Quintana of Charyn (44 page)

But he held his tongue.

‘Some are saying she’ll be your new wife, Lucian.’

Orly muttered something rude and Lucian had to agree.

Lotte peered beyond him towards the path that ran through the mountain.

‘Is that one of your aunts?’ she asked, somewhat alarmed. ‘Is she running? Sweet Goddess, Lucian. Something’s happened.’

Lucian leapt over Orly’s post to reach his aunt.

‘Lucian, Lucian,’ she called out, her face lit with excitement. ‘Phaedra’s returned to the valley!’

His mouth was suddenly dry. His heart was pounding too fast, his face felt aflame. Lotte and Orly caught up with them, Lotte trilling with excitement. He had to get away from them all to think clearly. He had to work out what to do and how not to ruin things. But he couldn’t do it here, and it was clear to Lucian that there’d be no more work done with Lotte and Orly, so he gently steered his aunt back home.

‘Too much work to be done around here to be wasting time,’ he said to her calmly. They passed Jory and the lads, who were rounding up the sheep on Yael’s spread.

‘See,’ he said, pointing. ‘The lads have got the right idea. Work and no talk.’

‘Lucian,’ Jory hollered, jumping from his mount and running towards them. ‘Phaedra’s back.’

‘Be quick! You’ll lose her again!’ another cousin shouted.

In the Mont market square, Lucian was surrounded instantly. By everyone. He hadn’t seen such a gathering since Isaboe had returned for the first time since the death of her child. The mountain had celebrated that day. Finnikin had begged Lucian, ‘Tell them that their sorrow will break her. She’s come for their joy.’ And the Monts had tried.

Today, he saw a truer version of that joy.

‘I’m going down to Lumatere,’ he muttered and there was
a collective sigh of annoyance.

‘Lucian, don’t be ridiculous,’ his cousin Alda snapped. ‘If you’re going to betroth yourself to that useless Tascan’s daughter, you’ll be insulting the women of this mountain and the memory of your poor mother.’

‘Don’t know what was wrong with the first wife,’ Pitts the cobbler said.

‘Yes, yes,’ most agreed.

‘I always said that if Phaedra of Alonso’s people weren’t cursed, those hips of hers were made for child-bearing,’ Ettore the blacksmith piped up.

Lucian caught his
yata
’s eye and he could see she was seething about something. She turned to them all, fire blazing in her eyes.

‘When Lady Zarah visited last, the little miss turned up her nose at the food on our table! I jest you not!’ she said.

There were gasps of outrage all around.

‘A good riddance to her now that Phaedra’s back!’

There was a cheer at
Yata
’s words.

Goddess forbid, Lucian had to get off this mountain.

 

 

M
ost things had changed.

At the bridge leading to the Citavita was a guard station. No one was permitted to cross without dismounting. A garrison was camped on a piece of land by the road, swarming with soldiers asking questions and allowing entry onto the bridge, one person at a time.

‘What’s your business?’ Froi was asked. He recognised no one among the guards.

‘I’m from Lumatere,’ he replied. Lies only created problems. Even so, the man looked at him suspiciously. He indicated for Froi to raise his arms.

‘Shoulder, ankle and here,’ Froi said, patting the sword in its scabbard at his side. ‘All weapons revealed. Is there a rule about being armed?’

‘No, but there’s a rule about having a smart mouth.’

And some things stayed the same.

Unlike every other person before and after him, Froi found himself escorted across the bridge. Beast was just as disgusted. Halfway across, Froi stopped, daring to look down the gravina
and then ahead through the mist at the splendour of the Citavita’s stone piled high.

How could he have imagined that Gargarin’s sigh that first time they arrived here was of anything but pleasure?

He continued walking, his heart thumping with anticipation. Home, it sang. You’re home. But he argued back with that part of his heart that couldn’t let go of the Flatlands. Until he stepped onto the Citavita. Home, his heart sang.

He steered Beast off the bridge and looked around. There were no street lords demanding a coin for use of the bridge. There was no wretched line of Citavitans desperate to leave the carnage behind. Instead, a marketplace was set up at the base of the rock and there was haggling and shouting. And laughter. Froi had never heard laughter in the Citavita.

He saw the sentinels instantly, guarding the roof of the Crow’s Inn. He imagined Scarpo’s men would be swarming the capital now that most of its people were returning to their homes. As he was led towards the walls of the city, a dozen or so soldiers came striding towards him.

‘Now that doesn’t surprise me,’ the guard escorting him said. ‘A welcoming party.’

‘My favourite type of party in the world,’ Froi muttered.

Could he expect less, leading a Serker horse?

‘I’m actually on my way to the godshouse to see the Priestling Arjuro,’ Froi explained. He wasn’t much in the mood for being interrogated by a group of soldiers who didn’t know him and wouldn’t believe a word he said.

‘The Priestling’s a busy man.’

Before they could exchange another word, one of the approaching soldiers broke free and lifted Froi off the ground in an embrace.

Mort.

‘Where you been, Froi?’

Mort was shoved out of the way and Florik was there.

‘We’ve been taking odds to see whether you’d return,’ the Lasconian said.

Froi looked from one to the other, laughing. ‘You’re both on the same duty?’

Mort and Florik placed arms around each other’s shoulders. They looked strange in uniform, but it suited them.

‘I’m teaching him thing or two,’ Mort said. ‘Lasconian lads know nothing.’

‘Except how to speak better than Turlan lads,’ Florik said. ‘So I’m teaching him a thing or two.’

Within moments, more of the fortress lads were surrounding him and Froi embraced and shook hands with as many as he recognised.

‘We take things from here,’ Mort told Froi’s guard. Mort moved in closer. ‘I got rank,’ he whispered. ‘Turlans outrank everyone on this rock.’

‘Who says?’ Froi asked.

‘She say. She don’t get much power, but she picks whoever protects Citavita, and our Quintana pick the Turlans.’

Smart girl. No one would protect Quintana and Tariq better than her kin.

‘How are things here?’ Froi asked.

How is Quintana and Gargarin and Lirah and Arjuro and my son? he meant.

‘Gettin’ there slow-wise,’ Mort said. ‘But gettin’ there all the same.’

‘What you doin’ here, Froi?’ another Turlan asked. ‘You here for the –’

The lad was nudged into silence. Froi saw their unease, so he held up his pack. ‘Palace business from Lumatere,’ he said.

Mort shoved Froi playfully. ‘Told you lads this one no soldier boy. He’s a palace big man.’

Froi laughed at the description.

‘We’d take you up there, but Scarpo would skin us if we left our post,’ Florik said.

Mort pointed up to the roof of the Crow’s Inn. ‘That’s where I aim from and if there a problem, fastest lad in Charyn here races to the castle and let ’em know,’ he said, shoving at Florik’s head.

Florik looked slightly sheepish. ‘Second fastest.’

‘Did you see Grij on your travels?’ one of the lads from Lascow asked. ‘He was on his way to Lumatere to deliver Phaedra of Alonso back to the valley.’

Froi shook his head, annoyed to think he missed seeing Grij in Lumatere of all places.

‘He would have travelled another path,’ he said. ‘I came through Osteria.’

‘He’ll be back soon,’ Florik said. ‘So you wait for him, Froi. He’ll not like missing you twice.’

‘And come see us at our post.’

Froi promised to return to the inn and made his way up the city wall to the road that led to the godshouse. He couldn’t avoid seeing the castle battlements, but he forced himself to look away.

On the path above the caves towards the godshouse, he was bewildered to see a cluster of women coming and going.

The Priestling’s a busy man,
the soldier had said. Busy doing what?

Inside the godshouse it was stranger still. More women, as well as the
collegiati
Froi recognised from his days in the caves under Sebastabol. The entire lower level of the godshouse was bustling with activity. Questions were being asked, orders were being given. And then Froi noticed the swollen bellies and understood why.

He gently pushed past the women up the steps, and at each floor Froi glimpsed well-lit rooms and once-empty cells now decorated with a sense of home. He thought of these steps. Where he had first discovered that Gargarin was his father. The cells where he had found out for certain that Lirah was his mother. Each flight he climbed was a memory and the closer he got to the top, the more hurried his steps became. Because he had missed them all with an ache that had never gone away and he was desperate to see them. That was it, he convinced himself. Just one glance at them all. The higher he climbed, the less noise he heard, and by the time he reached the Hall of Illumination, the godshouse had returned to its quiet self.

Inside the room, he could see through the windows out onto the Citavita, and from the balconette out onto the palace.

Arjuro sat at a long bench, head bent over his books; plants and stems spread across the space before him. Froi caught his breath.

‘If you’re here about the Jidian invitation, tell them I’d rather swive a goat,’ Arjuro murmured, not looking up.

Froi stepped closer.

‘Must I, blessed Arjuro?’

Arjuro looked up in shock.

Froi grinned. ‘For those of us at the godshouse are well known for swiving goats and I’d prefer not to give them weapons of ridicule.’

Arjuro stood and grabbed Froi into an embrace, his arms trembling. Froi pushed him away, unable to get rid of the grin on his face.

‘Sentimental, Arjuro? You of all people.’

Arjuro studied his face. ‘Me of all people can be as sentimental as he pleases.’

And then he was taking Froi’s hand, leading him to the steps of the roof garden.

‘Lirah,’ Arjuro called out. ‘Come down and greet our guest.’

Froi caught his breath again.

‘If it’s about the Jidian invitation, I said no,’ she shouted back.

‘The Jidian Provincara’s in town, I’m supposing,’ Froi said quietly.

‘They’re all coming to town,’ Arjuro said with a grimace. ‘And everyone wants to visit the godshouse.’

Froi nodded, and suddenly he understood. It’s what Mort and Florik stopped the lad from saying outside the inn.

‘They’re here for her betrothment?’ Froi asked.

Arjuro nodded. ‘Five days from now, they decide who he is.’

‘Lirah!’ Arjuro bellowed again. He pointed up, rolling his eyes. ‘They say the Ambassador of Nebia’s wife has taken over Lirah’s roof garden in the palace.’

‘Lirah’s prison garden, you mean,’ Froi said.

‘Lirah says it’s her garden. She’s livid. So she’s determined to make our garden better.’

Our? Froi shook his head with disbelief. The idea of Arjuro and Lirah having something together was too strange.

‘Are you not going to come down for me, Lirah?’ Froi called out softly. ‘I’ve come a long way and I’d hate to return to the Lumaterans and tell them how inhospitable you are here in Charyn.’

There was no response but suddenly Lirah peered down the steps, the sun behind her illuminating her face. She had kept her hair short and without the grime of travel and with her sea-blue dress, she looked regal.

She descended the steps and Froi helped her down the last few and then she was there before him.

‘What’s this?’ she asked gruffly, touching the fluff of hair on his chin.

‘A pathetic attempt at a beard,’ he said. ‘It’s not working,
is it? Which is so unfair when you think of the face of hair Arjuro had when I first met him.’

She smiled. ‘Regardless of their might as warriors, the Serkan lads could never grow one.’

Lirah reached out and touched Froi’s face as if she couldn’t believe he was standing before her.

‘Wait until you see him,’ she said, and there were tears in her eyes. ‘Wait until you see the wonder that’s our boy. Sometimes when they smuggle me into the palace we lie there, Gargarin and I, with this little bundle between us and we count all his fingers and toes. And in all the joy it’s only a reminder of how much we lost and there are some days that I don’t think he can bear the memory.’

Froi took her hand and pressed a kiss to it.

‘Gargarin thought he found a way,’ she said. ‘But now he believes it’s lost and he’s bitter, Froi. Why were your Lumaterans so cruel? If they loved you, they would not have been so cruel.’

‘Cruel?’ he asked. ‘Lirah, Gargarin left me behind without a thought. That’s cruel. The Lumaterans have proved themselves to me over and over again. What has he done?’

Arjuro joined them with a jug of brew and a bowl of broth.

‘Have you seen our guest?’ Lirah asked quietly, and Froi shook his head and followed her into a chamber. Its walls were adorned with rugs on one side, books stacked high on the other. A cot and fireplace occupied one corner. At first Froi thought there was a child lying on the bed, but then he realised the truth.

‘You can speak to him. He can hear you.’

Froi took a step closer, wincing at the skeletal figure that lay before him.

‘Hello, Rafuel. Do you remember me?’ Froi asked, his voice catching to see the man in such a state.

Lirah took Rafuel’s hand. ‘He’s to save his breath and get
himself well,’ she said. ‘If anyone can get you back on your feet, it’s Arjuro, isn’t that so, Rafuel?’

There was no response. Just the stare. Rafuel was all eyes in a shrunken body. His left eye was half-closed and there was a scar across his lip.

‘Let’s get you seated upright,’ Arjuro said to Rafuel. Froi helped, suddenly overcome by emotion. He couldn’t recognise Rafuel as the same animated man who had shown him the way a Charynite danced, even though he had been in chains. Froi sat down beside Rafuel on the bed.

‘This one loves nothing better than when the little King visits,’ Arjuro said, placing a spoon to Rafuel’s mouth. ‘His eyes light up like a beacon.’

Froi looked away, unable to watch. He had never seen a man look so much like death. It almost seemed too cruel to keep him alive.

‘How did you come to be here, Rafuel?’ Froi asked, knowing that it would be one of the others who would answer. But he didn’t want to insult the man into believing he didn’t exist.

‘Gargarin demanded it the moment we found out he lived,’ Lirah said. ‘Rafuel belongs here with us. It all began with him, didn’t it, dear friend, with those silly cats? Where would we all be without Rafuel?’

‘I can take over here,’ Froi said, holding his hand out for the bowl. ‘I’ve got much to tell you, Rafuel. About the valley and the women who beg for news of you.’

He returned to where Lirah and Arjuro sat in the hall, his emotions ragged.

‘Will he get better?’

Arjuro shrugged. ‘We don’t know what’s broken inside of him up here,’ he said, pointing to his head. ‘We don’t know how
much of it came from the beating he received upon his arrest or from being left for dead in that mine shaft.’

‘But when he first arrived, he could barely open his eyes,’ Lirah said. ‘Quintana visits with Tariq every day and it’s been a revelation to see how much he’s changed in the presence of the boy.’

Froi was suddenly envious of them all. Even Rafuel with his decrepit body. They had each other, despite the fact that they lived in separate places. Quintana and Tariq and Lirah and Arjuro and Gargarin and even Rafuel hadn’t needed Froi. They had begun to thrive without him.

‘Will she want to see me?’ he asked quietly.