Melina Marchetta - Quintana of Charyn

‘Kill me,’ she pleaded, her head pressed against Isaboe’s knees. ‘I’m begging, Your Majesty. Kill me. Please. If you want to avenge anyone, kill me. I’m a lastborn and daughter of a Provincaro. Ride through Charyn and take every lastborn girl to exact your revenge. But not her, Your Majesty. Charyn will cease to exist without her. We are nothing without the babe she carries.’

Lucian watched Isaboe shudder. Even Tesadora was speechless at the sight of Phaedra.

‘They don’t stay dead, these Charynites, do they?’ he heard Isaboe say, her voice so foreign to him. Compared to all the battles or deaths or sieges Lucian had ever witnessed, this was different. He swore later that the air changed, that there were spirits at play. That the Charyn gods and the Goddess herself were damning Lucian for the blade he held. Damning them all. And then suddenly Isaboe stepped away, letting go of Quintana of Charyn and pulling free of Phaedra.

‘Get out of my valley,’ Isaboe said. ‘Before I change my mind and slice you in half as your father’s assassin did my mother!’

Lucian lowered his sword and stumbled back. Without hesitation, Phaedra gripped the girl’s hand and they ran for their lives, disappearing through the trees.

For moments all he heard was the sound of their own ragged breaths, but Lucian knew it wasn’t over yet. Phaedra was alive. He had held a sword to her throat while she knelt, begging for another’s mercy, her hands drenched with blood. He thought that the difference between he and Isaboe was that his love for a Charynite had sometimes made him forget. And he despised himself for it. He had forgotten the way Balthazar had died. His cousins. His aunt. His king and his father.

‘You’re to return home to the cloister in the forest,’ Isaboe ordered Tesadora. ‘I forbid you to come here again. I’ll deal with you in my own time.’

Tesadora gave a humourless laugh.

‘You forbid,’ she mocked. ‘You’ll deal with me? I’m not yours to deal with, little girl. You’re mistaking me for someone else.’

‘Tesadora,’ Lucian warned as she walked away.

‘If you return to this valley, Tesadora, you face the consequences,’ Isaboe said.

‘I stay where I’m needed,’ Tesadora said.

‘She’ll stay with the Monts,’ Lucian said.

‘I stay here!’ Tesadora shouted, turning to face them all, eyes blazing.

Isaboe walked to her. She stood before Tesadora, shaking.

‘Is it the filthy Charynite inside of you that draws you to these people?’ she asked, and Lucian knew there was no turning back from those words.

‘Oh, beloved,’ Tesadora said, both rage and sadness in her voice. ‘Don’t force me to choose.’

‘Choose?’ Isaboe said. ‘Between her and me? You’d choose her?’

Tesadora leant forward and cupped the Queen’s face in both her hands.

‘Blood sings to blood,’ Tesadora said. ‘And yours doesn’t carry a tune.’

Isaboe stumbled back as if she had been struck, and then Tesadora was gone and Lucian could only stare at his cousin. He wished Finnikin were here, because only he could tear that look from her eyes. Lucian had seen him do it. Walk into a room when the images in her head were too powerful to bear. Finnikin would take her in his arms and whisper the words and she’d choke out a cry, but she’d breathe.

Lucian reached out to comfort her, but she stepped away. Being Evanjalin had trained her for years and years not to cry. It’s how she differed from the rest of the Monts. But he could see she was still broken inside.

‘Let’s go,’ he said quietly. ‘I need to get you home to Yata .’

‘Froi, put down the dagger!’

‘Finn first. Then we talk.’

Later, Froi thought it would have looked strange to someone who stumbled across them in that clearing. Finnikin with an arm around Gargarin’s neck and a dagger to his throat. Froi with a blade to Finnikin’s back. Trevanion with his sword against the side of Froi’s neck, ready to strike the moment he moved. Froi was dizzy from the confusion and the rage and the despair of it.

‘Froi, put the dagger down!’ Perri ordered.

Froi chanced a look and saw Gargarin’s feet struggling to keep his body upright. Whether it was from pain or helplessness, it stirred Froi’s fury even more.

‘Let him go,’ Lirah cried, struggling in Perri’s grip.

Perri was strong enough to hold Lirah as he stepped forward and pressed the tip of his sword against Froi’s temple.

‘Put it down, Froi. You know I’ll do it,’ Perri threatened softly. ‘You know it.’

Because you don’t let emotion get in the way of what you’re doing. Isn’t that what Perri had once said?

‘Froi,’ Gargarin said. ‘Put your sword down.’ His voice was hoarse from the pressure of Finnikin’s dagger across his throat. ‘What good are you to us dead?’

‘And what good are you to all of us dead?’ Froi asked in return. Stupid, filthy tears filled his eyes and he felt weak and helpless. He had a blade to his king’s back. His king had a dagger to his father’s throat. The men he respected beyond question were threatening to kill him. Here at this place where Perri had tenderly carried Froi in his arms after they had rescued him from the Charynites more than three years ago.

‘Just put the dagger down, Finn,’ Froi begged. ‘He’s an architect. Nothing more.’

‘An architect of a path soaked in blood.’ Finnikin spat out the words, tightening his hold on Gargarin. ‘That’s all Lumatere is to these people, Froi. A road.’

Gargarin made a sound of regret. ‘I said what the Belegonians wanted to hear,’ he said with bitterness. ‘But you interfered, Lumateran. You interfered and the blood of Charyn is on your hands the moment Belegonia crosses that river.’

‘What have you done to us, Finn?’ Froi demanded.

Froi heard Finnikin’s hiss of fury. ‘Us? Froi, we’re not them. You’re not them.’

‘He’s not who you think, Finn. If you put down the dagger we’ll talk and you’ll hear it all.’

Lirah bit Perri’s hand and tried to struggle free.

‘Don’t hurt her!’ Froi shouted. He didn’t know who to protect first. Where to look.

‘Do you know of this man’s promise to the Belegonians in his correspondence?’ Finnikin demanded. ‘To eliminate Lumatere. To eliminate the people who gave you a home.’

‘You’re mistaken –’

‘ Leave it to me, for I have a plan for Lumatere that will eliminate them as a threat ,’ Finnikin said. ‘His words. Not mine. And how were you planning to do that, Charynite?’ he demanded, holding Gargarin closer to him. ‘March an army through my kingdom and rape my wife and child? It’s all Charynite men know how to do.’

Froi watched Gargarin slump, his head bent in defeat.

‘There are more ways than killing and maiming to eliminate a threat, Your Highness,’ Gargarin said, his voice low. ‘You misunderstood our use of weapon. Not a blade or an arrow, but Froi. We thought we could use him to eliminate Lumatere as a threat. His ties to you. His words.’

How could Finnikin not have understood that? Froi begged the gods.

‘We offer Lumatere peace, my lord, and you trap the man who can make it possible?’ Froi asked, gutted.

Finnikin was silent but he loosened his grip on Gargarin slightly, and Froi waited, but there was nothing.

‘Finn, I’m begging you. Let him free.’

‘We have evidence that this man was behind the plan to annihilate Lumatere all those years ago,’ Finnikin said.

‘Never,’ Froi said fiercely. ‘I will give my life saying that. It will be the last words I speak and they will haunt you, Finn. Never.’