The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,127

the abbey and the best abbot is now ruling it, but there are some who would back me when he dies.'

Feldspar swore softly, something he rarely did. 'Then everything we have been taught about the goodness of Halcyon and her monks is a lie.'

'Not a lie.' Catillum smiled painfully. 'We are only men. We make mistakes. Some of us are motivated by greed and ambition. Sylion Abbey is the same.'

Fyn rubbed his face and tried to make sense of this. 'So we're caught in the middle of a battle for succession?'

'That sums it up.' The mystics master came to his feet, one shoulder higher than the other, his withered arm tucked against his body. 'Now, do you want to go to the abbot and force a confrontation that I fear we cannot win, or are you willing to be guided by me? Well, Feldspar?'

Fyn glanced to his friend.

Feldspar sent him an agonised look. 'Lonepine did not deserve to die. It's not fair!'

'Many things are not fair.' The mystics master indicated his arm. 'I was mauled by a leogryf when I was nineteen. I lost the use of my arm and gained access to my Affinity, which meant I had to leave my pregnant wife to join the abbey.'

'You could have left Rolencia,' Fyn ventured.

Catillum shook his head. 'She is safe with her family and my son has grown into a fine young man, about your age, Fyn. I've never seen him.'

They were silent for a moment.

Feldspar shifted impatiently. 'Lonepine is dead because -'

'Lonepine is dead because he was my friend,' Fyn whispered, soul sick.

'He died because several ambitious, impatient men don't value life,' Catillum corrected.

Fyn looked down at his hands which clutched his knees, the knuckles white with tension. He cleared his throat. In the whole abbey there was one person whose opinion he valued above all else. 'I'd like to speak with Master Wintertide.'

'Wintertide could have been abbot but he chose not to force the issue. He's the abbot's strongest supporter,' Catillum told him. 'What do you think he will say?'

Fyn looked up at the crippled mystics master and the fight went out of him. 'But what of Feldspar and I? How can we sleep at night knowing Lonepine's murderers have got away with it and we could be next?'

Catillum pulled over the other stool and sat down. 'I am almost certain Lonepine's death was an accident. No.' He held up a hand. 'I don't mean to insult you by telling you that he tripped. There's a good chance Beartooth did push him. He's hot-headed and doesn't think about the consequences of his actions. I'm as certain as I can be that he was not acting on orders from Masters Hotpool or Firefox. They are not so rash. They'll punish him in their own way. As for you two... come spring cusp you will be sleeping in the mystics' chambers, safe under my protection. Until then I will keep you close by me.' Catillum held their eyes. 'I am truly sorry. Lonepine would have made a fine monk.'

Tears stung Fyn's eyes. He tried, but he could not speak past the lump in his throat. To his horror great wracking sobs tore from him. Feldspar threw his arms around Fyn and they both sobbed unashamedly, partly for Lonepine and partly for what they had lost.

They cried until they could cry no more.

At some point the mystics master must have left them because, when Fyn sat back to wipe his face on his sleeve, they were alone.

'I'm sorry I got you into this, Feldspar,' he said, voice raw from weeping.

'Master Catillum means well, but I don't think anyone can protect us all the time.' His friend cleared his throat, fixing serious red-rimmed eyes on him. 'Do you think we should kill Galestorm?'

For a heartbeat it seemed entirely logical for Feldspar to suggest murder. Then sanity reasserted itself and Fyn shuddered, shaking his head.

Feldspar went to argue, then thought better of it and looked relieved. He shook his head. 'All my life I've admired the monks and looked up to them. Now, this. It's clear we must protect ourselves. Even if the plotters punish Beartooth there's still Galestorm. Think of a lifetime trapped inside these walls, never knowing when he might move against us. We might baulk at murder, but they won't.'

Fyn looked down. He did not face a lifetime in the abbey. He was going to run away and all the people he loved and respected would think him a coward.