'See, Dunstany, I make my own fate!' Palatyne lifted his goblet to the noble scholar.
Dunstany tipped his head in silent acknowledgement to his overlord, while the Utland Power-worker smiled, pleased to see his rival mocked.
The noise level rose as the wine flowed and the men celebrated. Piro's head began to thump with their shouting. The remaining captive servants seem to have been forgotten.
A man hurried between the gilt-edged columns, radiating self-importance as he crossed the hall. He bowed to Palatyne and waited until the overlord indicated he was to speak.
'We've found King Rolen's trophy room, my lord. Treasures that — '
'Take me there.' Palatyne swung his legs to the floor and strode off, passing within touching distance of Piro, who felt the wind of his passage on her hands as she hugged her knees. Since she had been living hand to mouth, her nails were bitten down to the quick and matched her disguise.
Half a dozen of Palatyne's warriors and the Utland Power-worker hurried past.
Lord Dunstany was the last. As he approached Piro, the healer waylaid him. On the edge of her vision Piro sensed old Seela watching them closely.
'Your pardon, Lord Dunstany,' she said in Rolencian. 'I am a healer. I should be treating the injured. May I take my servant and go?' She gestured to Piro.
The noble scholar glanced in Piro's direction.
Silently thanking the healer for her quick wits, Piro scrambled to her feet and bobbed a quick bow, head bowed. She hardly dared to breathe.
A quick glance told her Dunstany frowned, his dark eyes on her. She stared at the hem of his robe. All she could see was his muddied boots, buckled around the ankle Merofynian-style. Piro could feel waves of power exuding from him like heat from a furnace. He might be an educated noble but he was also a Power-worker, and he terrified her.
'You forget you are captives of war. Slaves. Go back to your place, healer. The overlord will assign you to serve someone.'
The healer backed off as Seela cast Piro a quick warning glance. Piro sat down again, hugging her knees. This was not so bad. As a common slave, she could escape and run away to the mountains where she could find Lence, if it was he who had survived. Tears stung her eyes. She brushed them away, furious. She had no time for weakness.
Lord Dunstany walked off but had only gone a dozen paces when he returned and stood over Piro, blocking her view of the rest of the hall. She dared one quick look.
'I have need of a slave. Stand.' He held out one hand twisted by the bone-ache.
As he pulled Piro to her feet, she felt the strength in his arm. Then she cursed, for her gesture had been that of a lady used to a servant's help. To cover her slip she sniffed and rubbed the back of her hand across her nose. 'Thankee, sor.'
She was surprised to see a light in his eyes that could have been amusement. The irises were so black his eyes seemed all pupil. So black, yet so full of light.
The revelry faded around her. Her breath caught in her throat. She was in danger of drowning.
With an effort that made her dizzy, she dragged her gaze from his and dipped her head in a servant's bow. Her tongue felt thick but she drove herself to speak. 'What can I do for you, sor?'
'You can do as you're told,' Lord Dunstany said, watching her thoughtfully.
Piro searched his face but she found it hard to meet his gaze without sliding into that other state. Now that her head was clear, she realised he had been trying to impose his will on her. Anger fired her. She was glad her father had banned all Affinity Power-working renegades, soothsayers and mages alike. Then she remembered that a slave girl wouldn't raise her eyes to a noble, especially if he was a renegade Power-worker, and she looked down quickly. 'Sorry, m'lord.'
'What can you do, girl?'
She could read and write in three languages, play the harp, paint watercolours, run a castle with six hundred inhabitants, keep the books and hand down law judgements, but none of that helped her now. The healer had said she was her apprentice so it was lucky her mother had schooled her in basic healing.
Piro bobbed her head, careful to stay in character. 'I been helping the healer. I can mix herbs and stitch a wound. An' me ma delivered babies, sor.'
His lips twitched. 'Well, I won't be needing you to deliver any babies. You can wait on me.'
'Yes, sor.'
'Lord Dunstany?' It was the man who had reported finding King Rolen's trophy room. 'Do you want to see the treasures?'
Piro could imagine them all up there with Palatyne handing out gifts to his loyal supporters.
'Treasures?' he repeated with a secretive smile. 'Those sort of treasures don't interest me. Come on, girl.'
Surprised, Piro scurried after him.
Chapter Twelve
Fyn reached Viridian Lake by mid-morning and strapped on the borrowed skates. It looked like the thaw would be late this spring, even so, Fyn kept to the edges where the ice was thickest. Twice more he had seen Merofynian search parties but managed to avoid them.
Viridian Lake, named because of the exquisite shade of its deep waters, was a long sinuous lake, connected at the far end by canal to Sapphire Lake. From there he was on the last leg of his journey to Rolenhold, where his father was probably wondering why the abbot had not sent aid.
Fyn could only hope that Byren's injury was not as bad as the Merofynians believed and that his brother had found some helpful farmers willing to risk their lives to save him.
Fyn stood on the borrowed skates. There was no wind and the sky was cloudless, which meant it would be frightfully cold when night fell, but this also meant the stars would be out in force, great swirls of effervescent colour to light his way.
And aid the Merofynian search parties.
Fear for Piro's safety and the news he had to deliver empowered him. Trusting to his disguise to fool any Merofynians who might spot him, Fyn set off. If he skated all night and all day he would reach Sapphire Lake by tomorrow evening and Rolenhold by the next day.
As Piro left her father's hall — where she had seen him host feasts, award honours and boast of his hunting skills — she let her hair fall forwards and focused on the ground. In a matter of days she had fallen from kingsdaughter to slave, just another prize of war.
All around her the raucous warriors roistered, eating and drinking, grabbing any passing wench they fancied. A servant, who only a few days ago had filled her bath, darted past hurrying to serve new masters. Piro averted her face.
They were out of the great hall now, walking through the bloodied courtyard, heading for the main gate. All around her the people of Rolenton shuffled past, driven back to the town. Dunstany kept well away from Palatyne's men, who were tossing bodies into an open cart.
Panic spiked in Piro. There, by the gate, was Cobalt's servant, the one who had been told to look out for her. He knew her face.
Dunstany stopped suddenly, turning to her. 'What is your name, girl?'
Panic seized her. How could she hide from the servant?
'Your name?' Dunstany pressed.
She hadn't thought that far ahead and said the first thing that came to her. 'Seela, sor.' Then she remembered that was a Merofynian name and hurried to add, 'My mother's mother come from — '
'I don't want your family history,' he snapped. 'Listen, Seela. I am your master now. Walk one step behind me and do not speak unless I give you permission. Understand?'
She nodded, feeling resentful — worse, feeling trapped. How could she escape the servant's notice?
'Come.' As Dunstany strode off towards the gate, Piro considered running away but he glanced back over his shoulder impatiently and she fell into step.
'Didn't they tell you?' Dunstany asked as he approached the man. 'They've already found the kingsdaughter. Palatyne's in King Rolen's trophy room handing treasures out to his faithful servants.'