The King Rolen's Kin: The Uncrowned King - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,11

tricks and escaped. She'd run straight to her father to warn him about Cobalt, only to discover he believed his nephew over her. That was a bitter blow.

Now she crept down the hall, one hand over the keys so they would not clink. Hopefully the healers would both be asleep, but there was still one of the king's honour guard at the door to her father's chamber.

A soft snore greeted her and she bit back a relieved giggle.

It was old Sawtree, asleep on duty. She didn't know how he managed. The seats were built at an angle sloping down so that a man might rest his weight a little, but if he relied on the seat to take all his weight, he'd slide off. This wing of the castle had been built by her namesake, Queen Pirola the Fierce, in the last years of her reign and the seat's wooden surface had been polished by a hundred and thirty years of guards' bottoms to a glossy, slippery finish. Yet somehow this man, one of her father's original honour guard - which made him at least fifty - had wedged his sturdy legs at just the right angle so that his shoulders took enough of his weight against the wall for the seat to support him.

Piro smiled to herself. She was fond of old Sawtree. Like Temor, the captain of the king's honour guard, he had always been part of her life. As a small child, she used to tease him mercilessly.

Tonight, she was glad he had been chosen to guard her father. She watched and waited for his doze to deepen, trying to judge the moment before his legs relaxed and the sliding action of the seat woke him.

She didn't think any the less of old Sawtree for dozing at his post. There were rumours of a Merofynian invasion, but there'd been no confirmation. Last night they'd seen a glow to the south, possibly from the Dovecote estate. The next beacon hadn't been lit, so it was probably just a house fire. House fires were common in winter, in a land where almost every home was made of wood.

Besides, they were safe in Rolenhold. The castle had never been taken, not since King Rolence built the first tower three hundred years ago, so old Sawtree was welcome to doze at his post.

But how long before he was woken by the seat's design? Piro decided she could wait no longer.

She sidled past him. Eyes on the sleeping man, her fingers found the door latch. Silently, she slipped into the chamber. The smell of powerful herbal remedies hung on the still, hot air. Someone had built up the fire and left it to burn down, so the room was stifling.

There was no sign of the castle's two healers, though the door to the connecting chamber was a hand's breadth ajar. No doubt they were sleeping lightly, ready to spring to the king's aid. Rivalry between the nuns of Sylion and the monks of Halcyon ran too deep for one healer to let the other gain an advantage.

By the glow of the banked hearth, Piro studied her father. King Rolen was still a big man, a head taller than average. But, since they had exposed the manservant for the manipulative Power-worker he was, the king's flesh had shrunk to reveal his bones.

Now that she saw him for herself, tears stung her eyes. Even in his sleep her father looked troubled. A frown gathered between his heavy brows. He shifted, rolled over and moaned with the pain this caused him, but did not wake. The servant had said the king couldn't sleep so they must have given him something, probably dreamless-sleep, to ease his pain.

He looked so deeply under that Piro doubted if she would be able to wake him. It didn't matter. She could still ease his discomfort. In a way it was lucky he was unaware, for he would have hated her to use Affinity on him. Ever since he'd watched helplessly, while his father and older brother were murdered by renegade Merofynian Power-workers, he had hated all Affinity and only suffered those with it to remain in Rolencia if they served the abbeys.

The irony of this struck Piro as she lifted one hand, reaching for her father's forehead.

A hand closed over her mouth and an arm swung around her waist, lifting her off her feet. In desperate silence, she writhed with all her strength but she was small for thirteen summers