The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,187

Byren!'

'May Sylion take Palatyne into his cold embrace,' Byren whispered. 'I'll see him dead before dawn.'

'That's no comfort for what Elina's going through,' Orrade snapped and again his hand went to the latch, but he stopped himself.

Unable to sit still, Byren paced. It was too cold to sit.

Palatyne was right, this was agony. No matter what his logical mind told him, he couldn't stop his imagination.

He caught Orrade studying him. 'What?'

His friend's smile held a great deal of anger mingled with admiration. 'I was wrong. You are strong enough to make the hard decisions.'

Byren said nothing. Was he as hard as his father, Rolen the Implacable? He would not have thought it. He never wanted to have to make this kind of decision again. Elina might understand, but would she ever forgive him?

Curse Palatyne. Curse his pet Power-workers.

That reminded him of his experiences playing Duelling Kingdoms. 'Be on your guard, Orrie, Palatyne has two renegade Power-workers with him, a barbaric Utlander and a noble called Dunstany. They may sense your Affinity and try to use it against us.'

'You knew?' Orrade stared at him. 'How long -'

Byren shrugged. 'I suspected almost from the start.'

Orrade sank onto a barrel, his shoulders hunched. 'At first I thought I was imagining it. But then it began to add up. I had a vision of a manticore with Cobalt's head before we were attacked by them, but it was so bizarre I thought I must be going mad. If I hadn't refused to believe it, I could have warned you. I should have warned you about Rejulas.' He lifted a tortured face to Byren. 'While we were hiding in the barn at Narrowneck I had a nightmare... a cockatrice entered the yard and spat poison at the barn door, setting it alight. I refused to admit -'

'Forget it.' Byren shrugged.

Orrade sprang to his feet, confronting him. 'Why don't you hate me? Why don't you denounce me?'

Byren laughed. 'You're a lover of men. If that didn't worry me, why should your Affinity worry me?'

Orrade tensed as if he'd been hit, then he went strangely silent.

Just when Byren was about to demand what was wrong, Orrade retreated to sit on his barrel, contained, quiet and... seething. He said nothing while the minutes crept by. The cold settled over them. Meeting here had been a good idea. The ice slabs lining the walls stopped their voices from travelling, but now the chill crept into their bones.

Byren looked away from his friend. He didn't see why he should apologise to Orrade for speaking the truth.

A cold half-hour later the cook came to report that the Merofynian servants were locked in the wine cellar and all of their people were out of the keep, fleeing into the forest. 'There are two guards at the door of the blue chamber, one of Palatyne's men and one of Rejulas's.' Her eyes glinted. 'I don't think Palatyne trusts the Cockatrice warlord or vice versa!'

Byren grinned and slapped his thighs to get his blood moving. 'Thank you, may the goddess be with you. Give Winterfall the signal. It's time to light the beacon.'

She bustled away, as efficient in battle as she had always been in the kitchen.

'Rejulas first?' Orrade asked, coming to his feet stiffly. He stretched and stamped his boots.

Or Lence? Byren wondered. At least he could kill the Cockatrice warlord with a clean conscience. But he had to try to convince Lence. 'My brother first.'

They slipped out of the cold-cellar and took the servants' stairs up the back way to the long corridor which led to the best bedchambers. To their left was the lord's bedchamber and opposite it, the royal chamber where Byren's parents stayed when visiting. These opened onto the mezzanine balcony which overlooked the great hall. To their right were the rest of the bedchambers.

Byren peered around the lintel to the right. Lit by a single lamp, two warriors stood at the entrance to the blue chamber, giving substance to the fiction that Lence was a captive. If it was fiction.

The cook was right, one guard wore the amfina surcoat and the other, the cockatrice cloak.

Byren made a soft noise in his throat. Both warriors stiffened. He made the same noise again. They looked at each other. Finally Rejulas's man headed towards the dark stair well, his boots making soft thuds on the polished wood.

Orrade waited, knife ready. Byren pinned the man's arms as soon as he stepped into the stair well, covering his mouth. Orrade drove the knife