The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,125
of what he was, not who he was. It had never occurred to him before and was, oddly enough, a relief.
Joff bowed at the door to Master Wintertide's chamber, and backed off. 'See you later, Fyn.'
I must not weaken, Fyn told himself. I must not betray Piro's Affinity, even if it means losing Master Wintertide's trust and friendship.
He knocked on the door.
'Come in,' the boys master called.
'Master Wintertide.' Fyn gave him the bow of an acolyte to his master, even though Wintertide no longer held that position over him.
The old monk smiled and nodded to the little boy who was sharpening a quill, his tongue peeping between his teeth in concentration. 'You can go, Lenny.'
So it was to be a private talk. Fyn steeled his resolve.
Master Wintertide met Fyn's eyes. 'It does not seem that long since you were sharpening quills for me.'
Fyn glanced at the desk, nostalgic for happier, simpler times. 'May I?'
Wintertide nodded and Fyn sat down at the desk. Picking up the tools, his hands resumed the familiar task. It felt good.
'Most of the servants I've had over the years have been thoughtful, clever boys, but you were special, Fyn.' Wintertide spoke slowly. Fyn sensed he was choosing his words with care. 'You would have been special, even if you hadn't been born a kingson. Whatever happens in the future, do not doubt yourself, Fyn. I know you will serve Master Catillum well. I have faith in you.'
Fyn knew he did not deserve Master Wintertide's trust - he was lying by omission right now - and it stung him to the quick. He desperately wanted to confess the truth and ask Wintertide's advice. If only there was a way he could stay at the abbey without betraying Piro.
A boy shouted, his high voice echoing in the stairwell at the end of the corridor.
'Noisy things, boys,' Wintertide said, his deep-set eyes twinkling. 'Why walk, when they can run? Why talk, when they can shout? Eh, Fyn?'
He couldn't answer. His throat was too tight to speak.
Another voice joined the first, laced with fear. Running steps sounded on the stairs.
Fyn glanced to Master Wintertide, who came to his feet, features tight with worry.
'Some silly boy has probably hit another and knocked a tooth out,' the master muttered. 'They'll be on their way to the healers.'
The steps continued on past their floor and Master Wintertide sat down. Fyn had been willing the messenger to interrupt them so he could escape. He resumed sharpening the quill.
'Is something troubling you, Fyn?'
He looked up. How he longed to unburden himself, but...
The abbey bells began their mournful death dirge, sending another soul to Halcyon's warm heart.
'Who...?' Master Wintertide went out into the corridor, with Fyn at his heels. They hurried towards the stairwell, where the voices echoed. On the landing, they came to an abrupt stop as they spied three monks carrying a limp body up the steps towards them, a saffron-robed acolyte's body.
When they came level, Fyn recognised the acolyte.
Lonepine.
He gasped.
Sandbank met Fyn's eyes, his full of sympathy. 'He fell, broke his neck -'
'No. I was speaking with him only moments ago!' Fyn protested, pushing between them to touch his friend's face. He touched dead meat. Lonepine wasn't there any more.
It shocked him so deeply he staggered back a step and would have fallen if Master Wintertide hadn't steadied him.
'I'm sorry, Fyn,' Sandbank said. 'He was carrying a laundry basket, must have missed his step on the stairs.'
'Rubbish!' Fyn wrenched free of Wintertide's hands. 'Lonepine wouldn't do that.'
'Anyone can trip,' Sandbank told him gently.
Those words... Fyn's skin went cold with shock. He stared at Lonepine's body. Mouth suddenly dry, his heart hammered as he recalled Beartooth's glare. A quiet corridor, an empty stair well, a monk meets an acolyte and...
Fyn's stomach heaved.
'Here, you look pale. Sit down.' Master Wintertide urged him to sit on the stairs.
Sandbank and the other monks moved on, carrying the body to be prepared to rejoin Halcyon's fiery heart.
Fyn recalled Galestorm's smirk. How could they do this? How could they kill Lonepine? Fyn stared at his old master as the ramifications hit him. Anyone who cared for him was in danger.
He pulled away from Wintertide.
'Fyn?'
But he was running down the stairs, running to see if Feldspar was all right. He found him emptying the mop bucket.
'Back, are you?' Feldspar muttered. 'That was well timed. I just finished.' Then he saw Fyn's face. 'What's wrong?'