The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,69

deep red, with onyx stone touches. Piro ran her fingers over the embossed surface, then, taking a deep breath, she felt for the door handle. Somehow, she must not antagonise her father.

Piro could have loved King Rolen, if he'd only let her. Throughout her childhood he had been a distant figure, striding in to take her older brothers hunting, while she had been lucky to get a pat on the head in passing. Now he was going to marry her off.

Anger rolled through her. How could she marry a strange barbarian warlord? Her mother's last words rang in her head. Still smarting from those comments - she was not a thoughtless child - Piro decided she would keep an open mind and give this warlord a chance, but if he proved impossible, she would have to refuse her father.

And that was a frightening thought.

She licked dry lips and went to turn the handle, but it turned under her hand as a servant opened the door, backing out. Sweetbreads and a bottle of Rolencia's famous red wine had been delivered on a trolley which stood in front of the oriel window. Her father and another man were standing in the window's curve. The light from the leaded panes was behind them, so she could not see their faces. The warlord was not as tall as her father, but then few men were. Only Lence and Byren were bigger.

Feeling at a disadvantage, she glided across the room, assuming the graceful walk her mother had taught her.

'You sent for me, royal Father?' Piro said, dropping her gaze and bowing from the waist, since this was a formal occasion.

When she looked up King Rolen beckoned her. 'Piro Rolen Kingsdaughter. I swear you are as beautiful as your mother was the day I married her.'

'I will not be old enough to marry until I turn fifteen,' Piro pointed out. 'And that is not until the midsummer after next.'

Her father ignored this, leading her around the food trolley. 'Meet the ruler of Cockatrice Spar. Warlord Rejulas... my daughter, Piro.'

She gave him the minimum dip of her head. After all, she was a kingsdaughter and Rejulas was a mere warlord.

Cockatrice Spar was not the largest of the ridges that fanned out from the Dividing Mountains, but it was the one nearest Merofynia. Border wars were always going on over the Disputed Isles, a cluster of islands off the coast from the spar. As a student of history, Piro understood her father was marrying her to this warlord to ensure the safety of Rolencia's borders. She would be expected to spy on her husband and report back to her father and brothers. It was necessary, but she still resented it.

Piro looked up and caught the warlord staring at her. He smiled as if he knew what she was thinking.

A jolt ran through her. This Lord Rejulas was an unusual man with a 'witchy' look around his narrow eyes and high cheek bones. There had to be a bit of Utland raider in him, back a generation or two. She guessed he was several years older than the twins, but not near thirty, for there was no silver in the hair at his temples. Rather than the much-admired black eyes, his were brown, and met hers thoughtfully.

So this was the warlord she was supposed to marry? She would be hard put to find a more striking man. But he dressed like the barbarian he was. He even wore a vest of wyvern scales. How many men had died so that he could show off that sun-on-sea rippling blue vest? His shirt leather was so soft the women of his tribe must have chewed their teeth down to stubs on it. He was in for a surprise if he thought she would chew his leather!

A gold clasp in the shape of a cockatrice, the tall bird with the serpent's tail, held his cloak at the shoulder. The cockatrice cloak was one of the rare pure black ones, the feathers so fine they were nearly fur. Most of his long black hair was plaited behind his head. The front half was drawn over to one side and hung in a long pony tail by his right ear. It was held at intervals by gold bands, one for every man he had killed in battle. His battletale, as it was called, was almost solid gold. If she was really lucky, he would get himself killed in a border skirmish. Small chance of