Melina Marchetta - Quintana of Charyn

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.’