couple of heart beats.
Where was Piro? Was she safe?
His father held up his arms signalling for silence and the cheering died away. The king turned to the queen, lifting her hand, kissing it. They shared a private smile. It pleased Fyn to see them happy.
Rolen turned to the crowd. 'Rolencia has known many years of peace and prosperity since I was lucky enough to make Myrella Merofyn Kingsdaughter my queen.'
The crowd cheered again. From the level of noise they'd already been imbibing heavily. Hot honeyed mead for the farmers and best Rolencian red for the merchants and nobles. It was a festival, after all.
'Today we celebrate for a special reason,' King Rolen said, and the people grew quiet. 'Today, Lence Kingsheir will take Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter for his betrothed!'
The roar of approval deafened Fyn.
The ambassador turned to his page who opened the chest. From its azure velvet bed he took out a gold locket and opened it, holding it up for the crowd to see.
'Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter,' Ambassador Benvenute said. The crowd cheered again, though no one could have seen the miniature portrait when Fyn, who was only a body length away, could not see her face.
Fyn glanced to Lence. His brother looked grim. He'd made it clear how he felt about having to marry a girl he had never met. No doubt the artist had flattered King Merofyn's daughter. But even if she were beautiful, she was the daughter of a man who, if what Byren said was true, had come to the throne by murdering their mother's younger brother and defeating all other contenders. If the daughter was as ruthless as her father, poor Lence would never have an easy night's sleep!
'I am here in Isolt's place, to give her betrothal vows,' Benvenute said. He placed the locket in Lence's hand. The words of betrothal were said, and when the ceremony ended, Lence slipped the miniature over his head. It settled just above the foenix emblem. For the first time, Fyn saw those symbols as chains of servitude. His brothers had no more choice as to how they served Rolencia than he did. That reminded him, he still had to prove himself to the mystics master. But how? His stomach churned.
Piro! A wave of mingled frustration and admiration swept him. He had promised he would not reveal her secret. But how long could she hide it? And was it even safe to do so? He didn't want his sister becoming a channel for evil. The first thing he had been taught on entering the abbey was how to say the warding chant to clear his mind and tap on the vulnerable points of his body so that his Affinity could not be used by a renegade Power-worker. They sang the chant every night before falling asleep and every morning upon waking, so that it was drilled into their minds.
His father signalled for silence and the cheering died down.
'When you drink your toast tonight,' King Rolen raised his voice, 'drink to another thirty years of peace between Rolencia and Merofynia!'
At his signal the bells began their song of celebration. And Fyn slipped away to find Piro.
Brave, but silly girl.
Chapter Eleven
Piro frowned as the celebration bells rang on and on. Too late to join her family for the announcement now. Her mother would be furious. Resentment roiled in her belly. No one had told her what the announcement was about, yet she was still expected to be there.
She climbed onto the wharf and headed across Rolenton. Avoiding the bell tower square and the inevitable confrontation with her mother, Piro begged a ride in the back of a cart with half a dozen minstrels who had never seen King Rolen's daughter. The entertainers had been hired to perform for tonight's feast and, as she listened to their happy chatter, Piro wished her life was as simple. Maybe she should run away with them. Her mother had trained her well. A Merofynian noblewoman was expected to be able to run an estate employing a thousand people, do the accounts, know the law, speak three languages, play a musical instrument, paint a reasonable likeness and recite the great sagas. She could live a minstrel's life.
But she was only fooling herself. She could never leave her family.
With a sigh, she planned an apology for her mother as well as one for Fyn. It seemed she was always apologising.
Byren had noticed Fyn slip away and wondered why he was in such a hurry, but he