The King's Bastard by Rowena Cory Daniells Page B

you another. Orrade Byrensman.'
    Orrade's eyes glittered with unshed tears. His mouth opened but Byren did not want to hear what he was about to say.
    'Can I join your honour guard too, Byren?' Garzik shoved between them. 'Can we have our own surcoats with our own symbol like King Rolen's honour guard? Can we -'
    Byren laughed. 'Enough, Garza, run to the kitchen, fetch food for us.'
    Eager as a puppy, he darted off, dodging the castle youths, the hunt-master's apprentices and the castle's Affinity warders, who were checking their supplies. Naturally both Sylion and Halcyon's warders insisted on accompanying them, neither wanted the other to gain an advantage. It was annoying because young Nun Springdawn would insist on having her own snow-cave and Monk Autumnwind was growing frail.
    'Thank you, Byren,' Orrade whispered, recalling him to the present.
    Byren shrugged. 'I'm sorry about Lence, Orrie. For him everything is black and white, always has been.'
    'True, but this time he's right,' Orrade admitted. 'If you can't take a man at his word, he's worthless.'
    He went to move away, but Byren caught his arm. 'Actions speak louder than words. Spurnan proved that when he supported father against the very men who would have put him on the throne.'
    But nothing could lessen the bleak gleam in his friend's tilted black eyes.
    Byren glanced at Lence, who was checking his saddle girth, with Cobalt at his side. Between them, half a dozen youthful warriors, sons of the great lords and merchants, clamoured to join the kingsheir's honour guard. Byren knew a moment's jealousy. He should be there with Lence, sharing in this moment as they planned their honour guards.
    Worse, the warriors they'd fought alongside these last five years were obviously eager to swear allegiance to serve Lence, while all he had was a disinherited son and a boy who'd run away from his domineering father.
    Byren stiffened. He didn't mind being the spare heir - let Lence marry for political reasons - but he hated being second best.
    'Eh, Illien?' King Rolen passed Byren as he strode towards Cobalt and Lence. The youths parted respectfully and Cobalt turned to face the king.
    'We've got half an hour, come see Myrella. She'll be delighted...' Rolen broke off as his bad knee gave under him, causing him to lurch to one side.
    Only Cobalt's quick thinking saved him from falling. 'What is it, Uncle?'
    Byren tensed. Illien's father had never been formally recognised, hence the inverted crown on his coat of arms, so his son had no right to call the king 'Uncle'.
    'Sylion take this knee. It's never been right since my horse rolled on it,' King Rolen muttered, completely disregarding Illien's breach of protocol.
    'The healers -'
    'Have done what they can, but it stiffens up.'
    'Valens?' Cobalt beckoned a perfumed servant who, now that Byren had a better look, had to be fifty if he was a day. Surely that glossy black hair was not natural? 'My manservant has wonderful hands. He can massage away the stiffness. Let me make a gift of him to you, Uncle.'
    Valens bobbed down on one knee, head bowed. Byren saw his father blink in surprise. Having a personal manservant was an Ostronite custom.
    'But how will you manage, Illien?' Rolen asked, glancing to Cobalt's bandaged arm.
    He shrugged this aside. 'Please, let me do this for you. At least let him try.'
    Valens lifted his head. 'If I cannot get the stiffness out of your knee in ten days you may chop off my hands!'
    'Extravagant Ostronites!' Orrade muttered in Byren's ear.
    'Uncle?' Cobalt pressed.
    'Very well.' Rolen laughed.
    'I'm honoured.' Cobalt bowed. 'King Rolen, I must speak with you on another matter. I bring grave news from the elector.'
    Byren frowned as his father led Cobalt away. What could the Elector of Ostron Isle have to say? If it was important Byren would hear about it at the next war table meeting. He had enough on his mind without borrowing trouble.
    Byren lay absolutely still, breathing slow and deep, wary of