'Elina turned me down. Don't let her come between us.'
'Oh, I won't.' Lence flicked his arm free and gave Byren a smile that made his twin look like someone else. 'I'll have her one day.'
Then Lence brushed the grit from the stone balustrade off his palms and left the tower top. Byren stood for a moment, stunned. How had things gone so wrong?
He and Lence had always competed for girls and glory but it had never turned nasty until now.
Grimly, Byren tucked the leogryf necklace inside his vest. It might be a handmade gift like the ones they had given each other as children, but a gift won at great risk was not a trifle.
Byren fingered the foenix spurs he wore around his neck. Three years ago, he and Lence had gone to capture a foenix and bring it back for the castle menagerie. It had died defending its nest. Lence would have smashed the eggs. Byren had brought them home for Piro. Now that he thought back over the years, he could see many small things that proved he and Lence saw the world differently. His twin had made no secret that he'd fancied Elina, but then he fancied a lot of women. It would be ironic if he lost his twin's trust over Elina when he had no chance to win her himself.
Worse, what if Cobalt's assessment of the balance of power was right?
Byren was overwhelmed with the need to see Fyn. Not that Fyn knew what was going on in the Merofynian court, but he would let Byren talk about his worries and Fyn had a way of cutting through to what was important.
Chapter Nine
Fyn wrestled with the clasp on his shoulder guard, fingers clumsy with cold. Here he was, heart thundering ready to burst, and the race hadn't even started.
The cold leather strap slid through his fingers a second time. 'Freezing Sylion!'
The tent flap opened and Byren strode in. 'Eh, you're running late. I'm in luck!'
'Can't get this buckle done up,' Fyn muttered. He'd hung back behind the other acolytes, hoping Piro would come to wish him luck, only she hadn't. Neither had his father or mother, not that he'd expected them with their official duties. But Piro...
'Here, let me.' Byren, pulled the buckle tight, then cinched it securely. 'How's that?'
Fyn swung his arm. The padded leather shoulder protectors were tight, but still loose enough to give him full range of movement. 'Good.'
During the race across the lake acolytes would do their best to knock each other down. They were supposed to strike only between the knee and shoulder, hence the protectors. But in past years legs had been broken, shoulders dislocated and skulls fractured.
'Thanks, Byren.' Fyn picked up his quarterstaff. The ash rod was as tall as him and as deadly as a sword in the hands of a skilled opponent. For today's challenge both ends had been wrapped in padding. Still, a blow from the staff would knock the air from his lungs if Fyn wasn't quick enough, or maybe even crack a rib, and then he'd have no chance of finding the Fate. Mustn't let that happen. He glanced up at his brother who was watching him with a thoughtful expression. 'What?'
'Nothing. I can see you've got a lot on your mind.' Byren gave him a rueful grin. 'Beat the others across the lake and catch the eye of the weapons master. Who knows, maybe one day you'll be weapons master of Halcyon Abbey!'
Fyn nodded, not surprised that Byren expected this of him. But he intended to be first across the lake to get his hands on the Fate. Hopefully, when he looked into its satiny surface, the mists would clear and he would see a vision. If he did, his place with the mystics was ensured.
Byren came to his feet. At twenty he was a little more than three years older than Fyn, but he was a head taller and bigger boned. Fyn knew he would never grow as big as the twins. He was the runt of the litter, which was why his father had been only too happy to gift him to the abbey.
Fyn fought a wave of self-doubt and worthlessness. He'd been fighting it all his life.
'Halcyon's luck be with you, little Fynnish.' Byren used his childhood nickname, then hesitated. His hand rose to touch the sigil Fyn wore around his neck. Made of silver, it was embossed with the royal foenix. When he became a monk, Fyn would