Quintana of Charyn (46 page)

 

 

O
n the day the Provincari of Charyn were to choose Quintana’s consort, Froi sat on the roof of the Crow’s Inn with Mort and Florik, the lads staring down at every potential suitor who arrived in the Citavita. Each candidate brought with them a large enough entourage to impress, and Froi’s heart sank with every step they took closer to Quintana and his son.

‘The Osterians,’ Florik said sombrely, indicating the procession crossing the bridge with great ceremony. Froi had come to realise that the more banners a kingdom had, the more useless they were.

‘They say he could be the one,’ Froi said. ‘The Osterian.’

‘Why?’ Mort asked.

‘Apparently no mad blood or inbreeding for the past hundred years.’ Froi watched the Osterian prince as he stepped onto the rock of the Citavita.

Mort stood and walked to the edge of the roof. ‘Easy if a bolt flew out of my longbow right between Osterian’s legs. Accidents happen, lads.’

‘You’d start a war with the only kingdom who hasn’t gone to war for its whole existence,’ Florik said. ‘Not your best idea, Mort.’

Mort looked back at Froi and managed a grin. ‘Gods are smiling, Froi. Think I see our Grij.’

It was both Grij and Satch who arrived, and Froi had never been so happy for their company.

‘Why did you stay, Froi?’ Grij begged to know as they made their way up to the castle, arms around each other’s shoulders.

‘She w … w … won’t want you th … th … there,’ Satch said. ‘T … too painful.’

‘Then what are you both doing here?’ he asked.

Satch shrugged.

‘C … couldn’t bear for her to b … be alone this day.’

When they reached the drawbridge they lined up behind a crowd of foreigners, waiting to enter. They had left their weapons with Mort and the lads, knowing only the little King’s palace guards would be allowed into the palace armed. Everyone who travelled through the gates, whether prince or servant, was checked for weapons. Today, every soldier in the palace was on guard and tension was high among Scarpo and his men. Froi finally reached the portcullis, but Olivier appeared before him. He had seen glimpses of the lastborn since his arrival five days ago, but it was the first time they had come face to face.

‘Let me pass,’ Froi said, his tone cold.

Oliver looked beyond Froi to where Satch and Grijio stood.

‘You call yourself his friends and you bring him here?’ Olivier demanded.

‘You try stopping him,’ Grij said.

‘It’s not right!’ Olivier said.

‘Let me pass,’ Froi said again, but he couldn’t find the anger anymore. He just felt the tears biting at his eyes.

Inside the great hall, there was barely room to move. Froi and the lads found themselves close to the back, fighting for space among horses and hounds. Some of the suitors had animals with them, until Perabo ordered anything on four legs to be taken to the stables or their two-legged owners would be removed themselves. The fool Feliciano of Avanosh joined them soon after, and Grijio, always diplomatic, allowed him to stay.

When Quintana entered the great hall holding the little King, a hush came over the room. Some had never seen Tariq before. As the only babe in Charyn, people were in awe of him wherever he went. The Provincari followed and each acknowledged Quintana and the boy with a bow before being seated on a raised platform. Froi was pleased to see Ariston and Dolyn there to represent the rights of Turla and Lascow. He watched Tariq squirm in Quintana’s arms and she placed him on the ground and Dorcas and Fekra had a hard time trying to keep up with him as he crawled between the Provincari’s feet.

‘They’re saying the Prince from Osteria will win the day,’ Feliciano said.

‘We’ve heard,’ Froi muttered.

‘He’s brainless, according to my father,’ Grij explained.

‘Exactly what the P … Provincaro wants,’ Satch said. ‘Someone they can all control.’

‘And why aren’t you in contention?’ Froi asked Feliciano coldly.

‘My uncle owes money,’ Feliciano admitted. ‘A lot of it. He believes we have a better chance of paying his debts if I marry the daughter of the Osterian archduke. We’re in with a very
strong chance. They’re taking marriage requests for her in three days’ time.’

‘Then why are you here?’ Froi asked.

‘Avanosh has been accepted as a province. My uncle will have a vote in the decision.’

Another candidate and his entourage entered through the great doors behind Froi and his friends. They were from Sarnak. Froi would know a Sarnak in his sleep. They had ruddy cheeks and high foreheads. And they married young.

‘I don’t have much experience determining the age of people younger than us,’ Grij said, catching a glimpse of the new arrivals, ‘but is he …’

‘Twelve. Possibly thirteen,’ Froi said.

‘F … F … Froi,’ Satch said quietly. ‘L … let’s go. This will only end in heart … b … break.’

Froi dismissed the suggestions. Whether he stayed or went, the heartbreak would be the same.

They saw Olivier again, pushing through to oversee the ever-growing crowd by the doors.

‘Olivier!’ Grij called out. ‘Olivier. What are they saying? We can’t hear a thing.’

Olivier reached them, trying to catch his breath after being squeezed between two large Sorellians.

‘The Yuts of the Nord walked out,’ Olivier said. ‘Your father, Grij, asked them what they had done with the heir of Yutlind Sud. They didn’t like the question.’

The crowd surged forward. There seemed to be a commotion at the entrance. Olivier was gone within moments.

Froi’s eyes followed him.

‘What’s happened to his family? The Provincaro of Sebastabol claimed to have expelled them from the province.’

Satch and Grij exchanged a look.

‘Desantos has t … taken them in,’ Satch said. ‘I will always underst … st … stand your anger, Froi, but in t … trying to make amends, he risked his life again and again.’

‘He’ll never be the same lad,’ Grijio said. ‘He refuses to befriend any of the Guard and keeps to himself. He’s a stranger, this Olivier. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for what he did.’

There was a surge forward again and shouts of exasperation. At the front of the hall, people were oblivious to the disturbance at the back.

‘Probably another mountain goat from Osteria and his herd,’ Grijio muttered.

The noise at the entrance became louder.

‘Something’s happening back there,’ Grijio said. ‘Hitch me up, so I can see.’

Froi and Satch hitched Grijio up onto their shoulders and he peered over their heads towards the grand entrance. Grij’s peering turned into shock as he looked back down to Froi.

‘What is it?’ Feliciano asked.

‘Froi,’ Grijio said calmly. ‘I think I recognise your queen’s cousin from my time in the valley after the battle. He’s just shoved his way into the hall.’

‘
What?
’

Grij climbed down and they lifted Froi up onto their shoulders. He looked towards the crowded entrance. He could see nothing but an irate crowd being pushed forward. Olivier and one of the guards were attempting to shove their way through the crowd to see what was taking place.

And then Froi saw Lucian.

And Finn.

And Perri. The three of them were searching above the heads of those around them.

Sagra!

‘
Here!
’ Froi shouted, holding up a hand. ‘
Lucian!
’

The Lumaterans had managed to cause a small riot near the entrance and there was too much noise to be heard. Meanwhile, the onlookers standing around Froi yanked him down.

‘We can’t hear a thing, you fool,’ one snapped.

Froi climbed back up again, slapping away at the hands that were pulling at him.

‘What can you see?’ Grij shouted.

Froi could still see Olivier shoving his way towards the entrance to investigate the small brawl that seemed to have taken place.

‘Olivier!’ he shouted. The lastborn must have heard, because he turned and Froi pointed towards the entrance and then to himself.

‘Lumaterans! They’re with –’

He was yanked off Grijio and Feliciano’s shoulder before he could speak another word. So he pushed headfirst into the crowd, telling himself he could have imagined one, but not all three. Close to the entrance he hit a wall of a man. One who was determined Froi would not pass him by. Until a hand covered the face of the man and shoved him out of the way.

‘Lucian? What are you doing here?’ Froi asked.

Grij, Satch and Feliciano had followed, staring at the Lumaterans just as incredulously. Lucian waved away the question with irritation.

‘You,’ Lucian said, pointing to Feliciano. ‘Get your jacket off,’ he ordered the Avanosh heir. Feliciano pointed to himself, stunned. Lucian stared down at Feliciano’s tights. ‘Just the jacket.’

When Feliciano was too slow, Finnikin was there, yanking Feliciano’s arms out of the sleeves.

‘Follow everything we say, Froi,’ his king said. ‘Put this on. Ask no questions.’

And then Lord August stumbled through the crowded entrance, followed by Lady Abian and Talon and the younger boys, their faces soaked with perspiration. And just when Froi thought nothing could shock him more, he saw the Priestking.

The Lumaterans looked dishevelled. Froi was so confused, his arm half-stuck in a jacket that was far too small.

‘You,’ Lucian said, pointing to Olivier. ‘Get us to the front.’

‘Just agree with everything,’ Finnikin said. ‘Let me do the talking. There’s no time for an explanation. Do you trust us, Froi?’

‘With my life,’ he said.

The path to the front seemed never-ending.

‘Excuse me.’

‘Excuse me.’

‘Out of the way.’

There was shoving and cursing and Froi’s heart was pounding. Lady Abian was adjusting her dress and hair, and swiping at the dirt on Lord August’s face.

‘Blessed
Barakah
is going to faint,’ Froi said, trying to hold onto the old man’s arm.

‘They dragged me off the carriage as if I was a sack of potatoes,’ the Priestking complained as they stumbled to a standstill at the front, facing a shocked Provincari.

There was furious whispering all around him. Froi heard someone gasp.

‘It’s the Queen of Lumatere’s Consort.’

‘No!’ another replied.

‘Yes. Look at the hair.’

Froi glanced at Finnikin, and already his friend’s face was a mask of arrogance. Finn said it worked well in negotiations.
Isaboe said she hardly recognised him when she first saw it appear with the Belegonians.

Before them the Provincari and the leaders were staring their way. Quintana stood to the side. Tariq was on the ground, tugging at Gargarin’s leg. Gargarin’s stare was fierce. Angry. Hopeful?

‘Introduce me,’ Finnikin ordered Froi in Charyn.

Froi cleared his throat.

‘My lord Finnikin, Consort of Her Majesty Queen Isaboe of Lumatere, may I present to you the Provincari of Charyn.’

Froi held out a hand to indicate the Lumaterans.

‘Lord August of the Flatlands. Lady Abian of the Flatlands; the lords Talon, Duret and Ren of the Flatlands. Lucian, leader of the Monts. And the blessed
Barakah
of Lumatere.’

There was a stunned hush as the Provincari leapt out of their seats to offer the Priestking one of theirs. But despite his limp, Gargarin beat them to it.

‘You’re late,’ he hissed, glaring at Finnikin.

‘We had a slight problem … locating the letters you sent,’ Finnikin whispered back. ‘Explanation later,’ he added. ‘Go. Away.’

The Provincari were staring at the visitors, intrigued.

‘I’d prefer to speak Charyn so there’ll be no misunderstanding of our intention,’ Finnikin said to the Provincari. ‘I will be translating for Lord August and Lady Abian of the Lumateran Flatlands.’

Lord August stepped forward while Lady Abian was still swiping at his face with her kerchief. Finnikin gave the nod for Lord August to speak.

‘As stated, my name is Lord August of the Flatlands. Today, my wife and my family present to you our eldest boy as a prospective consort to Quintana of Charyn.’

Froi was speechless. He thought he would be sick on the spot. He could hate anyone, but not Talon who was a brother to him. Finnikin translated and glanced at Froi, who hadn’t taken a breath. Froi felt a pinch on his arm.

‘Don’t you dare faint,’ Finnikin whispered.

Lord August continued.

‘My eldest boy may not share my blood, but he is part of our life and has been since the rebirth of our kingdom. When we chose four years past to give him our name, we never imagined that we would be presenting him to a foreign court.’

August caught Froi’s eye. Him? They were talking about him. Not Talon. But Froi had never been given Lord August’s family title. Who had hatched up this lie?

Before them, the Provincari were bewildered by the turn of events. Gargarin wasn’t.

‘That doesn’t count,’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh said.

‘How does that not count?’ Lucian asked politely.

Finnikin nudged Froi. ‘Which one’s Paladozza?’ he whispered.

‘Fourth from right.’

Finnikin stepped forward.