back and he turned to Fynch, realising how quiet it suddenly was. Fynch was smiling at him.
‘Sorry,’ Cassien said.
‘Don’t be. How long is it since you’ve been with a woman?’
He was not ready for such a direct question.
Fynch grinned and just for a moment Cassien glimpsed a boyish innocence. ‘Was that too direct?’
‘Er … it just took me by surprise.’
Fynch chuckled, genuinely amused. ‘I wanted to put you at your ease so you don’t have to apologise for enjoying the sight of a pretty girl. Did the priory make provision for your … needs?’
Cassien’s brief gust of a laugh was answer enough.
‘Ah,’ Fynch said, ‘that explains the phiggo root I noticed in your hut.’
He stared at the older man, confused. ‘I was instructed to brew a liquor from it each week and drink a spoon of it daily.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you were and I’m also sure that Loup checked on that brew and your supplies regularly.’
Cassien nodded. ‘He was quite particular. Assured me it was for strength, good health.’
Fynch sighed. ‘It’s traditionally used by armies to keep the men focused on their soldiering. It’s why you haven’t gone mad with pent-up lust.’
Cassien looked at his companion, astounded by this information. It made instant sense but that didn’t lessen the shock. ‘They drugged me?’ he murmured, shaking his head.
‘How else could they keep a virile young man in the forest without companionship for so long?’ Fynch nodded at the approaching serving girl. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ll rectify the situation soon enough, although perhaps it should wait until we reach Pearlis.’
Fynch hurried the serving girl on with a bigger than usual tip. He gently tossed the moneybag and a second one he’d dug from a pocket across the table. ‘You’ve had no need of coin in the past. But you will need it from here on. Tie those to your belt, although I do think we should kit you out with some fresh garb.’
Cassien looked down at his clothes. They were certainly the worse for wear. Dun, colourless, shabby.
‘Have we time?’
Fynch nodded. ‘Plenty. You could use a shave, a haircut, too. Drink up, Cassien. And while you do, I’ll talk.’
He took his first sip of dinch sweetened with honey, although sparingly, knowing all of these rich new substances hitting his belly might bring him some grief. He could taste flavours of cinnamon and shir, and something else he couldn’t identify. The taste was complex and delicious. He sipped slowly and paid attention as Fynch looked away, lost in his thoughts, before beginning to speak. Gone was the light-hearted tone of their previous conversation. His voice was grave now and his expression sombre.
‘I told you I don’t know what the re-emergence of the magic means, but it was a cynical, sinister and destructive magic when it was first cast so I can’t imagine that part of it has changed. There is a demon called Cyricus who is likely to be its puppeteer but I don’t know who will be its host. I warned her majesty of it more than fourteen moons ago. I felt it stirring then. The Wild is like that. It is highly sensitive to changes, not just in our world but in the spiritual world that surrounds us. My experience with Wyl Thirsk and the evil curse on his life meant I would always know the taint of the same magic.’
Cassien didn’t like to interrupt but couldn’t help himself. ‘You said you warned the royals.’
‘As best I could. The chancellor believed me, or at least in taking seriously any threat to Florentyna, magical or otherwise. He supported my efforts to have an audience. Darcelle, I learned, sneered at the suggestion; regarded me as some sort of senile herbwizard. The queen gave me a fair audience but she couldn’t countenance the threat of a demon.’
‘Does she trust you?’
‘That’s tricky. I sensed she wanted to but demonic threat is hard to prove … and she wanted proof.’
‘So?’
‘We decided to find it.’
‘We?’
‘The chancellor and I. He offered his help and I took it.’
‘What of Briavel? Every little morsel of news I could glean from Loup I would turn over in my mind for days, trying to piece it together with other titbits he’d give me. I got the impression that Briavel’s and Morgravia’s relationship was strained.’
‘To say the least,’ Fynch admitted. ‘While Cailech and Valentyna unified their realms, their grandchildren allowed the strong bonds to slip. Briavel became touchy when much of its rich farming land was given to members of the Morgravian aristocracy and Briavel’s nobles didn’t seem to warrant equal generosity. There were high hopes for the great-great-grandson, Magnus. He was fond of a very senior and beloved noble’s daughter from Briavel. It was exactly what the empire needed; a marriage between those old realms and their families to reinforce the imperial bond. But when he died so did our hopes.’ Fynch shrugged with a soft sigh of despair. ‘It could all break down quickly because the union was only ever as strong as the royal couple that led it.’
Cassien noticed Fynch had not touched his dinch, just as he had not eaten a morsel since they’d met. There was clearly something otherworldly about the man, if indeed he could call him a man. ‘All right, that’s in the past,’ he began, finding it easier to leave that confusion behind. ‘Obviously you believe there is hope for the empire or you wouldn’t be conscripting help.’
Fynch nodded, pushed his untouched dinch forward. ‘Help yourself to more,’ he said absently. ‘I do believe in the empire. We can only have this conversation once, Cassien, so you need to understand all that you can now. Once we get deeper into the capital, there are ears listening everywhere, and I also don’t trust how long we might have. So with that in mind let me quickly sum up what you need to know. I believe our hope is Queen Florentyna.’
‘So you want me to protect the queen from any potential threat from her sibling or from an otherworldly attack,’ Cassien concluded.
‘Her life is paramount — there are no heirs other than Darcelle.’
‘How old is Florentyna?’
‘Twenty-two summers. She thinks like Cailech, looks like Valentyna, has all the dash and daring of her Briavellian line, and the courage, agile mind and determination of her mountain king forebear. And she has the green eyes of Wyl Thirsk. When I looked into them, I saw him there. I know he lives on through her.’
‘But what of the threat of Cyricus?’ Cassien demanded.
‘Indeed. Who sits on the throne is only one half of our frightening equation.’
‘Fynch,’ Cassien began, his voice hard, looking directly at the older man, ‘explain precisely to me what you believe Cyricus aims to achieve?’
Fynch took a deep breath. ‘The magic that was once the witch Myrren’s is, I believe, returning in a more dire form. It was formerly
