Melina Marchetta - Quintana of Charyn

‘What did he say?’ Arjuro asked finally when the candle between them had burnt low.

‘I think he threatened me.’

‘He sent Rafuel to find you, Froi. Rafuel is an assassin. A well-read assassin, but one all the same. When I first lived here with these people, one of their lovers in Nebia was murdered because she would not divulge their whereabouts. The retribution was bloody.’

‘You never said you were the one who smuggled me out of Charyn when I was a babe,’ Froi said softly. ‘Simeon said it was your idea.’

‘Yes, well, that proved to be one of my better ones,’ Arjuro said dryly. ‘Because Sarnak seems to have been a wonderful experience for you.’

‘You blame yourself?’ Froi asked.

‘Well, I’m to blame for many things, so I try to make it easier on the gods and take responsibility for all of them.’

‘Even for the war in the kingdom of Yutlind?’ Froi teased.

‘Oh yes, my fault. Shouldn’t have told the northern King that he was far more handsome than his southern cousin.’

But with all the jesting, they were both quite sombre and Froi knew why.

‘I’m ready to go, Arjuro,’ he said softly. ‘You know that.’

‘You’re safer with me.’

‘You sound like your brother.’

‘My brother?’ Arjuro asked. ‘The one who happens to be your father?’

Froi thought of Simeon’s story that day. ‘I wouldn’t say that too loudly.’

Arjuro’s face was suddenly cold.

‘If the Priests and Provincari will agree on one thing, it’s Gargarin’s fate,’ Arjuro said. ‘Locking him up in the palace as the next King’s First Advisor.’

‘But he’ll have Lirah by his side,’ Froi said. And Quintana, he thought. And his son.

He saw the uncertainty in Arjuro’s expression.

‘Do you think I should have stayed in Paladozza?’ Froi asked. ‘That I put Quintana’s life at risk?’

Arjuro studied him and shook his head.

‘There are so many awful possibilities. So many. But none worse than Quintana and the babe being in the hands of the Sorellians. Wasn’t that what you said Feliciano of Avanosh and his uncle planned?

‘And if you had taken Gargarin with you, they would have trained their arrows on him first. Intelligence and goodwill are Bestiano’s greatest enemies; he will kill my brother before he kills anyone else in this land. Gar is Bestiano’s greatest competitor for a place in the palace, as reluctant as he is to return there. You did the right thing.’

‘But I failed,’ Froi said, pained to think of how much he had. ‘You don’t know how that feels.’

Arjuro’s laugh was humourless. ‘You are saying those words to the wrong man, Froi. Failure is more of a twin to me than my own brother.’

Two days later, a messenger returned from Paladozza with a letter addressed to Arjuro. Froi watched him open it and noticed that Arjuro’s hands trembled.

‘Read it aloud. Hurry,’ Froi ordered.

‘What if it’s private?’ Arjuro argued. ‘It’s addressed to me. See. Arjuro ,’ he added, pointing to his name on the note.

‘Read!’

Arjuro sighed.

‘Just so you know, De Lancey always gets carried away in his letters,’ he muttered.

Froi tried to snatch the parchment from him, but Arjuro stepped away.

‘ Dear Ari ,’ he read. Arjuro cleared his voice, hesitating a moment. ‘ Quintana is not with us. We, too, have sent out messengers to Jidia and the Turlan Mountains, as well as Lascow, but each returns with no idea of her whereabouts. She has disappeared from existence and we hold grave fears for her life. ’

Froi held his head in his hands. When Arjuro didn’t read on, he looked up.

‘Read,’ he said quietly.

Arjuro continued. ‘ Gargarin and Lirah have left …’

‘What?’ Froi demanded, reaching for the letter. ‘Let me read.’

Arjuro held up a hand to silence him.

‘ Your brother has been corresponding with the Belegonians. After writing a countless number of letters to every contact he had in the palace, the Belegonians have finally responded. A messenger of the King has agreed to meet Gar at an inn on the Charyn–Osteria river border. ’

Froi didn’t like the news at all. How could Gargarin imagine he could protect Lirah and himself from enemies both inside and outside Charyn?

‘He shouldn’t have left,’ he raged at Arjuro. ‘He was supposed to stay safe in Paladozza.’ Froi paced the cave, fearing the absolute worse. ‘Doesn’t he know how dangerous it is to be travelling through the kingdom these days?’

Arjuro looked just as unhappy about the news. He went back to the letter.

‘ You may want to know that two weeks ago, your moronic horse-arse father arrived, demanding to see you and Gar. My guard had his heinous self escorted from the province, cursing you both to oblivion. As much as your leaving angers me still, I was relieved you weren’t here to see him …’

Arjuro stopped reading aloud.

‘What?’ Froi demanded. ‘What are you keeping from me?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re hiding something, Arjuro.’

Froi snatched the letter from Arjuro, pointing a furious finger at his face.

‘You keep nothing from me, do you hear?’ Froi said, his eyes fixed on the page. An instant later he handed back the letter sheepishly. There was a hint of a smile on Arjuro’s face.

‘The letter was addressed to me, runt. See here,’ he said, pointing. ‘ Arjuro .’

Froi’s face felt warm. ‘Yes, well, I thought you left on bad terms. I didn’t expect him to express himself so … explicitly.’

Arjuro folded the letter. Something told Froi that Arjuro and De Lancey expressed themselves explicitly whether they were on speaking terms or not.

‘Perhaps it’s best I read it in privacy,’ Arjuro said.

Isaboe watched Jasmina and Vestie play among the children of the Fenton house staff. After weeks of preparation, Beatriss had finally moved into the village. The manor house was large and the children raced from room to room, giddy with excitement. Beatriss showed Isaboe the home while Lady Abian helped Tarah in the kitchen, listing every item that had arrived to stock the larder.

In the library, there was a portrait of Lord Selric and his family, and Isaboe studied their faces sombrely.

‘I’ve decided to keep it there,’ Beatriss said softly. ‘They’re as much part of this village as we are now.’

‘I hardly remember them, you know,’ Isaboe said. ‘Pretty girls.’ She tried not to think Lord Selric’s daughters would have been a year or two younger than her own sisters when the entire family died from plague during their exile in Charyn. She reached out to touch the painting. The replicas of Isaboe’s family in the palace had been desecrated during the curse by the impostor King. There was not one likeness left of them, and some days she could hardly recall their faces.

Abian called out from the other room and they joined her in the kitchen.

‘Your husband comes to this union with one box?’ she asked, glancing at Trevanion’s chest sitting on the bench.

Beatriss laughed. ‘Two uniforms. One image of me drawn when we were first betrothed fifteen years ago; one of Finnikin’s mother, Bartolina; a lock of Finnikin’s hair as a child; and a fishing rod. His kingdom, his river and his family. “Who needs anything else?” he says.’

‘Where would you like them?’ Abian asked.

‘I’d like you to sit, Abian,’ Beatriss said. ‘We’ve not spoken for so long and I just want to sit and enjoy my time with my friends.’

‘Yes,’ Isaboe said shrewdly, glancing at Abian. ‘So would I. At times I think you’re avoiding me. Lord August, too.’