‘Twelve. Possibly thirteen,’ Froi said.
‘F … F … Froi,’ Satch said quietly. ‘L … let’s go. This will only end in heart … b … break.’
Froi dismissed the suggestions. Whether he stayed or went, the heartbreak would be the same.
They saw Olivier again, pushing through to oversee the ever-growing crowd by the doors.
‘Olivier!’ Grij called out. ‘Olivier. What are they saying? We can’t hear a thing.’
Olivier reached them, trying to catch his breath after being squeezed between two large Sorellians.
‘The Yuts of the Nord walked out,’ Olivier said. ‘Your father, Grij, asked them what they had done with the heir of Yutlind Sud. They didn’t like the question.’
The crowd surged forward. There seemed to be a commotion at the entrance. Olivier was gone within moments.
Froi’s eyes followed him.
‘What’s happened to his family? The Provincaro of Sebastabol claimed to have expelled them from the province.’
Satch and Grij exchanged a look.
‘Desantos has t … taken them in,’ Satch said. ‘I will always underst … st … stand your anger, Froi, but in t … trying to make amends, he risked his life again and again.’
‘He’ll never be the same lad,’ Grijio said. ‘He refuses to befriend any of the Guard and keeps to himself. He’s a stranger, this Olivier. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for what he did.’
There was a surge forward again and shouts of exasperation. At the front of the hall, people were oblivious to the disturbance at the back.
‘Probably another mountain goat from Osteria and his herd,’ Grijio muttered.
The noise at the entrance became louder.
‘Something’s happening back there,’ Grijio said. ‘Hitch me up, so I can see.’
Froi and Satch hitched Grijio up onto their shoulders and he peered over their heads towards the grand entrance. Grij’s peering turned into shock as he looked back down to Froi.
‘What is it?’ Feliciano asked.
‘Froi,’ Grijio said calmly. ‘I think I recognise your queen’s cousin from my time in the valley after the battle. He’s just shoved his way into the hall.’
‘What?’
Grij climbed down and they lifted Froi up onto their shoulders. He looked towards the crowded entrance. He could see nothing but an irate crowd being pushed forward. Olivier and one of the guards were attempting to shove their way through the crowd to see what was taking place.
And then Froi saw Lucian.
And Finn.
And Perri. The three of them were searching above the heads of those around them.
Sagra!
‘Here!’ Froi shouted, holding up a hand. ‘Lucian!’
The Lumaterans had managed to cause a small riot near the entrance and there was too much noise to be heard. Meanwhile, the onlookers standing around Froi yanked him down.
‘We can’t hear a thing, you fool,’ one snapped.
Froi climbed back up again, slapping away at the hands that were pulling at him.
‘What can you see?’ Grij shouted.
Froi could still see Olivier shoving his way towards the entrance to investigate the small brawl that seemed to have taken place.
‘Olivier!’ he shouted. The lastborn must have heard, because he turned and Froi pointed towards the entrance and then to himself.
‘Lumaterans! They’re with –’
He was yanked off Grijio and Feliciano’s shoulder before he could speak another word. So he pushed headfirst into the crowd, telling himself he could have imagined one, but not all three. Close to the entrance he hit a wall of a man. One who was determined Froi would not pass him by. Until a hand covered the face of the man and shoved him out of the way.
‘Lucian? What are you doing here?’ Froi asked.
Grij, Satch and Feliciano had followed, staring at the Lumaterans just as incredulously. Lucian waved away the question with irritation.
‘You,’ Lucian said, pointing to Feliciano. ‘Get your jacket off,’ he ordered the Avanosh heir. Feliciano pointed to himself, stunned. Lucian stared down at Feliciano’s tights. ‘Just the jacket.’
When Feliciano was too slow, Finnikin was there, yanking Feliciano’s arms out of the sleeves.
‘Follow everything we say, Froi,’ his king said. ‘Put this on. Ask no questions.’
And then Lord August stumbled through the crowded entrance, followed by Lady Abian and Talon and the younger boys, their faces soaked with perspiration. And just when Froi thought nothing could shock him more, he saw the Priestking.
The Lumaterans looked dishevelled. Froi was so confused, his arm half-stuck in a jacket that was far too small.
‘You,’ Lucian said, pointing to Olivier. ‘Get us to the front.’
‘Just agree with everything,’ Finnikin said. ‘Let me do the talking. There’s no time for an explanation. Do you trust us, Froi?’
‘With my life,’ he said.
The path to the front seemed never-ending.
‘Excuse me.’
‘Excuse me.’
‘Out of the way.’
There was shoving and cursing and Froi’s heart was pounding. Lady Abian was adjusting her dress and hair, and swiping at the dirt on Lord August’s face.
‘Blessed Barakah is going to faint,’ Froi said, trying to hold onto the old man’s arm.
‘They dragged me off the carriage as if I was a sack of potatoes,’ the Priestking complained as they stumbled to a standstill at the front, facing a shocked Provincari.
There was furious whispering all around him. Froi heard someone gasp.
‘It’s the Queen of Lumatere’s Consort.’
‘No!’ another replied.
‘Yes. Look at the hair.’
Froi glanced at Finnikin, and already his friend’s face was a mask of arrogance. Finn said it worked well in negotiations. Isaboe said she hardly recognised him when she first saw it appear with the Belegonians.
Before them the Provincari and the leaders were staring their way. Quintana stood to the side. Tariq was on the ground, tugging at Gargarin’s leg. Gargarin’s stare was fierce. Angry. Hopeful?
‘Introduce me,’ Finnikin ordered Froi in Charyn.
Froi cleared his throat.
‘My lord Finnikin, Consort of Her Majesty Queen Isaboe of Lumatere, may I present to you the Provincari of Charyn.’
Froi held out a hand to indicate the Lumaterans.
‘Lord August of the Flatlands. Lady Abian of the Flatlands; the lords Talon, Duret and Ren of the Flatlands. Lucian, leader of the Monts. And the blessed Barakah of Lumatere.’
There was a stunned hush as the Provincari leapt out of their seats to offer the Priestking one of theirs. But despite his limp, Gargarin beat them to it.
‘You’re late,’ he hissed, glaring at Finnikin.
‘We had a slight problem … locating the letters you sent,’ Finnikin whispered back. ‘Explanation later,’ he added. ‘Go. Away.’
The Provincari were staring at the visitors, intrigued.
‘I’d prefer to speak Charyn so there’ll be no misunderstanding of our intention,’ Finnikin said to the Provincari. ‘I will be translating for Lord August and Lady Abian of the Lumateran Flatlands.’
Lord August stepped forward while Lady Abian was still swiping at his face with her kerchief. Finnikin gave the nod for Lord August to speak.
‘As stated, my name is Lord August of the Flatlands. Today, my wife and my family present to you our eldest boy as a prospective consort to Quintana of Charyn.’
Froi was speechless. He thought he would be sick on the spot. He could hate anyone, but not Talon who was a brother to him. Finnikin translated and glanced at Froi, who hadn’t taken a breath. Froi felt a pinch on his arm.
‘Don’t you dare faint,’ Finnikin whispered.
Lord August continued.
‘My eldest boy may not share my blood, but he is part of our life and h
as been since the rebirth of our kingdom. When we chose four years past to give him our name, we never imagined that we would be presenting him to a foreign court.’
August caught Froi’s eye. Him? They were talking about him. Not Talon. But Froi had never been given Lord August’s family title. Who had hatched up this lie?
Before them, the Provincari were bewildered by the turn of events. Gargarin wasn’t.
‘That doesn’t count,’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh said.
‘How does that not count?’ Lucian asked politely.
Finnikin nudged Froi. ‘Which one’s Paladozza?’ he whispered.
‘Fourth from right.’
Finnikin stepped forward.
‘My father is the Captain of the Lumateran Guard,’ Finnikin said coldly. ‘Don’t let me have to go home and tell him that the child he calls his own is not a daughter to him just because she doesn’t share his blood.’ He looked at De Lancey. ‘Provincaro De Lancey,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been told your children are not of your blood. Do they not count?’
De Lancey’s was livid. ‘They’re my children,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Regardless of blood ties, they have my name. They have my land. They have my title.’ De Lancey stared across at Avanosh. ‘Are you questioning the rights of my children?’
‘No one is questioning the rights of your children, De Lancey,’ the Provincara of Jidia tried to placate.
‘It’s not enough,’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh shouted.
‘He’s the son of a Lumateran Flatland lord,’ the Provincaro of Sebastabol said. ‘How much more do we want? The Belegonians turned down our invitation to be here today. It will turn them green with envy to have our Quintana wed to the son of a Lumateran Flatland lord.’
‘Don’t trust a Lumateran,’ the Provincaro of Alonso said, eyeing Lucian. ‘They lie.’
This time Lucian stepped forward.
‘For the sake of a beloved wife, I will forgive my father-in-law’s words,’ Lucian said. ‘And offer a hand of friendship to my neighbours in Alonso.’
‘Your wife?’ Alonso shouted. ‘The one you sent back and then claimed was dead? And then let go to the palace? And where is she now? Is my daughter a toy to be passed around?’
‘Your daughter is a woman who makes her own choices, sir,’ Lucian said. ‘And it was her choice to sacrifice her safety for Quintana of Charyn in the valley, and it was her choice to rightfully travel here and settle the first mother and child of Charyn into their home. I would never ask my wife to choose me over her king.’
Lucian stepped forward and bowed to Quintana. ‘And I will always be indebted to Quintana of Charyn for allowing Phaedra to return.’
Froi was most impressed with Lucian.
‘So you married her again?’ Quintana demanded to know.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Good,’ she said, looking away.
‘We don’t trust this lad,’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh said, pointing to Froi. ‘He’s lied and he stole the Princess from under us in Paladozza. I was there.’
There was more hushed talk.
‘Louder!’ someone from the back called out. ‘We can’t hear.’
Froi felt as if he was part of a pantomime, placed in front of a crowd hungry for entertainment.
‘I was there, too,’ De Lancey said. ‘And I don’t recall her being stolen.’ He looked across at Quintana. ‘Stolen, Your Highness?’
The Nebian Provincaro spoke up. ‘If I may be so bold as to say that our Quintana may not be the best person to ask whether she was stolen or not?’
Finnikin made a rude sound of disbelief.
‘Can I be even bolder and ask why she can’t be asked?’ he shouted, for those at the back. ‘All we hear about is Quintana the brave, Quintana the mighty who broke the curse. It turns my queen’s stomach to hear all the praise. Yet here, a Provincaro calls her a dimwit who can’t answer a question about whether she believes she was stolen or not!’
Finnikin received a round of applause. The crowd liked the ginger King.
‘A dimwit?’ De Lancey asked the Nebian Provincaro.
‘I didn’t call her one at all,’ the man protested.
‘What of a dowry?’ the Provincara of Jidia demanded to know. ‘What has your son got to offer Charyn, Lord August?’
Finnikin translated, but first answered himself.
‘The benevolence of Lumatere,’ he said. ‘Is that not enough?’
‘And an invitation to your little king’s regent into the Belegonian court,’ Lord August said. ‘If I understand rightly, the Belegonians refused your offer to be part of today’s proceedings.’
Finnikin translated. The Provincari exchanged looks with each other.
‘Nothing more than what the Osterians are offering,’ the Nebian Provincaro said. ‘Haven’t they promised to assist making peace with the Belegonians?’
Froi couldn’t imagine what else Finnikin had to offer.
‘The valley,’ Lucian said, exchanging a look with Finnikin.
Froi shook his head with disbelief. ‘One moment!’ he shouted, ushering the Lumaterans aside. There was a sound of irritation from some of the Provincari and furious talking from the crowd. They wanted to hear every word.
‘Land?’ Froi whispered. ‘You’re giving them land? I’m not worth the valley.’
‘You’re worth a kingdom,’ Finnikin said, turning back to the crowd. He had a better chance of impressing them.
‘We offer the valley between Lumatere and Charyn,’ Finnikin shouted to the crowd.
There was a hushed silence. Even the Provincaro of Alonso was speechless.
‘With a stipulation,’ Finnikin said.
‘Charynite people, governed by Lumaterans?’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh scoffed.
‘Charynite people governed by their own Provincaro,’ Lucian said.
‘And the stipulation?’ Gargarin asked Finnikin.
‘That under no circumstance will the valley ever accommodate an army. Yours or ours.’
‘And what will you name the valley? Little Lumatere?’ Sol of Alonso scoffed.
Froi noticed Arjuro push through to the front of the crowd. He wondered if one of the lads had gone to find him. Arjuro had professed that he’d have nothing to do with this day, but here he was.
‘They will name it the Valley of Phaedra,’ Quintana said, her eyes meeting Lucian’s. Froi could see that Lucian was moved by her words.
‘I think my queen will approve,’ Lucian said quietly.
Vinzenzo of Avanosh was whispering to Sol of Alonso. Froi knew Avanosh could poison any bitter man’s heart, regardless of what was being promised.
Froi sighed loudly. ‘We need to hasten these proceedings, Father,’ he said to Lord August. ‘And my king,’ he added to Finnikin, who looked at him curiously.
Play along with me, Finn.
‘Remember? The Osterian archduke’s daughter is receiving suitors in three days’ time and we may have a better chance with her. You did spend many years in exile among the Osterians with Sir Topher of the Flatlands. And they do love you so.’
‘True, true,’ Finnikin said.
‘No!’ someone in the audience shouted.
Froi chanced a look at Quintana and saw a show of vicious little teeth.
‘Let us go, Lumaterans,’ Finnikin said, enjoying himself.
‘No!’ someone else in the crowd shouted out.
But it was Vinzenzo of Avanosh who was on his feet in an instant.
‘No need for that. No need at all,’ Avanosh said, adopting a good-natured tone. ‘Only testing your worth. I say we talk about this. Have we seen all the candidates?’
‘One more question,’ Orlanda of Jidia demanded. ‘What was the son of a Flatland lord doing in Charyn?’
Everyone stared at Finnikin and Froi, waiting. Finnikin stepped up to the platform and managed to address both the crowd and Provincari.
‘Why question what Froi of Lumatere was doing here?’ he asked. ‘When you should be questioning what wou
ld have happened to Charyn if he hadn’t been here. Who else would have saved Gargarin of Abroi from the street lords? He’s now the little King’s regent,’ he said, pointing to Gargarin. ‘Who would have saved Quintana of Charyn from hanging? Who would have rescued her from Tariq of Lascow’s compound? Who would have sent her to a safe place to birth the cursebreaker? Blah, blah, blah. I’m bored now,’ Finnikin said, looking around. ‘Are we here for a wedding, or are we off to Osteria for the archduke’s niece?’
‘Daughter,’ Froi corrected.
Finnikin stepped towards the Provincari and Froi could sense his friend’s anger.
‘My queen offers you peace. Your dead king ordered the slaughter of her family and his army tortured her people. This is our peace offering,’ Finnikin said, pointing to Froi. ‘Take it or leave it. We’re busy people.’
He turned his back on the Provincari and joined the Lumaterans.
The Provincari and the leaders rose and walked to a corner. Froi watched them argue vehemently. Suddenly Arjuro was there beside Froi and the Lumateran lot.
‘This is all too much for me. My heart is hammering.’
The Priestking stood and the two men embraced and then Gargarin was there. He bowed to Lady Abian and turned to Lord August. Both men acknowledged each other with a wary nod.
Finnikin held out a hand. ‘How could you take such a risk?’ Gargarin whispered angrily, shaking it hard. ‘I wrote to you months ago and you sent him here on an errand about water fountains.’
‘He said you loved water fountains,’ Finnikin argued, but when he saw the fury on Gargarin’s face, he sighed.
‘We had an issue,’ Finnikin said.
‘What type of an issue?’ Gargarin hissed.
‘A very substantial one,’ Finnikin said. Froi and Gargarin waited.
‘If you must know … your letters went astray.’
‘The Belegonians?’ Gargarin asked.
Finnikin shook his head ruefully. ‘My daughter likes … red seals. She chews at them. She must have come across your correspondence in our residence.’
Sagra.
‘Jasmina stole the letters he sent?’ Froi asked.
‘Ridiculous,’ Gargarin whispered.
‘Yes,’ Finnikin said, leaning closer, ‘And your grandson is chewing the Provincara of Jidia’s pearl shoes. Equally ridiculous. Try controlling him.’
Quintana of Charyn Page 44
