Quintana of Charyn (34 page)

Phaedra stopped them both, her hand still gripping
Quintana’s arm. ‘You came here for me? Here, in the valley?’

‘Well, it’s not as if I could have gone to any of the other twenty-nine on his list,’ Quintana said bluntly.

‘Me?’

‘Have I not already said that?’

Phaedra was speechless.

‘He was half-right, of course,’ Quintana said.

Phaedra wanted to weep. She would have done a better job if she knew. She would never have left Quintana alone or snapped at her or rolled her eyes to the heavens. She would have been a better protector.

‘There’s much more to you than kindness,’ Quintana continued. ‘That day after I arrived in the valley and you visited, the other women were all flustered when they saw my baby belly. Until you walked into the cave and you thought fast. And then that time with the Queen of Lumatere … well, make no mistake of this. She would have used that sword. I’ve killed a man, Phaedra. I imagine the look in my eye was just like hers. A bit of justice. Self-loathing. Hatred. Pity. We’re not so different, me and the Queen of Lumatere.’

Quintana pulled free of Phaedra’s grip and moved ahead to Jorja and Florenza. Both mother and daughter had taken to fussing over her, and Quintana was a cat who went to anyone who showed her affection. Phaedra stood, shivering in her wet shift. And she did weep.

‘Phaedra! Don’t stray,’ Jorja called out.

Phaedra hurried to catch up, gripping Quintana’s hand tightly.

‘You’ll have to take your blanket back, Phaedra,’ Quintana said, stopping to wrap it around her, imitating Phaedra’s earlier fussing. ‘You’ll catch your death and it’ll cause hysteria.’

Their eyes met for a moment and Phaedra nodded with a smile.

‘Yes, my queen. I think you’re right.’

 

 

F
roi watched as Ariston and his men thundered through the Nebian camp, taking the soldiers by surprise. The army had been in the middle of their morning drills and duties and the Turlans’ speed on their horses meant that they were halfway to the second hill before Bestiano’s men had even mounted theirs. Froi’s orders were clear: to wait until the battle was dragged well away from the camp to enable him a clear path to Bestiano. By then, Ariston and his men would be heading towards the Lumateran valley while Perabo and the Lasconians would join the battle against the Nebians.

From where he knelt, concealed by the old well on the first hill overlooking the camp, Froi could see at least four men guarding Bestiano’s tent. Beside him, Fekra was nervous and Froi had come to learn that a nervous man either had something to hide or made mistakes.

‘Who’s protecting Bestiano inside?’ Froi asked.

‘His guard. One of the rogue brigands Bestiano managed to acquire somewhere outside the Citavita. He speaks the language of gold and more gold.’

‘So, he’s not part of the army?’

‘No. The army is under the orders of Scarpo, Captain of the Nebian Guard.’

‘Easily controlled?’

‘Scarpo is a soldier, so he follows orders,’ Fekra said. Froi could tell that Fekra liked a man who followed orders. It was why Fekra didn’t particularly like Froi.

‘But he takes care of his men,’ Fekra continued. ‘According to Dorcas, Scarpo did question Bestiano’s decision regarding the execution of the riders. And when Bestiano ordered one hundred men to fight the Turlans in the little woods, Scarpo questioned why so many. The lads are merely numbers for Bestiano. For Scarpo, they are more than that.’

‘It’s a pity I’m going to have to kill this Scarpo.’

‘You may not have to,’ Fekra said, as they watched the Turlan horses trample the clearing just as Perabo and his men entered the fray. ‘Scarpo may be long dead at the hands of your friends. If Desantos arrives from the north, Scarpo’s army will be destroyed.’

Froi heard the regret in Fekra’s voice.

‘Is Scarpo for Nebia or is he for Charyn?’ Froi asked.

‘Nebia is Charyn,’ Fekra argued. ‘Don’t judge them harshly. Including the Provincaro. He’s sitting in a province with no protection because his entire army is here. What would the Provincari of Paladozza or Sebastabol or any other have done if they were kin to the King’s First Advisor and he came to them asking for an army after the King was murdered?’

‘You’re obviously a Nebian, Fekra. So let me rephrase the question. Is Scarpo a madman?’

‘He’s not one much for talking. But his men will die for him and he makes sure, in turn, that his men don’t die from bad decisions made by others.’

Men were dying around them now. Both Ariston and Perabo had succeeded in dragging the battle from the Nebian camp into the valley beyond, where Froi could hear the sickening tune of cries and shouts and the clang of steel against steel. All that was left here were the dead or dying.

‘Froi!’ Fekra said, pointing down to Bestiano’s tent.

A man stepped outside, exchanging a word with those who guarded the tent. He was armed with at least two swords and a dagger at his ankle. He mounted his horse and headed towards the second hill.

‘Bestiano’s guard,’ Fekra whispered.

Which meant Bestiano could be alone. But for how long?

‘Let’s go,’ Froi said. He slithered down the hill, his eyes fixed on those protecting the former King’s advisor. He remembered what Trevanion and Perri would say each time he hesitated. ‘Dead men don’t come back to kill you, Froi. They don’t shout out warnings. Make sure you do it right the first time.’ And that was how simple it was. The type of simplicity that turned his stomach. At the perfect vantage point, he dropped on one knee. One longbow. Four arrows. Four dead men. He heard Fekra’s ragged breath beside him.

‘You knew them?’ Froi asked.

‘Does it matter?’ Fekra asked. ‘If I didn’t, someone else did.’ He shook his head with regret. ‘How do you get used to it? All the killing?’

‘Who says you do?’ Froi asked, and bolted for the tent.

He reached the entrance.

No mistakes, Froi. No mistakes.

He stepped inside. Bestiano looked up, startled, his hand instantly reaching for his sword, but Froi was faster, leaping on the table and flying across the space to knock him down.
Make it fast. Don’t waste time. Don’t take chances. Every second counts
.
Yet the sight of Bestiano, with his mottled skin and weak mouth and ever-present smirk, changed everything. Froi wanted every second to last. He wanted to inflict pain. No mercy. And by not using his sword, Froi knew he was making the first mistake of many. But he didn’t care. His fist connected with Bestiano’s cheek and the man’s head flew back, causing him to fall to the ground. Froi leapt, straddled him, pounding into nose, mouth, cheek. There was no counting. All rage. Blood, flesh and might and cries of pain and grunts of fury. He snapped both the man’s wrists, the howl ringing through his ears. And on and on he pounded, landing his blows with precision. Froi wanted Bestiano to feel his rage.

For that morning he witnessed Bestiano in Quintana’s chamber.

For not allowing her to make shapes on her wall.

For trying to capture her spirit.

For trying to break it.

For all the times Froi didn’t see.

And then Froi’s head burst with his own memories of Sarnak. A strike for every man who had held him down under the force of their own weight. A strike for the hatred he would always feel for himself when he remembered Isaboe’s face that night in the barn in Sorel. This is what Froi would do to that boy he once was. Blow after blow. He wanted him dead.

A clean kill, Froi. Always a clean kill.

He felt his knuckles crack from the force, but this would not be a clean kill. And when Bestiano had almost passed out from the pain of it all, Froi pulled him forward to speak in his ear.

‘You were never able to break her. She is the stone of this kingdom.’

Suddenly, there was a sound behind him and Froi let go of Bestiano, leaping onto the table. Too slow. The blade of a sword
tore into the skin at his thigh and Froi crumpled in pain, kicking the intruder with his other leg. But past wounds betrayed him and his legs gave way. It was all the time Bestiano’s guard needed. Froi felt the tip of a sword pierce the wound already in his thigh and he cried out, mustering up the strength he had left to kick the man between the legs. And although Bestiano’s guard faltered a moment, the sound of another entering changed everything.

‘Kill him!’

Dorcas.

What had Gargarin said all that time ago? That he didn’t want to die at the hands of someone like Dorcas, who only knew how to follow orders.

Above him, Froi could see Bestiano’s man step back to strike.

‘Wait,’ Froi croaked. He closed his eyes a moment, felt the dirt and grime in his tears.

‘Dorcas, tell him to wait.’

He could hear the heavy breathing of those who stood in the room, but he was too weary to open his eyes. Too heartsick at the thought of never seeing her again. But he needed to find a way to speak a bond to his son and this weak, pathetic rider was Froi’s only messenger.

‘Listen to me, Dorcas … listen well … if all you can do in this life is follow orders, then these are the orders of a man who’s to die. Take care of the little King … tell him he was made from love and hope … that is your bond to him, Dorcas. If you’re good for nothing else, follow a bond that makes him a good king.’

Froi raised himself, opening his eyes. He turned to look at Dorcas who was kneeling beside Bestiano. The palace rider’s hand reached out to Bestiano’s injured face.

‘I said, kill him,’ Dorcas ordered, looking towards where the guard stood over Froi. Froi heard the surprised gasp, the gurgle
of blood and then felt the weight of the man fall across him as Fekra revealed himself with a dagger in his shaking hand. And then Dorcas pressed a hand over Bestiano’s mouth and pushed down hard. Bestiano’s body jerked against it with force, but Dorcas held it there for a very long time, until finally he looked over to Froi.

‘Tell the little King yourself, Lumateran.’

 

 

G
inny entered the cave long after she had left to find some kindling.

‘Where have you been?’ Phaedra asked.

‘I thought I heard something and went to look,’ Ginny said. ‘We can’t be too careful.’

‘Only squirrels,’ Cora said. ‘Our fear will turn us into madwomen.’

‘And we’re not already?’ Phaedra watched Ginny fussing with the entrance of the cave, concealing it with some of the shrubs and branches she’d dragged back.

‘Come closer and eat before our piglet gobbles everything up,’ Cora said gruffly.

The piglet didn’t defend herself; instead, she tugged at the meat on the bone. Since finding it more difficult to move around outside the cave because of her belly, Quintana had taken to setting traps for the hares that boldly came to their entrance and there was a glee to her when she held up their lifeless forms.

‘There’s nothing more harmless than food you catch yourself,’ Quintana said. ‘Free of hemlock and whatnot. I’ve never
enjoyed eating so much as I have these past months.’

‘Wipe your hands and come and sit against me,’ Jorja said to her. ‘I’ll rub your back. It’s a heavy load you carry there.’

Phaedra tried to wipe the filth from Quintana’s hands and face. The soak in the stream had done little to remove their grime, and it shamed Phaedra to think that Charyn’s first child would be born in a cave.

‘Harker would rub my back when I was carrying Florenza and it always felt such a relief,’ Jorja said when Quintana was sitting comfortably between her knees.

Perhaps this was better than the luxury of another place, Phaedra thought, watching them all. Florenza caught her eye and smiled.

And that’s how Phaedra would remember the moment before it all changed. In her province, the tailor’s wife would speak about before and after the curse. One moment she was carrying a baby in her belly, and the next there was a puddle of blood on the ground between her legs and screams sounding across the city. The tailor’s wife knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Phaedra understood the truth of those words when she heard the voices outside the cave. She saw the horror of understanding in Florenza’s eyes and then chanced a look at the others. They all knew. Because they smelt the violence of the intruders. The malevolence. And when Donashe and his men stormed in with their swords and ugliness, there was no screaming or crying this time. Phaedra and the women clambered around Quintana. Wordlessly, they clasped their hands together as a shield. As if that would be enough, foolish women that they were. They thought that would be enough.

One of the men beat at Jorja’s hand with the edge of his dagger until it was a bloody pulp. But still Jorja didn’t let go. And worst of all, Phaedra saw Ginny, who was holding no
one’s hand, but staring at her man Gies with horror, and then Quintana’s eyes met Phaedra’s. What had she once whispered in her ear? ‘
I do believe we’re going to have to kill that piece-of-nothing girl, Ginny.
’ And as long as Phaedra would live, she’d never forgive herself for not cutting the girl from ear to ear.

And then Donashe and his men dragged them out of the cave and forced them to their knees except for Quintana and Ginny, who was weeping her pitiful, treacherous tears. Phaedra felt Jorja’s bloody hand take hers and Florenza’s because this was how they’d die, with shaking hands, in putrid clothes. But Cora stood. She said there was no way she was going to die on her knees at the feet of a man. Donashe’s men trained their weapons on Cora, because it was as she had always said: men would destroy first what they could not control. And Phaedra was begging them, begging,
please, please
. She’d stay on her knees with hands clenched together and beg until her last breath and she could hear Florenza’s sobbing and Jorja’s voice.
Hush now. Hush now, my beautiful girls.
That would be Jorja’s gift to them when facing death. Calmness.

But then they heard a sound so primitive in its savagery that it chilled the soul and stopped the man’s blade from slashing Cora’s throat. A guttural fury that rivalled the cry of every creature within miles. Through eyes drenched with filth and sweat, Phaedra could see Quintana, could see her madness as the air was pierced with her never-ending roar. Donashe pressed an elbow against her throat and the cry was gagged, but Quintana bit his arm hard, blood on her lips that she spat to the ground.

‘
I’ll will this babe to die!
’

Phaedra heard both the gods and the demons in Quintana’s voice and the sound frightened her more than the death she was facing.

‘I’ll bleed it from the inside. Just you watch me.
Watch me!
’

Donashe stared down at the blood on his arm where her teeth had cut into his flesh and he raised a hand to her.

‘
Do it!
’ Quintana taunted. ‘Do it and watch what I can do in return.’

‘Kill them,’ Donashe ordered the man holding Cora. And Quintana’s shrill scream sounded again and Ginny was crying, clasping hands to her ears.

‘I’ve seen what she can be,’ Ginny sobbed. ‘She’s gods’ blessed and cursed and there’ll be no reward for any of you if they die.’

Donashe’s men dared to look at the filthy Princess whose eyes spelt death. Charyn’s abomination. Its savage. Its curse-maker. And the frightened men shook their heads and stepped away.

‘You kill them, Donashe. I’m not doing it.’

‘She’s a mad bitch and she’ll burn us all, Donashe.’

‘They’ve promised us gold for a living babe. Not for a puddle of blood.’

Donashe gripped Quintana’s arm and dragged her along.

‘You’re weak. All of you,’ he shouted over his shoulder and the men grabbed Phaedra and the women, and followed Donashe to camp.

In the valley, Phaedra saw Tesadora first and then she saw Japhra and the Mont girls and then she saw the valley dwellers. The way they stared in horror and awe at Quintana. The tears on Japhra’s face and the rage in Tesadora’s eyes as she approached Donashe. Tesadora looked so small and Phaedra feared for the Lumateran woman’s life. Feared for them all.

‘You are holding the wife of a Mont leader,’ Tesadora warned. ‘If Phaedra of Alonso is not released, the wrath of the Monts will be felt across Charyn. Explain that to whoever you answer to.’

Donashe pushed Phaedra and the women towards the stone steps that led to the highest cave, a place Phaedra knew they would never escape from.

‘Did you hear me, Charynite?’ Tesadora shouted, following. ‘These are my demands. Return Phaedra of Alonso to the mountain. Release Quintana of Charyn to my care. Let my girls see to Rafuel’s wounds.’

Phaedra gasped and swung around, searching for him. Rafuel? How could she have forgotten him?

‘
Oh Rafuel. Rafuel
,’ Quintana cried.

And Phaedra truly began to understand the horror of the day as they climbed the steep ascent to the top. In front of the caves below, at the start of the road to Alonso, they saw him. Rafuel was tied to a horse, his face beaten to pulp, his legs barely able to hold him upright. One of Donashe’s men mounted the horse, and it was only then that Phaedra began to weep. Because she knew there was no hope for him … the boy with a basket of cats, this man who had never forsaken their kingdom when others had.

‘
Everything for Charyn
,’ Rafuel cried and they dragged him away.

Lucian dined late that night with
Yata
and Isaboe in
Yata
’s private chamber.

‘You do us an honour each time you birth your children here, cousin,’ Lucian said.

Isaboe reached over to take
Yata
’s hand. ‘I sometimes feel my mother’s presence here more than in the palace.’

She was teary. Finnikin was settling Jasmina with his Aunt Celestina in the Rock village and Lucian knew she missed them both already. She had never spent a night away from her daughter.

‘Finn will be here soon,’ he said quietly.

They heard voices outside the hall and Isaboe stumbled to her feet. ‘That’s him,’ she said.

But it was their cousin Constance who entered, the girl’s eyes wild and swollen with tears. She had been in the valley and her distress could only mean that something had happened to Tesadora and the girls. Or Phaedra.

‘Constance?’ Lucian said, hurrying across the room to meet her just as her legs buckled. They all cried with alarm and Lucian caught her in his arms.

‘Speak, Constance,’ Isaboe ordered gently.

Yata
held out a small bowl of water to Constance, who took it, weeping.

‘They’ve arrested Phaedra.’

‘Who?’ Lucian demanded. ‘
Who?
’

‘Donashe and his men,’ Constance said. ‘They knew where to find the cave and there was a terrible scene as they dragged the women back upstream. Tesadora fears for all their lives. And Rafuel … they know he’s been hiding the women and they suspect he had a hand in the death of the hangman and they beat him black and blue before our very eyes.’

Sweet Goddess.

‘We can bring them all up the mountain,’ Constance said, ‘and protect –’

‘
No!
’

This came from
Yata
.

‘We don’t bring war onto this mountain again,’
Yata
said firmly. ‘If we give refuge to their queen, Charyn will attack. You know that, Isaboe.’

Isaboe nodded. ‘There will be no talk of Quintana of Charyn finding refuge in Lumatere,’ she said wearily. ‘I’ve spent almost four years avoiding war. I won’t have it declared over the life of my enemy’s spawn.’

She stood unsteadily on her feet.

‘Where’s my king?’ she asked, and Lucian heard the desperation in her voice. He didn’t want to leave her, but he needed to see Phaedra and he was desperate to go.

‘Finnikin will be here soon,’
Yata
said gently. ‘It’s a full day’s ride from the Rock, but he’ll be here soon.’

Isaboe turned to Lucian. ‘Go,’ she said firmly. ‘Take Jory with you. Make Lumatere’s presence known.’

It was deep into a starless night by the time Lucian and Jory reached the foot of the mountain. A sick moon did little to guide their path to the stream, and once there, they saw the flicker of lights from the caves where the Charynite valley dwellers huddled together in fear. Or perhaps in hope. They may have witnessed horror in the valley, but for many, the sight of Quintana of Charyn had given them hope and there would be little sleep among them this night.

‘Lucian!’ he heard Harker’s voice in the dark once they crossed the stream. ‘Is that you?’

‘Yes, with Jory,’ Lucian responded. He heard the crunch of footsteps on dry earth, then light from a lantern appeared and soon Harker and Kasabian were before them.

‘Have you spoken to the women?’ Lucian asked.

‘Briefly,’ Kasabian said, ‘but with Donashe and his men at our shoulders, there was no time for anything but a few words.’

‘What they did to my girls, Lucian –’ Harker said and Lucian heard the break in the man’s voice. ‘My Florenza’s face bruised and swollen, and Jorja’s hand crushed.’

Harker led them to the path that would take them to the highest cave.

‘Stay with Kasabian,’ Lucian said to Jory. ‘You know what to do if I don’t return.’

With only Harker’s lantern to light the path, they began the climb. Each cave they passed brought with it the sound of whispering. Higher up, they could hear sobbing and cursing.

‘Ginny, the traitor,’ Harker said. ‘She’s hysterical and under guard.’

‘And Rafuel?’ Lucian asked quietly. ‘Were you able to find out anything?’

‘He’s a dead man walking, Lucian. A dead man walking.’

It was a strange sort of grief Lucian felt for Rafuel. He wondered when these people had begun to feel like kin. When their fate had become his responsibility?

They continued climbing, using their hands to steady themselves, reaching a rock ledge where Lucian made out the shadow of one man, then two. But he knew they had a way to go if Phaedra and the women were placed in the highest cave. Worse still, he was certain there was little chance of getting past the camp leaders on so narrow and dark a path without incident. But Lucian felt desperate to see Phaedra and he kept on walking.

‘Don’t come any further, Mont,’ he heard Donashe say. ‘This is Charynite business, not yours.’

‘You have my wife,’ Lucian said as Donashe stepped out onto the ledge, an oil lamp in his hand. ‘That’s my business, not Charyn’s.’

‘Your wife is under arrest for hiding a king killer.’

‘Why so concerned about a king killer, Donashe?’ Lucian said. ‘The way I hear it, you managed to finish off the rest of the King’s family in the Citavita. So what does that make you?’

Lucian saw the fervour in the man’s eyes, but also the desperation. With Quintana in his camp, the Charynite was never so close to the prize. But from what Lucian knew, Donashe had been betrayed by his men before and he would be desperate not to take chances.