Melina Marchetta - Quintana of Charyn

She stepped away, but not too far and his eyes travelled down her nightdress, transparent in the moonlight. He could see the fullness of her beneath it all. He reached out a tentative hand to her breast, but she flinched and this time he stepped away.

‘It’s full of milk, fool,’ she said. ‘It’s tender. You’ll have to find another place to put your hand.’

‘You tell me where?’ he said, his voice soft. ‘Because it’s not in me to be gentle.’

‘Then you’ll just have to learn, won’t you?’

She swayed towards him, playing with him. Had she turned temptress, this cat of his? And then their mouths were fused, the cloth of her nightdress bunched in his hands, his arm a band around her body, lifting her to him as one tongue danced around the other, until her legs straddled his hips and he dragged the shift over her head, desperate to remove anything that lay between them, his mouth not wanting to leave hers as he fumbled with the drawstring of his trousers. Soon they were skin against skin and he tried to be gentle; chanting it inside his head while saying her name and they rocked into each other with a rhythm played out by the gods who had guided their wretched way. Where have you been? Where have you been? I’ve lost our song, he thought he heard her cry inside his heart, until finally Froi felt her shudder, her fingers gripping the place her name was etched across his shoulders.

‘Our bodies aren’t strangers,’ he said, his voice ragged. ‘Our spirits aren’t strangers.’ He held her face in his hands. ‘Tell me what part of me is stranger to you and I’ll destroy that part of me.’

And she wept to hear his words.

Later, as they lay in silence, Quintana kissed each one of his scars from the eight arrows.

‘Do you want to see him?’

He nodded like a hungry man, and they shivered naked in the cool night air as she led him into the other room.

‘We’re not to wake him,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m very strict about rules, you know.’

She lit a candle, and Froi stared into the cot and saw the most amazing creature he had ever seen, the babe facing them, his arms outstretched.

‘What kind of rules?’ he whispered.

‘Well, I don’t wake him just because I want to hold him. I wait until he wakes on his own. And I only give him four or five cuddles a day. Sometimes a few more if he’s fretful. We don’t want to spoil him.’

He smiled.

‘And look,’ she said. She pointed above the little King’s cot where a cut-out piece of parchment hung from the ceiling. Froi’s eyes followed her finger across the ceiling to the wall where the light from the moon made a shape of a rabbit.

And because Froi was overwhelmed with emotion, he buried his head into her shoulder.

‘Are you crying?’ she asked.

He didn’t respond, but his tears were wet against her and he felt her pat his back. ‘He likes me to do this,’ she said, her voice practical. ‘It calms him down if he wakes up with the night terrors.’

They watched Tariq for a long time until he woke and Quintana reached out to pick him up, and Froi’s son suckled as she fed him on her bed.

‘Does it hurt?’ he asked, fascinated.

‘It did to begin with.’

When she was finished and Tariq burped in a way that would have made Arjuro proud, she held him out to Froi. He took his son gently and Quintana placed his hand securely against Tariq’s head.

‘It used to roll all over the place if I didn’t put my hand there. Sometimes I fear it still will,’ she said and he stared in amazement as Tariq stared back at him.

‘Sagra,’ he muttered. ‘You’ve gone and stolen Lirah’s face, you thief.’

The three fell asleep in each other’s arms, and when the sun began to rise, Froi woke and kissed Quintana and Tariq, then dressed quickly. He stepped out into the hallway and found himself face to face with Gargarin.

‘So it is true,’ Gargarin said, furious. ‘I thought the guards were making up stories.’

Froi shoved past him. Six months without a word and that’s all Gargarin could say to him.

Gargarin dragged him back. ‘Where are the Lumaterans?’

‘In Lumatere! Where else?’ Froi said, pulling free and walking away.

‘So they had to have you all to themselves?’ Gargarin demanded. Froi stopped and turned back to face his father. There was no amount of counting that could control him.

‘They have me all to themselves because my real father doesn’t want me! He never did. He regrets not tossing me out –’

‘Don’t!’ Gargarin shook his head with disbelief. ‘Don’t say those words to me.’

‘If you weren’t a cripple, I’d beat you senseless,’ Froi said. ‘What would it have taken for you to acknowledge me? That’s what I wanted. To hear those words from you. And all you could say to me through Scarpo was that in weeks to come, not to make contact with the Charyn palace. “You wait,” Scarpo said. “Trust me. These are his words.” I know them by heart, Gargarin. And I waited and waited.’

Gargarin gripped Froi’s cloak, pulling him closer, tears of anger in his eyes.

‘I begged them for you because I thought I found a way,’ Gargarin whispered. ‘That despite never being able to claim you as mine or Lirah’s, I found a way of my son getting everything he wanted. Here. In this palace.’

‘You’re lying.’

Gargarin shoved him away.

‘Go back to your greedy dishonourable people who’ll do anything to keep you away from those who love you. And you tell them that Lumatere has made an enemy of me, and they’ll regret that for the rest of their lives.’

Phaedra spent the next few days in the valley being visited by the Monts. Many of them. All expressing disappointment in Lucian.

‘He’s an idiot,’ Constance said to Phaedra. ‘I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again,’ she continued, taking one of the honey cakes Florenza had made. They were sitting inside Jorja and Harker’s cave with Tesadora and anyone who came to put their thoughts into the matter.

‘What’s she saying?’ Cora demanded.

‘Lucian’s an idiot,’ Tesadora translated with alacrity.

Cora sighed. ‘I’m biting my tongue because of a vow I made when he carried our little savage to safety,’ she said.

Phaedra had refused to condemn Lucian’s absence. She had made the choice to follow Quintana to the Citavita. It was Lucian who had been left behind. He owed her nothing.

‘I understood his pride,’ she told anyone who asked. ‘And I’ve changed. I’m a different Phaedra,’ she said with determination. ‘No more weeping. No more begging the gods for what I want and can’t have. We learn to live with our disappointments. It’s one thing I’ve learnt from our brave Quintana.’

The others, Charynites and Lumateran alike, stared at her disbelievingly.

Goddess. Gods. Anyone listening , she cried all the night long. Let him come down the mountain tomorrow.

Tomorrow came and there were more Mont visitors. Jorja borrowed rations from the other valley dwellers because it was rude to have visitors, especially foreigners, and not feed them. They were all forced to move outside the cave where there was more room. Harker built a fire and everyone seemed happy enough discussing Lucian out in the open.

‘Is that Orly and Lotte?’ Sandrine exclaimed as they watched the Mont couple cross the stream, leading a cow.

‘Orly doesn’t come down the mountain,’ Constance said.

But today Orly and Lotte had decided to pay their respects.

‘A gift,’ Orly said to Phaedra. ‘She belongs to Gert and Bert.’

Phaedra embraced them both. She understood the significance and worth of this cow.