Rowena Daniells - The uncrowned King

Piro nodded. 'That was fun.' When it hadn't been terrifying.

'Good. Lence is now king. If I call you Piro you must take this message to him. Tell him not to let fear for my safety stay his hand. He must retake the castle. Can you remember that?'

Piro nodded. 'But it doesn't feel right leaving you.'

'I'm a captured piece in the game of Duelling Kingdoms. I've been a piece since I was betrothed at the age of eight.' She grimaced. 'Sometimes you must sacrifice a piece to win, you know that.'

Piro nodded, blinking tears from her eyes. Her mother's face swam in her vision. 'But — '

'Go now, Piro, and may Halcyon watch over you.' The queen's fingers tightened on hers. 'And, Piro, promise me this?'

Piro nodded, ready to promise anything.

'I prayed my children would not inherit my Affinity, yet you have it. Do not deny it as I have done. Learn from my mistakes.'

There was so much Piro wanted to say, but her throat felt too tight to speak. She nodded and let her mother's fingers go. Her shoulder and side ached from the strain of leaning so far and the hard stone sill had cut into her thighs.

She jumped lightly to the floor, heading down the stairs. In the shadowed doorway of the first-floor landing, she hesitated. The courtyard was empty of living things, except for a boy of about eleven wearing Merofynian blue. He chased a chicken around the yard, swinging another one by its legs, both squawking indignantly.

The boy cornered the chicken at last.

'I'm going to wring your neck m'self then throw you in the pot!' he told it and promptly dispatched both birds.

Piro had been taught the court Merofynian and he spoke a rough common version, but she had no trouble understanding him.

He tucked the bird under his arm and left. Nothing remained but three dead bodies, crushed cages, trodden animal dung and assorted chicken feathers.

Piro swallowed. Where had they taken all the townsfolk? If this had been a normal battle, she would have been tending the wounded. She'd trained in basic healing at her mother's side. Many was the time she had helped stitch up Byren and Lence. Now she was at a loss.

Crossing the courtyard, she took a short cut through the menagerie where her pet foenix was housed. The bird's eager cry drew her and she hurried across, furious to discover he had been caged. She had never locked him away, letting him roam the glass-roofed courtyard freely.

'Oh, you poor thing!' she dropped to her knees, unlocking the cage. Freed, he made a soft crooning noise in his throat and rubbed his head on her face.

She stroked his soft, fur-like feathers. It pained her to see how dull his colour had grown in just a few days. She glanced inside the cage where there was water and food aplenty. That wasn't the problem. He'd missed her and her Affinity.

At the thought of it, she felt her power stir and, before she could stop it, her hands began to tingle with a build up of Affinity.

This winter she'd grown into the habit of letting the unistag lick the excess power off her fingertips but, when they'd been forced to leave the Affinity beast with the new warlord of unistag, she hadn't been able relieve her Affinity build-up. Now the foenix grew excited as it rubbed its throat and cheeks on her hands and, even as she watched, its feathers regained their usual brilliance.

'So you were absorbing Affinity from me all along and I wasn't even aware of it,' she whispered.

'Here? You!' A Merofynian warrior addressed her in badly accented Rolencian. 'Leave that… that… Is that a foenix?'

'Yes, sor.' Piro instinctively dropped into the dialect of a badly educated servant girl. 'Belonged to Piro Kingsdaughter, herself. Was my job to feed the beastie.'

He swung the cloak off his shoulders and approached, obviously intent on capturing the foenix.

Piro sprang to her feet. 'You can't eat it, sor. It's full of Affinity.'

'I know that.' He glared at her. 'That's why I'm taking it to the overlord. He collects treasures. Close your mouth and lend a hand.'

'He won't hurt it, will he?'

The warrior clipped her over the ear. 'You'll get more of that if you give me cheek. Now, catch it for me.'

The foenix had ducked behind Piro and was shaking with fright. Stomach churning, she took the cloak from the man and spoke coaxingly as she scooped it up.

She turned to face the Merofynian. 'He needs — '

'I'll take that.' He snatched the beast from her greedily as though it was pure gold. 'As for you, get inside. All servants are to gather in the great hall.'

She nodded and turned to slip away, unable to believe her good luck.

'Wait.'

It was midsummer's day and Byren walked across the shingles on the shore of Sapphire Lake, the soles of his feet burning with each step. Try as he might, he could not reach the inviting cool shallows of the lake, which remained forever just out of reach. So thirsty, so hot… He could have roared with frustration, but only a whimper escaped him. To make matters worse, someone was poking him in the side with a spear, driving him on, making every breath a sharp pain. Couldn't they see he was doing his best to reach the lake?

From a great distance he heard a voice muttering.

'…burning up with fever. Shakin' like a leaf.'

He struggled to open his eyes but they would not obey him for more than a heartbeat. Frustration made him grind his teeth.

'Kingson, hold on. I'm taking you to a healer.' The dyer spoke slowly to reach Byren through the delirium of the fever.

But no healer could save him. At least, not one you'd find in a Rolencian village. Maybe the greatest of healers could have used their Affinity… he should have gone to Sylion Abbey the moment he realised the dagger had pierced his lung, but he'd wanted to reach his father. And, if he had, he would never had met up with the ulfr pack.

Pity he'd never get the chance to tell Orrade about it. Sylion take him, Orrade was angry with him. He'd compared his best friend to Lence. He should never have done that. Orrade's heart was true. It was his preference for men that was a problem.

He missed Orrade. Missed the pack. Missed their warming presence, missed their song. He seemed to hear it in his head, feel it in his body. It soothed him.

Byren felt a small hand pat his chest in sympathy. The boy laughed. 'He's just like Puss. He's purring, Da.'

Byren felt the dyer press his hand to the same place.

'You're right, Rodien. He's not shakin', he's purring like a cat. Wonders never cease.'

'Thirsty,' Byren managed to croak.

Something cool touched his face and watered wine slipped past his lips. His drank eagerly.

They took it away much too soon. He tried to grab them, but they'd tied his arms down. For a moment he fought panic as he imagined them handing him over to the Merofynians, then he remembered them securing him to the sled. Now they were taking him to a healer. No point.

Who would mourn him? Certainly not King Rolen.

Lence was gone and Elina… his gut clenched and a moan escaped him. He'd failed Elina. He should never have left her at Dovecote. But she'd refused to speak with him because she believed he was in love with her brother.

Orrade, Sylion take him. Orrade was angry with him because he'd let Elina die. But Byren could not have saved her, not when she'd tried to turn Lence's sword to save his life. Her wrists were not strong enough to stop the full force of the blow. Elina had known. She'd given her life for his and thought it a fair trade.

Tears stung Byren's eyes, slipping down his cheeks, trickling into his ears where they tickled. The sled gave a jerk and started moving again, making his body vibrate, making him ache in every bone.

He was sick, very sick, not thinking clearly.

That's right, he was dying. Why didn't they let him do it in peace?