direction.
The queen stepped closer to Cobalt. 'Why did you come back to Rolencia, Illien? What happened to you on Ostron Isle? You are not the youth I knew and loved.'
'Better to ask me why I left. My father was born on the wrong side of the blanket. That, only that, made him unsuitable to rule. My father, the Bastard, was a man of learning and insight, a kingly man. Instead we had a buffoon for king, a brash fool who was happiest hunting and roistering. He didn't appreciate you, Myrella.'
'He's my husband.'
'And the king. I know. I grew up in this court as surety of my father's loyalty. I was fourteen when you married Rolen on your fifteenth birthday. And I watched him treat you like a convenience. It wasn't fair, not when I loved you, not when the throne should have been my father's. As the eldest son of the eldest son, I would have been betrothed to you to cement the peace. But no, my father, curse him, was loyal to the buffoon. I bore it for eight years until I could no longer stomach the way Rolen treated you. So I went to my father and demanded we make a move. He chose his half-brother over his own son, swore to reveal me as a traitor if I ever returned to Rolencia. So I spent thirteen years in exile on Ostron Isle learning the art of intrigue.
'Now I am back to take what should have been my father's, by right of birth and worth. And that is why I want Piro. She's a brat, but a pretty brat. By the time I turn back the Merofynian invasion, the people of Rolencia will only be too grateful to have the Bastard's son on the throne, especially if he's married to King Rolen's only surviving heir.'
Piro's vision faded. Were Lence, Byren and Fyn already dead, murdered by Cobalt's assassins?
'Illien, what have you done to my boys?' the queen whispered, stricken.
'Nothing.' His black eyes fixed on her face. 'Yet.'
The queen's small body grew rigid. She tried to step away from Cobalt but he caught her by the shoulders. Her slender frame made his hands look huge.
'So you see, Myrella, you must be good to me,' he said softly, as his fingers made small circles on her shoulders. 'I want you to help me find Piro. Send a message to her. Say you need to speak with her. Give me Piro. Refuse me and I will have the warder discover your Affinity. By law your marriage to Rolen will be annulled, making your children illegitimate.' He leant lower so that he could look into her eyes. 'Lure Piro out of hiding and I won't have to order your execution for hiding your Affinity.'
'I know the law, Illien,' the queen countered. 'All those who have Affinity must either serve the abbeys or leave Rolencia. The people know the law.'
'But you are their beloved queen. When it is discovered that you have been using your Affinity wiles on King Rolen all these years the people will demand your blood.' He smiled and traced the curve of her cheek. Capturing a tear on his finger tip, he lifted it to his lips to savour the taste. 'Don't weep, Myrella. Give me Piro for my wife and you can remain here, the dowager queen, loved and respected. You'll have your own wing of chambers and servants and we can be lovers at last. I've waited years for this.'
The queen drew in a shuddering breath and thrust away from him, turned and stumbled a few steps to the sandalwood screen, where she clutched the worked wood, resting her forehead on the carving.
'I will find Piro eventually, Myrella,' he warned, 'with or without your help. Be good to me and I can be very good to you.'
The queen met Piro's eyes through the screen.
Piro licked dry lips and lifted her hand to touch her mother's forehead through a gap in the screen. She felt a little surge of warmth, Affinity warmth. And for a heartbeat she did not feel so alone.
'Myrella?'
The queen fixed fierce eyes on Piro, then she shuddered and bowed her head as she turned to face her tormentor. Her whole demeanour was one of defeat. 'I would help you, Illien, but you are too late. Seela arranged for Piro to be smuggled out of the castle earlier today. She's on her way to Sylion Abbey, where the abbess will give her sanctuary. I thought