‘South.’
‘We head east,’ Perri said.
‘There’s no path east through these woods,’ Froi said.
‘Perri’s found one,’ Finnikin said. ‘Come.’
Gargarin and Lirah were looking at each other as Froi approached them, and they grabbed their packs ready to follow the others.
‘Perri’s found a path east,’ Froi explained, leading his horse along.
‘Well, thank the gods for Perri,’ Gargarin muttered, following.
Perri stopped and turned to face Gargarin, his stare deadly. But Froi stood between them, giving Gargarin a warning look.
Perri’s path was unmarked and they followed him into a thicket of trees that joined overhead, shielding them from all sides. The horses were there and Perri tended to them. Trevanion collected kindling and tried to nurture a flame, but the twigs were too damp and it took some time for the smallest of fires.
‘For warmth, not food. We can’t draw attention,’ Trevanion said.
Froi watched them all. Strangely, Lirah and Gargarin looked like nobility with their cold haughty stares and dressed in the best De Lancey had to offer. They all continued to study each other with suspicion.
‘Take him,’ Gargarin finally said to Finnikin, pointing at Froi. ‘No matter what he says, take him with you.’
Froi shook his head with fury.
‘We’re travelling together whether you like it or not.’
Gargarin still refused to look at him. ‘I don’t need him.’
‘You’re just as helpless on your own!’ Froi said. ‘You were moments from death yesterday before I turned up.’
‘And you weren’t today?’ Gargarin shouted. ‘You’re still injured.’
‘Tell them to lower their voices,’ Trevanion said to Finnikin.
‘I think Froi can understand you just fine,’ Finnikin said to his father.
‘I’m not leaving you behind,’ Froi said to Gargarin and Lirah. For a minute there was only the sound of twigs snapping in the flames. He turned to Finnikin and spoke in Lumateran. ‘He’s useless on his own. Both of them are. Twice this year he’s trusted the wrong people.’
‘Well, it’s sort of been us both times,’ Finnikin said. ‘Rafuel tricked him into believing you were Olivier of Sebastabol, and we tricked him with the Belegonians.’
‘I thought he was supposed to be brilliant,’ Trevanion said, stoking the fire.
Perri’s stare was still fixed on Gargarin. ‘You know me,’ Perri said.
‘What’s he talking about?’ Froi asked Finnikin with frustration.
‘Why are you asking me? Perri can understand you!’
It was silent again, miserably so.
‘It’s best my way,’ Gargarin tried again. ‘You go back with them –’
‘You are useless on your own and you’re going to get Lirah killed!’ Froi shouted again.
Trevanion was staring from Gargarin to Froi.
‘Well, he is,’ Froi said to Trevanion. ‘I’m not being disrespectful to the old, Captain. Every time I turn around, someone’s trying to shove him off a balcony or beat him black and blue. She even knifed him,’ he said, pointing to Lirah.
‘What’s he saying?’ she asked Gargarin.
‘We’re old, I think,’ he muttered.
‘He’s useless,’ Froi repeated to Trevanion.
Trevanion was still looking at them, and this time he included Lirah in his study.
‘Try not to remind him of that too often, Froi,’ the Captain said quietly. ‘When a son knows more than a father, it makes us feel very useless.’
Froi’s eyes smarted and he looked away. He felt Perri’s stare burn into them all. They knew.
‘His father?’ Finnikin asked, stunned.
Except for Finn. Sometimes Froi thought that Finn truly believed that Froi was a Lumateran. His king had always refused to take part in any conversation that suggested otherwise.
‘Not much of a father,’ Trevanion continued coldly to Gargarin. ‘Can’t truly understand how our boy found himself in those wretched streets of Sarnak on his own if not for a father who didn’t care.’
‘What did he say?’ Gargarin demanded to know, his voice deadly.
Froi closed his eyes. He didn’t want to be here doing this.
‘Froi?’ Gargarin questioned.
It was Finnikin who repeated the words and Froi saw the hard line of Gargarin’s mouth. Lirah was still. A serpent waiting to strike.
‘Circumstances, Captain,’ Gargarin said, his tone ice-cold. ‘You understand circumstances, don’t you? Those strange little occurrences that ensure that you’re separated from your son for more years than you want to think of. Count your blessings that yours ended up with Kristofer of the Flatlands and leave us with the misery of what happened to ours.’
Finnikin translated, still stunned.
‘His father?’ Finnikin continued, trying to register the information. He took in Gargarin’s slight build. ‘Froi comes from warrior stock. There’s no doubt of that.’
‘Serker,’ Perri muttered, staring at Lirah. ‘The mother’s a Serker.’
Finnikin looked agog, and if it was under different circumstances Froi would have mimicked him and they would have both laughed.
‘You have a mother?’
Froi stole a look at Lirah.
‘Her name is Lirah,’ he said, his tone husky.
Finnikin held a hand to his head, as if trying to clear it.
‘Lirah of Serker? The King’s whore?’
Perri nudged Finnikin, his eyes flicking towards Lirah.
‘Mercy!’
Froi could see Gargarin bristling. His only relief was that a fire separated Lirah and Finnikin. Any closer and she would have struck him, for sure. Or spat.
‘Anything else you’d like to tell us, Froi?’ Finnikin demanded.
Lirah and Gargarin and Froi looked away.
‘A double Mercy! They’ve got something else to tell us.’
‘Finn, leave it,’ Froi said. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Then it’s a good thing we’re not leaving until morning.’
Froi and Finnikin sat away from the others, talking half the day and night. The more Froi spoke of the events since he had left Lumatere, the more relentless Finnikin’s questions were, his reactions ranging from shock to horror to disbelief.
‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were lying to me, Froi.’
‘Yes, well, you know me better,’ Froi said. ‘What are they doing now?’
Finn peered over Froi’s shoulder to where the others were sitting in two separate pairs.
‘Same as what they were doing an hour ago. Staring at each other. She’s going to win, you know. I think she’ll outstare them all.’
‘No,’ Froi said, shaking his head. ‘She can’t outstare him. No one can. Not even Perri.’
Then it was silent between them and Froi thought he wouldn’t be able to bear another moment of this. It was as if three years hadn’t existed and they didn’t know who he was anymore.
‘I …’ Finnikin began.
Froi looked up. Waited.
‘What?’
‘I almost slit your father’s throat,’ Finnikin said.
Froi swallowed. He didn’t want to think of what would have happened yesterday if he had come across them all too late.
Finnikin moved in closer to whisper.
‘Do you want to know the truth? He actually intrigued me.’
That was Gargarin’s gift and curse. To unintentionally intrigue people, even those who wanted to slit his throat. Finnikin peered over Froi’s shoulder again.
‘They’re obscenely attractive people,’ Finnikin said politely. Froi couldn’t help but laugh.
‘And I’m not?’ he asked.
‘Well, no … I didn’t say that. But really, Froi. Look at them.’
Froi twisted around. Perri hadn’t stopped staring at Gargarin and Gargarin chose to deal with it by returning the st
are. Froi turned back to Finnikin and for the first time in hours, the truth registered.
‘You returned for me, Finn. After everything you said.’
Finnikin’s eyes were fierce with emotion.
‘Do you honestly think I would have left you out here, knowing there was a small army in the vicinity?’
‘I’m surprised you were able to convince Perri and your father to return.’
Finnikin laughed. ‘All I had to do was stop the horse and say, “I think …” and they were racing back into the woods to you.’
Froi laughed and it felt good. Real.
‘Can I tell you something without you beating me up?’ he asked.
Finnikin nodded.
‘Isaboe … she told me about her time as a slave because we were speaking of shame. She had seen awful things. What men did to their slaves and what some of the other girls had done to keep her safe. I told her worse things … what I’d done and what I’d allowed others to do to me.’
Froi shook his head, wanting to clear his mind of it all.
‘She said that she couldn’t bear sharing more of her misery with you, Finn. She’ll never forget her curse and that you suffer everything she feels when she walks the sleep. She couldn’t add more suffering to someone she adores with every ounce of her being. Her words.’
Froi looked up, feeling wonder. ‘You’re loved with every ounce of another’s being, Finn. How could you doubt her?’
Finnikin grimaced, shook his head.
‘You have a strong bond with Isaboe, Froi,’ he said, uneasily. ‘Don’t deny it.’
‘I have an equally strong bond with you, my friend,’ Froi said. ‘It’s not that I desire one of you over the other. It’s that I want what you have together. I know that despite everything … it must eat at your heart that you’re her consort and not her king …’
Finnikin shook his head again.
‘It’s not about having power over her,’ Finnikin explained. ‘If I was the King, I could take care of her. I could keep her free from the troubles of Lumatere, which seem endless. And so trite. Honestly, Froi, ours are such ungrateful people at times. Despite our hard work, all we hear are complaints and woe and who suffered most and whose soil deserves more. Why can’t they just be happy with what we’ve got? We have our kingdom back, but no one seems truly happy, and I’m frightened that it’s now in our blood. That we’ll pass on that dissatisfaction to our children and our children’s children and that we’ll be the ancients one day and our descendants will say, “Ah yes, a melancholy dour lot.”’
Froi let him speak. He knew Finnikin would never express these feelings to others.
‘And if I was the King, she could spend afternoons making friends and having them over for sweet cakes and hot brew. Do you know her greatest sadness? That she may have Beatriss and Lady Abian and Tesadora, but she would love friends her own age. She could have had Celie, but Isaboe made a sacrifice allowing Celie a life in Belegonia, and Isaboe hangs on every word of Celie’s adventures with the young people of the Belegonian court. She’s a queen and a mother, but I think she grieves the young girl she never got to be.’
Froi couldn’t help thinking of Quintana. Of the girl she never got to be. Isaboe and Quintana had more in common than anyone chose to believe.
Finnikin sighed and stood, looking over Froi’s shoulder at the others. ‘What are we going to do about them? Your Gargarin is going to provoke Perri into beating him to a pulp.’
Froi looked back at Gargarin, who was still exchanging stares with Perri.
‘Could you just tell Perri to ignore him?’ Froi said. He could protect Gargarin from the enemy, but not these men.
Finnikin gave a short laugh.
‘You know what Perri’s like. He’s not going to stop until he works out where he knows him from.’
‘He doesn’t know him,’ Froi insisted.
Froi couldn’t bear an entire night of this silence.
‘Do something, Finn. Talk to them. You’re good at making conversation.’
Finnikin stood and Froi followed him back to the others. He stoked the fire, although it was fine as it was. An owl hooted and Froi wished that everyone would just turn in.
‘Perhaps we can have a word, sir?’ Finnikin said to Gargarin.
Froi shook his head in warning. First mistake.
‘I’m not a sir,’ Gargarin snapped.
‘Can I draw you something?’ Finnikin said, retrieving parchment from his pack. ‘An idea I have for a drainage system I want to introduce to the Flatlands in my kingdom.’
Gargarin didn’t respond. Finnikin glanced at Froi, who nodded. A lack of response from Gargarin was not a bad thing, all things considered. Especially when someone was speaking about drainage.
Finnikin sketched for some time and then handed the parchment to Gargarin. Lirah looked over Gargarin’s shoulder to study what was there.
‘Where did you get the idea from?’ Gargarin asked. Froi could see he was impressed.
‘The ancient Haladyans,’ Finnikin replied.
‘Those goat swivers,’ Lirah said.
Gargarin chuckled. ‘I’ve never quite believed those tales. Remember, they were written by Aristos, Lirah. Not much of a fan of the Haladyans.’
‘Aristos was jealous,’ Finnikin said, glaring at Lirah, and Froi could see he was bristling on behalf of the Haladyans.
‘I’ve always said that those who underestimate the worth of the Haladyans are fools indeed,’ Gargarin said.
Finnikin made a sound of satisfaction and looked at Trevanion. ‘Have I not always said that?’
‘Are they the ones who lost?’ Trevanion asked.
‘Not quite lost. It was all about the surrender,’ Gargarin said.
‘A surrender for a surrender,’ Finnikin confirmed and Gargarin nodded.
They seemed to be the only two interested in a Haladyan battle that ended when two sides surrendered to each other.
‘Ridulous,’ Perri muttered, walking away.
Finnikin turned back to Gargarin. ‘My wife claims the Haladyans were a bunch of men in skirts who made too many mistakes,’ he said. ‘And that the surrender-for-surrender battle is a myth made up by men who enjoy crying over campfires and telling battle stories.’
Gargarin made a hissing sound of irritation. ‘Ah yes, that wife.’
But the conversation had broken the ice, and the two spoke well into the night while Froi penned a letter to the Priestking and to Lord August, laughing when Lirah said something to irritate Finnikin. Froi had always respected his king’s intelligence, but had never appreciated it as much as on this night. He hadn’t seen Gargarin so relaxed in conversation before. There was nothing forced between these two men. In another life they would have been friends.
‘Can you sketch something else, Finn? And take it back to the Priestking with this letter?’ Froi asked.
Finnikin nodded, pen poised to begin.
‘This,’ Froi said, removing his cap and showing them the markings on his skull.
He heard Lirah’s gasp and suddenly they were all around him, tracing the lettering with inquisitive fingers.
‘You’ve been injured,’ Perri said, not the least bit interested in the lettering. Froi felt Perri’s fingers on the dent caused by the arrow.
‘I ran into a bit of trouble weeks ago. All good now,’ Froi said.
He watched Finnikin copy the lettering.
‘How did you possibly catch a bolt to the head?’ Trevanion asked.
‘It was an ambush,’ Gargarin said. Regardless of how little Lumateran Gargarin understood, it was clear what was being asked.
Finnikin looked at Gargarin. ‘What’s he not telling us?’ he demanded. ‘About this ambush?’
‘There’s more,’ Gargarin said. Froi grimaced, shaking his head.
‘It’s finished,’ Froi said. ‘I’m cured. Leave it.’
‘I told you,’ Perri said to Trevanion. ‘He never favours his left from right and there was no reason
for him not to have held onto the branch.’
The five waited and Froi reluctantly removed his tunic and undershirt. They stared in horror.
Gargarin reached over and traced his hand gently across the scar on Froi’s chest.
‘He sewed you.’
‘He thinks he’s a genius,’ Froi said and laughed reluctantly. There was a pained smile on Gargarin’s face.
‘Gargarin has a brother who is a physician,’ Froi explained to the others. ‘They look the same, you know,’ he couldn’t help adding. ‘Twins. I’d never seen twins before.’
‘We have a pair on the Rock,’ Finnikin said.
‘You should never have trusted anyone,’ Trevanion said.
Froi covered up quickly, shivering. He noticed that Perri’s stare was back on Gargarin.
‘How is Lucian faring?’ Froi asked, trying to take Perri’s attention away from whatever it was that seemed to irritate him about Gargarin.
He noticed the uneasy look between Trevanion and Perri.
‘Finn?’ Froi asked, praying that nothing had happened to Yata or any of Lucian’s lads.
‘Lucian lost Phaedra of Alonso,’ Finnikin said. ‘They were close to reconciling and he lost her.’
‘She went home to her father?’ Froi asked.
Finn shook his head and suddenly Froi knew the truth.
‘Dead? Dead? How?’
‘The plague in the north. It’s been a bleak time in the valley for the Charynites.’
And still Perri stared at Gargarin, and Froi knew that if Perri wanted to strike, there would be no stopping him.
‘He’s not a threat, Perri,’ Froi said, a plea in his voice. ‘On my life he’s not a threat!’
Perri’s stare didn’t waver until he turned to Froi.
‘My Charyn is weak. Can you fill in my words?’
Froi was confused by the request but nodded.
‘In the first days after we took back Lumatere,’ Perri began, ‘I escorted the impostor King and his men to the dungeons. Inside one of the cells was a Charynite, half-starved and mad, and I thought nothing of it and locked them up together. Later it occurred to me that if the man was in the dungeons, the impostor King must have placed him there. So I returned to the dungeon and moved the Charynite into another cell, intending to come back the next day to find out why he was imprisoned.
Quintana of Charyn Page 12