‘Well … there are certain things that are … private,’ he mumbled, aware that Gargarin and Arjuro were riding beside them.
‘You little beasts,’ Arjuro said. ‘I thought it was only the once.’
Froi seethed. ‘Yes, well … it’s none of your business … and it was a very long and stressful night in Paladozza and we woke up quite a few times … and one thing led to another.’
‘What? With the belly in between?’ Arjuro continued.
‘I’m not going to have this conversation,’ Froi muttered, trying to take the reins from Lirah so they could ride ahead. She pushed his hands away.
‘Then what did you speak about that night?’ she asked.
‘Lists. Of people we trusted. Hers was short. Mine wasn’t. End of conversation.’
The next day they reached what was known as the little woods of Charyn. There in the middle of the kingdom sat a tiny piece of Lumatere, teasing Froi. It was as if one of the gods had picked up Lumatere’s trees and moss and flown it to the neighbouring kingdom. Beyond the woods were the three hills of the north that led to the province of Desantos. But north wasn’t Perabo’s destination for the time being. West of the woods, the Lasconians had taken up residence in a fortress that once belonged to a Serkan lord. They were planning to head south to confront the Nebian army. But from what had taken place at the lake, Froi was certain that the Nebian army would be travelling into these very same woods.
Soon after, Perabo steered his horse off track and they followed him out of the little woods to a clearing of neglected grazing land. In the distance was a heavily guarded wall that surrounded a castle, round in shape and imposing in height. Whoever had constructed it had been interested in impressing as much as defending, and Gargarin’s admiration of the structure was clear. They followed Perabo to the gates and he waved up to the guards on the battlements. Soon enough, the portcullis was raised and they rode into the outer bailey, where men were practising swordplay and hitting targets. Froi noticed that their skills weren’t of the highest standard and his heart sank at the idea of this being the army that would defend Quintana against Bestiano and Nebia. The lads’ banter stopped when they noticed Froi watching.
Perabo dismounted first and whistled to one of the men, who came to take their horses.
Inside the castle, the keep was bustling with the business of the day. There was a fireplace on both the north and south wall and an impressive water-carrying system. Arjuro nudged Froi and indicated Gargarin with a toss of his head and a roll of his eyes.
‘That’s where I went wrong,’ Gargarin muttered.
‘What?’
‘The well shaft. Look. Accessible at all six levels. Imagine all the to-ing and fro-ing I could have saved the servants in the palace.’
‘We’re about to be attacked and he’s thinking of design,’ Arjuro said.
But Gargarin wasn’t listening. His eyes studied every detail of the castle hungrily.
‘It once belonged to the Provincaro of Serker’s cousin as a means of keeping an eye on the north,’ Perabo said. ‘He liked his creature comforts.’
They followed Perabo up one set of winding steps that circled the entire keep, and Froi counted up to seventy archways that afforded a view of what was taking place down below.
‘Don’t look down,’ Perabo warned them when they almost reached the top and the view from the archways became imposing. Froi sensed Perabo was instructing himself more than the others.
‘You obviously haven’t been imprisoned on the roof of a castle in the Citavita, Perabo,’ Lirah said.
‘Or hung upside down over a balconette staring down into the gravina, waiting to die,’ Gargarin added.
‘Nothing worse than being chained to the balconette with your head facing down over that abyss,’ Arjuro joined in, not one to be outdone in the misery stakes.
‘Try balancing on a piece of granite between the godshouse and the palace with nothing beneath you but air,’ Froi said.
Perabo stopped and took a deep breath and looked as if he was going to be sick.
‘Don’t look down, Perabo,’ Froi advised.
In a chamber at the top of the keep they were introduced to Dolyn of Lascow. He was a great-uncle of Tariq on his mother’s side and now led the Lasconians.
‘How long have you and your men been here, Dolyn?’ Gargarin asked, shaking his hand.
‘Too long. We first settled in Serker believing it could be a larger training ground for the army, but the lads were spooked. We’re getting restless here and are about to head south.’
‘Bestiano and the Nebians are on our doorstep,’ Gargarin said. ‘Heading north.’
Dolyn was disturbed by the news. ‘Do you think they’ll try to take this garrison?’
‘I doubt they’ll take the chance just yet,’ Perabo said, having recovered from his dizziness. ‘I’m thinking that they’ll settle an army of that size in one of the valleys between those hills.’
‘We could follow them,’ Arjuro said. ‘They may have a better idea of where Quintana of Charyn is.’
Dolyn noticed Arjuro and held out a hand.
‘It’s an honour to have you here, Priestling. We need all the blessings we can get.’
The Lasconian leader beckoned one of the soldiers over.
‘Find a chamber for the brothers to share,’ he said.
Froi watched Gargarin move a fraction so that his shoulder pressed against Lirah. Gargarin’s eyes fixed on Dolyn. And then he waited.
‘Perhaps two rooms for the brothers,’ the leader of the Lasconians murmured, not acknowledging Lirah. ‘The lad can bunk in with our young men. They’ll be pleased to see a new face.’
‘He can stay with me,’ Arjuro said, and it was left at that for the time being. But soon, Perabo took them aside.
‘It’s best that he bunks down with the lads,’ he said, referring to Froi. ‘They’ll understand your attachment to each other, but not to him.’
Gargarin dismissed him with an irritated hand. ‘It’s not an issue.’
‘No,’ Perabo said firmly. ‘It’s there in every unspoken word between you. The way you walk alongside each other. In your silence. You don’t see, but it speaks loudly that the Lumateran belongs to you all. Make things simple, Gargarin. In the new Charyn, we do not want complications.’
Froi shrugged, but he felt his face redden. He was once able to hide anything from anyone, but his emotions had made him dependent on Gargarin, Lirah and Arjuro.
‘I don’t care where I sleep,’ Froi said. ‘A bed is a bed.’
Judging from the stares when Froi introduced himself to the Lasconian lads, he was going to regret those words.
The Lasconian lads bunked in the great hall each night after the supper tables were cleared. In those first days with them Froi came to understand that they respected Gargarin and Arjuro, lusted after Lirah, but despised him.
He knew that because they spoke it with their fists. Because if he rounded a blind corner, he’d feel a blow to his stomach. Or if he waited in line for whatever scraps were available for supper, his plate became the plate of those who surrounded him. The Lasconian lads worked in numbers, never on their own. The leader, named Florik, rarely got his hands dirty. It was what Froi didn’t like about him. In Froi’s first encounter with Grij and the lastborns, he had understood that their anger came from the fury and frustration of not having freed Quintana. With these lads, he suspected it came from envy and dissatisfaction. There seemed no group with more to prove than those born a year or two before the Last. They had come second to Tariq all their lives. Worse still, the heir had died in exile before these lads could get to know him and prove their worth. And with Froi, it was personal. He hadn’t just lost Tariq’s supposed unborn child, he had befriended the heir. Perabo had spoken of this to the Lasconians. That despite everything, Tariq’s last message had been to the Lumateran, Froi of the Flatlands. The heir had written part of Froi’s name in his own blood on the cold stone as he lay dying.
Rega
rdless of their treatment, Froi silently pledged his bond to Tariq. He would endure anything from the Lasconians and never raise his fists against Tariq’s people. That wasn’t to say that Froi’s fists weren’t clenched the whole day long in fury, or that he was to do more counting to control his temper than he ever had. Even when he woke with a sack pressed over his face, threats in his ears and the humiliation of untangling himself from the thick cloth, only to find them gone, Froi kept his bond. He missed Finn and Lucian. He missed Grij and Olivier. No, never Olivier. Not the traitor.
So he spent his days on the wall-walk searching the trees that lined the little woods. Each day he recorded the facts with precision and when he was certain of movement in the woods, he called for Perabo.
‘There,’ he said. ‘See that rustle of shrubs? It means the army Dorcas spoke of is now passing through. They’re heading north. There,’ he said, pointing to one of the trees, ‘someone’s watching us from up in the branches. More than one, but they take turns. They know we’re here, but they don’t seem interested in doing anything about it for the time being.’
Perabo nodded. ‘Good. I’ll let the others know.’
‘Perhaps I can share a word with Gargarin, Perabo.’
The keeper of the caves waved Froi off and walked away, and the moment Perabo disappeared down the steps of the wall, Florik and two of his companions gripped Froi by the arms.
‘Perabo, perhaps I can share a word with Gargarin,’ Florik mimicked. ‘You’re a lord, aren’t you, with your fancy talk?’
Froi marvelled bitterly at how strange life was. After being told all his young life that he was nothing but street filth, here he was, taunted for the way he spoke.
He struggled and pulled free. He didn’t want to lose control. Tariq was the first person ever to show kindness to Quintana. He saved her life and Froi would never betray the memory of him.
‘You think you’re better than us,’ Florik sneered. ‘Just because we live on the mountain and belong to no province or precious flatland.’
‘No, Florik, I think I’m better than you because you’re stupid and I’m not. Has nothing to do with provinces and flatlands and mountains, my friend. It’s all about up here,’ Froi said, pointing to his head. It was a mistake, of course, but Froi knew he’d make plenty of mistakes in the days to come. He wanted to say more. That the lads followed Florik not because they believed him to be a leader, but because they hadn’t a thought of their own. They followed him because of their weakness, not Florik’s strength. But most days, Froi kept quiet and spent his time alone on watch, despairing at the weakness of this army. These lads had never seen battle. Tariq’s decision to go underground in the Citavita had kept war away from his people. They had experienced loss from afar. But they had never been forced to defend or be the sentinels of their kingdom as Lucian of the Monts had. So it made them lazy and proud of achievements that were small in comparison to those experienced in greater Charyn or Lumatere. Trevanion said often that there were some who shone brightly in a crowd of five, but very few could do so in a group of thousands. Froi imagined that Florik was one of the bright stars in a small crowd and somehow he had chosen Froi as the one he needed to pound into the ground to win. No one else around the Lasconian tried to compete. Florik, he learnt, was betrothed to the prettiest girl on the mountain. And Florik, he learnt, was the best archer on the mountain. And Florik was the mountain’s messenger because of his speed. Froi found that out every time Florik’s fist caught him in the face, as two of his lackeys held Froi down.
But what he could endure the least was being kept out of the talks held in the great hall between Gargarin and the elders of Lascow during the day. He knew Gargarin was appeasing them and they were working on a treaty that would have a Lascow elder represented among the Provincari. Since Froi’s time in Charyn he had always been part of the decision-making, but here among the Lasconians, his opinion was not required. He especially felt the sting of Arjuro and Gargarin spending all their free time together, leaving him to his own devices. From the entrance of the great hall that day, Froi could see the two brothers surrounded by the Lasconians and answering questions thrown at them from all corners of the room.
‘Back outside,’ a guard ordered when Froi tried to step inside the hall.
‘I’m with Gargarin and Arjuro of Abroi.’
‘You will be told what you need to be told. Run along.’
He went to find Lirah, who was at a desk in the room she shared with Gargarin. The chronicles Perabo had given her from Serker were spread before her.
‘They wouldn’t let me in,’ he said, furious, sitting on the corner of her desk. ‘I couldn’t even step inside to listen.’
‘Yes, well, try being me,’ she said, not looking up. Pushing the chronicles aside, she reached for her own journal. ‘I need you to go through that conversation you had with Quintana about who she trusted.’
Froi was sick and tired of Lirah’s questions. When he didn’t speak, she looked up, her eyes narrowing. ‘What’s happened to your face?’ she asked, reaching out a hand. Froi pushed it away.
‘It’s nothing,’ he muttered.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Enough, Lirah,’ he said, irritated. ‘It’s nothing.’
She stood up. ‘Well, I’m going down to the bailey to have a word with this “nothing”.’
Froi stared at her, horrified. ‘Lirah, are you insane? You’ll ruin my life.’
‘I ruined it long ago,’ she said. ‘Come on. Take me to him. Point him out.’
Froi responded with a stony silence and she sighed, pointing to a stool beside her desk. ‘Sit. We can’t spend all our time here idle. Tell me everything you spoke to Quintana about.’
‘Lirah, how many times do I have to repeat myself?’ he shouted with frustration at her. At everyone.
‘As many times as it takes us to work out where she is, Froi! Do you think you’re going to discover the truth in a crowded room with a bunch of men who will spend days quibbling about what your son should be named?’
Froi froze. He saw her regret and she looked back down.
He gritted his teeth with frustration. ‘This is what Quintana spoke about. She trusts me, you, Gargarin and Arjuro. Remember how I said that yesterday and the day before and the day before that? You should find something better to do with your time, Lirah.’
This time when she looked up, her eyes were fierce. ‘Well, let me see, Froi. I could walk down to the barracks and hear one of the lads point out that “she was the King’s whore”,’ Lirah said, feigning a whisper. ‘Or I could walk through the crowd you’re so desperate to be part of and have one of the elders order me to his room because, “If Gargarin of Abroi is having her, why can’t anyone else?” Or perhaps I can sit here and write out a list of all my options of where to live if Quintana is ever returned to the palace with the little King. I’m actually thinking of the soothsayer’s cave. No? How about the Crow’s Inn near the bridge? I think the landlady took a liking to me.’
She didn’t speak after that and it was shame that made him walk out of her chamber.
As he descended the stairs and reached the landing, Gargarin was there with Perabo and Dolyn and another elder, still arguing.
‘You know that if any of the Provincaro’s armies are the first to get to her, they will claim it as a victory for years to come,’ Dolyn argued. ‘They will have the greatest favour with the new King. So I say it’s my men who return Quintana of Charyn to the palace. No one else.’
‘We’ll speak of this later, Dolyn,’ Gargarin said. ‘The safety of Quintana and her child is more important than who will have the greatest favour with the new King in years to come. For now we pray that she’s kept herself alive.’
I keep my eyes shut, surrounded by fear, and I know what to do. You taught me that time, and I know what you’d say if you were here by my side: ‘Five seconds, Quintana, just as I taught you’ … but it’s the man with the noose and I forget to be brave … he’s he
re in the cave, Froi, and I’m scared for our lives … Keep shouting your words … ‘Plunge it into the side’ … Don’t leave me alone … ‘from one ear to the other’ … I hear you, I hear you, but it’s the man with the noose! … I’m frightened to death, Froi, he’s here for our son. If I can open my eyes I’ll tear him to pieces … but when I open my eyes, gods! Why so much blood?
The corpse in their cave had lain uncovered for most of the day.
No one had spoken yet. No one could find it within themselves to get close enough to cover the mangled flesh of the intruder. Instead, fussing wordlessly over Florenza gave them all something to do. The intruder had used his fists on her because Florenza had been outside the cave when he snuck up on them. She had fought like a demon trying to stop him from entering and her pretty face was all bruised, her nose broken.
Jorja rocked her daughter in her arms the whole day and finally Phaedra heard a sob escape her. It was the first show of emotion since the screaming and crying that had taken place when the man first entered. Ginny began to blubber then and even Cora’s ragged breathing joined in with the rest. While Jorja cried and clutched her daughter, Quintana raised her head. She had spent the day curled up in a ball, her hands tight around her belly.
‘You can call her your princess, Jorja,’ Quintana said quietly. ‘I’ll let you.’
It only made Jorja cry even more. But her tears had awakened their cold, strange princess, who crawled on all fours to be beside Jorja and Florenza.
‘You tell Florenza that she’ll be rewarded one day for trying to save the little King.’
Phaedra trembled to see the sorrow in Jorja’s eyes.
‘And what of your life, Princess? What is the reward for saving the life of the little King’s mother?’
Quintana was confused by the question, almost scornful.
‘You’d barely get a piece of silver for that, Jorja,’ she said. ‘It’s better to ask for more in this life.’
Phaedra watched Quintana struggle to her feet, her belly so round and ripe.
Quintana of Charyn Page 24
