The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,73

to trust Fyn, Lence was right, they did not have their parents' permission to discuss war table matters with him.

'Come here, Fyn, and take a look at Lence's betrothed.' Byren said.

Fyn joined him, glanced at the miniature and gasped.

'What?' Byren prodded.

'She's... she's got no eyebrows!' Fyn stammered.

Lence caught Byren's eye with a cryptic look. Fyn had sounded like he'd been about to say something else.

'So what?' Lence snapped. 'Ambassador Benvenute assures me that's the fashion in the Merofynian court.'

Byren frowned at the face in the locket. 'She might be pretty but she doesn't look happy.'

Lence shrugged. 'Who would be happy with King Merofyn for a father? I hear he's gone through four food tasters since his unistag horn was stolen. Maybe I'll win his gratitude by sending him another one, a pure white one, perfect for detecting poison. I know! The warlord of Unistag Spar hasn't renewed his vow of loyalty. He can prove it by trapping a unistag and sending me the horn!'

'If he's failed to renew his vow, it's father's forgiveness he must win,' Fyn pointed out. Lence grimaced.

'Yes, Rolencia must do something about that warlord,' Byren said quickly, to divert Lence's anger from Fyn.

Their younger brother turned the miniature over, studying the Merofynian kingsdaughter. 'That's not a good likeness of Isolt.'

Lence snorted. 'And how would you know?'

Fyn looked startled, then guilty. 'I... I looked into Halcyon's Fate by mistake and she was in my vision. She was at a feast but her eyes were sad.'

'You'll be a monk soon and girls will be the last thing on your mind.' Lence grinned. 'Or do the monks get around their vow of chastity?'

Fyn's face went bright red.

'Hey, Byren, let's get a girl for Fyn before he gives up the world. With his pretty face it shouldn't be too hard to find one who'll lift her skirts.' There was a hard edge to Lence's laughter that Byren didn't like or understand. Was Lence angry because he'd been forced to give up Elina? Byren wondered how he would feel if he had to watch Elina take another man for her lover, or, worse, her husband. With a jolt he realised that he hadn't given up hope. Not yet. Somehow he would win her trust, win her back.

Fyn went to turn away.

Lence caught his arm. 'So you think yourself too good for the rest of us, master monk?'

'Leave him alone, Lence. Fyn never asked to be a monk!' Byren snapped. 'More importantly, if Fyn saw a vision in Halcyon's Fate, then he should be the one the mystics master accepts, not his friend. Why don't you go to the mystics master, Fyn?'

Lence let Fyn go. 'Well?'

Fyn did not meet their eyes. 'It was an accident. Feldspar dropped the Fate. I picked it up and the vision came. Much as I'd like to be the one, Feldspar deserves his place with the mystics.'

Byren frowned. Fyn was lying about something.

Lence snorted. 'I don't know about you, but I'd rather be a warrior than a mystic!'

Fyn stared at Lence, the gulf between them obvious to Byren. Lence's top lip curled. Quickly, Byren retrieved the miniature from Fyn saying, 'here's your locket, Lence.'

It made him realise he had been doing this sort of thing for a while now, diverting Lence, smoothing things over. He couldn't remember when it had started, only that it had become second nature to him. He turned to Fyn. 'Your throw, pick a knife.'

Fyn stepped over to the weapon display and selected a knife.

'Yes, take your throw,' Lence urged. 'Let's see what you're made of.'

Byren's stomach knotted.

Fyn lifted his knife, but before he could take aim the door to the hall flew open and their father stalked in.

'I swear I'll throttle that girl when I catch her. Do you know what your sister's done now? Thrown away a year's negotiation with the warlord of Cockatrice Spar!' His gaze settled on Fyn. 'Do you know where she is?'

'I don't know, Father. I've been here, with Lence and Byren.'

'That's right,' Byren said.

'Well, don't just stand there. Go find her!' King Rolen roared. 'I'll be waiting at the war table. Curse her for a wyvern's whelp!'

'You two go,' Lence said. 'I must tell father about the assassination attempt.'

'What?' King Rolen muttered, then glanced swiftly to Fyn.

'Fyn came upon us in the middle of it. Because of him the swordsmen fled,' Byren explained. 'Three of them armed, and us with nothing but our ceremonial daggers, in Rolenton itself!'

'Bold and confident,' King Rolen muttered. He focused on