Froi of the Exiles: The Lumatere Chronicles

by Melina Marchetta

  Ariston nodded, looking back at the old man’s cottage.

  ‘Will you come down from this mountain, Ariston?’ Gargarin asked. ‘To fight for Charyn when the time comes?’

  Ariston shook his head. ‘We’re Turlans, not Charynites. We fight for no one, only to protect ourselves.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ Froi shouted angrily. ‘You practise all day long to be the best, but you can’t fight for your people. In Lumatere, no one is prouder of being a Lumateran than a Mont. Why can’t you be both?’

  ‘You’re a Lumateran?’ Ariston asked, surprised.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Froi asked.

  ‘Do you know what we say to each other every day, Lumateran?’ Ariston asked. ‘ “Remember Serker.” Annihilated by Charynites. They had no one on their side but each other. Mark my words, you will find no province who will fight for Charyn. You don’t have to be a mountain goat to know that.’

  ‘Would you fight for a King, Ariston?’ Gargarin persisted. ‘For the cursebreaker? Would you fight so that your lastborn girls need not fear the mark on the back of their necks?’

  ‘I would fight to the death to protect my people on this mountain,’ Ariston said, glancing at Froi. ‘You know they say that the Lumaterans will strike when we least expect it, out of revenge for Charyn’s part in their cursed ten years.’

  Froi shook his head. ‘They would never attack the innocent.’

  ‘Where do you hail from in Lumatere?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘I was found in exile,’ Froi said, having no reason to lie to Ariston. ‘I belong to all of them.’

  Ariston glanced at the others, as though not knowing what to believe.

  'I mean no offence, Gargarin of Abroi, but the sooner you and your companions get off my mountain, the safer I’ll feel for my people.’

  They camped that night under a full moon and a sky crowded with stars that made Froi forget that there was an old man waiting to die and remember that there was a kingdom dying to live.

  Quintana hadn’t spoken a word since she walked out of the cottage with Hesta. She merely rested her head in Lirah’s lap.

  ‘I think it will be soon,’ she whispered.

  And soon it was. Hesta came outside to feed them goat stew and when she returned to the cottage the old man had died without her there.

  ‘By his side all these years,’ she wept, ‘yet he died alone.’

  Arjuro stood to follow her and sing his song, calling the spirit of the Oracle and her father.

  ‘Arjuro,’ Quintana said, sitting up. ‘You must call hers as well.’

  He nodded. ‘The Oracle Queen?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Regina of Turla. You need to return her spirit to where it belongs.’

  Lirah froze. Froi leapt to his feet, shaking his head. ‘Quintana, what are you saying?’

  Gargarin and Arjuro stared at her in anguish.

  ‘We cannot protect this child if we are not whole,’ Quintana said.

  ‘Arjuro, don’t do it!’ Lirah said.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with two people living inside of you,’ Froi said. ‘You said it yourself. That I have more than one. We all do.’ He turned to Arjuro. ‘Sing the old man and the Oracle home, Arjuro, and let’s leave this place and take the Princess to the safety of Paladozza.’

  But Quintan’s eyes stayed on Arjuro. ‘If you loved my mother, blessed Arjuro, you’ll do it. You’ll do it for these people. Solange of Turla deserves to be with the spirit of her dead child and perhaps only then can she guide the little King into this world.’

  Arjuro’s eyes filled with tears, shaking his head.

  ‘They crave each other, Arjuro. Mother and daughter. It’s why we wanted to enter the godshouse all those times, remember?’

  ‘These gifts are curses,’ Arjuro cried. ‘Curses.’

  Later that night, Froi heard Arjuro’s voice waver across the mountain and under the light of the moon he saw Gargarin’s wonder at the beauty of his song. Close by, Lirah held Quintana in her arms, waiting for Arjuro to sing the name they were dreading to hear.

  ‘Solange of Turla, Argus of Turla and Regina of Turla.’

  At the sound of her name, Quintana’s cry was hoarse and full of a grief so profound. ‘Lirah,’ she sobbed. ‘Lirah, I’m dying inside. I’m dying inside without her. Tell him to stop.’

  Part of Quintana had left this world and Froi knew that part of him was gone as well.

  Chapter 32

  For two days they rode in silence. Quintana had only spoken once on the morning after the old man’s death. She had taken Hesta of Turla’s hand in hers.

  ‘You spent your life tending to the dying, kinswoman Hesta,’ she said. ‘When my son is born I’ll call for you to come help me take care of the living.’

  She rode the first day with Lirah, whose own sadness seemed fierce and there were few words spoken for most of their journey down the mountain.

  It was a relief to reach the flat plains of Charyn after the backbreaking days on the steep narrow mountain track. Although there was little to see except brown tufts of grass haphazardly appearing from time to time between the rough and broken earth, Froi could tell that their mood had lifted.

  ‘This is the worst hit area for lack of rain,’ Gargarin told him. ‘It’s one of the reasons Paladozza is a jewel for those travelling from the capital to the east.’

  That night they came across a camp of nomads and exchanged a few copper coins for a meal of sugar beets and barley soup, and a tent to share.

  ‘I’ll ride with her tomorrow,’ Arjuro said, as they watched Lirah coax Quintana into eating something. She had curled herself up inside the tent from the moment they had arrived and still had not spoken.

  Froi walked to where Lirah was feeding the horses. He reached out towards one of the animals who tossed its mane, its nostrils flaring.

  ‘My captain is a great lover of horses,’ he told her. ‘For his birthday last year, the King and Queen found a mighty horse like this after sending the Guard out to search the kingdom high and low.’

  ‘The Serker breed is the greatest in the land,’ Lirah said. ‘When those from the palace ravaged the province, they kept the horses and they took them to Lumatere five years later.’ She pressed her nose against the animal.

  ‘Gargarin once told me the ancient tale of a winged horse sent by the gods to Charyn,’ she said. ‘As it fell to earth, its wings were clipped by the branches of a tree in Serker, but its might and beauty stayed. I’d been looking for a reason to love Serker all my life and there it was with that story.’

  ‘You must have been appreciative,’ Froi said.

  ‘Yes, so appreciative I let him into my bed.’

  Froi looked back towards the tent where Gargarin stood watching. He felt awkward listening to any story about Gargarin and Lirah, but he was more frightened by Lirah’s silence than her words.

  ‘How did you cross each other’s paths in the palace?’ he asked.

  She stared across the open space, a restlessness to her.

  ‘He liked to please the king,’ she said quietly. ‘I was the reward.’

  ‘You were Gargarin’s whore?’ Froi asked flatly.

  She sighed. ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that.’

  ‘Whenever Gargarin says those words it means the end of a conversation,’ he said. Her eyes met his and then he saw a ghost of a smile on her face.

  ‘He was shamed by the King’s offer. “We can sit and talk,” he told me the first time. I knew the stories of his Priestling brother and suspected that Gargarin preferred the company of men in the same way. I told him there was nothing to speak of. I had lived in the palace since I was thirteen and before that I lived in savage Serker. The only thing I cared to remember from life in Serker was that I loved horses. It was my one indulgence in the palace. Gargarin, as you can probably tell by his riding, didn’t care for horses and that ended our conversation the first night.’

  She stroked the horse’s mane
, looking across the plain once more.

  ‘Do you want me to race you?’ Froi asked. Lirah was used to a cell and a small garden. He should have known she would crave space. Her eyes, usually so cold and condemning, flashed with excitement and they both mounted their horses. Lirah was off before he could give the command. She was a good rider, better than him, despite her years of imprisonment. Froi hadn’t been on a horse until three years ago when he met Finnikin and Isaboe on their travels. It was Trevanion who had taught him to ride well, although he and Perri had conceded that Froi was not a natural on a horse. But it was in Froi to be fearless and reckless so he took more chances with speed and caught up with Lirah.

  ‘The next time Gargarin pleased the King, I was given a history of Serker,’ she continued, her usual bitter expression replaced with a glow. ‘He loved to explain things and in my twenty years of living, no one had ever treated me as anything but a possession. The time after that he read to me. The times after that he began to teach me to read. By winter I could read and write, and by the summer, I knew I was in love with him.’

  Lirah looked back to where Gargarin still stood in the distance, watching.

  ‘Yet he had not laid a hand on me.’

  Froi shook his head with disbelief. ‘Only Gargarin.’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, only him. So I seduced him,’ she said quietly. ‘All those years a whore, but I had never wanted to seduce a man until then.’

  She looked at him with a wolfish expression. ‘Do you know how I did it?’

  ‘Is it going to make me blush?’

  ‘No,’ she laughed. It transformed her face for a moment and Froi loved nothing more than knowing he could make Lirah laugh.

  ‘I recited to him love poetry written by the water god when he was courting the earth goddess. The man had taught me to read, so I rewarded him with words of passion.’

  Froi waited, wanting more. ‘What did he do then?’

  ‘He pleased the King every opportunity he could.’

  Froi couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘And we spent that year with Arjuro and De Lancey. They hated me. I hated them. Gargarin loved us all. We all loved Gargarin and those three lads felt as if nothing evil would ever touch their lives.’

  The sadness was back there on her face.

  ‘Then the slaughter in the godshouse happened and everything changed. Arjuro was arrested and Gargarin was inconsolable. Mark my words, he will never ever love anyone as much as his brother, despite everything.’

  There was no envy in her voice, only regret.

  ‘Gargarin was desperate to find a way to have Arjuro set free and began making plans to take us all to Lumatere.’

  ‘Lumatere?’ Froi said, surprised.

  She nodded. ‘He said they had good rainfall.’

  They both exchanged a look and laughed.

  ‘You can imagine what type of strange man he’ll be as he grows old,’ she said.

  They made their way back to the nomad camp and already Froi felt as if he was losing Lirah back to her cold spirit.

  ‘Did Gargarin believe it was his child you carried?’ he asked.

  ‘I think he hoped,’ she said. ‘But didn’t care. It’s strange to meet a man who doesn’t judge.’

  She looked at Froi, the hard expression back on her face.

  ‘In light of all our truths, do you wonder how I could imagine that he was a murderer of a blessed woman and a babe?’

  ‘I think the proof was there,’ Froi said with honesty.

  ‘I knew how much he wanted Arjuro free,’ she said bitterly. ‘I knew how much he wanted to take me away from the palace. I thought he sold his soul for it all.’

  They reached the camp. Gargarin limped towards them.

  ‘Even with his body straight I can’t imagine him standing out,’ Froi said quietly. ‘Why love him and not a man with more command?’

  She stroked the horse’s mane.

  ‘Don’t ever underestimate him. He’s the most powerful man you’ll ever know.’

  Froi approached Quintana where she was sitting up with her hands wrapped around her knees.

  ‘You’re going to have to ride with me now that we’re a day away from Paladozza,’ he said. ‘If we have to bolt for our lives, I’m the only one who can protect you.’

  She nodded and then her eyes met Froi’s. His heart missed a beat. He felt a grief so deep. And a desire so fierce. Up until this moment, he had not known who the true Quintana was. Who they had lost when Arjuro sang his song for Regina of Turla. But now the relief in seeing her cold savage eyes made him feel guilty beyond reckoning.

  He helped Quintana mount first and then he settled himself behind her, his arms cautious around her waist. He could tell her belly had grown and he settled his hand flat against it, heard the bloodcurdling snarl in an instant. But Froi refused to remove his hands.

  ‘I pledged that I would never do anything to hurt him,’ he said. ‘Or you.’

  It was some time before her body relaxed against his.

  ‘Does it hurt to have him growing inside?’ he asked quietly.

  She shook her head and he could see the nape of her neck.

  He traced a finger along the lettering there, but she shrugged him away with a growl. He remembered what the soothsayer had said about the little savage born to the palace. Without the indignant Reginita calming her, Quintana could not control her fury.

  ‘Tell me more about this,’ he said, his thumb gently caressing the mark. If he was going to protect her, he needed to know everything that made her who she was.

  ‘My father had the female lastborns branded,’ she said. ‘His men went from province to province, village to village.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He said to protect them, but we … I feared for them. Have you seen Lirah’s branding? In Serker, one was branded with the name of those who owned them.’

  He wanted to ask her so much more, but couldn’t find the words without sounding like an idiot.

  ‘Where did you go?’ he asked, his voice husky. He saw her stiffen again. ‘Where did you go when the Reginita was the one who presented herself? Where did she go when you did?’

  ‘We went nowhere,’ she said. ‘We would never have left each other alone. If I left her alone she’d say strange things. If she left me alone I’d do bad things. So we made a pact. To always be with each other.’

  ‘What bad things would you do?’ he asked.

  She didn’t respond.

  ‘Did you kill the King or did she?’

  Still nothing. He wanted her to acknowledge that it was she who had bed him the night they gave themselves to each other. That his broken spirit and hers had created rather than destroyed something for the first time in their wretched lives.

  But there was no more talk from her that day.

  They saw Paladozza from a distance and in the early evening light it seemed a magical place of strangely shaped stones and flickering lanterns. Froi glanced at Gargarin and Arjuro, who were sharing the same mount. It was the first time the brothers were returning together to the home that had brought hope into their lives as children.

  As was the case with the Citavita and Jidia, there was little beauty outside the province, but a promise of so much from afar. Unlike Jidia, Paladozza had no wall to guard it and stranger still, no army except for a small troupe of soldiers and bodyguards who protected the Provincaro and his family and kept order amongst the people.

  ‘De Lancey’s great-grandfather wrote that there was something about a stone wall that invited invasion,’ Gargarin said, ‘and something about an army that threatened war to its neighbours.’

  ‘De Lancey’s great grandfather was an idiot,’ Froi said bluntly.

  ‘The thing about Paladozza is that it has too much to offer. Art, music, enjoyment of life. Why would the palace want to ruin that by invasion when they are guaranteed a portion of the revenue?’ Arjuro said.

  ‘You ask such a question at a time like this?’ Froi said, wit
h disbelief. ‘Do you honestly think Bestiano and the army of Nebia are talking each other out of invading Paladozza because they love art and music. Wouldn’t they invade Paladozza instead and enjoy what it has to offer by force?’

  ‘You don’t know the people of Paladozza,’ Gargarin said. ‘They would never cooperate with an invader.’

  ‘So we just ride in?’ Froi asked. ‘No papers. No explanation?’

  ‘None at all.’

  Froi stared into the distance, shaking his head with resignation.

  ‘I suppose before the five days of the unspeakable, Lumatere was such a place. Anyone could come and go to enjoy what it had to offer.’

  Arjuro spluttered. ‘I can’t believe you’re comparing Lumatere with Paladozza.’

  Froi counted to ten. Arjuro was truly beginning to irritate him.

  ‘I take great offence at your insult to my kingdom,’ Froi said, trying to keep his tone even.

  ‘It’s not your kingdom, you little Serker shit from Abroi! Charyn is.’

  ‘Sagra,’ he muttered under his breath. Quintana twisted around on the horse, her face so close.

  ‘You’re easy to rile, Lumateran,’ she said.

  And there it was. He was no longer referred to as the assassin, so Lumateran would have to do. And he realised that despite the fact that he wanted to toss Arjuro from his mount, and give a sermon on all things wondrous about Lumatere; despite his wish to attempt a mock raid on Paladozza to prove how stupid they truly were; despite wanting to lecture them on the appreciation Isaboe and Finnikin had for all things artistic, what Froi wanted to do above all else was kiss Quintana.

  ‘Little Serker shit, we’re speaking to you,’ Arjuro called out.

  ‘Sagra!’

  Quintana turned again and he saw the ghost of a smile on her face as he counted to ten, his mouth clenched with fury.

  ‘I resent that you persist in labelling him a Serker shit and not a shit from Abroi,’ Lirah said coolly.