Melina Marchetta - Quintana of Charyn

‘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.

‘My father is the Captain of the Lumateran Guard,’ Finnikin said coldly. ‘Don’t let me have to go home and tell him that the child he calls his own is not a daughter to him just because she doesn’t share his blood.’ He looked at De Lancey. ‘Provincaro De Lancey,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been told your children are not of your blood. Do they not count?’

De Lancey’s was livid. ‘They’re my children,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Regardless of blood ties, they have my name. They have my land. They have my title.’ De Lancey stared across at Avanosh. ‘Are you questioning the rights of my children?’