Melina Marchetta - Quintana of Charyn

‘I’ve not bled for months, Your Highness,’ she sobs. ‘I’m weary all the time and I don’t know what to do. I’m frightened to squat over the privy in case a babe slips out.’

Dorcas gently guides me along, but I pull free.

‘Are you a fool?’ I demand to know of her. ‘It won’t be slipping out for months!’

So I order the girl up to the godshouse where Arjuro will soften her fears, but the next day in our chamber, I hear a bellow from across the gravina.

‘Quintana!’

And I step outside to the balconette where a furious Arjuro is standing on the other side of the gravina.

‘Here. In the godshouse. Now!’

When we reach the path up to the godshouse with our guards, Gargarin and Arna and I stop in shock.

‘He’ll kill you,’ Gargarin mutters, and I see the road is lined with women, weeping. Desperate. Every woman carrying a child in her belly, from the Citavita and beyond, is waiting to see Arjuro. And inside, we push through the long line of people and suddenly Lirah is there, taking Tariq in her arms.

‘Arjuro is furious,’ she said. ‘And to make matters worse the collegiati arrived today and they may be good at reading books about women carrying babies but they have no idea how to speak to women carrying babies.’

Day after day we spend our mornings at the godshouse. There’s too much confusion and shouting and crying, most of it coming from the collegiati . And then a week later while Arna shows the women how to hold Tariq so one day they’ll know how to hold their own, we hear a voice outside from the godshouse entrance.

‘I’m here, my loves. No need for despair,’ Tippideaux of Paladozza says, and by that afternoon she’s created rosters and assigned chambers and shouted orders and terrorised the collegiati into submission. She tells us all, because she does enjoy an audience, that since the betrayal of Olivier of Sebastabol, she has no trust in men except for her father and brother.

‘I swear I’ll die a barren woman and give my life to those whose wombs bear fruit.’

I see Arjuro and Lirah exchange a look.

‘Make peace with Olivier the traitor,’ Arjuro mutters. ‘Or I’ll kill you all.’

Later, Arjuro walks us down to the Citavita and I let him hold Tariq because it brings them both pleasure. We pass more women with swollen bellies hurrying towards the godshouse and Arjuro presses a kiss to Tariq’s outstretched fingers.

‘She’s mocking me, runt of our litter,’ Arjuro tells him. ‘The Oracle is mocking me for choosing a man to share my bed. And her punishment is that I spend the rest of eternity staring between the legs of women.’

And for the first time since I can remember, I laugh, and I watch my little king leap in his uncle’s arms at the sound of it.

When Perri arrived at Lord August’s farm one morning while they were fixing the fence, Froi knew it was time.

‘Can we borrow him, Augie?’ Perri asked.

‘For how long?’ Lord August said, not looking up from his task.

Perri didn’t respond.

‘Last time you rode by to “borrow” him we didn’t see him for nine months and he returned with a body full of scars and an awful Charynite accent,’ Lord August complained, glancing at Froi. ‘When do you get to be ours for always?’ he asked, his voice low.

‘Do I have to be here to belong to you?’ Froi asked. ‘Can’t I belong to you wherever I am?’

In the kitchen making honey brew with the village women, Lady Abian had the good sense not to ask too many questions.

‘Is August blustering out there?’ she asked quietly.

‘A bit,’ Froi murmured. ‘A gentle early-winter bluster, I’d call it.’

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and he went to speak, but she held up a hand.

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’

At the palace stable Perri insisted on Froi taking Beast as Trevanion fitted him with his weapons.

‘Your … Gargarin never wrote back,’ Finnikin said, standing beside Isaboe and Sir Topher.

‘After the letter Finnikin wrote promising to share ideas with Charyn about reservoirs and waterwheels and anything else we’ve been able to translate from the chronicles Celie stole … I mean, borrowed from Belegonia,’ Isaboe said.

Froi was confused. ‘Gargarin loves talk of reservoirs and waterwheels.’

Sir Topher handed him a satchel of documents. ‘Tell him we don’t beg and if he chooses not to respond to our attempts of peace, we don’t offer again.’

Finnikin nodded. ‘First time. Last time.’

Froi placed the satchel in the saddlebag.

‘You travel through the Osterian border. It’s quicker from here than if you travel from the mountain through the valley,’ Perri said.

Too many abrupt instructions.

‘You tell them that under no circumstances will the Queen travel to Charyn, so not to make that part of their terms,’ Finnikin said.

‘Anything else?’ Froi asked, mounting Beast.

‘Yes, you can at least look a bit upset about leaving,’ Isaboe said.

Froi rolled his eyes.

‘Did he just roll his eyes at me?’ she asked the others.

‘I’ll be back in two weeks!’ Froi said.

‘Yes, I think you said that last time we sent you off to meet with Gargarin of Abroi and he cast a spell on you,’ she said.

Froi held out a hand to her and she looked away.

‘I don’t shake hands. I’m not a Charynite.’

He sighed and dismounted, embracing her.

‘Trust me when I say that Gargarin of Abroi’s spell has well and truly worn off.’

Phaedra and Grijio reached the rocky outcrop that marked the beginning of the road from Alonso to the Lumateran valley. They had left the Citavita days ago and Phaedra’s heart had hardened the further they travelled away from the palace. She didn’t know what faced her in the valley. It had been more than six months since she left and she was frightened that everything had changed. But how could it have stayed the same, when she herself had changed? Who was Phaedra of Alonso after all this time? She had lived her entire existence as a lastborn, controlled by Quintana of Charyn’s curse.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to visit your father?’ Grijio asked as they glimpsed the walls of Alonso in the distance.

Phaedra nodded. ‘I need to write to him first. There is much distance between us and it won’t be solved with a visit.’

They continued riding towards the valley and she felt the anger build up inside her.

‘I hate her,’ she suddenly announced.

Grijio stared at her, taken aback by the outburst.

‘You don’t mean that,’ he said patiently.

‘Oh, I do,’ Phaedra said. ‘She’s cruel and she’s cold and she doesn’t understand love. Look at the way she treated you, Grijio. You come for a visit and she sends you away instantly.’

Grijio shrugged. ‘I can see her anytime. Gargarin’s offered me a place in the palace as an envoy. And anyway, I jumped at the chance to see Froi.’

Grijio dismounted his horse and shuffled through his pack. When he found what he was looking for, he held out a letter to her.

Phaedra recognised the writing and she refused to take it. She refused to be controlled by another’s cruel plan, or by a pledge made before she was born. But Grijio continued to hold out his hand.

‘Quintana gave me four absolute instructions,’ he said firmly. ‘And I’m not to return until my work is done.’

Phaedra walked away and sat on the rock face that gave her a view of the caves. On a clear day, she’d be able to see Alonso to the west, and she wondered if she would be better off there. Grijio came to sit beside her, taking her hand and placing the letter there.