find out when we announce it. Lence can go. He gets on well with Rejulas.'
'When will he leave?' Seela asked.
'The sooner the better. Give the warlord of Cockatrice Spar plenty of time to get used to the idea.'
Piro felt awful. This time, through no fault of her own, she had complicated things for her family.
Her mother leant forward, to catch her hand and pull her to her feet. 'Come downstairs. Whatever we feel inside, we must present a united front for the celebrations tonight. Byren has done well and Lence is no longer trying to talk your father into war. The king can be pleased with his two eldest sons.'
Even this felt like a condemnation to Piro, because King Rolen's only daughter had failed him.
Byren held the matching lincurium rings, studying the way a star of light appeared in each of the stones' centres. He'd arrived in his bedchamber, only to receive word from the jeweller that his gifts were ready.
'A beautiful matched pair of winter-crystallines,' the silversmith agreed with Byren's unspoken thoughts. 'But nothing compares to this one.' He withdrew the pendant from its bed of azure velvet. 'Your brother's betrothed is a lucky woman. He will be honoured by your gift for her.'
'I hope so,' Byren said. The pendant was remarkable but he suspected it would take more than pretty jewels to mend things with his twin. He returned the pendant, becoming aware of the silversmith, who waited for his approval. 'Impressive. You've done the stone justice.'
The silversmith beamed and replaced the pendant to its carved wooden box.
Byren paid him for his services and thanked him, sending him on his way. If only he could give this pendant to Elina, but the kingson's wife must not outshine the kingsheir's. The thought made Byren pull up short. As yet, he had not even spoken with Elina, let alone won her forgiveness. If he could not give her the pendant, he could at least give her something that let her know how he felt.
Drawing a sheet of writing paper from his desk, Byren began composing a poem to his Dove. After many attempts on several sheets, he felt it was almost ready and tucked the drafts away in his top drawer, along with the rings and pendant. He'd come back and read the poem again, then write a clean copy for her. But he was in two minds whether he should send it to her and ask for a meeting, or meet with her, apologise and give it to her in person.
Still debating this, Byren went down to the great hall to rejoin the celebrations. Two tankards later, he turned at the sound of his name.
Winterfall, Chandler and the others who had been on the ill-fated expedition to find the lincis waited, grinning expectantly.
Byren felt the same happy grin tug at his lips. 'Chandler, how's the shoulder?'
'Stiff, but getting better.'
'Winterfall, how did Blackwing go, tracking the ulfr pack?'
He shook his head. 'We followed their trail high into the Dividing Mountains. By then the village had a new Affinity warder. He and the wardess contained the seep. They each sent a large pair of sorbt stones to their abbeys, so it was a bad one.'
Byren nodded. The stones would remain dormant unless separated, then the Affinity trapped in the stones would leak out, or it could be drained by a renegade Power-worker. Rogue mages would pay a small fortune for stones like that. Luckily, the abbeys kept the sorbt stones securely guarded in their Inner Sanctums. 'And the Royal Ingeniator?'
'Safe. He has already reported to King Rolen.'
'And what of that complaining monk… Hedgerow, wasn't it?'
Winterfall grimaced. 'Lucky for us, he was recalled to the abbey.'
Byren chuckled.
Winterfall grinned and nodded to his five young companions. As one, they all dropped to their knees. The men nearest stepped back to watch and the silence spread until Lence and Cobalt also turned. Byren felt them watching. Knowing what he did about Cobalt, he found it impossible to meet the man's eyes. He feared Cobalt would be able to read the contempt Byren felt for him, and he was too cunning not to realise Byren had seen through him. If only Lence could!
For a heartbeat Byren considered taking his twin aside and revealing all…
'We want to offer our service to your honour guard, Byren Kingson,' Winterfall said formally.
Byren felt heat race up his cheeks. He'd led them into danger, which had caused Chandler's injury. He did not feel worthy of their service.
'Will you have us?' Winterfall asked.
What could he say? 'I'm honoured.'
Ten minutes later they were on their second bottle of Rolencian red, while Winterfall and Chandler tried to outdo each other, describing the near misses they'd had with the ulfr pack.
'…and Blackwing said he's never known such a cunning pack leader,' Winterfall said.
'Did you set traps?' Garzik asked eagerly.
'Aye.' Chandler nodded.
'All useless,' Winterfall added.
'How about…'
Byren was aware of a gentle tug on his arm and turned to see the castle scribe waiting patiently with a roll of vellum. Amongst his tasks were making a record of the hearings, transcribing any new poems and sagas that took King Rolen's fancy and keeping track of the tithes for the queen. He could also draw a good likeness, or embellish a shield with the royal foenix. But Byren hadn't asked him to do any of these things.
Despite the large meal, Byren's head was spinning and all he really wanted to do was go to his bed and sleep. 'What's this?'
'The emblem for Byren Kingson's honour guard,' the scribe said and unrolled it with a flourish. There was a moment's stunned silence as Byren took in the illustration — a foenix on defence against a leogryf with its wings raised.
'Do you like it?' Garzik tugged on Byren's arm. 'I asked Piro to do the original design to commemorate your leogryf kill. The scribe has embellished her work.'
Byren did not know what to say. The drawing itself was excellent… but he wasn't ready to formalise his honour guard with an emblem.
'Excellent idea,' Cobalt agreed. 'Lence Kingsheir should have an emblem for his honour guard.' As he turned to Lence, Byren noticed that all his twin's honour guard wore their hair loose on their shoulders, Ostron Isle style. 'If you will give me the honour, I will design one and have the scribe embellish it. Now… what will it be? As heir, Lence should be represented by the foenix.'
Everyone nodded and turned back to the emblem the scribe held. Suddenly, Byren saw it in the worst possible context. If Lence was the foenix — and he had more right to that symbol than Byren — then that meant Byren was the leogryf, doing battle with the foenix. He was dismayed.
'But it's not meant to be taken that way,' Garzik protested, following the same train of thought.
'Lence, your foenix's feathers could be picked out in gold thread,' Cobalt suggested, as though unaware of the connotations his last comments had triggered. Byren believed otherwise.
'Lence? I…' Byren began, then hesitated, not sure how to go on.
Lence tossed back his wine, ignoring Byren. 'Red and gold… I like that, Illien.' He beckoned the scribe. 'Meet me in my chambers first thing tomorrow. We'll have a design ready for you. I want surcoats for my men and shields. When can they be ready?'