The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,85

enough. I should get him back to Rolenhold.'

That was what Byren wanted, but it wouldn't look right if he agreed too easily.

'Can't go back yet, not without celebrating,' he objected. 'Just one tankard and then we'll go.' He fixed on Rejulas. 'So are you coming for the Jubilee? Going to give little Piro another chance? If you take my advice -'

'We don't need your advice, Byren,' Lence spoke up quickly. 'Rejulas has agreed to come back to the castle tonight and renew his vow of fealty. It was all a misunderstanding, caused by a thoughtless, spoilt brat.'

Piro was no spoilt brat, but Byren let this pass for now. He lurched out of the chair and extended his arm across the table towards Rejulas. 'Then let me be the first to -'

He deliberately overbalanced and fell under the table. Where was that scrap of paper? His hand closed over it, just as Lence reached under and hauled him upright. Cobalt was still watching him. Did their cousin see through this act?

Better get out quick.

Byren let Lence take his weight. Clutching his stomach to hide the paper tucked in his hand, he groaned. 'Don't feel so good, Lensh.'

'That's all I need!' Lence muttered.

'I'll take him home,' Orrade said quickly, joining them.

'Yes, take him home,' Cobalt urged. Byren could hear the unspoken, 'before he can do any more damage' and bristled, even though this was exactly what he wanted.

'I should go back to Rolenhold now, swear my fealty oath,' Rejulas said. He stood and signalled his men.

Lence called for the innkeeper.

Byren had to keep up with the pretence of being a nauseous drunk, while the rest of the party gathered and Lence borrowed a carriage to take him back to Rolenhold. Rejulas called for their horses, intending to follow with his men.

Lence helped Orrade lift Byren into the carriage, none too gently. He sprawled in a dark corner as Orrade sat opposite him.

'What possessed you, Byren?' Lence demanded from the doorway. 'You know how important Rejulas's support is. It's just as well I'd already won him over. Your stupid behaviour has gone a long way towards undoing the good I've done!'

Byren said nothing. Lence should have known better. Cobalt hardly knew him and even he'd been suspicious. Byren wanted to justify himself but if he revealed the ruse now it would only make Lence furious. Seething, Byren remained silent.

'Well?' Lence demanded.

Byren produced an effective snore.

Lence swore. 'Get him to bed, Orrie.'

He slammed the door and walked off.

Orrade said nothing until the carriage began to rattle over the cobbles.

'Well, what did it say?' Orrade prodded.

'What?' Byren muttered, still fuming. Usually it was he who helped Lence to bed after a night of too much drinking.

'The paper you grabbed from under their table.'

'Eh?' Byren sat up. 'Did anyone else notice?'

'I doubt it. You should have been a player, Byren.'

He grinned and pulled the crumpled paper out from inside his vest. By the silvery starlight coming through the window, he and Orrade tried to interpret the drawings. It seemed to be a scribbled map of Cockatrice Spar in relation to Rolenhold, with the major estates, roads and canals marked. It had been drawn with smudged charcoal and was hard to interpret, with arrows and splotches that may have represented fighting men on the march.

'They were discussing strategy,' Orrade said.

'Working on the best way to defend Rolencia,' Byren agreed. His twin had been safe all along, looking out for Rolencia's future. Perhaps tomorrow, when Lence cooled down, he'd reveal the subterfuge and they'd laugh over it.

He rubbed his knee which still ached from the impact after Lence had shoved him into the carriage. Then again... perhaps he would never reveal the ruse.

'You'll have to go straight to bed,' Orrade said. 'I'll return to the great hall, let you know how it goes.'

'Huh?' Byren had made himself look a fool in front of Lence, Cobalt and Rejulas, and was beginning to regret it.

'The call to arms. King Rolen will announce the punitive raid on the Utlanders tonight and call for support.'

He was right. The warlords and nobles would each swear to send a certain number of men and the merchants would supply ships and supplies, then they would drink to the raid's success. And he would be in bed, supposedly too drunk to attend. Not that he was comfortable with the idea of the raid.

'They don't even know which Utland raiders killed old Lord Cobalt,' Byren muttered. 'But they'll kill a few and burn some miserable little cottages