The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,71

father gave the traditional toast.

'To Rolencia and Cockatrice Spar, brothers-at-arms,' Rejulas replied. At the same time he moved half of King Merofyn's army into the waiting fleet and embarked on the sea journey to Rolencia's vulnerable inner crescent.

King Rolen would have to counter. He savoured a mouthful of wine and studied the board.

'You don't drink, Piro Kingsdaughter?' Rejulas's smile was quizzical. He had an easy charm, as if he was used to getting his own way.

'I don't know yet if I have reason to celebrate,' she replied, watching for his reaction.

His eyes widened. Good.

'Piro, the sweetbreads,' her father suggested swiftly. He sent five ships to meet the Merofynian fleet. 'Your move, Rejulas. You will find I am most experienced at keeping what is mine!'

Piro cut a small loaf into thin slices. Its surface was crusted with honey-glazed almond slivers.

She could feel Rejulas watching her. She desperately wanted to know what manner of man he was. She felt an itch crawling across her skin, heralding the build-up of Affinity in her body. With every sense strained to interpret his actions, she held out the plate of sweetbread.

He took it from her. Dropping a dollop of cream on a slice, he offered it to her. It was neatly done, not something you would expect from a barbarian, and the smile that accompanied it was rueful, as if he was apologising for having misjudged her.

Piro accepted the bread with a cautious smile of her own. She took a bite, anticipating the sweetness of almonds and honey as the sweet bread melted on her tongue. Instead her mouth was filled with a vile taste. Burning fumes rushed up the back of her nose, threatening to choke her. She could not possibly swallow.

Piro grabbed a napkin as she sprang up from the table, sending the game of Duelling Kingdoms to the floor. Turning away she spat the food into the napkin but still the fumes lingered. A fit of coughing shook her. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

She could not get the taste from her tongue. Fearing she might throw up, she stumbled a few steps further. Both men stood. Rejulas reached out to steady her. She sprang away from him, clutching her father's arm, and held on as she fought to catch her breath.

'Something go down the wrong way? Here, sup this.' King Rolen held his wine for her and she gulped to drown the taste. The wine was everything it should have been, smooth and redolent of plums.

'Th-thank you,' Piro managed. Feeling a little better, she wiped her eyes and glanced into the mirror over the fire place. She must look a fright. Her cheeks were hot and glistening with tears. Her cap was crooked. Her head and ears buzzed with excess Affinity. Even her vision wavered as the Unseen world tried to usurp the seen world.

'Your pardon, Father, Warlord Rejulas,' she said smoothly, if a trifle huskily. The queen would have approved of her control, Piro thought as she stepped closer to the mirror to straighten her head-dress.

'Next time don't rush your food,' King Rolen told her. 'Girls, eh, Rejulas? We will have to start the game again. Pick up the pieces, Piro.'

As she replaced the last pin and looked into the mirror to smooth her hair, the wyvern came to life. It went to tear off her father's head.

Spinning around, she drew breath to scream a warning. But her father was safely in his chair by the table and warlord Rejulas was about to resume his seat.

The implications made her head spin.

'Pick up the pieces, kingsdaughter,' her father ordered, growing impatient.

When Piro turned back to the mirror it reflected nothing more alarming than a table, two men and the stuffed wyvern.

What was going on? In her mind's eye she kept seeing her father struck down by the wyvern.

'Piro?' The king frowned at her.

She stared at him, horrified. He was going to die and he would never believe her if she tried to warn him!

She backed out of the room.

'Piro, come back here!' King Rolen roared.

She ran out the door.

In the corridor she hesitated, unsure where to go with so many people in the castle.

The door swung open behind her. Rejulas stepped out, obviously sent by her father to bring her back. When his hand closed over her arm she felt a wave of nausea.

'Let go!' As she twisted free, her fingers brushed the wyvern-skin vest. 'Barbarian!'

His breath drew in on a sharp hiss and caught her hand, twisting her wrist cruelly. 'The