Captain Trevanion met them at the gate of the inn. He was one of the most impressive men Froi had ever seen: mighty in build, with a face that even men would call handsome. He was Finnikin’s beloved father and Froi knew they still felt the pain of having been separated from each other when Finnikin was a lad of nine. The Captain had also believed for ten long years that his beloved Lady Beatriss was dead, but she had lived, and during the past three years there had been much talk about whether they would rekindle their love.
‘We’re old men, I hear,’ Trevanion said, cuffing Froi.
Froi laughed. ’If you and some of the Guard weren’t old men, then being called old men wouldn’t insult you so much.’
‘We’re only some forty years, Froi.’
‘He calls Aldron an old man and he’s not even ten years older than him,’ Perri mused, looking around. ‘Where’s Finn?’
‘I thought he was with you?’
‘He rode ahead.’
Froi watched the two men exchange worried looks and followed them into the inn.
Inside, they jostled through a crowd. Tonight it was mostly filled with the Queen’s Guard, but Froi also recognised a handful of rock villagers and the lads who travelled with the Queen’s cousin, Lucian of the Monts, which meant the Mont leader was somewhere in the vicinity.
In a corner close to where the innkeeper was serving from barrels of ale, Froi saw the Monts speaking tensely amongst themselves. Most were cousins to Finnikin through his marriage to the Queen, but Finnikin and Lucian were nowhere to be seen. Froi sensed Trevanion and Perri’s unease and followed them to the bar. The lad assisting the innkeeper looked up when they approached. He was young and nervous and it was evident that he had never come face to face with the Captain of the Guard before.
‘You’re new,’ Trevanion said.
‘Yes, Sir. Just started.’
‘Did you recognise the Queen’s Consort?’
‘No … no, Sir, but he introduced himself.’
Trevanion looked relieved. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s with a … a … w … w … woman, Sir.’
Perri, Froi and Trevanion stared at the lad with disbelief.
‘A woman?’ Trevanion snapped. ‘What woman?’
‘A woman waiting in his room, Sir. She had left a message.’
‘What room?’ Trevanion demanded, already halfway up the staircase.
Perri dragged the nervous lad along with them. ‘Was she armed?’ Perri barked.
‘What message?’ Trevanion shouted.
‘She said, “Tell my king I’m w … waiting in his chamber” ’.
Trevanion stopped just as they reached the top of the stairs. Froi watched the Captain’s expression change from fear to exasperation.
‘Her king?’
Trevanion muttered his favourite string of curses. The Captain had spent years in a foreign prison amongst low-lifes from every kingdom of the land and at times even the Guard flinched at some of his expressions.
A palace soldier stood outside one of the chamber doors, shrugging haplessly when he saw his captain.
‘I can’t control her any more than you can control him, Sir,’ he tried to say. Trevanion pushed him out of the way, knocking sharply before entering the room.
Near the window, Finnikin stood with both hands against the wall, his head bent over her. As always, the intimacy between them made Froi ache.
‘I promise you,’ Finnikin said. ‘I’ve already shouted at her and used a very,
very
reprimanding tone.’
‘I was quivering,’ the Queen said, stepping out from behind Finnikin.
Froi hid a grin, but Trevanion and Perri failed to hide their anger.
Isaboe was dressed more for comfort than for style, but still she managed to take Froi’s breath away. When he had first laid eyes on her in that Sarnak alleyway, her head had been bare. Now her hair was thick and black and fell down her back, contrasting with the deep purple of her simple dress that fell loose from her shoulders.
‘Surround the entire inn and send away every person who does not belong to the Guard or the Mont cousins,’ Perri barked out the order to the soldier outside. Trevanion disappeared with the man.
‘That will make us popular,’ Finnikin said, his arm around his wife. ‘Not only have we finally decided to collect tax, but now we’re getting in the way of their drinking.’
Isaboe caught Froi’s eye. She grabbed Finnikin’s face to reveal an already purple eye.
‘You?’
Froi pointed to himself questioningly, feigning surprise and hurt.
‘Where are his bruises?’ she asked Finnikin.
Froi made a scoffing sound at the thought.
Trevanion returned to the room. ‘Where’s Jasmina?’
‘In the next chamber,’ the Queen said, ’and if any of you wake her, Captain, I will have to kill someone tonight.’
‘I need to check –’
‘
No
,’ both Isaboe and Finnikin spoke.
Trevanion stared at them.
‘I’ll see that –’
‘No,’ the Queen said again. ‘You can see your granddaughter when she wakes up.’
Trevanion looked disgruntled.
‘She’ll know it’s you the moment you walk in,’ Finnikin complained, ‘and she’ll think it’s a game and call out
Pardu Twevanion
all night. I’ve not slept for two years!’
Trevanion fixed his stare on the Queen, his anger still present.
‘I finished the business with the Osterians earlier than predicted,’ she explained, with a sigh. ‘I thought I’d come and visit before Finnikin’s meeting with the Sarnaks. Coincidentally, Lucian is also here so I get to see my husband and my cousin. I’m very lucky in that way.’
Finnikin and Froi laughed. Trevanion and Perri didn’t.
‘Where is Lucian?’ Trevanion asked.
‘Apparently checking the privy and mouse holes for Charynites.’
‘I’m glad you’re amused about the safekeeping of this family, my queen,’ Trevanion said.
The Queen regarded him coolly and in an instant the mood in the room changed.
‘Not amused at all, Captain,’ she said. ’I’m never amused about the safety of our family.’
Froi saw a flicker of regret on Trevanion’s face.
‘It’s just safer for you and the child to be in the palace, Isaboe,’ he said, his voice softening.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with remorse. ‘But it seemed so harmless and you know what it feels like after three days speaking about mines and goats with the Osterians. It’s what keeps them protected from invasion. The ability to bore the enemy to tears.’
There was a knock and without so much as an invitation to enter, Lucian of the Monts joined them, his stare going straight to the bruise on Finnikin’s face. Although not as tall as the river lads, Lucian had an imposing build and a temper to match. There was ruddiness to his cheeks courtesy of the mountain weather and a bluntness in all things about him that set Lucian apart from the other leaders of Lumatere. Froi remembered little of Lucian from those few days he spent with the Mont before Lucian’s father died in the battle to reclaim Lumatere. But many believed he was a changed lad since. Lord Augie said over and over again to Lady Abian that he was too young to control his kin on the mountain and protect the kingdom from the Charynites.
‘
Bastard
,’ Lucian said, turning to Froi. ‘Bastards, both of you. Fists only?’
‘Bit of wrestling thrown in,’ Finnikin said. ‘You can’t see his bruises, but I promise they’re there.’
Lucian had been the childhood companion of Finnikin and Isaboe’s brother, Balthazar. The two friends still spoke of the slaughtered heir to the throne as if he was there amongst them, but Froi had never heard them mention Balthazar in front of Isaboe.
‘How’s
Yata
?’ she asked, pecking her cousin’s cheek with a kiss.
Lucian sighed. ‘The Guard is going to have to come up the mountain after all,’ he said, not wasting time. ‘There’s been an incident.’
Froi recalled the tenseness of the Mont lads downstairs. He knew it could only mean one thing. On the foot of Lucian’s mountain on the Charyn side was a cavernous valley that belonged to Lumatere. Half a day’s ride east on horseback was the closest Charyn province, and at the end of winter, Charynites had begun to take refuge in the caves that perched over the valley and alongside the stream. A bold, desperate few had sent messages through Lucian, asking for refuge in Lumatere. The Queen declined, but the Charynites refused to go away and their numbers grew and grew each day.
Froi saw fear on the Queen’s face. The threat of the Charynites was always,
always
on her mind.
‘For two weeks now, we’ve had a message sent up from the valley through Tesadora. A Charynite, through a contact, has requested to meet with the Queen or Finnikin.’
‘Since when does a Charynite demand anything of us,’ the Queen demanded. ‘They’re fortunate enough to be using our valley.’
‘Who is the contact?’ Finnikin asked.
Lucian looked away and Froi realised he was avoiding the question.
‘Lucian?’ the Queen ordered.
The Mont turned back to her and still there was a moment of hesitation. ‘Phaedra.’
The room was quiet for a moment.
‘The wife you sent back?’ the Queen asked.
‘Do not call her that,’ Lucian snapped.
‘Watch your tone, Lucian,’ Finnikin warned.
The Charynite girl was an unspoken source of tension between the Monts and the Queen. At the beginning of spring the leader of Alonso, the closest Charynite province, had travelled up the mountain with his daughter Phaedra in tow, insisting on a meeting with Lucian. The Provincaro claimed that when his daughter was born he had entered a pact with Lucian’s father to betroth their children. After almost two years of petty skirmishes between the Mont lads and the sentinels of Alonso, and talk that the Provincaro of Alonso was out of sorts with his own king, Finnikin and Isaboe had agreed that perhaps they could use it to Lumatere’s advantage. Lucian had been furious. The girl was said to be frightened of her own shadow, spending most of her day sobbing in the corner of Lucian’s cottage. Froi had met her once. She had politely spoken to him in Lumateran about the endless rain, her pronunciation poor at times. Froi had repeated to her a lesson taught by the Priestking about what to do with particularly strange pairings of sounds. Phaedra had thanked him and he saw gratitude and kindness in her eyes.
The Monts despised Phaedra for more than being a Charynite. Mont women were strong and walked side by side with their men. Phaedra could barely boil water. Six weeks later, the girl left. Some said that Lucian threw her out, others that she walked out herself, but this was the first time her name had been mentioned by Lucian.
‘And what is Phaedra doing in an unprotected valley when one would presume she should be back in her province living with her father?’
‘She works alongside Tesadora as a translator and registers the newcomers as they arrive.’
Froi watched the Queen pretend to be confused. Lucian didn’t stand a chance in this exchange.
‘Let me get this right. Phaedra failed at being a good Mont wife, but she can run a camp of hundreds of fleeing Charynites, translate for Tesadora, and has somehow managed to be affiliated with a faction demanding a meeting with my king and I?’
Lucian turned to Finnikin for support.
‘Don’t look at me, Lucian,’ Finnikin said. ‘Don’t even try to involve me in this one.’
Lucian held up his hands with exasperation. ‘She was useless, I tell you! Even
Yata
would agree.’
‘Why is she still in the valley?’ Isaboe demanded.
Froi watched the flicker of regret cross the Mont’s face.
‘According to Tesadora’s girls, the Provincaro refused to take his daughter back into his home. Phaedra lives in the caves now.’
The Queen nodded. Froi knew that nod. It was the gesture she used when simmering with fury.
‘The wife of the Mont Leader is living in a filthy cave?’
‘You show respect for her now, my queen,’ Lucian said angrily. ‘Yet you failed to attend my bonding ceremony.’
‘You married her in Alonso, Lucian.’ The stare she sent him was cold, and apart from Finnikin, Lucian was the only man who ever dared to match it. Isaboe and her Mont cousins did this often. All of them. They fought fiercely. Loved each other fiercely. Laughed fiercely. Finnikin said it was best to leave the room and let them shout. It would all blow over soon, but for Lucian’s sake, Froi would have welcomed sooner rather than later.
‘Tell the girl that I do not meet with Charynites and if they dare make the command again –’
‘I haven’t actually told you the worst of it,’ Lucian interrupted.
The room grew quiet. Tense. Froi felt the hairs on his arm rise.
Lucian kept his stare focused on his cousin. ‘And may I stress that no one is hurt.’
There was a deadly silence in the room.
‘This morning in the valley, a Charynite took a dagger to Japhra’s throat,’ he said, referring to one of Tesadora’s novices.
Froi leapt to his feet. He heard the Queen’s cry, Finnikin’s hiss of fury. The Captain’s fists were clenched tight. Perri was gone from the room before another word was spoken.
‘Japhra’s staying in
Yata’s
home for the night, but insists on returning with Tesadora to the valley tomorrow.’
‘And the Charynite?’ Trevanion asked.
‘He’s under guard.’
The Queen looked at Finnikin. Froi saw fear in Isaboe’s expression that sickened him. The Queen’s anxiety about a possible attack from the Charynites had grown tenfold since the birth of her child.
‘You go with your father and Perri,’ she said to Finnikin.
Finnikin looked torn. ‘The Sarnak Ambassador –’
‘I’ll speak to the Sarnak Ambassador,’ she said.
‘No!’ Finnikin shouted.
‘And what would you prefer?’ she asked him sharply. ‘That I travel up to the mountain and interview a potential Charyn assassin?’
‘I’d prefer that Aldron takes you and Jasmina back to the palace,’ Finnikin said. ‘I’ll speak to the Ambassador, shorten our meeting and then travel up to the mountain.’
‘And while you’re at it, why don’t you plough every field in the kingdom and check the nets in the river?’ she said, sharply. ‘Then go up to the Rock quarry and break your back working alongside your kin. And perhaps work in the mines after that.’