Froi of the Exiles (6 page)

An intake of furious breath sounded off the walls. Lucian grabbed the Charynite just as Froi was about to fly across the room and land a fist to his jaw.

Finnikin stayed calm as he walked towards Rafuel of Sebastabol.

‘I’d really like to know what took place, Charynite, and I’d hate to have to kill you before that moment. So perhaps you can refrain from bringing up my queen.’

Rafuel of Sebastabol had the good sense to look contrite. After a while, he nodded. ‘Next month Quintana of Charyn comes of age. The lastborn male from the province of Sebastabol will travel to the Citavita, the capital, and he will bed the Princess in an attempt to plant the seed. One lastborn from each of the provinces has done so for the last three years. Before that it was her betrothed, Tariq. But when Quintana was fifteen, he was smuggled out of the palace by his mother’s kin after his father mysteriously died. He is the King’s cousin and only male heir.’

‘Are they gifted, the lastborns?’ Lucian asked.

Rafuel was amused by the question. ‘They are actually quite … useless. They were precious to us and some were spoilt as children and others stifled. Most fathers feared the worst for their sons and they were kept out of harm’s way. It’s hard to find a lastborn male who can use a weapon or ride a horse. The daughters are confined to the home. Some are the most frivolous girls you will ever meet, while others are the most timid and shy. I would say most of their kin are about to send them underground for fear of what will take place when the Princess comes of age.’

Finnikin rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. After a moment he said, ‘A sad tale, Charynite, but I still don’t understand why you’re here.’

‘Because you have a lad who speaks our language, who is of the same age as a lastborn, and who is not so useless. More importantly, he is trained as an assassin.’ Rafuel’s eyes caught Froi’s. ‘Yes?’

No one spoke. Froi stiffened, his eyes locked with the Charynite’s. Froi could see the man was hiding something. He had been trained to notice the signs.

‘Gentlemen, your kingdom or mine could not have asked for a more perfect weapon to rid ourselves of this most base of kings. Your lad from the Flatlands is our only hope.’

I
n Isaboe and Finnikin’s private chamber away from the prying eyes of their people and the world of their court that forced them to be polite and restrained, they spoke of Charyn and Froi and Rafuel of Sebastabol and curses and lastborns and Sarnak, and then Charyn again and taxes and empty Flatland villages, and then Charyn again. When all that talk was over, they stood before each other ready for the mightiest of battles, which they had saved until last.

Finnikin would describe the situation as tense. Isaboe didn’t describe situations. She described how she was feeling during the situation. Then they would argue about what was less important. Facts or feelings. Tonight it was about both.

‘How do you expect to rule a kingdom and be so weak in this matter?’ he said, trying to keep censure out of his tone. He saw her face twitch at the mention of the word
weak
.

‘Not now,’ she said. ‘Another day. Perhaps next week.’

‘And then perhaps the week after that and then the week after that,’ he suggested with little humour.

He saw the pain flash across her face.

‘Do it, Isaboe. You must show strength!’ Finnikin could see her softening and he nodded. ‘Now,’ he urged in a whisper.

Isaboe took a ragged breath before crouching to the floor. Finnikin knelt down beside her. Their daughter looked from one to the other. She had Finnikin’s face and Isaboe’s hair, and now she was nearing the age of two, she was showing some of Trevanion’s temperament, which was beginning to alarm both of her parents.

‘Jasmina, my beloved. Finnikin and I …’

Isaboe’s eyes met Finnikin’s and he nodded at her with encouragement.

‘ … We’ve had the most beautiful of beds made for you. So beautiful that every little girl in the whole of our kingdom wants to sleep in it. Tonight we thought you could sleep in the most
beautiful
bed in Lumatere, and Finnikin and Isaboe could sleep on their own. Together.’

Together. Finnikin smiled at Isaboe. He was proud of his queen. Proud of them both. Jasmina meant everything to them and he couldn’t imagine their lives without this blessing. He did imagine frequently, however, sharing a bed with
just
his wife while their little blessing was asleep in another room.

Their daughter stared from Finnikin to Isaboe. He beamed at her, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in days.

Jasmina’s bottom lip began to tremble.

‘Do you think she’s going to be smarter than us?’ he asked as they lay in bed later that night. He could see the moon through the balconette doors before them, looking almost close enough to grab and, as usual, it made him wonder about all things strange and mysterious. And about how insignificant he was in the scheme of things.

Finnikin turned to see Isaboe bending to kiss Jasmina’s brow as she slept between them. ‘Most probably,’ she murmured.

‘Then she won’t need us one day.'

‘What a thing to say, Finnikin,’ Isaboe said, ‘when I feel a need for my father and mother now, more than I ever have.’

‘True enough,’ he said gently. ‘It may have to do with such attachments belonging to women,’ he added.

When Finnikin added words, he always regretted it. He was regretting it now because the flames from the fireplace illuminated his wife’s stare of disbelief.

‘Your father lives in the chamber beside us, Finnikin. You speak to him every night and every morning and if for some reason you can’t sleep through the night, you speak to him then as well. Do you not see that as an attachment?’

She waited for his response and he chose not to reply because then they’d get into a discussion about why Trevanion had not announced his betrothment to Beatriss yet, which would lead back to a discussion about empty Flatland villages. Then they would both fall asleep thinking of neighbourless Flatlanders and Finnikin would wake up in the dark, despairing for his kingdom. Not able to get back to sleep, he’d knock on his father’s door because Trevanion didn’t sleep either, and then Isaboe would win this argument.

‘True enough,’ he sighed. He could see her mind was already elsewhere and he knew exactly where.

‘Sleep and don’t think about it,’ he said. He was sick and tired of the subject of Charyn.

‘How can I not?’ she asked. ‘Barren wombs and curses. If you ask me, they’ve poisoned all their children.’

‘If only you did believe that, then we could kill the Charynite in the mountain and banish those in the valley and not send Froi into the unknown.’

Isaboe turned to face him. ‘But you must think it’s all strange?’

‘Isaboe,’ he said, exasperated. ‘Unbeknownst to us, our neighbouring kingdom has not birthed a child for eighteen years. How can I not think it strange?’

She placed a finger to her lips as a sign for him to lower his voice. ‘I know you,’ she whispered. ‘I know you’re trying to find reason where there is no place for it.’

‘Reason failed halfway down that mountain,’ he said. ‘I think Rafuel of Sebastabol speaks sincerely.’

‘Then you seriously want me to consider this plan for Froi?’

‘I don’t think we will ever get into that fortress any other way,’ he said.

‘It’s too perfect,’ she said. ‘We want the King dead. They want the King dead. They need an assassin who is of age and speaks Charyn. We have an assassin who is of age and speaks Charyn.’

She looked at him, pained. ‘How would they have known?’ she whispered. ‘Do you think we have Charyn spies in Lumatere?’

They had spoken often of spies in the early days after the curse was lifted. Exiles had entered the kingdom with nothing to vouch for the fact that they were indeed Lumateran. Anyone could have been a spy. They both knew that there was still a lack of trust between those who had been trapped inside and the exiles. Regardless of the years of progress, it would be some time before their kingdom was back to what it once was.

Finnikin sighed and reached over to blow out the candle and they lay silent, listening to Jasmina’s breathing.

‘I hate them,’ she said, moments later. ‘It hurts to hate this much, but I do. I want them all dead, especially everyone in that cursed palace. I think of that abomination of a Princess and I want her dead as much as her father. Because I want to lie down to sleep and not imagine them coming over our mountain and annihilating my
yata
and Mont cousins first. I don’t want to imagine them clearing the Flatlands, turning our river into a bloodbath, storming your rock village. I want to stop thinking of them coming through the castle doors and doing to our daughter what they did to my sisters and my mother and father.’

He felt her breath on him as she leaned close.

‘Promise me, my love. Promise me that if they come through the palace doors and there’s no hope, you do what you have to do. You make it quick for her so she doesn’t suffer.’

Finnikin swallowed hard. He remembered the first time he was forced to make Isaboe such a heinous promise as Jasmina suckled from her breast.

‘Let’s not talk of these things, Isaboe.’

He gathered them both to him and he felt her lips against the back of his hand. At times like this he ached for her, but sometimes there was more between them than their daughter.

‘I’ve never spoken of this,’ she said quietly in the dark, ‘but when we lost Froi in Sprie that first time, I didn’t return for the ruby ring he stole from me. It was as if I was sent there to search for him.’

Finnikin was quiet. He had always felt threatened by the bond betweeen Isaboe and Froi. They shared a desperation to survive and there was a feralness and a darkness about them that he envied fiercely, though he was frightened by what this might mean.

‘I’ve questioned the intentions of the goddess these past three years, and she has whispered to me over and over again, “
You will lose him
.” ’ He felt Isaboe shudder. ‘I have a bad feeling about this, Finnikin.’

He leaned over and kissed her. ‘And I have a bad feeling that I’ll never have a moment on my own with you again,’ he murmured. He heard a sound coming from Jasmina and he lay back down on his side again.

‘Tomorrow,’ she whispered, ‘between me seeing the Flatland Lords about the cistern system and you placating the fishmongers about the taxes, I think we may be close to the guest closet on the third landing before I have to go off and speak to the Ambassador about Belegonia and you have to speak to Beatriss about Sennington.’ She paused. ‘We’ll have time.’

He sighed. ‘So I’m reduced to taking my wife up against a wall in a palace closet?’

She chuckled in the dark.

‘And why do I have to speak to Beatriss?’ he asked with a groan. ‘I’d rather speak to the Ambassador about Belegonia.’

‘She may not have given birth to you, but Beatriss loved you as a mother in the years she was betrothed to your father, and still does. Perhaps you’re the best person to speak to her, or Tesadora if she returns to her senses and comes back up the mountain. Beatriss can’t live in that dead village any longer, Finnikin.’

He was pensive a moment. ‘Tesadora reacted strangely to the news of the Charynite. She was not surprised about the curse and then she left all of a sudden and I could swear it seemed as though she would cry.’

‘Tesadora doesn’t cry.’

‘And you should have seen Perri’s face. He was quiet through our whole journey home.’

She sat up and lit the candle by her bedside.

‘Why didn’t you ask him what was wrong?’ she asked, alarmed. ‘If Tesadora was almost crying and Perri was stranger than usual?’

He shrugged. ‘What would I have said?’

She made a rude sound.

‘What?’
he asked.

‘You men are useless.’

Finnikin sighed. ‘We choose to mind our business and we’re useless?’

She shook her head. ‘Do you know the difference between you and I?’

‘An obvious one or not so obvious?’

She ignored the question. ‘I speak to other women about life and death and what upsets us and what confuses us and what we’d want to change in our lives. And you, my love, talk to men about what the terminology is for this.’ She made a strange movement with her hands.

‘Is that a death blow to the nose?’

She gave him a withering look, blowing out the candle.

‘That’s harsh, Isaboe. We talk about more than that.’

‘Such as?’

‘Life,’ he snapped. ‘Life … things. Things to do with life.’

‘Then have you spoken to your father about when he is going to have a bonding ceremony with Beatriss?’

He sighed.

‘Because that’s life, Finnikin. The life of two people very dear to me. And I believe your father is going to ruin everything by not speaking of the past.
Still
not talking about it after three years.’

‘Do they have to talk about the past?’ he asked.

‘Yes. They were lovers once. She gave birth to his babe, rest that precious soul. Yet they haven’t grieved together.’

‘This is not your concern, Isaboe.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Although Trevanion was strangely quiet on the way home. Everyone was strange.’

‘I’m not just speaking for Beatriss, Finnikin. I’m speaking for Trevanion. He is your father and in my heart, he is the only father I have. I want him to be happy and I know that without her, he isn’t.’

‘He’s wonderful with Vestie,’ he said, thinking of Beatriss’s daughter who was born under horrific circumstances during the curse. ‘He would do anything for her.’

‘And I commend him for that. I could imagine how hard it would be for him to feel so strongly about another man’s child. A tyrant’s child. But it’s Vestie who will be hurt the most, Finnikin. Find out what you can.’

‘Ah, so I’m not going to see Beatriss to speak about Sennington. I’m going to speak about my father?’

She pressed her lips against his shoulder.

‘I’ve married the smartest man in Lumatere.’

‘And I’ve married the most scheming woman in the whole of the land.’

She feigned a haughty sniff, moving away. ‘If it all seems like a scheme I may have to withdraw my offer of a tryst in the closet tomorrow.’