a summer went by without some skirmishing. Now we have had peace for nearly thirty years. I did my duty. Lence is doing his. You must do yours!'
The queen's brilliant black eyes met Piro's in the mirror. For a heartbeat Piro was too startled to speak. She had never considered that her mother might not have wanted to marry. 'But you love father.'
'Now I do,' her mother revealed. 'Ahh, Piro. Give this warlord a chance. Don't close your heart and mind against him.'
'Here it is,' Seela announced, placing the choker around Piro's throat.
It was heavy and gleamed against her skin. Her fingers stroked the gold filigree and cabochon star rubies. She stared at the person in the mirror. This grand kingsdaughter didn't look like the Piro who had begged a ride with a cart load of minstrels. She looked older, aloof and angry.
Piro hated not being in control of her life.
'She reminds me of you at the same age,' Seela whispered. 'So beautiful.'
Piro glared at her face in the mirror. She'd drawn both their portraits and she had no illusions. 'My chin is more pointed and my mouth is bigger. I'll never be a beauty like mother.'
Queen Myrella spun her around by the shoulders. 'Beauty's only a tool, and not a very good one. You're on your own after the first five minutes. Now, you go down to the trophy chamber and -'
'That's what I am, just a trophy!'
'Mind your tongue,' Seela snapped. 'Don't you shame your mother. She's a kingsdaughter in her own right with a better claim to the Merofynian throne than Merofyn the Sixth!'
Queen Myrella shook her head with a half-smile. 'Don't rake over the past, Seela. I am queen of Rolencia. One kingdom is enough for me. Now, off you go, Piro. And just this once, think before you speak!'
Fyn made his way through Rolenhold's great hall, keeping watch for a green-grey robe and Galestorm's distinctive, thick neck. The hall was so packed it was hard to find anyone. All around him monks and acolytes celebrated as they relived the race to Ruin Isle.
He sighted a saffron robe surrounded by fellow acolytes and recognised Lonepine, who was re-enacting the battle with Hawkwing. Fyn smiled to himself, remembering how he'd have hung on every word only a year ago. Letting Lonepine enjoy his triumph, Fyn waited until the story came to an end, then caught his friend's eye.
'Come, join the fun, Fyn.' Lonepine would have pulled him into the centre of admiring youths.
'We need to talk,' Fyn mouthed.
Lonepine forged through the younger acolytes and joined Fyn saying, 'Feldspar is meeting with the mystics master. He's due back soon. His place will be ensured when we get back to the abbey.'
'That's what I wanted to tell you. We need to stick together. Galestorm thinks I told the weapons master how he injured the grucrane.' The only people he'd told had been Lonepine and Feldspar.
Lonepine's brows drew down and his hands curled into fists.
'No you don't,' Fyn said quickly. 'That's all he needs, a chance to teach you a lesson. Besides, I can look after myself.'
'When the odds are fair.' Lonepine held Fyn's eyes. 'And we both know Galestorm likes the odds to be in his favour.'
The older boys bullied the younger boys, the older acolytes bullied the young ones, and the monks bullied everyone they could. It was the way of the abbey. If you were lucky you found a safe niche and kept out of trouble. Fyn had always admired Wintertide because the boys master punished bullying. But his old master could not be everywhere.
'Well Galestorm didn't succeed this time and as long as we stick together he won't get another chance.'
Lonepine went to speak, but a young acolyte called him over to sort out an argument over which stroke he had used to fell Hawkwing.
'Be right there.' Lonepine laughed. 'Come on, Fyn. Have some fun.'
Fyn noticed Farmer Overhill's fifteen-year-old son watching from the edge of the group. He would have a hard time in the abbey, being thrown in with the small boys when he should have been in the year below Fyn. 'Say, Lonepine, keep an eye on the new boy.'
His friend glanced over his shoulder. 'Another stray?'
Fyn grinned. 'Just do it. I can't hang about, I'm seeing my brothers.'
'Then watch out for Galestorm.'
'You too, and warn Feldspar.'
Fyn crossed the busy hall, heading for the far door. Just as he stepped out into the connecting hall someone hailed him. He got the feeling they had