Quintana of Charyn (40 page)

When they reached the feast, most of the guests were already inside except for some of the Guard, who merely raised a hand in acknowledgement. Things had changed between them, Froi thought. In the past there would have been mockery or jest, but it was as if they could barely look him in the eye. Did they see him as a Charynite now? Would he be a stranger in every land? Not a Sarnak or a Charynite or a Lumateran?

‘You’re gritting your teeth,’ the Priestking said as they made their way to the entrance.

‘I liked it better when they used to call me a filthy little feef,’ Froi said bitterly.

‘And they probably liked it better when you had little control,’ the Priestking said. ‘You’ve become a surprisingly formidable young man, Froi. Nothing’s more frightening to others.’

On the porch, Perri was organising another shift of the Guard. Froi could understand the caution. Lord and Lady Abian’s home had little protection for such a royal guest list, and Trevanion’s men had to ensure that every entrance and corner of the village was secure. Upon seeing Froi and the Priestking, Perri pointed to the hall, which was rarely used except for large gatherings. One of the Guard pushed past them and hurried along without so much as a grunt of apology. Froi bit his tongue and held out a hand to the Priestking, who moved slowly. It made Froi wince.

‘I want you to see Tesadora now that she’s spending a little time in the palace,’ Froi said to him. ‘She may be able to give you something.’

‘For being old? There’s a cure, is there?’

‘And don’t stand around too long,’ Froi ordered. ‘Everyone’s going to want to talk to you and next minute you’ll be tottering.’

‘I’ve never tottered a day in my life. You’re annoying me, Froi.’

‘Yes, well, I’m annoying everyone these days.’

They reached the hall and stepped inside. They all were suddenly standing in silence. Staring at him. It was awkward and it made him feel uncomfortable and a stranger. Angry tears burnt at the back of his eyes.

He saw the Queen first. Froi had seen little of her since arriving home, and knew it would take her some time to heal. But tonight there seemed more of a bloom in her cheek. She bent to whisper something in Vestie’s ear. Vestie took Jasmina’s hand and they ran to Froi, beckoning him to bend to their level. Bemused, Froi crouched beside them.

‘Happy birthday, Froi,’ Vestie said proudly.

And then everyone was shouting it and the Priestking was pushing him forward, not weak at all, and Froi was engulfed in embraces and kisses, with friends pressing gifts in his hand.

Jasmina clutched his arm all night, abandoning her reserve from earlier in the day.

‘It’s all about your gifts,’ Finn said. ‘She thinks they’re hers. She’s stealing everything. Even letters addressed to us. She loves the pretty seals.’

Froi laughed, caught Lord August’s eye and shook his head.

‘You, sir, are deceitful.’

Lord August embraced him and then Celie was there with Talon and his brothers.

‘Mother’s been planning it for weeks,’ Talon laughed.

‘And if anyone dared say a word I think she would have had the boys strung up,’ Celie said.

Froi was jostled from one person to another, until he found himself with Lucian, quietly watching the revelry. Finnikin had expressed a suspicion to Froi that Lucian was in love with
Phaedra of Alonso and missed her deeply. From what he had heard these past months, Froi knew Phaedra had been everything he imagined her to be. Kind. Loyal. And currently, Quintana’s only companion. Froi itched to ask.

‘No,’ Lucian said, reading his mind. ‘Only letters from the Priests of Sebastabol. They want to know how the seven scholars died. Every detail. Why would you want every detail of the way seven men died?’ he added, irritation in his voice.

‘They’re the Priests of Trist,’ Froi corrected. ‘And if one of the Monts died in Charyn, wouldn’t you want to know every detail? It’s the same for them. One of the lads, Rothen, was the grandson of the Head Priest.’

‘Rothen. I remember him,’ Lucian said quietly.

‘Then tell them everything you know. It’s not a trap, Lucian. It’s just people wanting to know how their loved ones died.’

‘You know them?’ Lucian asked. ‘The Priests?’

Froi nodded. Lucian looked at him shrewdly. ‘You seem to have had a very busy year, Froi.’

‘Almost as busy as yours, Lucian.’

Lucian was steered away by one of the Flatland lords and Froi caught Isaboe’s eye as she excused herself from speaking to Beatriss. He fought hard to stop the wave of emotion that always came over him in the Queen’s presence.

‘Will your husband come charging across the room if I do this?’ he said, catching her in an embrace. He felt her fists clenched with emotion against his back, and the shudder in her breath. They hadn’t spoken about the death of her son and her part in the birth of his. There were no words, just the certainty that he would love Isaboe of Lumatere for the remainder of his life.

‘So you heard about his outburst in our residence?’ she asked huskily, stepping away after a while and eyeing Finnikin across the room.

‘Yes, well, he did beat me black and blue on the Osteria–Charyn border.’

‘Strange that he left that part out,’ she said, somewhat dryly.

They were awkwardly silent for a moment or two.

‘Thank you for all of this,’ he said, looking around the room, knowing she was involved as much as Lady Abian. Then his eyes met hers. ‘Thank you … for everything you did … for her.’

Isaboe’s stare was fierce. ‘I did it for you. I don’t do Charynites favours.’

‘I’m a Charynite,’ he reminded her softly.

She shook her head emphatically. ‘I don’t care what your blood sings, Froi. You belong to us. You’re a Lumateran.’

And he was. How could he feel both so strongly?

She took his hand and they walked to where Jasmina was playing under the long table with the village children. The little girl was giddy with the sort of hysteria he noticed in those her age.

‘All the laughing will end in tears,’ Isaboe said, sitting down while the children crawled between her feet. Froi sat down beside her.

‘Did blessed
Barakah
tell you about the spirits and the Yut madman’s theory?’ she asked quietly.

‘Oh, yes,’ Froi said, his tone dry. ‘He decided to tell me in front of Perri, who didn’t cope at all.’

They both laughed at the thought, but then she was serious again.

‘Is it true that you can sing spirits home, Froi?’ she asked.

He didn’t know how to answer that.

‘I don’t know what’s true,’ he said, awkward at hearing the words. ‘I know my … uncle … Arjuro can.’

‘Can you tell … if a spirit is lost?’ Isaboe asked.

Froi saw the sadness in her eyes.

‘Is that what you think?’ he asked. ‘That your boy’s spirit is lost?’

She winced, but he could also see her confusion. ‘When I was carrying him in my belly … I’d sense her … Quintana … but not like when I walked the sleep with Vestie and Tesadora. This was different. More distant in a way, and I think it’s because …’

She couldn’t finish. She looked away, pained, and Froi tried to search the room for Finnikin because he knew his friend understood Isaboe’s despair better than anyone. But Finn wasn’t there and Froi could see that Isaboe wanted to speak.

‘Do you still walk her sleep?’ he asked softly.

She shook her head. ‘Quintana and I do not have a connection, Froi. But I think our sons walked each other’s sleep … and I don’t know whether I was desperate for a sign or whether all this talk of spirits has played with my mind, but I sensed him … I sensed my boy in your boy’s eyes. Isn’t that what you wrote in the letter about the husband and wife you shared a barn with? She said the half-dead spirit of her child lived in you.’

He nodded. Tesadora told him how Quintana had spoken the same words to her. Froi’s mind had been filled with sorrow for the families of the lost Charynite babes. He wondered if they still would sense those spirits within him or Quintana now, or had they been passed to Tariq?

‘I think you’re wrong about Quintana and you,’ he said to Isaboe. ‘Because I first heard a voice four years past in Sarnak. It was on the bleakest day of my existence, at a time that I almost gave up. Almost. Until I heard her song. I didn’t know what it was at the time. But it told me to go to Sprie.
Sprie?
You saw it. Why such a nowhere place in Sarnak? I could have chosen any place in the land, but not Sprie. And it’s taken me all these years to realise that she was singing me to you. And Finn. And Sir Topher.’ He looked around the room. ‘And this, Isaboe. And
all this, led me to Charyn. Blessed
Barakah
says our paths aren’t straight and they make little sense. But Quintana heard my pain and she led me to you. Which means that your connection with her existed long before the sons you both carried.’

‘You don’t know that, Froi,’ Isaboe said, her voice cool.

‘No, I don’t. But your plan for revenge on Charyn led me straight into Gargarin of Abroi’s path. And I crossed a gravina to be with Arjuro of Abroi and I climbed a tower to be with Lirah of Serker. Call it coincidence, but I’ve spent a year questioning what I know and what I sense, and sometimes what I sense overpowers everything.’

Isaboe sighed. Jasmina’s head popped up between her feet again and they both laughed.

‘Well, let’s hope they’re making a fuss over your Quintana today,’ Isaboe said, gathering her daughter to her.

Froi grimaced. ‘She’s not very good with … fuss,’ he said.

‘Every princess is good with a little fuss,’ she said, kissing Jasmina. ‘Aren’t you, my love?’

Froi sighed. Yes, but Quintana wasn’t exactly the most normal of princesses.

‘Perhaps they’ve thrown her a party.’

Sagra!
He couldn’t think of anything more frightening for her. Or those who tried.

 

 

‘
Y
ou’re not thinking of throwing me one of those odious surprise parties?’ Quintana asked coldly, clutching the little King. ‘If you do, I’ll lock myself and Tariq in our room and never come out.’

Phaedra looked from Quintana to Gargarin of Abroi. ‘Well, it’s not as if you don’t already do that, Your Majesty,’ Gargarin said. His eyes met Phaedra’s. They had managed to coax Quintana out of her self-imposed prison and into the courtyard to greet those who now lived in the palace. Phaedra and Gargarin hoped they could lead her further to the portcullis and perhaps down the drawbridge and into the Citavita.

‘Could I suggest that we visit the town square and greet those who have travelled here for your birthday?’ Phaedra said.

‘The town square?’ Quintana asked. Phaedra watched Gargarin wince, as if he knew the following words would not be pleasing to the ear.

‘The town square where they once set up the gallows and jeered when the street lords placed a noose around my neck? Brayed for my blood?’

And this was how they had begun each day since they had arrived all those months ago.

‘It’s about time and compromise,’ Gargarin of Abroi had said to Phaedra outside Quintana’s chamber one morning. He had said those words after yet another failed attempt to have her join them outside the palace. ‘Let’s give her the time she needs.’

Time, Phaedra noted, was spent in Quintana’s cold, sparse chamber. Its only appeal was a balconette that looked over the gravina. Phaedra was fascinated with the way the godshouse opposite tilted towards them, not to mention the hollering that took place between Quintana, Gargarin, the Priestling Arjuro and Lirah of Serker. The Provincari’s people who had settled in the palace tower on both sides of theirs complained the whole day long about the early-morning and late-night shouting. Phaedra would have died of boredom without it. As she would have without the nocturnal visits from the godshouse residents.

On the second night in the palace she was introduced to two Priests, both in robes and cowls. She was soon to discover that one was Arjuro and the other Lirah of Serker. Perabo, the keeper of the keys of the palace, had smuggled Lirah in with Arjuro, far from the prying eyes of those they called the Provincari’s parrots.

Lirah of Serker was the most beautiful woman Phaedra had ever seen apart from Tesadora. They reminded her of each other. Especially in their disdain for the world, until they were in the presence of someone they loved.

As long as she lived, Phaedra would never forget the first moment Lirah of Serker held the little King in her arms.

The Queen allowed only Phaedra, Lirah and Arjuro to hold the child. And Gargarin, but he refused each time, preferring to admire the little King over the shoulders of others.

‘Is he not the most perfect thing you’ve seen, Lirah?’ Quintana asked. ‘Is he not just like Lirah, Gargarin?’

‘Thank the gods for that,’ the little King’s regent murmured. Phaedra knew Gargarin and Lirah were lovers. It was whispered in the hallways of the palace by the guards. But Phaedra hadn’t realised the two loved each other until Gargarin watched Lirah of Serker with the sleeping boy.

‘You can stay the night with Phaedra and me, Lirah,’ Quintana said. ‘We can watch Tariq sleep.’

Lirah and Gargarin exchanged a look and Arjuro snorted a laugh.

‘Yes, I’ll sit with Gargarin and speak of waterwheels and privies.’

Today, having lost the battle of Quintana leaving the palace, Phaedra watched as Gargarin decided to bring up the issue of chambers when they returned to her room.

‘There’s been enough time to settle in,’ Gargarin said. ‘You can’t stay in here, Your Majesty. It’s not big enough for you all.’

‘But I can,’ Quintana said dismissively. ‘This has always been my chamber.’

Gargarin grimaced. ‘It holds bad memories for you, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘Awful.’

Quintana picked up Tariq from his basket and clutched him to her. She did it often. Up and down he went. From her arms to the basket and then back into her arms. Sometimes Phaedra would see Quintana place an ear to Tariq’s lips to check for breathing.

‘This chamber holds the best of memories, too,’ Quintana said quietly. ‘You forget that.’

Gargarin sighed. ‘It’s best you take the solar. It’s large and well lit and the most comfortable place in the palace.’

Quintana wanted to hear none of it. Instead, she held out Tariq to Gargarin. ‘It’s about time,’ she said. She tried at least
once a day to have the little King’s regent hold him, but always failed.

‘You move to the solar,’ he said firmly instead.

Phaedra believed Quintana had all but lost this fight.

‘My idea is better,’ Quintana said. ‘You take the solar, Gargarin. There’s the secret passage through the cellar that leads to it and on the nights Perabo is on watch at the gatehouse, Lirah can visit you easier than meeting you here. She certainly won’t be seen by the parrots of the provinces. When he’s old enough, we can place Tariq in the chamber next door to here. We can hack an entrance just there,’ she said, pointing to the wall. ‘We can place a desk near the window, just for you. The little King will have to get used to you, so it’s best you use his chamber as a study during the day. It means you’ll still be able to use it when the sun comes up to greet Arjuro and Lirah.’

‘Your Majesty –’

She shook her head and placed her hands over the little King’s ears. ‘I slit my father’s throat in the solar, Gargarin. Not exactly the room I want my son sleeping in. And anyway, think of your satisfaction. You get the dead King’s sanctuary. You get what Bestiano wanted for himself. Lie back and relish it.’

Gargarin was silent. Most of the time, Phaedra was frightened by him. Not that he had ever shown a violent trait and not because of words he had spoken, but because of the silence. He had a wounded spirit and the only time she saw him happy was when he was in the company of Lirah and his brother and Tariq, despite not wanting to hold him. But then again, everyone was happy in the little King’s presence. Phaedra couldn’t bear to start her day without having him in her arms. He soothed her aching heart.

‘And I’ve made a decision about my title of Queen,’ Quintana continued. ‘I’ve decided to relinquish it. In years to come when
Tariq marries, it will belong to his betrothed and I’ll despise her enough for taking my son from me. It could get quite ugly if I get used to the title and I may hate her twice over. I might want to kill her and we do want to avoid future bloodshed in the palace.’

There was a strange, twisted smile on Gargarin’s face. Phaedra didn’t understand their humour. It bordered on wicked when Arjuro joined them.

‘Then, Princess –’

Quintana shook her head. ‘I can’t say I enjoyed being princess of this kingdom, either. It’s best that the people of Charyn forget that title until I have a daughter. She can be the spirited princess. The gentle princess. The sweetest princess in the land. The bravest. The feistiest. But when the people of the Citavita think of me as princess, they’ll remember the cursed princess. The Princess Abomination.’

They waited.

‘I’ll be referred to as Quintana of Charyn, mother of the King. And Lirah of Serker will be referred to as
shalamar
of the King.’

Gargarin sighed and then nodded, and then gave a twisted, shy smile again. It made him quite striking. ‘When did you work all this out?’ he chided gently.

Quintana looked down at Tariq. ‘Quite some time ago. Tariq loved the idea. We just thought we’d wait until you were ready, Gargarin. It’s about time and compromise.’

Gargarin looked around the room, already imagining how the residence would be if they made an entrance between the two rooms. He walked to the wall and knocked hard.

‘In the fortress beyond the little woods where we hid with the Lasconians and Turlans, they had fireplaces on every floor without so much as a chimney,’ Gargarin said. ‘They used vents in the wall. We’ll put fireplaces in both these chambers.’ He liked the idea. ‘And I dare say I think we can make another entrance
into the room adjoining the next. All three could make a strange private residence.’

Quintana seemed pleased. She held Tariq out to Gargarin.

‘My arm –’ he said.

‘You won’t drop him, Gargarin. Froi would want you to hold him.’

Phaedra wondered what had taken place when Quintana escaped with Froi, Gargarin and Lirah all that time ago. They shared a bond, a secret. She knew that Froi was the father of the child. Very few did, except for Lirah, Gargarin, Arjuro, Perabo and the Provincaro of Paladozza. But there was more, and she knew the answer lay with Froi of Lumatere.

She tried asking once.

‘Better that we don’t tell, Phaedra,’ Quintana said.

‘We’d have to kill you,’ Arjuro added, ‘and we don’t really want to do that.’

But regardless, Phaedra knew she was trusted by them all. She liked the Priestling best. Arjuro was besotted by the little King and visited as often as possible.

‘Did you see that?’ he asked Gargarin one time. ‘He stared straight at me with understanding when I explained the symptoms of gout. Pure genius.’

But despite some of the compromises, Phaedra could see that Gargarin and Lirah and Arjuro feared for Quintana. The way she had imprisoned herself in the castle with Tariq, and her belief that an enemy was sent to kill him. It meant that if Phaedra wanted to walk the streets of the capital, she did so with a guard, and not Quintana. At first she had been frightened that the stone walls would come tumbling down on her. As time passed, she was accompanied by Lirah and she warmed to the people and wished Quintana could hear the yearning in their voices when
they asked Phaedra and Lirah about the little King. But no one could convince Quintana. Not even Lirah, whose only means of seeing Tariq was through her nightly visits.

‘I’d love to see him during the light of the day, Quintana,’ Lirah said one night.

‘But you see him from across the gravina, Lirah,’ Quintana said coolly. ‘I hold him up every morning.’

‘You know that’s not enough,’ Lirah said. ‘And you know that Dorcas and Fekra and Scarpo and Perabo and his men would never ever let anything happen to Tariq. Even I trust them. How many people have I trusted in my life?’

Gargarin blamed it on the little sleep Quintana had. Arjuro and Lirah said they’d seen her this way before and were lovingly patient, despite not seeming to be lovingly patient people.

‘If I don’t guard Tariq, Lirah, they’ll kill him,’ Quintana explained. ‘They’ll kill my guards to get to him.’

‘The only person I know who’ll get through those guards is Froi,’ Lirah said. ‘Do you want him to return to this? To a frightened Quintana and an unwashed babe?’

The washing of the babe had become an even bigger issue.

‘It’s been months, Quintana,’ Phaedra pleaded. ‘It’s not enough to clean him with a cloth. You need to bathe him.’

‘I don’t want his head to go under the water,’ Quintana whispered. ‘You see awful things down there. Those from the lake of the half-dead are desperate for him.’

Gargarin later explained to Phaedra about the soothsayer. The ritual that had happened each year before the day of weeping. And it shamed Phaedra even more to have known so little of Quintana’s suffering in the Citavita for all those years. It made her want to take back every moment of their time hiding in the valley when Phaedra and the women had dismissed her as nothing but a delusional, half-crazed girl.

But memories of the valley were dangerous for Phaedra. It was deep in the night when she allowed herself to think of Lucian. Was he thinking of her? Had he moved on with his life? And she thought of the valley and realised that it was more of a home to her than Alonso was, and that she missed its people in a way that she hadn’t missed those of her province. When she was young, she had been kept protected from the world outside her father’s compound. In the valley and mountain she had truly begun to live.

And on one such night Quintana lay beside her, tense with fear of what the unseen enemy would do to her little king. Sometimes when the breeze spoke from outside the balconette and the shadows played with their eyes, Phaedra would hear the hope in Quintana’s voice.

‘Froi! Is that you?’

And then the disappointment. Phaedra would take her hand.

‘You need to sleep, dear friend.’

‘And dream of what, Phaedra?’ Quintana asked, getting out of bed. ‘The Provincari are beginning to make suggestions for a Consort. Should I dream of choosing the one that turns my stomach least?’

After Quintana had checked Tariq’s breathing for the umpteenth time, she crawled back into bed exhausted.

‘I’ll never leave you,’ Phaedra said, tucking the blanket around the Princess. ‘The Consort can find himself another chamber.’

‘I know you’ll never leave me,’ Quintana said. ‘But when it comes to you, Phaedra, I’m afraid of worse.’