Quintana of Charyn (16 page)

Phaedra looked away, shamed again.

‘I said no such thing.’

‘Then what did you say?’

‘Not the truth,’ she cried. ‘I didn’t tell them the worst parts. That when we mated you didn’t look at me. You didn’t say a word. Not once. And then you discarded me and lay with your Mont girls. So I’d have to hear the women in your village speak of how the Charynite girl was useless in all things.’

He pointed a finger at her face. ‘I don’t break bonds! I lay with no woman until you left.
You.
All this talk of the wife I sent back when it was your tears that begged me to send you back. Preferring to live in those filthy caves rather than share my home … my bed. Because I’m some animal.’

She stared at him through hot tears.

‘That’s not what I –’

‘And then you came back and I thought things were different.’ Lucian walked away, but then swung back around and she could see the hurt in his eyes.

‘I grieved for you,’ he blurted out, as if it was the last thing he wanted to admit. And Phaedra stepped back from him, frightened by the emotion of his words. She tripped on a raised tree root and suddenly Quintana was there, flying at Lucian, a fist to his temple.

Tesadora reached them, trying to pull Quintana away. ‘Lower your voices,’ Tesadora hissed. ‘We’re still close enough to Charyn for your words to be heard.’

Quintana’s other fist landed on Lucian’s arm.

‘Stop!’ Phaedra cried, gripping both of Quintana’s hands. ‘Stop,’ she wept. ‘All of you.’

She dared to glance up at Lucian and he pointed at them both.

‘Keep out of my sight,’ he said with such hatred in his voice, Phaedra had no idea whether he was speaking about her or Quintana. ‘Keep her out of my sight or I don’t know what I’ll do.’

 

 

T
he ocean was a strange thing to Froi. He wasn’t much of an adventurer; he had discovered that about himself only after he was settled in Lumatere. He would have been happy to stay and never leave the confines of Lord August’s farm if he’d had the choice. Finnikin and Isaboe were different. Despite how ugly the world had been to them, they had both experienced the freedom of an open road for most of their life in exile. If his queen and her king had the chance, he knew they’d escape together to see the land on their terms.

The Ocean of Skuldenore would have made their heads spin.

They arrived late afternoon and Froi had been surprised at just how close the underground community of Trist was to the port capital. Not even half a day’s ride. He thought of the
collegiati
and the feast of sights that would meet them once they escaped the confines of their safe prison.

Gargarin found them a room in a sea merchant’s cottage high above the city. The town steps down to the port of Sebastabol lay outside their lodging and Froi questioned whether it was a good idea for Gargarin to attempt the steep climb.

‘We’re better off at an inn down below,’ Froi said.

Gargarin shook his head. ‘I want Lirah to have the view.’

Their room was on the top floor and it had a balcony that indeed afforded them a spectacular view over the rooftops, the bustling port and the ocean beyond. It seemed to stretch out forever and Froi heard Lirah’s gasp as she stared out at it. Gargarin stood behind her, his good arm around her body, his head close to hers.

‘Did I not promise to show you the ocean one day?’ he said softly, tenderly.

‘Nineteen years is worth the wait,’ she responded, her voice filled with emotion.

It only served to remind Froi that Lirah and Gargarin had been imprisoned a long time and most of their hopes of freedom had come from books. Stories, he thought. All they created was a yearning for faraway places.

He stayed inside, not wanting to intrude. Watching their intimacy made him feel awkward. He was born out of that intimacy and all Froi’s life he had believed he’d come from something sordid. He had greater difficulty understanding the reality of this strange love than accepting the nightmare he had grown up believing to be truth.

‘Don’t you want to see it?’ Gargarin said, stepping aside to make room. So Froi joined them, because he wanted to be part of the contentment between the two. He could see that much like Paladozza, the townspeople of the port city of Sebastabol lived in dwellings built from quarried stone rather than carved out of caves. But he could also see they were being spied on by at least one man disguised as a peddler, and another two outside a baker’s house.

‘We have company,’ he said.

Gargarin sighed. ‘People can’t seem to keep away from us,’
he said. ‘How many are we talking about?’

‘Three. Not in uniform, but definitely soldiers. What’s the Provincaro’s security like?’

‘Extensive. I’d be surprised if he hadn’t sent out a welcoming party.’ Gargarin sounded more bored than annoyed. ‘The Provincaro was always torn between thinking I was a spy for the King, and wanting to move me into the residence as his advisor.’

Gargarin stepped inside and Froi followed.

‘We’re going to have to pay a visit,’ Gargarin said.

‘Whatever you say.’

Now Gargarin looked truly irritated.

‘No, I mean it,’ Froi said. ‘I’m not trying to challenge you. Whatever you say.’

Lirah joined them inside and Froi watched Gargarin send her a look that he couldn’t quite work out.

‘What?’ Froi asked, angry.

Gargarin didn’t respond. He collected his cloak and staff. ‘Lirah, you stay here,’ he said. ‘Froi will come with me. Don’t let anyone in. If we fail to return, you wait a day and then make your way back to the Priests and find Arjuro.’

‘Why wouldn’t you return?’ she asked sharply.

‘Because this is Charyn,’ Gargarin said, bitterness lacing his words. ‘People go and buy a loaf of bread and don’t come back.’

He pressed a kiss to her mouth.

‘If he returns wounded, I won’t be happy,’ Lirah said, and Froi didn’t know whether she was speaking of him or Gargarin.

If not for the annoyance of being followed, Froi would have enjoyed Gargarin’s lessons about tacking and winds and the moon and the sun and the spring tide.

‘Can you just hold that thought?’ he told Gargarin, pushing him into an alleyway and waiting for the right time before his
hand shot out to grab the throat of their pursuer, pressing the man against the stone wall beside Gargarin.

‘Is there something we can help you with?’ Froi asked politely.

‘The Provincaro requests your presence,’ the man wheezed.

‘Well, what a coincidence,’ Gargarin said. ‘We were just going to visit him.’

‘Yes,’ Froi said. ‘Tell your friends to come along and join us. The more, the merrier.’

The Provincaro’s man hesitated, opened his mouth to deny the presence of the others, but then seemed to change his mind and made a signal. In no time, four other men joined them.

‘Five of them?’ Gargarin asked Froi. ‘You said there were only three. You’re slipping in your old age.’

Froi shrugged and they continued walking.

‘Where was I?’

‘Neap tides.’

‘Ah yes, the neap tides …’

The Provincaro’s fort was perched at the end of a long stone pier that jutted out to sea. Froi could see it was a treacherous coastline and could not understand anyone’s desire to leave dry land.

‘Sagra! You’d be a fool to sail out there,’ he said.

‘It’s a life of uncertainty for the sailors,’ Gargarin said. ‘There’s been many a wreck against those rocks.’

A good deterrent for those planning to attack Sebastabol from sea.

By the time Froi and Gargarin reached the entrance, a welcoming party that included De Lancey and his guards was waiting there for them.

‘Any news?’ De Lancey asked urgently. ‘Do you know where she is?’ he demanded of Froi. Was there accusation in his voice?

Froi looked away. He had been dreading this meeting and hadn’t expected to see the Provincaro of Paladozza so soon.

‘We’ll find her,’ Gargarin said. He eyed De Lancey suspiciously. ‘You made no mention of this meeting with the Provincari when I was in Paladozza.’

De Lancey waved a hand of irritation. ‘Gargarin, don’t pick a fight. I’m annoyed enough with all of you,’ he said. ‘How did you know I was here anyway?’ he added.

‘We’re not in Sebastabol for you, De Lancey. We’re here to pass on a message from the Priests of Trist, who aren’t too happy about such a gathering taking place without them.’

De Lancey ushered them in and they followed him up a set of winding steps.

‘This is a Provincari’s meeting, last I was told,’ De Lancey argued. ‘Since when do the Priests make decisions in this kingdom, Gargarin?’

‘Since when do the Provincari?’ Gargarin responded.

De Lancey reached the top of the steps, staring down at them both. ‘Since we don’t have a king, and our princess has disappeared carrying the possible heir!’

Froi stiffened, knowing he wasn’t mistaken in hearing an accusation.

‘I hope this means you’re combining your armies,’ Gargarin said.

De Lancey hesitated and shook his head.

‘It just means we’re finding common ground,’ he replied. ‘And you’re here at the right time. They were overjoyed to hear you had been sighted.’

They walked down a long torchlit passageway, from which Froi could see a short walkway leading into another section of the residence.

‘Just agree to everything they say, Gargarin,’ De Lancey said
softly. ‘We need to be unanimous about matters and you seem to be the only thing we agree upon.’

‘Is Grij here with you?’ Froi asked quietly.

De Lancey shook his head. ‘I’ve sent him and Tippideaux to … a safe house. We’re going to ground in Paladozza. Bestiano is desperate to find Quintana and with the help of Nebia’s army, he may just do so.’ De Lancey’s expression was bleak. ‘Did you know the Belegonians are on our doorstep, Gar? I thought you were travelling to the border to strike up a deal.’

‘Things changed,’ Gargarin said. ‘But for now Lumatere, at least, is not a threat to us. I can’t speak for the future, but their immediate plan is not to invade from the north.’

They stepped inside a large hall that afforded them a view of the ocean from three sides of the room. In its centre was a long bench that sat at least eight people. The individual guards of each province stood close to their Provincaro, watching suspiciously for any threat from another. At the head of the table was an older man with skin weathered by the sea, who was presumably the Provincaro of Sebastabol. He stood and walked towards them, extending a hand to Gargarin.

‘It’s as if we conjured you up, Gargarin,’ he said. The man’s eyes rested on Froi.

‘Is this the Lumateran impostor?’ the man asked. ‘How could he have ever passed as a Sebastabolion?’

‘How could a Sebastabolion lastborn betray the mother of our cursebreaker?’ Gargarin asked in return.

The Provincaro’s mouth was a thin line of anger.

‘Olivier no longer exists for us. He will never have a place here again and his entire family has been banished. He has a price on his head, and if he shows his face there’ll be a noose to greet him.’

Froi wasn’t expecting to hear such a definitive punishment. It made his stomach lurch regardless of how he felt about Olivier of Sebastabol.

‘Who is he really?’ the Provincaro asked Gargarin, indicating Froi with a toss of his head.

‘Froi of the Lumateran Flatlands,’ Gargarin replied without missing a beat. ‘He’s my personal guard, if you must know. But from a Lumateran perspective, he was sent as a spy, so until we can get him back to his people we’re going to have to keep him safe.’

Part of it was truth and part a lie. Gargarin’s purpose, however, was unclear. Why was it so important to Gargarin that the Provincari knew Froi was a Lumateran?

The Provincaro was studying Gargarin suspiciously. ‘And you trust him?’

‘He does me a favour. I do him a favour,’ Gargarin said. ‘It’s a good arrangement.’

The Provincaro indicated the room. Froi recognised one or two faces, and then he froze at the same time Gargarin spoke.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Gargarin demanded. ‘He’s not a Provincaro.’

Vinzenzo of Avanosh was sitting smugly beside Orlanda of Jidia. Froi had met him in Paladozza and hadn’t trusted him from the moment the man arrived with his family and nephew, Feliciano. Avanosh was an island off Charyn and Sorel, considered neutral despite being part of Charyn long ago. When the Avanosh lot had come with talk of Feliciano being Quintana’s Consort and rumours the island was aligned with the kingdom of Sorel, Froi had decided to escape with Quintana.

‘In these times of turmoil, we all agree that Avanosh has much to offer Charyn,’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh said. ‘I’m afraid we didn’t get to meet in Paladozza, Gargarin. You were ill, I hear.’

Vinzenzo looked around the table. ‘Yes, I do recall the dead King’s Serker whore mentioned it.’

There was whispering among those sitting around the table and Froi watched Gargarin’s hand clench his staff.

‘Sit, Gargarin,’ De Lancey ordered.

Froi wasn’t invited to sit, so he waited for a signal from Gargarin, who merely handed him the staff. Froi took it and went to stand beside one of De Lancey’s guards by the entrance.

‘We’re here to make decisions about the new Charyn,’ the Provincaro of Sebastabol said, once he was seated again. ‘A new Charyn that will exist, both if a king is born and if she gives birth to a girl child –’

‘Her Majesty Quintana of Charyn,’ Gargarin interrupted.

They all looked at him questioningly.

‘She is the Queen,’ Gargarin continued. ‘She was married to Tariq of Lascow, the heir. So it’s best that we refer to her as the Queen of Charyn. I stressed that to Orlanda and De Lancey when we were guests in their provinces.’

The Provincari looked uncomfortable and Froi watched them find each other’s eyes across the table.

The Provincaro of Sebastabol cleared his throat. ‘What’s important is that we decide –’

‘What’s important,’ Gargarin interrupted again, ‘is that Quintana of Charyn is acknowledged as the Queen. She is carrying the cursebreaker and possibly our future King.’

‘Regardless of her title, she has no power,’ Orlanda of Jidia said.

‘Move on,’ one of the other men ordered gruffly. It could only have been the Provincaro of Alonso. Phaedra’s father. Grief-stricken and bitter.

Froi watched Gargarin push back his chair and stand, slightly unbalanced on his feet. Froi reached him and handed him his staff.

‘Then my time here is wasted,’ Gargarin said.

There was dismay from most occupants of the room.

‘What are you doing, Gargarin?’

‘Sit, sit.’

Gargarin shook his head. ‘I’m here to pass on a message from the Priests of Trist who believe that they have a role in the new Charyn. It would be to your best advantage to include them. The people of Charyn will want the Oracle’s godshouse reopened and working alongside whoever is in the palace. That is my duty done. But if you would like me to stay to discuss the new Charyn, which will exist after the Queen of Charyn gives birth to the cursebreaker, then I will stay.’