Froi of the Exiles (56 page)

‘They’ve been with me a long time. My Guard are the sons of my father’s Guard, and my servants raised me and my children.’

‘Then speak to them tonight and tell them they must not reveal who your guests are,’ Froi said.

De Lancey nodded. ‘But Gargarin and Arjuro could be recognised in the city. Bestiano’s men will certainly know they’re travelling with the Princess.’

'We’ll stay indoors.’ Gargarin looked up at the books, a ghost of a smile on his face. ‘There’s enough here to keep me happy.’

Froi found Quintana, Grijio, Tippideaux and Arjuro in one of the hallways, leaning on a massive window ledge looking outside. He squeezed in beside Quintana and she stiffened. It seemed a long time since the discussion of the ruby ring and he knew he would have to work hard for her trust.

Down below was Paladozza in all its night-time splendour. It was a province of flickering torches and there was a beauty in the way they danced that soothed him.

Arjuro pointed down to one of the rooftops where an altar was lit by a single flame.

‘I lived at the godshouse school there,’ he said quietly. ‘And every night Gargarin and De Lancey would be at this window and we’d wave good night to each other. I couldn’t bear the idea of going to bed without doing that.’

There was silence for a moment.

‘I wish you’d forgive my father, Priestling,’ Tippideaux said. ‘I think then he’d forgive himself and get on with his life.’

Arjuro grunted.

‘We forgave him,’ Grijio said quietly. ‘Why can’t you?’

‘And what did he do to you?’ Arjuro asked bitterly, turning to them both. ‘Betray you? Make you feel ashamed of him.’

‘When my mother was carrying me in her belly and Tippideaux was two years old, De Lancey paid my father two silver pieces to run a message for him. A message he was frightened to send in person.’

The lastborn studied Arjuro. ‘And I think you know the rest.’

Arjuro closed his eyes as the truth registered. ‘You’re the farrier’s children?’

Tippideaux nodded. ‘Our mother died giving birth to Grij,’ she explained. ‘Father always tells us that what began for him in guilt has become the joy in his life.’

Arjuro looked pained. He turned and walked away. Froi wanted to follow. He suspected that the days to come would break the Priestling.

‘
Princess
,’ De Lancey suddenly called out from the other room.

‘Yes,’ Quintana and Tippideaux called back in unison, before staring at each other with horror.

After an awkward silence, Tippideaux linked her arm with Quintana’s.

‘We’re going to have to do something about the way you dress, Your Highness. And your hair. I can’t be seen walking around my father’s province with someone looking so strange. I’m well known for my good taste.’

She led Quintana away.

‘And an important rule for you to remember,’ Froi heard her say. ‘In my father’s house there’s room for only one Princess.’

Grijio felt it best that they gave Quintana and Tippideaux time on their own, so Froi sat with him on the roof of Grijio’s chamber and swapped stories of their journey from the Citavita. They both agreed that Froi’s had been the most incident-filled. Later, they joined the girls in Quintana’s chamber and Froi chose an adjoining servant’s quarter to sleep.

‘We can accommodate you in a bigger room of your own,’ Grijio said, looking distastefully around the small space where a cot lay on the ground against the wall.

Froi shook his head. 'It’s best that I stay close to her.’

They both looked back into the chamber where Tippideaux was attempting to remove snags from Quintana’s hair. Quintana, in turn, had her nails dug deep into Tippideaux’s arm and Froi could see she had already drawn blood. There was a look of great satisfaction on her face.

Both Froi and Grijio sighed.

‘At least Olivier of Paladozza will be visiting in the next few days. He is fun to be around. Tippideaux giggles shamelessly in his presence so she might not be so pedantic about keeping Her Highness … tidy.’

‘Strange days ahead,’ Froi said.

‘Indeed.’

When the others left, Quintana looked up to where Froi stood at the entrance that divided their rooms.

He pointed to her hair. ‘It looks … neat.’

‘If I had known my hair would be such a concern to this kingdom I would have cut it bare like your beloved queen long ago.’

Froi counted to ten.

‘She didn’t give me the ring as a bribe to assassinate you,’ he said, trying not to clench his teeth because it was part of his bond not to. Teeth clenching, Trevanion explained, was a hostile act.

‘It was Zabat who gave the order. And I’m not sure whether you’ve noticed, but I had every opportunity to carry it out and didn’t.’

‘Then why would she give you a ring?’ she demanded.

‘Why would you care?’ he demanded in response.

How could she look so different from the Quintana he met in the palace? Not because of the hair, but because of her expression and her manner and the anger that permeated every part of her being.

‘Did the Queen of Lumatere ask you to bed me as a means to find a way into my father’s chamber?’ she demanded, her tone so cold.

‘Do you want to know the truth?’ he said. ‘Because I doubt you’ll believe anything I say tonight.’

‘Do you want to know my truth?’ she cried. ‘That they called me Quintana the whore for so long and I never felt like one until now!’

Froi felt a proper fiend.

‘Quintana –’

‘Get. Out.’

He stepped up onto the roof above their compound only to find that he wasn’t alone. Arjuro was there nursing a bottle. Froi saw a naked love in the Priestling’s eyes as he stared out into the distance to the mountains of rocks with wind holes carved out of the stone. Tonight they flickered with the flames of campfires built to keep their occupants warm.

‘They’re called the fairy lights of Paladozza,’ Arjuro said.

This wasn’t just another kingdom, it was another world

A song was sung across the landscape and it made Froi’s skin tingle in its purity. It reminded him of the pleasure he felt every time the Priestking sang the Song of Lumatere, yet he could not remember the words. But here in Paladozza, in the enemy kingdom of Charyn, a song sung once became a tune he walked to.

‘Heard every word,’ Arjuro said quietly, looking at him. ‘Between you and Quintana. You’re falling in love with her. Don’t.’

‘You’re an idiot, Arjuro,’ Froi said, irritated. ‘And you’re drunk, as usual.’

‘Not that much of an idiot and not that drunk. It’s why you had to prove yourself to the Turlans.’

Froi got to his feet, but Arjuro grabbed the cuff of his trousers and dragged Froi down to sit again.

‘If she births this child and they allow her to live, the best plan is that the Provincari allow her to stay in the palace to raise the little King herself. She will be wed to one chosen by the Provincari and it won’t be you, Froi. It won’t be the son of the King’s Serker whore. It won’t be the Lumateran exile who has found himself in these parts. Charyn won’t care who the father of the child is, as long as there is a child. But they will care who brings up the future King. And it won’t be the grandson of a pig farmer from Abroi.’

Froi looked away, but Arjuro grabbed his face between his hands. ‘You are better than anything my brother and I could have imagined,’ he said fiercely. ‘Better than anything Lirah of Serker dreamed of in her boy. Walk away from Quintana, Froi. For her sake and yours. Fall in love with another girl and be a king in your own home.’

F
rom the carnage in the valley came some kind of order in the mountains for Lucian. Despite the fact that Phaedra chose to continue her work amongst the camp dwellers, Lucian insisted that she live with the Monts and travel down to her people with Jory as her personal guard. On the first day after the slaughter, Lucian rode down with them to see how the cave dwellers were faring. He found the Charynites silent and grieving, frightened by the stories coming out of the Citavita. There was also rumour of plague in the north.

‘It’s just talk,’ Kasabian said as they watched one of the cutthroats steer a cart of bodies towards the road to Alonso. ‘Every once in a while they bring up the plague to frighten us as though there’s not enough in this kingdom to do that.’

‘Well, it’s working,’ Harker said. He was the husband of Jorja and the father of Florenza, who had escaped through the sewers.

Lucian noticed Harker and Kasabian and even Cora treated him differently today, as though compared to those who had savagely cut down Rafuel’s men, Lucian had lost his place at the top of their list of enemies.

‘Where do you think they’re taking the bodies?’ Lucian asked, looking up to where the leader of the cutthroats emerged from one of the caves. The man held up a hand of acknowledgment, walking towards them as though Lucian was an old friend.

‘Who is this Rafuel of Sebastabol?’ Kasabian whispered to Lucian. ‘I don’t remember there ever being any other than the seven.’

‘They’ve … they’d,’ Cora corrected herself, ‘always kept private, those lads did.’

The leader reached them, extending a hand to Lucian.

'We didn’t get a chance to introduce ourselves yesterday. My name is Donashe of the Citavita,’ he said, an easy manner to his voice so unlike the deadness in his eyes. Lucian ignored the hand. When Donashe of the Citavita saw the Mont archers in the trees he shook his head with regret.

‘You insult us, Mont. We are no threat to you and your people. Why would we risk a battle with Lumatere?’

‘I will remind you of this one more time,’ Lucian said coldly. ‘You had my wife and the women of this camp on their knees. You killed seven defenceless men.’

Lucian watched as Phaedra approached. He sent her away with a toss of his head, wanting her nowhere near these men.

‘Apart from your wife,’ Donashe said, ‘we have the right to do what we want with our people.’

‘And if any harm against your people or mine is committed on Lumateran land,’ Lucian said, ‘then I have the right to do what I want with you.’

Each night on the mountain Lucian and Phaedra sat around Lucian’s table speaking of the day’s events. Rafuel, Tesadora, Jory and Yael would join them.

‘Today,’ Phaedra said, pouring a hot brew into their mugs from over their shoulders, ‘they separated the men and the women.’

‘Never a good sign,’ Tesadora said flatly.

‘In each cave there are at least five or six people, although these numbers will swell because of the new arrivals from the Citavita,’ Phaedra continued.

She had a gift for switching between the two languages with ease although it was less necessary now that Rafuel’s Lumateran had improved.

‘Are they really palace riders?’ Yael asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘They’re said to be street lords from the Citavita.’

‘Gods,’ Rafuel muttered. Lucian watched the Charynite make room for Phaedra to sit.

‘Street lords are obviously not men of title in your eyes,’ Lucian said to the Charynite.

‘Only titled with the words thug and brigand,’ Rafuel said bitterly. ‘The gods only know what state the Citavita is in.’

Tesadora paled and Lucian knew she was thinking of Froi. They had not heard a word from him since he left at the end of summer and with the slaughter in the valley suggesting a traitor amongst Rafuel’s contacts, they were beginning to fear for their lad’s life.

‘Do you have an idea why these men have chosen to stay in the valley?’ Lucian asked Phaedra.

She nodded. ‘I think someone from the palace has told them to be his eyes and ears out here in the west and that they’ll be rewarded for any information they can find. Their leader Donashe was betrayed by one of his men in the Citavita. He trusts no one and has allegiance only to those in power who will pay him well.’

‘Blessed Sagrami,’ Tesadora muttered.

‘I have an idea,’ Phaedra said, looking at Rafuel, as though he was in charge and not Lucian.

‘About having another spy in the camp with me.’

‘You’re not a spy,’ Lucian pointed out.

She looked up at him, almost vexed. ‘I’m overhearing conversations and retelling them back to you,’ she said. ‘In Charyn, that’s called spying, Luci-en.’

‘Yes Luci-en,’ Tesadora mocked. ‘I believe it goes by the same name in Lumatere.’

‘Don’t even suggest that Tesadora and the girls come down with you,’ Lucian said. ‘Isaboe and Finnikin have forbidden it.’

‘Yes, well, forbidding always works on me,’ Tesadora murmured.

‘Go on with your idea,’ Rafuel instructed Phaedra. Lucian bristled.

‘I heard Donashe complaining that they cannot get any of our men to assist them with keeping order,’ she continued. ‘His men may be armed, but there are too few of them, and sooner or later, there’ll be too many of us.’

‘How can they possible believe any of your men would act as guards against their own people?’ Yael asked.

‘With you Monts in the trees, they know they can’t use force,’ Phaedra said. ‘What they need is for a newcomer to arrive and put up his hand for the work.’

‘A Mont spy,’ Jory said excitedly.

‘Monts speak Charyn like fools, Jor-ee,’ she said. ‘Not possible.’

Phaedra pointed to Rafuel. ‘He would be perfect.’

Rafuel was the only one who thought it was a good idea.

‘They don’t know who I am,’ the Charynite argued. ‘No one does. The other valley dwellers would not have seen me with …’ He swallowed hard. ‘With my lads,’ he said huskily. ‘Let me befriend the murdering bastards. Find out the truth of what’s going on in the Citavita and the rest of Charyn. Then when I have their trust, I can escape. Perhaps try to get to Sebastabol. Find out the fate of your assassin.’

‘No,’ Lucian said.

‘What am I doing here?’ Rafuel asked, rage and grief in his eyes. ‘Nothing. Your lad Froi is out there, who knows where, and I’m hiding on your mountain while they’re slaughtering the finest minds in Charyn!’

‘It’s not my decision to make,’ Lucian said. ‘I’ll take it to the Queen and Finnikin.’

Rafuel shoved back his chair and left the cottage. Lucian knew exactly where the Charynite was heading, as though he was a guest and not a prisoner. He spoke of it with Tesadora later as they stood outside after the others had left.