-'
'Enough history. You saved my life again, Byren.' Lence faced him, a grin on his lips, but a penetrating look in his eyes. 'Two minutes later and you'd be kingsheir right now.'
'No thanks needed.' Byren laughed, relieved. 'Besides, if I was kingsheir I'd have to marry your bucktoothed kingsdaughter!'
'That reminds me.' Lence grimaced. 'Duty calls. Come on.'
As they climbed the stairs to the bell tower, Byren rolled up the cockatrice cloak. It was one of the more common ones, a mix of brown, red and gold feathers, but still expensive. It meant whoever had sent the assassins had deep pockets.
He was aware of Fyn following quietly. Sometimes Fyn seemed so knowing, and other times he failed to understand the real world. That's what came of being reared by a pack of prayer-chanting monks.
Lence stopped on the top step. He glanced to the rolled-up cloak in Byren's hands. 'We'll have to tell them about the assassination attempt -'
'But we don't want the Merofynian ambassador knowing about our troubles with the warlords,' Byren anticipated. 'I'll hide the cloak to show father later.'
Lence nodded and went ahead.
After this close call, Byren wished he'd found Piro. In all probability, she was safe back at the castle playing with her foenix, but this escalation of violence would be one more thing to make their parents' eyes gleam with worry.
No wonder he'd never wanted to rule Rolencia!
Still shaky from walking in on the assassination attempt, Fyn followed his brothers into the chamber on the fifth floor of the bell tower, where their parents waited. Through the open doors, he could see the balcony and the roof tops of the grand merchant houses which framed Rolenton Square.
'There you are. What kept you?' his mother greeted them as she hurried over. 'Just look at you, Lence. Anyone would think you'd been fighting!'
As she folded Lence's ermine-edged cloak neatly over his shoulders, Lence rolled his eyes. Byren winked at Fyn, who did not understand how they could be so cool-headed. His heart still hammered.
'You do your father proud,' Queen Myrella said, arranging Lence's kingsheir emblem in the centre of his chest.
Lence brushed her hands away. 'Leave be, mother. I'm not six years old.'
She ignored him and stepped back, a fond smile on her face as she turned to Fyn and Byren. 'Let me look at my three boys.'
Lence and Byren were dressed in rich red and black, the royal colours, their cuffs trimmed with gold embroidery. Their vests were decorated with red garnets and black onyxes. Fyn wore only the simple saffron robe of an acolyte.
'They're fine, Myrella,' King Rolen assured her, linking his arm through hers. 'The ambassador will be here any moment. Where's Piro?'
The queen cast Byren a quick look. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head which Fyn caught. He held his tongue. Only he knew where Piro was, and he hoped she stayed safely hidden until all the acolytes left Ruin Isle.
'Oh, Rolen. I forgot to tell you. She had a sore throat so I told her to stay in bed,' his mother lied straight-faced, which surprised Fyn. Or perhaps Piro had pretended to have a sore throat. He wouldn't put it past her. She was such a minx.
Then he heard boots on the stairs. 'Here comes the Merofynian ambassador. '
He stepped aside as the elderly man entered, followed by several servants, among them a page boy who carried a small, gilt chest. They were all dressed in the height of Merofynian court fashion. Their sleeves were so long they would have dragged on the ground if they had not been pinned up with jewelled broaches. Fyn frowned. Were those real foenix feathers in their velvet hats? His father would not approve. King Rolen had tried to breed foenixes in captivity to restore their numbers.
'Ah, Lord Benvenute,' his mother greeted the ambassador. 'I see you brought the miniature of Isolt Kingsdaughter.'
'Welcome.' The king clapped the ambassador's shoulder and the man winced. 'Let's get this started.'
Then King Rolen took the queen's arm and they stepped out onto the balcony to enthusiastic cheering. It made Fyn's heart lift. The people of Rolencia were loyal, even if the warlords weren't.
Normally Lence would have gone next, but the ambassador followed before any of the kingsons. As the Merofynian king's representative, he ranked above them.
Standing out on the balcony in the crisp winter air, Fyn was suddenly aware of their vulnerability. Several good bowmen on the roof opposite could have wiped out the Rolencian royal family in a