Melina Marchetta - Froi of the Exiles

Captain Trevanion met them at the gate of the inn. He was one of the most impressive men Froi had ever seen: mighty in build, with a face that even men would call handsome. He was Finnikin’s beloved father and Froi knew they still felt the pain of having been separated from each other when Finnikin was a lad of nine. The Captain had also believed for ten long years that his beloved Lady Beatriss was dead, but she had lived, and during the past three years there had been much talk about whether they would rekindle their love.

‘We’re old men, I hear,’ Trevanion said, cuffing Froi.

Froi laughed. ’If you and some of the Guard weren’t old men, then being called old men wouldn’t insult you so much.’

‘We’re only some forty years, Froi.’

‘He calls Aldron an old man and he’s not even ten years older than him,’ Perri mused, looking around. ‘Where’s Finn?’

‘I thought he was with you?’

‘He rode ahead.’

Froi watched the two men exchange worried looks and followed them into the inn.

Inside, they jostled through a crowd. Tonight it was mostly filled with the Queen’s Guard, but Froi also recognised a handful of rock villagers and the lads who travelled with the Queen’s cousin, Lucian of the Monts, which meant the Mont leader was somewhere in the vicinity.

In a corner close to where the innkeeper was serving from barrels of ale, Froi saw the Monts speaking tensely amongst themselves. Most were cousins to Finnikin through his marriage to the Queen, but Finnikin and Lucian were nowhere to be seen. Froi sensed Trevanion and Perri’s unease and followed them to the bar. The lad assisting the innkeeper looked up when they approached. He was young and nervous and it was evident that he had never come face to face with the Captain of the Guard before.

‘You’re new,’ Trevanion said.

‘Yes, Sir. Just started.’

‘Did you recognise the Queen’s Consort?’

‘No … no, Sir, but he introduced himself.’

Trevanion looked relieved. ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s with a … a … w … w … woman, Sir.’

Perri, Froi and Trevanion stared at the lad with disbelief.

‘A woman?’ Trevanion snapped. ‘What woman?’

‘A woman waiting in his room, Sir. She had left a message.’

‘What room?’ Trevanion demanded, already halfway up the staircase.

Perri dragged the nervous lad along with them. ‘Was she armed?’ Perri barked.

‘What message?’ Trevanion shouted.

‘She said, “Tell my king I’m w … waiting in his chamber” ’.

Trevanion stopped just as they reached the top of the stairs. Froi watched the Captain’s expression change from fear to exasperation.

‘Her king?’

Trevanion muttered his favourite string of curses. The Captain had spent years in a foreign prison amongst low-lifes from every kingdom of the land and at times even the Guard flinched at some of his expressions.

A palace soldier stood outside one of the chamber doors, shrugging haplessly when he saw his captain.

‘I can’t control her any more than you can control him, Sir,’ he tried to say. Trevanion pushed him out of the way, knocking sharply before entering the room.

Near the window, Finnikin stood with both hands against the wall, his head bent over her. As always, the intimacy between them made Froi ache.

‘I promise you,’ Finnikin said. ‘I’ve already shouted at her and used a very, very reprimanding tone.’

‘I was quivering,’ the Queen said, stepping out from behind Finnikin.

Froi hid a grin, but Trevanion and Perri failed to hide their anger.

Isaboe was dressed more for comfort than for style, but still she managed to take Froi’s breath away. When he had first laid eyes on her in that Sarnak alleyway, her head had been bare. Now her hair was thick and black and fell down her back, contrasting with the deep purple of her simple dress that fell loose from her shoulders.

‘Surround the entire inn and send away every person who does not belong to the Guard or the Mont cousins,’ Perri barked out the order to the soldier outside. Trevanion disappeared with the man.

‘That will make us popular,’ Finnikin said, his arm around his wife. ‘Not only have we finally decided to collect tax, but now we’re getting in the way of their drinking.’

Isaboe caught Froi’s eye. She grabbed Finnikin’s face to reveal an already purple eye.

‘You?’

Froi pointed to himself questioningly, feigning surprise and hurt.

‘Where are his bruises?’ she asked Finnikin.

Froi made a scoffing sound at the thought.

Trevanion returned to the room. ‘Where’s Jasmina?’

‘In the next chamber,’ the Queen said, ’and if any of you wake her, Captain, I will have to kill someone tonight.’

‘I need to check –’

‘ No ,’ both Isaboe and Finnikin spoke.

Trevanion stared at them.

‘I’ll see that –’

‘No,’ the Queen said again. ‘You can see your granddaughter when she wakes up.’

Trevanion looked disgruntled.

‘She’ll know it’s you the moment you walk in,’ Finnikin complained, ‘and she’ll think it’s a game and call out Pardu Twevanion all night. I’ve not slept for two years!’

Trevanion fixed his stare on the Queen, his anger still present.

‘I finished the business with the Osterians earlier than predicted,’ she explained, with a sigh. ‘I thought I’d come and visit before Finnikin’s meeting with the Sarnaks. Coincidentally, Lucian is also here so I get to see my husband and my cousin. I’m very lucky in that way.’

Finnikin and Froi laughed. Trevanion and Perri didn’t.

‘Where is Lucian?’ Trevanion asked.

‘Apparently checking the privy and mouse holes for Charynites.’

‘I’m glad you’re amused about the safekeeping of this family, my queen,’ Trevanion said.

The Queen regarded him coolly and in an instant the mood in the room changed.

‘Not amused at all, Captain,’ she said. ’I’m never amused about the safety of our family.’

Froi saw a flicker of regret on Trevanion’s face.

‘It’s just safer for you and the child to be in the palace, Isaboe,’ he said, his voice softening.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said with remorse. ‘But it seemed so harmless and you know what it feels like after three days speaking about mines and goats with the Osterians. It’s what keeps them protected from invasion. The ability to bore the enemy to tears.’

There was a knock and without so much as an invitation to enter, Lucian of the Monts joined them, his stare going straight to the bruise on Finnikin’s face. Although not as tall as the river lads, Lucian had an imposing build and a temper to match. There was ruddiness to his cheeks courtesy of the mountain weather and a bluntness in all things about him that set Lucian apart from the other leaders of Lumatere. Froi remembered little of Lucian from those few days he spent with the Mont before Lucian’s father died in the battle to reclaim Lumatere. But many believed he was a changed lad since. Lord Augie said over and over again to Lady Abian that he was too young to control his kin on the mountain and protect the kingdom from the Charynites.

‘ Bastard ,’ Lucian said, turning to Froi. ‘Bastards, both of you. Fists only?’

‘Bit of wrestling thrown in,’ Finnikin said. ‘You can’t see his bruises, but I promise they’re there.’

Lucian had been the childhood companion of Finnikin and Isaboe’s brother, Balthazar. The two friends still spoke of the slaughtered heir to the throne as if he was there amongst them, but Froi had never heard them mention Balthazar in front of Isaboe.

‘How’s Yata ?’ she asked, pecking her cousin’s cheek with a kiss.