Byren shook his head and weaved through the forest of brilliantly decorated columns. Did Illien think their castle garish compared to Ostron Isle? It was Rolencia's custom to cover every surface with intricate carving, picked out in paint and gilding, enhanced with semi-precious stones. He left the great hall, passing under the arched doorway, its delicate floral carving highlighted by gold leaf on a pale blue background. Normally he wouldn't notice it, today he paused to study it and decided it was beautiful, what ever Illien thought.
As a small boy he'd adored Illien Cobaltson. Now he'd looked for, but did not find, the friendship he'd hoped would eventuate with Cobalt the man, and he did not understand why. Taking the passage, then crossing the courtyard, Byren headed for Eagle Tower.
'Byren?' Orrade called, catching up with him at the base of stairs that led up to the tower's first-floor door. Orrade glanced about, then stepped around the far side of the stairs so that they could speak privately.
'Why did you turn down the village girl?'
'Elina -'
'That's never stopped you in the past.'
Byren shrugged. 'It's different now.' For a heartbeat he tried to find the words to explain. It was true he and Orrade and Lence had gone wenching many times in the past. But it was different then, then he hadn't felt so deeply for Elina, then he hadn't known that Orrade preferred men to women... another thought struck him. 'You didn't think that I... that you -'
'No, not at all.' Orrade flushed and Byren suspected he had.
He was reminded of how he had snubbed his friend last night. If the true reason for Orrade's disinheritance was revealed, the men of Byren's honour guard would turn on him. And then Byren would be forced to deny him or lose the respect of his men.
'Listen, Orrie -'
'No, you listen. I've been thinking things through. Your honour guard don't understand why you turned the girl down. And you can't tell them about Elina because you can't offer her marriage now because of me. I've ruined things for you.' Orrade touched his chest where the damning symbol of Palos had lain hidden. He lifted troubled but determined eyes to Byren. 'I was wrong to join your honour guard. I don't want to be a liability. Release me from my oath so I can leave Rolencia.'
Stunned, Byren did not know what to say. Without Orrade he need not fear discovery...
Orrade must have read his face because he nodded once and turned on his heel and strode off.
Byren ran after him, catching up half way across the courtyard to grab his arm. 'Don't do this, Orrie. Stay.' He searched for a good reason. 'Think of Garzik. Who will watch over him?'
'Freezing Sylion!' Orrade flicked free of his hand, and cast a meaningful glance to the men-at-arms on the wall-walk who could see them below in the courtyard. 'I'm trying to protect you. I've lost position and family, I don't want that to happen to you!'
'Stay.'
Orrade searched his face. 'Why?'
Byren had no answer.
'Do you want me to stay, Byren? Tell me straight, because I'll go if you want me to.' Orrade's voice shook with repressed emotion. 'I couldn't stay knowing that you despise me.'
In a flash Byren understood. 'This is about last night when I snubbed you. Eh, Orrie. I'm a coward. I looked at you and my honour guard and I thought what if they knew about us. They'd -'
'There is no "us", Byren. I've loved you since we were fourteen. I've stood at your back and fought for my life, knowing you'd protect me, knowing that you trusted me not to turn and run.'
It was true.
Byren grasped his shoulder. 'I couldn't ask for a truer friend.'
Orrade blinked tears from his eyes and clasped Byren's hand where it rested on his shoulder. He had to clear his throat to speak. 'That's why I'm offering to go. I'd rather live as a beggar than dishonour you.'
'It would dishonour me if you left,' Byren said, and discovered he meant it.
Orrade met his eyes, face naked. What Byren read there made him look away. He was not worthy of such devotion.
Orrade cleared his throat, gave a small, jerky nod and walked off, leaving Byren alone in the courtyard.
He turned to face the steps to Eagle Tower. He had only a few moments to find Lence and give him the gift before the race for Halcyon's Fate started.
He took the tower's shallow steps two at a time, enjoying driving his powerful body.
'What's the rush?' Lence grinned. 'I could hear you thundering up the stairs like a wild boar.'
Byren laughed. The air was sharp and cold. It felt good on his face. He went to the battlement, leaned on the stone next to Lence and took a deep breath. It struck him that they hadn't been alone together for more than a moment or two since he came back with Orrade and Garzik. He put this aside and studied the snow-laden rich valley and Mount Halcyon itself, hub of the crescent.
Byren inhaled. He could smell beef seasoned with rosemary roasting for the feast tonight. Life was good. 'I have something for you.'
'Oh?' Lence turned to him.
Byren glanced down at his hand and hesitated. Once the kingsheir's betrothal was announced his twin would be swamped with exquisite and expensive gifts from the nobles, merchants and warlords, gifts that would make his token seem very meagre.
'It's just something I made.' Byren opened his hand to reveal the plaited leather thong, strung with the leogryf's teeth. As he looked down, he realised it was a boy's gift.
Lence stared at the trophy necklace.
'You keep it,' he said slowly. 'You earned it. After all, I can hardly give a string of leogryf teeth to the Merofynian kingsdaughter. It would confirm her worst fears. Illien says they already think us little better than spar warriors.'
Heat raced up Byren's cheeks.
'I see you wasted no time finding a reason to go to Dovecote,' Lence muttered.
'Orrie was injured.'
'He looks fine now. Was Elina pleased to see you?'
Byren's stomach clenched with pain. Elina... she had disturbed his sleep every night since he had been thrown out of Dovecote estate. In his dreams he would go to her and she would scorn him, telling him to go off with Orrade instead.
'Didn't waste any time, did you?' Lence asked.
'What?'
'My betrothal hasn't even been announced and you're already trying to charm your way into Elina's bed.'
'You fancy her!'
Lence nodded. 'And what's more, I've tasted her sweet fruit.'
'No, you never!'
'Autumn cusp, in the hay after the Harvest Feast.'
Byren blinked, shocked. Knowing Lence, it was no idle boast. Girls were always eager to lift their skirts for the kingsheir. But Elina? The most Byren had achieved was that kiss in the cold-cellar while she treated the bruise she'd given him, and he hadn't dared more because...
'Lord Dovecote would be furious if -'
'Fifteen's marriageable age and she'll be seventeen come spring cusp. Why hasn't he let her make an alliance? He's greedy, keeping her for himself to run his household. Besides, Elina's old enough to know her own mind.'
That was true, but... Byren remembered holding her as she wept in his arms. 'She deserves better than a fling in the hay, Lence.'
'Well, that's all I can offer, remember!' Lence snapped. 'I'm to be married to the Merofynian kingsdaughter. So, go ahead, woo her, marry her if she'll have you. But one day she will be my mistress. Most men are happy for their wives to swive the king!'
Byren took a step back, startled by his vehemence, startled that Lence would think like this. Of course he'd heard of the goings-on in the Merofynian court and the Elector of Ostron Isle was known to demand sexual favours for patronage. 'Cobalt's been putting ideas in your head.'
'Illien's seen the world,' Lence told him. 'All we've ever seen is Rolencia. Illien knows what's really going on in the Merofynian court.'
Did he? Byren didn't know who to ask. And if he had known who, it would have to be someone with Rolencia's best interests at heart. What if marriage to Isolt did not bring peace? What if it embroiled them in a civil war? As he went to speak the first horn sounded, calling the acolytes to the Proving.
Lence glanced out to the east where the town and lake were bustling with activity. 'The race will start soon. Are you coming?'
Byren caught Lence's arm. 'Elina turned me down. Don't let her come between us.'
'Oh, I won't.' Lence flicked his arm free and gave Byren a smile that made his twin look like someone else. 'I'll have her one day.'
Then Lence brushed the grit from the stone balustrade off his palms and left the tower top. Byren stood for a moment, stunned. How had things gone so wrong?
He and Lence had always competed for girls and glory but it had never turned nasty until now.
Grimly, Byren tucked the leogryf necklace inside his vest. It might be a handmade gift like the ones they had given each other as children, but a gift won at great risk was not a trifle.
Byren fingered the foenix spurs he wore around his neck. Three years ago, he and Lence had gone to capture a foenix and bring it back for the castle menagerie. It had died defending its nest. Lence would have smashed the eggs. Byren had brought them home for Piro. Now that he thought back over the years, he could see many small things that proved he and Lence saw the world differently. His twin had made no secret that he'd fancied Elina, but then he fancied a lot of women. It would be ironic if he lost his twin's trust over Elina when he had no chance to win her himself.
Worse, what if Cobalt's assessment of the balance of power was right?
Byren was overwhelmed with the need to see Fyn. Not that Fyn knew what was going on in the Merofynian court, but he would let Byren talk about his worries and Fyn had a way of cutting through to what was important.
Chapter Nine
Fyn wrestled with the clasp on his shoulder guard, fingers clumsy with cold. Here he was, heart thundering ready to burst, and the race hadn't even started.
The cold leather strap slid through his fingers a second time. 'Freezing Sylion!'
The tent flap opened and Byren strode in. 'Eh, you're running late. I'm in luck!'
'Can't get this buckle done up,' Fyn muttered. He'd hung back behind the other acolytes, hoping Piro would come to wish him luck, only she hadn't. Neither had his father or mother, not that he'd expected them with their official duties. But Piro...
'Here, let me.' Byren, pulled the buckle tight, then cinched it securely. 'How's that?'
Fyn swung his arm. The padded leather shoulder protectors were tight, but still loose enough to give him full range of movement. 'Good.'
During the race across the lake acolytes would do their best to knock each other down. They were supposed to strike only between the knee and shoulder, hence the protectors. But in past years legs had been broken, shoulders dislocated and skulls fractured.
'Thanks, Byren.' Fyn picked up his quarterstaff. The ash rod was as tall as him and as deadly as a sword in the hands of a skilled opponent. For today's challenge both ends had been wrapped in padding. Still, a blow from the staff would knock the air from his lungs if Fyn wasn't quick enough, or maybe even crack a rib, and then he'd have no chance of finding the Fate. Mustn't let that happen. He glanced up at his brother who was watching him with a thoughtful expression. 'What?'
'Nothing. I can see you've got a lot on your mind.' Byren gave him a rueful grin. 'Beat the others across the lake and catch the eye of the weapons master. Who knows, maybe one day you'll be weapons master of Halcyon Abbey!'
Fyn nodded, not surprised that Byren expected this of him. But he intended to be first across the lake to get his hands on the Fate. Hopefully, when he looked into its satiny surface, the mists would clear and he would see a vision. If he did, his place with the mystics was ensured.
Byren came to his feet. At twenty he was a little more than three years older than Fyn, but he was a head taller and bigger boned. Fyn knew he would never grow as big as the twins. He was the runt of the litter, which was why his father had been only too happy to gift him to the abbey.
Fyn fought a wave of self-doubt and worthlessness. He'd been fighting it all his life.
'Halcyon's luck be with you, little Fynnish.' Byren used his childhood nickname, then hesitated. His hand rose to touch the sigil Fyn wore around his neck. Made of silver, it was embossed with the royal foenix. When he became a monk, Fyn would renounce his place in the succession and return his foenix emblem. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Monks were supposed to sever all ties with the material world, but he was still tied to Rolenhold.
Byren tucked Fyn's sigil inside his chest protector. 'I've always thought it unfair that you were gifted to the abbey. Lence and I have had all the fun while you've been studying dry old histories since you were six!'
Fyn wasn't about to admit that he found the dry old histories fascinating, besides Byren's idea of fun was leading raids against the warlords or tracking Affinity beasts.
'It's not so bad. Master Wintertide says we all serve Rolencia in our own way,' Fyn muttered, his mind on the task ahead. He hung his skates over his shoulder. Now that the race was about to start his mouth felt dry and his stomach tense. Other years he had laughed along with the townsfolk when the acolytes knocked each other flying, skidding across the ice like court jesters. 'I just hope I don't make an idiot of myself.'