The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,143
Cobalt, and then he would have to leave and everything would be right again.
Or would it?
She had not been mistaken. Lence had tried to send her home by the safe road. Either he had meant to warn Byren and he'd named the wrong trail or...
Before this she would have been absolutely certain that Lence would never send Byren into the path of a manticore pride.
Now, Lence believed Byren was a Servant of Palos. What was wrong with him? She felt heartsick every time she returned to worry over the point, painful as a loose tooth. And she'd had plenty of time to think as they walked.
They ate without stopping, pausing for no more than a few minutes if one of them had to answer the call of nature. While waiting for Garzik, she surreptitiously leant against a tree trunk, pushing her pack up so that its weight didn't drag on her aching body. Byren noticed and, without a word, he took her pack off her back, shouldering it along with his. She sent him a grateful look. Garzik returned and they continued.
Today they went in single file, Orrade leading, then Piro, then Garzik and lastly Byren in the most dangerous position. It was easier without the pack, she found her second wind. But it was barely mid-morning and they had far to go.
Fyn debated if he should leave the abbey now, before spring cusp. It was hard living alongside his friends, listening to them boast and tease each other about becoming monks, knowing that he would desert them soon and they would not understand why. For many of them it would be confirmation of his cowardice. He was tempted to get it over with and leave now. His travelling kit was packed, ready to go. All he had to do was slip into the abbey's kitchen and take some food. But it was still a couple of weeks until spring cusp.
Fyn shivered as a chill ran over his skin. His stomach churned. He swayed and reached for a seedling tray to steady himself.
'Nothing.' He made himself continue potting up the delicate seedlings. 'Like this?'
The gardens master nodded. Today all acolytes helped in the gardens. If Rolencia was to harvest two crops before next winter, the abbey had to get the hothouse seedlings started early and distributed to the farmers.
All morning Fyn had been feeling ill. But then, he had been feeling sick at heart for days now. Feldspar would never forgive him for leaving. He was tempted to reveal his plan and ask his friend to come along. Lonepine would have agreed instantly, but Feldspar loved the abbey and everything it stood for.
Fyn's vision swam and this time he almost dropped the sprout.
Through the ringing in his ears he heard the abbey's bells toll out the death dirge. There were over seven hundred monks, acolytes and young boys in the abbey so the chance that the dead person was a friend of his was slim. Yet Fyn's throat ached with loss and his eyes prickled with a presentiment of tears.
Had something happened to Feldspar?
Alarmed, he met Master Sunseed's eyes. Around him the others had ceased work and were looking at the master, with varying degrees of concern and curiosity.
'Fyn, go find out who the goddess has reclaimed,' Sunseed ordered.
Fyn nodded. He wiped his hands once on his apron, fumbling as he untied it. As soon as he was out the door, he ran down the spiral stair, only to meet the history master coming up. Fyn stepped aside to let Hotpool pass, but the master paused.
His eyes held Fyn's, glistening with something Fyn could not interpret.
'My sympathy, Fyn Kingson,' Master Hotpool said.
His friend was dead? Fyn froze. He and Feldspar should have run when they had the chance.
'I believe you were close to the boys master.'
'M-Master Wintertide?'
'Oh, hadn't you heard?' Hotpool pretended surprise. 'Wintertide was found dead at his desk. The healers say his heart gave out.'
Fyn's mouth went dry. He didn't believe it.
'Don't put your faith in the mystics master, Fyn.' Hotpool leant closer. 'Catillum's supporters are not going to be around when he needs them. You would be much better to look elsewhere for a mentor. I could be very good for you.'
Fyn looked down to hide the anger that swelled up in his throat. He could just imagine what Hotpool meant, and he would be expected to spy on Master Catillum. 'I want nothing from you.'