Rowena Daniells - The Ursuper

Piro tucked her hair behind her ears, to keep it out of the way while she did Isolt's. Though it was only late spring a summer storm brewed, nature reflecting the gathering of forces at this nexus point, and humid, oppressive heat hung over the city, as the sun neared the zenith.

For the wedding and coronation, Isolt wore an azure gown of Ostronite silk, gathered under the bust with a long train at the back. Her bodice was encrusted with zircons. Zircons also covered her crown, but for now, her hair needed to be done simply so that the crown could sit in place once she was made regent.

Piro gathered Isolt's long hair into a fine silver net and fastened it to a clip at the back of her neck. Sapphires hung from her ears. She looked perfect, but her face was a mask as she stared, hard-eyed, into the mirror.

Piro tried to reassure her. 'Fyn will — '

'I don't want Fyn to risk his life for me.' Isolt squeezed Piro's hand. 'No. I must save myself. I had hoped to kill Palatyne before the wedding but he has not come near me, not even to boast. So I must kill him after. He has to take that ring off sometime and when he does I will take the poison out and save it.'

Piro bit her bottom lip.

'You doubt me?'

Piro shook her head. 'What if Palatyne tries to poison your father on your wedding day? He's so weak it would carry him off quickly and no one would suspect a thing.'

A travesty of a smile illuminated Isolt's face. 'I shall be watching the duke. When he slips the poison into my father's drink, I will distract him while you switch drinks.'

Piro gulped. That just might work. If Palatyne had already tested his drink, he would not test it a second time. So much rested on her.

Isolt twisted from the waist, clutching Piro's arm. 'You must do this for me. Palatyne murdered your parents and brother — we can't let him get away with murdering my father too!'

Piro agreed, but she feared the Utlander's cunning eyes. If he and his twin were powerful enough to kill Mage Tsulamyth, what chance did she have against him?

Isolt stood. 'I am ready.'

Piro squeezed her hand.

Palatyne's guards escorted them down to the terrace, where favoured nobles of Merofynia had already taken their places on the stage overlooking the gardens and the Landlocked Sea.

The Utlander had been busy indeed. Food had been delivered by the wagon load and prepared in the stifling heat of the kitchens, ready for the feast.

A dais had been hastily built for the royal entourage, right up against the balustrade in the centre of the top terrace, so that Isolt and Palatyne could be observed during the ceremony and feast.

The Utlander had made good use of his army of palace servants, Piro thought as they took their place on the dais. Urns as high as her waist were filled with dark red bougainvillea, topped with azure flags that hung limp in the still air. Sprays of flowers tumbled from hanging baskets, their scent almost overpowering.

Piro's diaphanous gown stuck to her shoulders and her hair hung limply, damp tendrils clinging to her neck and back. Nothing stirred in the oppressive heat, even the birds were still.

Clouds obscured the sun, sullen and threatening. But the impending storm hadn't deterred the people, who had turned out in their thousands. A huge crowd had gathered in the gardens along the Landlocked Sea shore. Many more had hired boats or paid for places on the decks of merchant ships.

The noble families of Merofynia, each with their own loyal guards in the coloured cloaks of the house, filled the next terrace, and more were scattered throughout the crowd. To Piro it was obvious no one trusted anyone in Merofynia. Isolt's father had acquired the kingdom through deceit, and this had tainted his rule.

A little shiver crept over Piro's skin and she turned to see the Utland Power-worker watching her. Did he have her ability to sense nexus points? Had he foreseen Isolt's plan?

She must stay calm and give nothing away.

Piro looked down into the gardens. It gave her a pang to see that Byren's cage had been brought around to rest just below the terrace so that he could stare up through the bars at the new regents of Merofynia, and starve as they feasted.

She willed him to look up and see her, but he didn't. His attention was on the crowd.

Fyn edged through the nobles, gentry and wealthy merchants, until he was within a body length of Byren's cage. Dressed as a jester, in black leggings, boots, a multi-coloured tunic, and a tasselled cap on his shaved head, he passed unremarked, if not unnoticed.

Two guards stood in front of Byren's cage, which sat on a dray so that everyone could see the Rolencian pretender's degradation. Fyn caught his older brother's gaze.

Byren's eyes widened slightly as he recognised Fyn, with Orrade behind him. Byren nodded his understanding. They were ready to make their move.

A hushed murmur ran through the crowd as Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter arrived on the terrace and took her position on the dais. Fyn caught a glimpse of Piro, standing one step behind Isolt. The Merofynian kingsdaughter looked beautiful, but distant. He longed to reassure her.

Luckily they'd put Byren's cage right under the terrace. This meant, once Tyro-disguised-as-Dunstany gave his signal, all Fyn had to do was climb onto the cage roof, and onto the terrace.

As yet Fyn saw no sign of Lord Dunstany. He searched the crowd urgently for Bantam or Jakulos. It was noon, so the sea-hounds should be here now.

'I always knew you'd make a fine jester!' Bantam nudged Fyn's ribs. 'Let's see your tricks.'

Relief flooded Fyn. He gave a mock bow. 'At your service, sir.' Dropping his voice, he asked, 'Where's Jaku?'

'Not far,' Bantam whispered. 'Our ship's down there.'

Fyn followed Bantam's gesture and recognised the Wyvern's Whelp's masts. 'Good.'

Byren's heart raced as Fyn, dressed as a jester, capered towards him. He teased the guards with his bell and ribbon-tipped staff, then scuttled away when they threatened him.

The crowd cheered him on, always happy to see authority mocked.

Surreptitiously, Byren flexed his shoulders and stretched his legs. Just let him get out of this cage and he would make Palatyne regret the day he had invaded Rolencia.

Fyn darted in, poking Byren with his bell-tipped staff. On impulse Byren grabbed the bells. They came off in his hand. Fyn, the jester, stomped his foot and made a big show of demanding his bells back.

The crowd laughed.

The two guards looked at each other and shrugged. Too bad. They hadn't liked the jester anyway. Fyn scuttled away.

Byren looked down at the bells. Tied amid the little silver baubles was a key. The key to his cage. He hid a smile.

Piro had seen Fyn pass something to Byren, right under the guards' noses. She smiled, admiring his skill. People laughed as the jester wandered off forlornly. He blended into the crowd, where many players kept people entertained until the real performance could begin.

Trumpeters sounded from the turrets at each end of the royal terrace and a hush fell over the crowd. All around her, the cream of Merofynia's nobility jostled for position, pushing Piro towards the back of the dais. Rich matrons and jewelled lords fanned themselves fiercely, their make-up and elaborate costumes wilting in the heat.

Piro climbed onto an urn base to get a view over the nobles' ornate head-dresses. Isolt stood silent and stiff in her zircon-embroidered silk. Palatyne joined her, a hungry, possessive gleam in his eyes. The old king sat in a litter drooling, unaware that the prize he had murdered to gain was about to be taken from him, as an upstart barbarian spar warlord married his only daughter.

The Utlander stood behind and to the right of Palatyne. He looked very pleased with himself. Piro felt a surge of intense dislike. It was clear he intended to be Palatyne's right-hand man when the duke became king.