‘Because you were the only person in the palace who made it possible for Quintana to see me,’ Lirah said. ‘That wasn’t just about a bit of extra food and ale, Fekra. That was about compassion. What if you could be the one to keep her safe now?’
‘And the way I see it, there’s no way for you to betray us,’ Gargarin said. ‘We’re in this fortress. There are about one hundred and twenty soldiers here. If you’re going to betray us, Fekra, there’s not much you’ve got. They want me. At the moment, they’re not attacking because they know exactly where I am. In a way we’re already their prisoners. So what are you going to do? Go back and say, “You’ll never believe what happened. Gargarin of Abroi took me hostage, but he let me go.” They’d question why. Rest assured it would not end well for you, Fekra.’
‘Or else you can return to your camp and do something right for Charyn,’ Arjuro said quietly.
‘And what if I choose to stay here a prisoner?’
‘Then I’ll suggest that you’re put into the barracks with Tariq’s kinsmen,’ Dolyn said. ‘I’ll tell them you were once a palace rider and they’ll know exactly what that means.’
After more silence, Fekra looked up at Froi.
‘I need to get back to the post, then,’ he said.
‘Find a way to meet Dorcas tonight,’ Gargarin ordered. ‘See what he can tell you, but whatever you do, don’t tell him the truth.’
Later, Froi climbed the steps up to the wall and watched as Fekra walked back across the field towards the woodlands, as if he had the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders. Perhaps he did.
‘It’s ridiculous, really,’ Gargarin said behind him. ‘We’re all camped in the middle of Charyn waiting to see which direction she appears from and meanwhile we’re all being attacked from north and possibly south by foreigners.’
‘If you’re suggesting we need Bestiano and Nebia’s help, I’ll walk away now,’ Froi threatened.
‘Why would you think I’d suggest that?’ Gargarin asked.
‘Because they’re the sort of deals that get made in desperate times. Someone as base as Bestiano gets spared as a favour. He needs to die,’ Froi said. He hadn’t thought of anything else since catching a glimpse of the man outside his tent. ‘Because he loved sitting at the head of the table in the absence of the King, lording over everyone, while people starved. Nothing worse than a weak man with ambition, who gains power because those before him died rather than because his ideals were grand. Promise me she didn’t suffer for nothing. If men like Bestiano get to live, then Quintana’s pain was for nothing!’
Gargarin settled himself down with his back against the wall. ‘I can’t promise that at all. Not if your life or Lirah’s and Arjuro’s and Quintana’s are there to be bargained with.’
Froi sat with him. It reminded him of the days in the palace at the Citavita when Gargarin would wait for a glimpse of Lirah. It was the first time they had been alone since their time in Sebastabol. Froi missed him. Gargarin seemed to belong to everyone now. Froi studied his features, wondering about all the layers that made up this man. His father.
Gargarin looked at him questioningly. ‘What?’
‘It suits you,’ Froi said quietly. ‘Power.’
‘This isn’t power,’ Gargarin said.
‘Call it what you will,’ Froi said. ‘It suits you. They hang off every word you speak.’
Gargarin didn’t respond. Froi shrugged.
‘It suits you,’ Gargarin said.
‘What?’
‘Idiocy.’
Froi laughed.
Gargarin glanced at him. ‘Courage,’ he continued. ‘You hit the Lasconian lad because you saw his fear and rather than show him up in front of his kin, you made it seem as if you did it for yourself. You’ll probably get a beating from them because of it.’
Froi was overwhelmed and his eyes smarted as he looked away.
‘I did it for myself,’ he said. ‘I can’t breathe at the thought of her being hurt. So I did it for me and her. No one else.’
‘And almost sacrificing yourself for me and Arjuro at the lake? Was that for you and her?’
Froi didn’t respond.
‘Listen,’ Gargarin said gently. ‘I want you to promise me something.’
Froi nodded. He realised that he didn’t even need to ask. That he’d promise Gargarin anything without knowing what it was.
‘Be patient. Don’t give up on me. I’ll find a way.’
It was a strange plea.
‘That’s all?’ Froi asked.
‘When the time comes, you won’t think it’s nothing at all, Froi,’ Gargarin said sadly.
Before Froi could ask another question, they heard a shout and he scrambled to his feet, looking out towards the little woods, pulling Gargarin up with him.
‘Sagra!’
‘Gods almighty!’
Gargarin swung around. ‘Ariston!’ he shouted down into the bailey. ‘Perabo! We’re under attack!’
An army was thundering towards them from south of the little woods, hundreds of riders galloping at full speed towards the fortress. By the time the horsemen were halfway towards them, every Lasconian and Turlan was on the wall, weapons in hands. Froi felt Ariston at his shoulder.
‘Are they Belegonians?’ Ariston asked.
‘It’s too far to tell,’ Froi said.
‘There’s no flag. Nothing. Do I give the order?’ Ariston asked Gargarin.
‘If they’re the enemy, give the order,’ Gargarin replied.
‘Get out of here, now,’ Ariston ordered Gargarin. ‘Hide Lirah and your brother and yourself.’
Gargarin went to protest.
‘Just do it!’ Froi said, keeping his eyes on the approaching army.
‘It has to be the Belegonians,’ someone shouted from the flanks of the wall.
‘Belegonians!’
‘We don’t know that!’ another called out.
‘Hold,’ Perabo shouted in return. ‘Ariston, tell them to hold.’
‘Hold until I give the order!’
The late-afternoon light revealed little, and they waited, the pounding of the horses sounding closer and closer.
Froi’s fingers pulled the string of his bow taut and he waited.
Suddenly, an arrow from the keep’s battlement whistled past him and moments later he saw the horseman in the lead fall forward on his mount.
‘Idiot!’ Ariston roared to those around him. ‘Who fired?’
‘Hold. Hold!’
Froi and Ariston stared at each other, shocked. The shout had come from the approaching horsemen.
‘Did you hear that?’ Froi asked.
‘They’re not firing back,’ Perabo said.
Which could only mean one thing. The horsemen belonged to them.
‘No one move!’ Ariston bellowed. ‘No one!’
Froi kept his stance, his aim focused, but his heart was beating fast. It’s a trap. It’s a trap. This army was going to fool them into letting them in. It’s a trap. They could trust no one. Until Froi saw one of the horsemen.
‘Grij!’ he shouted. Froi shoved the others aside. ‘Hold your weapons. Hold!’ He flew down the gatehouse steps that had never seemed so never-ending, fearing that some other idiot would fire a bolt. ‘It’s Paladozza,’ he called out to those guarding the entrance. ‘Raise the gate. Do not attack.’
By the time he reached the gate, one of the Turlans had raised it and soon enough, the riders entered. Froi saw Grijio first. The lastborn leapt from his mount.
‘My father!’ Grij cried, rushing to the horse with the injured rider.
And Froi realised with horror that De Lancey had been hit by one of their own arrows.
Amidst shouting and threats from De Lancey’s guards, they lay him down on a cot in a chamber on the first level of the keep. And then Arjuro arrived, pushing the Paladozzans out of the way. Froi stood beside Grijio, his eyes glued to the arrow lodged in the Provincaro’s chest. Too close to his heart.
‘Arjuro, I’m begging you,’ Grij wept.
De Lancey opened his eyes wearily at the sound of Arjuro’s name. The look that passed between the two former lovers was powerful and Froi saw the paleness of Arjuro’s face as he studied the wound. De Lancey’s guards jostled around the bed, hissing and cursing any time De Lancey so much as moaned.
‘De Lancey,’ Arjuro said quietly.
‘Yes, Arjuro. Am I dying?’
‘Your guards may,’ Arjuro said, pressing his fingers against the pulse at De Lancey’s wrist. ‘Die, I mean. Very soon. They’re getting on my nerves and I want to kill someone at the moment. Tell them to go away.’
There were furious objections from De Lancey’s guards.
De Lancey opened an eye, and feebly pointed a thumb to the door.
‘Am I going to die?’ he asked Arjuro again.
‘Perhaps of stupidity. What possessed you to come galloping north?’ Arjuro asked, his hands pressing the swell surrounding the stalk of the arrow. De Lancey winced at the pain.
‘Did you honestly think I’d stay in Paladozza knowing they were using you as bait?’ the Provincaro still managed to snap.
‘An army just for me,’ Arjuro murmured, lifting De Lancey so he was sitting up. ‘You could have got yourself killed, you fool.’
Their eyes met and Arjuro held a hand to the other man’s face and bent to press his lips against De Lancey’s and the kiss made Froi feel as if something inside of him was breaking. Most times he knew there was no hope for Arjuro and Gargarin and Lirah and De Lancey. Too much pain in the past, too much power working against them in the present day. But as he watched Arjuro prop De Lancey up to better remove the arrow, Froi saw the foolishness of dreamers, and he decided he’d like to die so foolish. With a dream in his heart about the possibilities, rather than a chain of hopelessness. Finnikin had once said it was the only way to live. That he wanted to drown in hope rather than wallow in despair.
‘Grij, it hasn’t pierced his heart,’ Arjuro said, ‘but I could do damage removing the bolt if I’m distracted. It’s going to hurt you more than it’ll hurt him. So that’s why Froi is going to take you for a little tour around our fortress.’
Grij shook his head defiantly.
‘I’m not a child, Arjuro.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Arjuro agreed. ‘But you’re his son and I know him. He’s not going to want you to see him cry.’
‘I’m not going to cry,’ De Lancey protested feebly.
‘You’re going to cry,’ Arjuro said.
‘You’re going to cry,’ Froi agreed. ‘I did.’ He dragged Grijio away. ‘So how about I introduce you to Tariq’s people first, Grij? They’ll like you. They hate me. And then I’ll introduce you to the Turlans. We can get you etched.’
He heard De Lancey’s groan as they walked out.
Outside the door they walked into Gargarin, who was pushing through De Lancey’s men.
‘He’ll live,’ Grijio said when he saw the worry on Gargarin’s face. ‘Arjuro said it’s best I don’t stay for the painful part.’
Gargarin embraced the lastborn. ‘I would never have forgiven myself if the last words we spoke were in anger,’ he said.
‘Father says you never trust him, sir,’ Grij said, with no censure in his voice. ‘He was broken when he returned from Sebastabol. He told me about Arjuro and Lumatere. And then when we received word about Arjuro having been taken hostage and Bestiano ordering a trade with you …’ Grij shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen him like that. Never. I think the library is still in splinters.’
They heard a roar of pain from behind the door and Grij paled.
‘Take him,’ Gargarin said and Froi dragged Grij away.
They spent the afternoon on the battlements of the keep looking out towards the little woods.
‘Is it true you had eight barbs removed?’ Grij asked quietly.
Froi nodded.
‘It makes no difference to you, I’m sure … but it was Olivier,’ Grij said.
‘It makes all the difference that it was Olivier that led us to the trap,’ Froi said angrily.
‘No, I mean … it was Olivier who took you to the Priests.’
Froi stared at him with disbelief.
Grijio nodded. ‘He told Bestiano’s men you were dead. Well, you were in a way. And they left your corpse there and he returned for it later, not knowing whether you would live or die.’
Froi didn’t speak for a moment. And then he grew angry.
‘How would you know that?’ he asked coldly. ‘Back in the fold, is he? Lastborns stick together no matter who they betray?’
Grij didn’t respond. Froi jumped to his feet. ‘I lost her because of him,’ he raged. ‘Don’t ask me to forgive a traitor just because he took me to the Priests. Those barbs were in my body because of him.’
Grijio shook his head. ‘I’m not asking you to forgive him. None of us have. The correspondence between us is terse.’
‘I saw him with Bestiano, just two days past,’ Froi said. ‘Why would you be in contact with him, Grij? Why?’
‘Because he’s our spy, Froi,’ Grijio said quietly. ‘He came to us. We knew about what took place at the lake with you and Arjuro because of him. We’ve been able to build an army in the north because of Olivier, and although Tippideaux will never speak to him again and my father promises never to have him in Paladozza, and Sebastabol has expelled him and his family, Olivier fights for Charyn. Not for Bestiano.’
‘You’re telling me this because you want me to forgive him,’ Froi accused.
Grijio shook his head. ‘No, I’m telling you because I know you’ll kill him the moment you cross each other’s paths and although he doesn’t deserve our friendship, I’d hate you to have his death on your conscience. I’ve come to know you, Froi. Despite all appearances, you wear your guilt like a smothering blanket. You don’t need Olivier’s death on your conscience.’
They returned to the chamber where Gargarin and Arjuro were sitting with a belligerent De Lancey, who was already on his feet. Lirah had joined them and was scribbling away in a corner.
‘Is it bad?’ Grij asked, embracing his father gently.
‘No, just annoying,’ the Provincaro responded.
‘The word “rest” made him turn purple,’ Gargarin said.
‘Yes, let’s all rest in the middle of a war,’ De Lancey muttered when Arjuro pointed to the bed.
‘Unlike me, he was never known as a responsible young man,’ Arjuro said to Grijio and Froi. ‘It takes getting used to.’
‘You, Arjuro? Responsible?’ Froi asked. ‘I thought you were breaking all the rules and creating havoc in the godshouse.’
‘He’s gods’ blessed,’ Gargarin said. ‘He can do more than one thing at once. Be an idiot and be responsible. He has these multiple skills.’
‘Much like women, but they’re not called gods’ blessed,’ Lirah called out without looking up from her work. ‘They’re just called women.’
‘Ah, all the envy in this room,’ Arjuro mused, but there was a smile on his face and Froi enjoyed hearing their banter.
But outside a war was brewing and all too soon the humour was lost.
‘How did you raise an army so quickly?’ Gargarin asked De Lancey quietly.
‘Not so quickly,’ De Lancey said. ‘It’s been in the planning for a while. I told you in the Citavita I was going to return home and raise an army. Does anyone ever listen to me?’
‘I listen to you, Father,’ Grij teased, trying to break the tension.
‘No, you don’t. If you got yourself etched I’ll tell Tippideaux.’
‘But where did you train an army?’ Gargarin asked.
Grij and De Lancey exchanged a look.
‘Desantos,’ Grij said.
‘Plague-ridden Desantos?’ Gargarin asked, confused. ‘Why would you raise an army there?’
‘No plague,’ De Lancey said. ‘Just a very smart plan. Bestiano would never come near Desantos if he thought there was
a plague there. No one would. So we’ve used it as a training ground for a combined army.’
‘When was this planned?’ Gargarin asked.
‘It was a jest between Satch and me and … Olivier,’ Grijio said. ‘When we were together in the Citavita. But we didn’t know that Satch suggested it to his Provincaro when he returned to Desantos.’
‘These last months I’ve sent them at least two hundred men through the tunnels to the north,’ De Lancey said. ‘It’s where Tippideaux is now.’
‘And you couldn’t tell me this,’ Gargarin demanded.
‘I was going to in Sebastabol,’ De Lancey said, ‘but you disappeared, after offending me, of course. Well, Lirah offended me, anyway.’
Lirah didn’t rise to the bait. She didn’t involve herself in any of the conversation. As the days passed she had become more fixated on discovering Quintana’s whereabouts and scribbling from the books Perabo had given her in Serker. Today, as every other day, she sat reading over Froi’s words concerning his last hours with Quintana.
‘How strong is this army?’ Gargarin asked.
‘They’re not all soldiers but they’ve been training for months now. Every able man and woman has been taught to use the bow and those who have shown great promise have been trained with swords and horses.’
‘You’re sure about this?’ Gargarin asked. ‘We have an army as powerful as Nebia’s in the north? You’re serious?’
De Lancey’s stare was hard. ‘Gargarin, I took my son into battle with me. How serious does that seem?’
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,’ Gargarin said. ‘First you side with the Provincari –’
‘I am the Provincari,’ De Lancey shouted.
‘The Provincari’s plan leaves the palace with no power.’
‘No,’ De Lancey argued. ‘Our plan gives the palace limited power. Our plan gives the Provincari limited power. It gives the godshouse limited power. And all that limited power combined may just work a spell and produce a good king and a balanced kingdom.’
Gargarin’s mouth was a thin line.
De Lancey shook his head with a grimace. ‘This can work, Gargarin.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Gargarin retorted. ‘It could work perfectly with that arse from Avanosh.’
Quintana of Charyn Page 29
