Melina Marchetta - Quintana of Charyn

Froi took her hand and pressed a kiss to it.

‘Gargarin thought he found a way,’ she said. ‘But now he believes it’s lost and he’s bitter, Froi. Why were your Lumaterans so cruel? If they loved you, they would not have been so cruel.’

‘Cruel?’ he asked. ‘Lirah, Gargarin left me behind without a thought. That’s cruel. The Lumaterans have proved themselves to me over and over again. What has he done?’

Arjuro joined them with a jug of brew and a bowl of broth.

‘Have you seen our guest?’ Lirah asked quietly, and Froi shook his head and followed her into a chamber. Its walls were adorned with rugs on one side, books stacked high on the other. A cot and fireplace occupied one corner. At first Froi thought there was a child lying on the bed, but then he realised the truth.

‘You can speak to him. He can hear you.’

Froi took a step closer, wincing at the skeletal figure that lay before him.

‘Hello, Rafuel. Do you remember me?’ Froi asked, his voice catching to see the man in such a state.

Lirah took Rafuel’s hand. ‘He’s to save his breath and get himself well,’ she said. ‘If anyone can get you back on your feet, it’s Arjuro, isn’t that so, Rafuel?’

There was no response. Just the stare. Rafuel was all eyes in a shrunken body. His left eye was half-closed and there was a scar across his lip.

‘Let’s get you seated upright,’ Arjuro said to Rafuel. Froi helped, suddenly overcome by emotion. He couldn’t recognise Rafuel as the same animated man who had shown him the way a Charynite danced, even though he had been in chains. Froi sat down beside Rafuel on the bed.

‘This one loves nothing better than when the little King visits,’ Arjuro said, placing a spoon to Rafuel’s mouth. ‘His eyes light up like a beacon.’

Froi looked away, unable to watch. He had never seen a man look so much like death. It almost seemed too cruel to keep him alive.

‘How did you come to be here, Rafuel?’ Froi asked, knowing that it would be one of the others who would answer. But he didn’t want to insult the man into believing he didn’t exist.

‘Gargarin demanded it the moment we found out he lived,’ Lirah said. ‘Rafuel belongs here with us. It all began with him, didn’t it, dear friend, with those silly cats? Where would we all be without Rafuel?’

‘I can take over here,’ Froi said, holding his hand out for the bowl. ‘I’ve got much to tell you, Rafuel. About the valley and the women who beg for news of you.’

He returned to where Lirah and Arjuro sat in the hall, his emotions ragged.

‘Will he get better?’

Arjuro shrugged. ‘We don’t know what’s broken inside of him up here,’ he said, pointing to his head. ‘We don’t know how much of it came from the beating he received upon his arrest or from being left for dead in that mine shaft.’

‘But when he first arrived, he could barely open his eyes,’ Lirah said. ‘Quintana visits with Tariq every day and it’s been a revelation to see how much he’s changed in the presence of the boy.’

Froi was suddenly envious of them all. Even Rafuel with his decrepit body. They had each other, despite the fact that they lived in separate places. Quintana and Tariq and Lirah and Arjuro and Gargarin and even Rafuel hadn’t needed Froi. They had begun to thrive without him.

‘Will she want to see me?’ he asked quietly.

Lirah didn’t respond.

‘Would that stop you?’ she asked.

‘That means she doesn’t want to.’

‘I didn’t say that at all.’ Lirah sighed. ‘I think … I think Quintana believes you’ve forsaken her.’

‘Me?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been waiting for Gargarin to do something. He promised to do something! I’ve been waiting.’

‘Gargarin said he wrote,’ Lirah said.

‘Well, he didn’t. He lied.’

‘No,’ Lirah said firmly, ‘he doesn’t lie to me.’

Froi made a sound of disbelief.

‘Especially about our son!’

Froi was on his feet pacing.

‘Do you think you can get me into the palace without the Provincari’s people knowing?’ he asked

Arjuro chuckled. ‘It’s our favourite sport,’ he said, winking at Lirah. ‘And you’ve picked an easy night.’

An easy night, Froi learnt, was when Perabo was on watch. The keeper of the keys studied him intently at the gatehouse, a lantern in his hand held up to Froi’s face.

‘You took your time,’ Perabo muttered as he escorted him to the second tower. ‘Head down. Let them think you’re Arjuro.’

It was Fekra who guarded the second level of the second tower. His eyes flashed with surprise to see Froi.

‘We have to be careful of the Provincari’s people,’ Fekra told him. ‘They don’t have a life of their own, so they’re fascinated with everyone else’s.’

Once they reached her chamber, Fekra poked his shoulder with a finger.

‘Don’t wake the boy. It took Dorcas all night to get him to sleep.’

Froi tiptoed into her room. At first he wondered why Gargarin would have kept her in this chamber and not a larger residence. Until he saw the fireplace and then the archway between Quintana’s chamber and the room Froi once shared with Gargarin. He crept to its entrance. He knew what was in there … who was in there. He could hear the steady breathing of the boy, the strange little sounds of sleepy satisfaction.

An arm was instantly around his neck. A dagger to his throat. A savage noise in his ear. Sagra . How he missed her.

‘You’ll only make a small hole there,’ he whispered. ‘Not fatal. Inconvenient, really.’

He leant his head back onto her shoulder, exposing his throat to her blade. He felt her arm linger, her cold cheek against his. They stayed there for a time with trembling bodies.

And then he turned to face her. How could he ever have thought this face plain? How could he ever have imagined that the savagery would leave her, just because she birthed a child?

‘You’re a stranger,’ she said coldly, but her body spoke of warmth, pressed so close that the thin fabric of her shift seemed not to exist.

He saw tears in her eyes, anger. Sadness. He searched her face in the light from the godshouse across the gravina, his fingers on her cheeks, mouth.

‘Who do you see?’ she demanded. ‘Am I a stranger in return?’

He took her hand and linked his fingers with hers.

‘Why say that?’ he asked.

‘Because I calculated,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ve become good with your counting. You and I have known each other for fewer days than we haven’t.’

‘Does that matter to you?’ he asked as she clenched their hands together. He sensed his arousal, knew she felt it strongly pressed against her.

‘I can live without you,’ she said. ‘I can live without a man I’ve only known for one hundred and eighty days.’

‘And how have those calculations helped?’ he demanded to know.

She didn’t respond except for a look down her nose at him and a curl of her lip. So much for the angry half-spirits being responsible for the savages within them both. This was pure Quintana.

‘Then step away,’ he taunted. ‘If you can live without me, step away.’

He felt her warm breath on his throat.

‘Because you can’t,’ he said. ‘You think you can, but we’re bound, and not just by the gods or by a curse or even by our son. We are bound by our free will. And you can’t step away, because you are not willing.’

He bent, his mouth close to hers.

‘Step away,’ he whispered. ‘If you step away I’ll learn from you. I’ll find the desire in me to live without you. Much the same as you want to live without me.’

‘I didn’t say I wanted to live without you,’ she said, angry tears springing in her eyes. ‘Only that I can. I’ve practised. I’ve been very good in that way.’