The Lumatere Chronicles

by Melina Marchetta

  “That’s called assassination, isn’t it, Perri?” Finnikin called out to the guard. “To do exactly what was done to our king and —”

  “Don’t!” she shouted, sobbing the word. Behind her, Perri shook his head at Finnikin in warning.

  “Do not compare the slaughter of my family to the killing of the monster who planned it and the traitor who carried it out. We are not ordering the deaths of innocents here. We are taking revenge, while ensuring that Lumatere is not bled dry.”

  “Your people need to know the truth, Isaboe.”

  “What my people need to know is that the beast and his men who razed our kingdom to the ground are dead. That they suffered. That the beast and his men who raped their wives and children no longer exist. Do you know how they punished the men who dared to stand up to them? How they kept them from resisting? Do you know how they came for their young daughters in daylight hours? Do you know how many drowned themselves in the river rather than endure what was happening? And I felt every one,” she sobbed, hitting her chest with her fist. “Every single one, Finnikin. Oh, that leaders of kingdoms should feel the pain of every one of their citizens who they send out to fight their wars. Put me out of my misery now, rather than allow me to feel the deaths of my people fighting for such a truth to be known.”

  Finnikin gripped the hand pounding her chest, and she leaned toward him, emotion strangling her voice. “If you want to help run my kingdom, you do so from by my side and not from your rock village,” she said.

  “What makes you presume that I have a desire to run your kingdom?” he said coldly. But she was standing too close and he wanted to rest his forehead against hers. Take everything she was offering.

  “Is it not what Seranonna predicted?” she asked quietly. “In the Forest when we were children? Light and dark. And what else was it that she said, Finnikin? What is it you fear so much?”

  He shuddered. “Why don’t you fear me?” he said, his fingers digging into her arm. “Why don’t you fear me shedding your blood to be king?”

  He saw her wince with pain and felt Perri’s arm around his neck as he was pulled away.

  “You are a fool,” she said, the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Do you believe you are not man enough for the task? Perhaps I should give that privilege to the prince of Osteria, who begs to come calling to strengthen ties between our kingdoms.”

  Finnikin bit his tongue until he tasted blood. Something savage inside him wanted to kill any man who dared touch her.

  “But know this, Finnikin. I will despise you for the rest of your life if you force me to take another man to my bed as my king.”

  She walked away and he ached to follow, but Perri refused to let him go, his lips close to Finnikin’s ear. “Speak to the queen or touch her like that again,” he threatened in a quiet voice, “and you will find yourself, on your father’s orders, guarding the barren border at Sendecane.”

  Finnikin broke free, his breath ragged. “Make sure you leave someone behind to protect her as you would, Perri. For it looks like sometime soon you’re going to Charyn,” he said bitterly. “To kill a king.”

  “If that is what my queen wants of me, Finnikin, that is what I will do.”

  A week passed and then another. Cottages began to appear, built from mud bricks and straw, their roofs thatched and floors earthen. But the exiles had slept in worst conditions and many of them relished the idea of having a door and space and privacy. Those who had been trapped inside became accustomed to greeting their new neighbors. In each village, plowing and planting continued and routines began to be reestablished.

  One morning, Trevanion stood with Perri and Moss watching Lord August work the land alongside his young sons and the villagers. The sun was hot, but August looked content among the men. Their lives were beginning to return to something close to normal, and talk of crops and planting at times erupted into healthy arguments. Trevanion noticed the workers seemed to enjoy the task of turning over the soil with the hand-held plow, despite the demanding nature of the work.

  “Where are the oxen?” Perri asked, holding out a hand to take the plow from Lord August.

  “We share them with the rest of the Flatlands on rotation,” the Duke said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I think the village of Clough has them today.”

  “Sennington was extensively damaged, Augie,” Trevanion said. “Can you not have Abie convince Lady Beatriss to move her village to Fenton? They lost most of their people in the fever camps. There are acres of fertile land with no one to work it.”

  Lord August gave a small humorless laugh. “Have you been in the same room as my wife and Lady Beatriss and Tesadora?” he asked. “Terrifying. The moment I tried to make such a suggestion, I was cut down. Then I displayed greater stupidity by suggesting to the viper Tesadora that since the queen had been removed from her cloister and the guards were no longer there, I could request some sort of protection for her and her girls. Just in case.” He shook his head, shuddering. “I’m sure she cast a spell on me with one flick of her eyelid.”

  “You’re scared of the women?” Trevanion asked, amused.

  “I am not ashamed to say so, and you are a fool if you’re not,” Lord August said pointedly.

  “Lucian has volunteered to send the Monts down to work on Fenton,” Perri said as he returned with the plow.

  “I fear the boy is too young and does not have the heart to lead the Monts,” Lord August said.

  Trevanion shook his head. “He carried his father’s body up that mountain over his shoulder, Augie. That has less to do with physical strength and more to do with heart. Finn has spent much time with him and his people, and they are doing what Monts do best. Getting on with life.”

  “I’m presuming Finnikin is not there now,” Lord August said disapprovingly.

  “He’s in Sarnak. On palace business,” Trevanion replied, frowning at Lord August’s tone.

  “On his own?” Perri asked.

  “He took some of his lads from the village. Why are you so certain that he wasn’t with the Monts?” Trevanion asked.

  “Because the queen is with them, and some say that Finnikin can be found wherever the queen is not.”

  Trevanion bristled. “Another contribution from the women? If anyone has a problem with my son’s movements, Augie, I will tell them to politely mind their own business, whether it’s your wife or Tesadora.”

  “You left out Lady Beatriss,” Moss said.

  “I could not imagine Lady Beatriss concerning herself with Finnikin’s business, but if the question arose, I would be just as firm with her.”

  “Finnikin needs to bring the queen home to the palace, Trevanion,” Lord August pressed. “Not her Guard. Not Sir Topher. Finnikin. And Lucian of the Monts will need to be looked out for. He’s still a young man who will have to work hard to gain people’s confidence, no matter whose son he is. Those mountains are Charyn’s entrance into our kingdom.”

  “Why are you telling us what we already know, Augie?” Perri asked tersely.

  “I have Lucian looked out for,” Trevanion said. “He has his uncles and his yata, and the Mont lads are under constant training.”

  “And who is guarding the novices of Sagrami?” Lord August continued. “It’s too secluded out there in the west, and if we ever have a repeat of —”

  “Tesadora and the novices are protected,” Perri said firmly, “whether they know it or not. Men trained by me, Augie. So anyone who decides to walk into that part of the kingdom for no good reason may find himself with the sharp edge of a dagger across his throat. Now, do you have any other questions about the protection of this kingdom?”

  Lord August stared from Perri to Trevanion and Moss.

  “Tell me our Perri’s not sharing the viper’s bed?” he asked Trevanion.

  Moss chuckled. “Brave man indeed who strips himself bare in front of that one.”

  Trevanion saw Lady Abian walking down the path to the manor house on her return from the pa
lace village.

  “Gentlemen!” she called out with a wave.

  They held up their hands in acknowledgment.

  “Finnikin?” she asked. “Where is he? I have seen little of him, Trevanion.”

  “In Sarnak. On palace business,” he called back. “I’ll have him come see you as soon as he returns.” He heard a snort of laughter beside him as Lady Abian shook her head in disapproval and proceeded toward the house.

  “Oh, you really told her to mind her business,” Perri mocked.

  Later, Trevanion, Moss, and Perri traveled farther into the kingdom, as they had done each day since their return. Trevanion knew the people of Lumatere felt comforted by the presence of his men, and he made it a priority to ensure they were visible in as many villages as possible. He was careful, trying to find the fine line between authority and protection. It was Lady Abian who suggested that the Guard not wear formal uniforms. Both the exiles and those trapped inside had been victims of the violence delivered by guards across the land. Instead, they wore gray and blue, colors representing both goddesses.

  In the afternoon, they reached a village at the edge of the Flatlands, where men and women worked together to prepare the soil. Before the others realized what was happening, Perri had leaped off his horse. “Froi,” he said with satisfaction.

  Trevanion sighed with relief. In addition to his own fondness for the boy, he had feared the queen’s anguish if they had lost him.

  Froi saw Perri and Moss coming toward him, and he couldn’t stop the smile, couldn’t stop the happiness he felt inside as he put down his tools. And then Perri was grabbing him and they both pretended it was a tussle but really it was a hug.

  “Where’ve you been, Froi?”

  “Been here. Working a strip,” he told them.

  “Has our boy got some crazy notion he’ll earn enough to buy a small pocket himself?” Moss asked, and Froi liked the way Moss said “our boy” as if Froi belonged to them instead of belonging to no one. Sometimes, during their travels, he had imagined there was someone inside Lumatere searching for him. But there had been no mother like Lady Abian or father like Trevanion waiting. No kin who recognized him as theirs.

  Perri ruffled his hair. “Moss, go see the bailiff and tell him Froi’s coming with us.”

  Perri began to walk back to the road, and Froi followed to where he could see the captain astride his horse. But then Froi looked back to where his work lay unfinished and it made him sad because there had been something about the touch of earth in his hands that made him feel worthwhile.

  “Disappear like that again, boy, and I will send you back to Sarnak, where they found you,” the captain growled when Froi reached him. “Where I’m certain Finnikin is roaming the streets looking for you as we speak.”

  Froi felt his eyes smart, but he kept his anger and hurt inside because anger made him want to spit and that was the last thing he wanted to do to the captain.

  “What have you been doing, Froi?”

  “Plowing, Captain,” he said quietly.

  “Plowing?”

  “Soon they’ll begin the planting. Barley and oats and onions and cabbage. There they’ll plant ten apple, five pear, and two cherry trees,” he said, pointing up to the mountains. “The ones donated by Osteria.”

  “Get on my horse, Froi,” the captain said, holding out a hand to him. “You belong with us.”

  And as much as Froi wanted to belong with them, he stared at the hand the captain was holding out to him but didn’t take it. “To do what?” he asked.

  “The Guard protects the kingdom, Froi. The people of Lumatere honor us by allowing us to protect them,” Perri explained.

  “But I can’t,” he said, and he could feel the captain and Perri staring at him and he wanted to say all the right things to them. He had tried to explain to one of the workers the other day how being with the Guard and Evanjalin and the priest-king and Finnikin and Sir Topher had made him feel, but he hadn’t been able to find the words for it.

  “That’s respect,” she told him later when she understood what he was trying to say. He had never heard that word before and although he knew what he felt for them was fierce, it didn’t mean he could protect the kingdom with them.

  When the captain leaned down to hoist him onto the horse, Froi tried to speak but it came out like a whisper. “How can I be part of the Guard and protect this kingdom when I feel nofing for it? Captain Trevanion, they made a mistake. Finnikin and Evanjalin and Sir Topher. I’m not from here. I can tell from the way the others watch me. It’s as if they sense fings of me. Fings I don’t know myself.” He stared down at the ground because he didn’t want the captain to see his face.

  “Everyone looks at each other that way these days, Froi. Brothers and sisters, fathers and sons. Even those who were once lovers,” the captain said.

  Froi looked from Perri to the captain. “How can I die for any of the Guard? It’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? If somefing happens?”

  Perri nodded.

  “I wouldn’t,” he said truthfully. “I’d protect myself first.”

  Moss approached them, looking happy, but the smile left his face when he saw their expressions.

  “You’re Lumateran, Froi. You’d fight for this kingdom,” Perri said, but Froi shook his head.

  “It’s just a word. Lumatere. Feel nofing for it, except for this patch of land I’ve worked on.”

  “Nothing. For no one?” Moss asked.

  Froi thought for a moment. “I fink I’d die for Evanjalin. Probably Finnikin too.”

  “She is the queen,” the Captain said firmly. “She’s not Evanjalin, Froi.”

  “Whoever she is, I fink I’d die for her and Finnikin. Because that time in Sarnak when she came searching, sometimes I fink she didn’t come back for that ring. It was for me.” He realized it was the first time he had ever said anything like that out loud and it made him think of saying other things in his head that were the truth. “But I wouldn’t die for anyone else. Not even you free or the priest-king or Sir Topher. I’d sell you out the first moment someone convinced me.”

  The captain gave a short laugh of disbelief, but he seemed amused all the same, and then Perri joined in.

  “He would,” Perri agreed. “I believe him.”

  Froi felt ashamed, but Perri flicked him under the chin with his thumb. “So would have I, Froi. At your age.”

  “I don’t understand,” Moss said. “Finnikin’s lads from the village are begging us to let them train with the Guard.”

  “Climb up on my horse,” the captain said with a sigh, his arm still extended.

  Froi didn’t dare disobey, and with a heavy heart he held on as they rode toward the palace. As he took in the Flatlands on both sides of the road, he realized that it scared him, all these people and all this work they had to do and the way some of the villagers who had worked around him would drop their planting tools and just cry. Men, too, not just women, and it was a different crying from what Lady Celie had done in Belegonia. It was the type of crying that gave him tears and most times he pretended there was dirt in his eyes. Deep down, Froi wanted it to go back to the time when it was just them hiding in the woods and there weren’t so many people to feel sad for.

  The captain slowed down at a Flatland village where everyone seemed to be working, and he could see the towers over the trees in the close distance and he knew they were almost entering the palace village.

  “It’s Lord August’s estate,” the captain explained. “Here is the deal, Froi. You can work the land, but we choose whose land. You continue your lessons with the priest-king. You make the queen happy.”

  Froi looked at him, not understanding.

  “Perhaps you are right. You’ve not known this kingdom long. It takes time to love a land and a people and want to protect it, especially when those around you have eyes full of mistrust. It would be wrong for us to expect more from you now.”

  “But one day we will ask you again,”
Perri continued.

  Froi stared at them. “But if I am the enemy?”

  “Enemy to whom, Froi? To our queen?” Perri asked.

  “Never. Not her.”

  “Then that is a start, Froi.”

  He thought about it for a moment and then looked at the village of Sayles. “As long as I don’t have to live inside the big house with Lord Augie and Lady Abian,” he said. “Because if they’re going to spend every night screwing —”

  “Froi!”

  The captain laughed for the second time that day, and Froi liked the sound of it.

  “Queen’s orders that you stay close,” Perri said. “Do us a favor, Froi. Do not defy the queen’s orders. She is frightful these days up in those mountains.”

  Froi nodded. “I’ll stay. But you’re wrong about the queen,” he said, swinging off the captain’s horse, looking out at the village he was to be a part of.

  “About her being frightful these days?”

  “No. About her being in the mountains. I saw her. This morning, but I kept my distance. Didn’t want to shame her. She was wif the Monts and everyone around me ran to the road to greet her. She was off to help in some village. Bal . . . Bal . . . ?”

  “Balconio,” the captain said. He cursed as he exchanged looks with the others. “I’ll go,” he said. “Perri, can you go back to the palace and escort Sir Topher to the village of Balconio?”

  Froi looked up at the captain, confused. “Everyone wants Finnikin to bond with her and not that prince from Osteria. Why is Finnikin not wif her?”

  The captain sighed. “Same reason as you, Froi.”

  “Because he’s not worvy?”

  The captain placed a hand on Froi’s shoulder as they made their way down the path toward Lord August’s house. Froi liked the feel of it and understood why Finnikin always puffed out his chest when his father was around.

  “He is in the queen’s eyes,” the captain said, “and she measures worth better than anyone I know.”