Rowena Daniells - The uncrowned King

Byren fell back on the pillow. Hot tears seeped from his eyes, running down the side of his face. He had failed. His family were all dead but for him, and that could surely only be a matter of time.

The air escaped his chest in a long, despairing sigh. 'Don't risk your lives for me. Save yourselves and your families.' His voice was only a thread. 'Head for the mountains.'

'But Rolencia needs you,' the dyer insisted. 'You can't give up.'

Why not? He'd failed everyone who loved him, starting with Elina.

Byren turned his face to the wall as a wave of sorrow engulfed him, dragging him down.

Piro woke with a start, shivering. The attic window let in a wintery twilight, so she had slept the afternoon away, burrowing under the covers for warmth. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she remembered she hadn't eaten all day. Someone rapped on the door and thrust it open without waiting.

'Lazy Rolencian slave!' the kitchen boy muttered in Merofynian and gestured for her to get up. He was about her age with a thin, mean mouth that made Piro suspect he delighted in the misfortunes of others.

She climbed out from under the bedcovers, thinking at least it would be warmer down by the kitchen fire.

When she arrived, the smell of cooking made her stomach clench with hunger. Soterro and the cook were seated at the table. It was clear these powerful members of the household shared a bond that made them a formidable team. If she wanted her time in Dunstany's household to be as painless as possible she must not antagonise these two.

Cook looked her up and down, rubbed his bristly chin, then sent her to wash the dishes.

'Lying abed while others work!' he muttered disgustedly in Rolencian, so she could understand.

She wanted to protest that she had been locked in, but thought it wiser not to.

The kitchen boy smirked as he joined the two men at the table. Piro suspected that washing the dishes had been his job, but now that she was lowest on the pecking order it had become hers.

'Why is she dressed like that?' the kitchen boy asked in Merofynian. 'That won't fool anyone.'

'Grysha's right, that outfit won't fool anyone,' Cook muttered. 'She still walks like a woman.'

Piro pretended not to understand as she scrubbed and rinsed, stacking the cooking pots and utensils on the grate to dry. She had helped her mother clean when they prepared private meals for her father, so she knew what she was doing.

Her gaze settled on a small paring knife, still grubby from preparing the vegetables. She picked it up along with several ladles and wiped them all clean, but instead of placing the knife with the other utensils, she slid it inside her sleeve. The outer sleeve was full and gathered but her inner woollen sleeve was tight, and it held the knife against her flesh, safe from detection. Ready for use.

Silently, she thanked Fyn for teaching her how to kill a man quickly, going straight for the groin, heart or throat.

Fyn… Her throat tightened and tears threatened. She must not think about him, had to be strong. Just because Palatyne had sent men to take the abbey it did not mean the abbey had fallen, and even if it had, that did not mean Fyn was dead.

She flicked her hands dry and wiped them on a cloth.

'Don't loaf about, girl,' Cook snapped in bad Rolencian. 'You can serve the master.'

Piro hurried over. Food was laid out on the table, enough for many people. She got the impression that Dunstany's servants did not go without.

Beside the cook's elbow was a dish of roasted baby potatoes, sprinkled with herbs. Melted butter glistened on their steaming skins. Piro's stomach gave a painful spasm of hunger. Without thinking, she went to take a crisp potato.

The cook slapped her hand. 'You'll eat the scraps when I say!'

Grysha giggled and Piro decided she hated him.

'Here.' The cook indicated a tray with a bottle of fine Rolencian red and a single goblet. 'Take this in. Master likes wine before his meal.'

Piro backed into the apothecary's dining room, holding a tray.

Dunstany sat before the fire, his long legs thrust towards the flames, a pensive expression on his face. Piro set the tray on the side board and poured the wine. She had served her father enough times to be a deft hand at it.

With a murmured word, she presented the goblet to the noble Power-worker. He exuded Affinity in the same way a cat might purr and knead its paws before the fireplace. His Affinity made hers stir.

The glittering black eyes lifted to Piro's face. Hastily she glanced down.

'You serve me as though I was the king himself. So many talents for a healer's assistant.' He smiled. 'Why didn't Sylion's nun have an apprentice healer from the abbey?'

The sudden change of topic startled Piro, but she recovered quickly. 'She did. The silly girl fell in love with one of the stable boys and they sailed for Ostron Isle.'

'Ah, yes. The Rolencian laws on Affinity.'

'The king would often consult my mistress about his old wounds,' Piro added, feeling she had to explain her training. 'She taught me how to serve him, so as not to shame her.'

'Did she? Well, we can be thankful you are a quick learner.' He held Piro's eyes a moment too long, making her uneasy.

There was a thunderous knocking at the apothecary's door and a voice demanded. 'Open up. Open on the overlord's business.'

For an instant Piro saw fear in Dunstany's unguarded face, then the servant masked it swiftly as Soterro hastily went through to answer the door.

After a quick consultation, he hurried back. In the front room they could hear several male voices all speaking Merofynian.

'It's the other Utlander. He's injured,' Soterro explained.

'Send him to the castle to his brother.' Dunstany looked up. Neither of them bothered to speak Rolencian.

Soterro hesitated. 'I think you should see this, m'lord.'

Which was odd, a servant advising his master. Before Piro could ponder this, Dunstany sprang to his feet and hurried through to the front room, snatching the lamp along the way. Piro would have slipped back into the kitchen, but Soterro caught her arm.

'So you're trained to serve royalty. Well, don't think yourself better than us. We're free men. You can make yourself useful, girl. Fetch and carry for the master.' With that he sent her after Dunstany. She heard him send Grysha, the kitchen boy, up to the castle with a message for the little Utland Power-worker.

In the front room half a dozen Merofynian warriors waited with a small bundle slung between them. Piro looked, but could not identify the Utlander's brother amongst them.

'Show me,' Dunstany said.

The men held the bundle open to reveal a shrunken, wizened old man curled into a huddled shape, no bigger than a child of six. Piro shuddered. Surely he was dead?

'On the counter,' Dunsany ordered. As they complied, he turned the lamp up. Seeing Piro, he thrust several starkiss candles into her hands. 'We'll need more light.'

She lit one from the lamp and stood the rest in a candle branch, lighting them in turn. Their flickering light dispelled the gloom, while Dunstany unwound the blankets covering the injured man and tried to straighten his limbs. But the man's body seemed to have constricted so that his limbs would not move. Piro glanced at his face. The skin was like wax parchment, sucked onto the bones. Even the man's eyes were sunken.

Dunstany managed to unwind the material around the man's stomach then pulled back with a sharp intake of breath, an Ostronite curse on his lips.

Why would he curse in Ostronite?

Piro forgot the question as she realised the Power-worker was curled around a sorbt stone. No wonder he looked like this.

She shuddered.

'What were you thinking?' Dunstany demanded of the Utlander's men. 'Why didn't you remove it? Who did this to him?'