“Froi, step away,” Gargarin said. “Put the dagger down. They won’t listen to reason, and it will only get you killed. Put it down.”
“You don’t tell me what to do, Gargarin!”
“Can you not listen for once?” Gargarin shouted. “If you had listened . . .”
But Gargarin didn’t finish his words.
“Say it!” Froi shouted over Finnikin’s head, not knowing whom he hated most. “I wouldn’t have lost her. That’s what you wanted to say.”
“Put the sword down and at least bargain for Lirah’s life,” Gargarin said.
Finnikin uttered a sound of disbelief.
“He thinks we’d kill his woman?” he said. “Is that what he thinks we are? Murderers?”
“You’re holding a dagger to an innocent man’s throat, Finn,” Froi snapped. “He builds cisterns and plans water meadows and waterwheels. You collected all the information, but you got it wrong. Most times we’re right, Perri once told me. This time you’re wrong!”
Froi couldn’t stand the silence. He couldn’t stand to hear the sound of Gargarin’s ragged breath and Lirah’s despair. Just as he was about to lower his weapon, he watched Finnikin release both the dagger and his hold on Gargarin, who crumpled at his feet.
Froi dropped his dagger and Lirah was suddenly beside them, holding the staff, helping Gargarin to his feet. Somehow they managed to separate into two groups with space between them. Despite the lowering of swords and daggers, the atmosphere was tense. Perri’s stare was fixed on Gargarin.
“Where do I know you from?” he demanded.
“You don’t know him,” Froi said tiredly. “Just leave it, Perri. He doesn’t understand what you’re saying.”
Perri’s hand gripped Froi by the throat, pulling him close. “Speak Lumateran, Froi! Or have you forgotten how to?”
And Froi felt a shame beyond reason. It made him despise the Charynite tongue to know it had such control. All this time, he hadn’t spoken a word of Lumateran.
Perri didn’t let go. “Since when do you hold a weapon to your king’s throat?” he raged quietly. “Since when do you disappear for so long and take up with an enemy of Lumatere?”
Froi pulled free, viciously. “Since you sent me into Charyn to create holy hell. Isn’t that what you’d call it, Perri? Because this is hell enough for me!”
He walked away, trying to think. All this meant was that he was even further away from finding Quintana and their child.
“How did you manage to get the Belegonian letters?” he demanded, swinging back to face them.
Finnikin didn’t respond.
“How?”
“We have . . . a spy.”
Finnikin refused to meet his eye.
“A spy? In Belegonia?” Froi was confused, and then it registered.
“Celie? Our Celie? You put her life in danger? Isaboe would never have allowed that!”
Finnikin was suddenly advancing on him. “Oh, really? You know what my wife would allow, do you? An expert on all things Isaboe?”
Finnikin was deadly in one of these moods.
“I know Isaboe well enough,” Froi said. “She would —”
Finnikin flew at Froi and knocked him down. Froi shoved him back, and they wrestled, rolling in the dirt toward where the others stood.
“Are you going to stop them?” he heard Gargarin ask Trevanion and Perri.
“This has little to do with palace business,” Perri responded almost politely in poor Charyn.
“Step back, madam,” Trevanion ordered Lirah. “You’ll get hurt.”
Froi hesitated, thinking how ludicrous it all sounded. Finnikin took the opportunity to straddle him, holding him down to the ground.
“You want to ask about my wife?” Finnikin demanded. “What would you have me tell you, Froi? You probably know more about her than I do. Her little confidant.”
Froi popped him in the nose with his fist, and the next moment, he was on top and Finnikin was struggling to break free.
“It’s the word little I take offense to, my lord,” he said. “I think I’m the taller one now. Perhaps we can have Isaboe decide.”
Finnikin’s elbow caught Froi in the eye, and he fell back before Finnikin dived on top of him.
“What else did she tell you?” Finnikin hissed. “What else has she confided in you that she couldn’t tell me?”
Froi shrugged free. “Are you insane?”
He was on his feet, shaking his head with disbelief. “What have you done, Finn?”
Finnikin leaped up seconds later, and they stood nose to nose.
“What else, apart from her time in Sorel, did she trust you with and not me?”
Finnikin shoved him hard for an answer. Froi shoved him back.
“Do you really want to know?” Froi goaded, fury lacing his voice. “She spoke to me of love and obsession and the way the goddess can weave ties between human hearts that burn with every touch.”
Finnikin roared and charged for him, but Froi leaped up onto one of the branches, shoving a boot into Finnikin’s face.
“She trusted me with the knowledge that loving the way she loved frightened her beyond imagining.”
Finnikin gripped at his boot, and Froi tumbled, landing back on the ground with Finnikin pressing his face into the dirt. Froi crawled free.
“She trusted me with the knowledge that her people think she’s the bravest queen who ever lived, but she fears she doesn’t know who she is without the man she worships,” Froi continued. “She fears that if something happened to him, she’d lie in her bed and never ever get up.”
Froi scrambled to his feet, and they were standing before each other, so unlike the time in training back in the meadow before Froi had traveled to Charyn.
“When she was carrying Jasmina in her belly, she trusted me with the knowledge that she feared she wouldn’t love her child as much as she loved her king,” Froi continued. “She told me about her slavery in Sorel, because she had to speak to someone about her shame. If anyone understood that sort of shame, it was me . . . and her king. But she couldn’t tell her king because their curse was that he had to share her pain twofold and she will never forgive herself for putting him through that.”
Froi threw a punch, and it knocked Finnikin down.
“And do you know what else we spoke about? Not that she doesn’t believe that her consort is a man of worth because he is less titled than his wife, but that her consort doesn’t believe he is worthy. You have no idea what that does to her, you fool. Because you’re too busy being proud. What an indulgent luxury pride is,” he raged. “I would give my life to be the consort to the woman I love. I’d give my life to be her footman! Her servant. Any chance to stand close enough to protect her. Yet your queen asks you to sit on the throne by her side and it’s all too degrading for you. You fool,” Froi said bitterly. “You will drive her away.”
There was no satisfaction in Froi’s victory. After a moment, they both looked over to where Trevanion, Perri, Gargarin, and Lirah were watching dispassionately. Froi suddenly felt like a child. Under the same stares, Finnikin fidgeted uncomfortably beside him.
“Finished?” Trevanion asked.
No one responded.
“We head home,” the Captain said. “You ride with me, Froi. And you better be speaking the truth about this man’s innocence. You’re going to have to face the queen about the decision we made to let him go.”
They were the last words Froi wanted to hear.
“I’m staying,” he said quietly.
Finnikin turned to stare at him but didn’t say a word.
“Get on the horse, Froi,” Perri ordered.
Froi shook his head. “Don’t ask me to do that. For now, I need to stay here.”
Finnikin still hadn’t spoken, and Froi waited, wanting a word, a gesture. From his king. His friend.
“You’re making a choice here, Froi,” Trevanion said. “Charyn or Lumatere?”
Froi couldn’t fight the
anguish he was feeling. “Why does there have to be a choice?” he asked.
Finnikin made a sound of disbelief, and Froi felt as if he was with strangers.
“How can you even ask that?” Finnikin said, mounting his horse and riding away.
And on that night, Finnikin traveled with a heavy heart, his thoughts on his childhood friend Balthazar. Because the loyal friendship he had shared with Froi had become just as fierce over the years. Lucian would have agreed. Froi reminded them both of how they had been before Balthazar’s death. They were more carefree in his presence. Content. But all that was gone now.
“They’re not safe here,” Trevanion muttered when they reached the border. “There’s an army camped somewhere close back there. Probably for one of them.”
“Not our problem,” Finnikin said, steering his horse toward the river that would take them across to Osteria and then home.
“Froi made his choice. He’s dead to Lumatere.”
And I’m shaking with Phaedra as we climb to the cave, Froi. Our skin is still fastened by blood that is hers. And the women are stunned and all asking questions, but the fool girl just cries and lets go of my hand. And she weeps and she weeps, so I lay by her side and I whisper the order, “We’ll kill them together.” Phaedra reaches a hand to her cheek, and I see that it’s pressed where the Mont’s blade had pierced her. And I can see in her eyes that she’s almost convinced. The next time we meet them, it’s the bitch queen who weeps.
And sometime the next day, Isaboe returned from the mountain to the palace. She responded to the letter from the Sarnak ambassador that was waiting for her. Then she spoke to the kitchen staff about the dinner banquet for the Osterian archduke and chose the design for the garden they were building in honor of her mother. Sir Topher arrived in the residence soon after, and they put the finishing touches on the invitations for the next market day. Rhiannon came fussing with Jasmina, who wanted no one but her mother, and Isaboe rocked her daughter to a song of unicorns and rabbits and all things fluffy and white. And then the palace was quiet and she was alone for the first time in days, thinking of that hideous night of death, trying to remember with all her might what her last words to every one of her family were. Until Finnikin’s hound came searching for his master and found her instead. It was only then that she felt the weary sob release. And she wept into the hound’s coat until her body ached and she feared she would hurt the babe that was inside of her. Because everything was broken. Everything. And there was no design, nor treaty, nor map that could put it all back together.
“She’s gone again,” Cora said, shoving Phaedra awake.
Phaedra didn’t want to go out in the cold. She didn’t want to move from the bedroll where she had been huddled all day and night. But Cora shoved her again.
“Get up. I don’t know what took place out there with you two useless girls, and I don’t care. But we didn’t sacrifice our pathetic half lives in the valley only to lose her.”
With all the strength she could muster, Phaedra untangled herself from her meager blanket and wearily got to her feet.
“How long has she been gone?” she asked.
“Since yesterday evening, although she did leave that,” Jorja said, indicating a dead rodent, pierced with a sharp twig through its length, “outside the entrance this morning.”
“Ready for roasting,” Florenza said. “You’re wrong, Cora. She’s not completely useless.”
“She revolts me,” Ginny muttered.
“Yes, but you’ll be the first one to eat anything she hunts,” Jorja said.
That began another round of bickering. Phaedra ignored them and walked to the entrance.
“Take a blanket,” Cora said, and Phaedra heard a touch of kindness in her voice.
She knew exactly where to find her. When Phaedra had gone searching for Quintana two days past, before those terrifying moments with the queen and Lucian, she had come across a small collection of berries and nuts and a large amount of ferns and moss pulled from the ground. Phaedra imagined Quintana was planning to burrow herself into the ground like the little rat that she was.
When Phaedra reached the small clearing, she searched the area for anything that resembled a hiding place. When she saw what looked to be a shelter made of bracken and bramble, she bent to peer in and saw the princess instantly.
“You can’t stay in there,” Phaedra called out. “Do you want a repeat of what happened with the queen of Lumatere?”
“Well, I’m not returning to the coven,” Quintana responded briskly.
Phaedra got to her knees and crawled into the space, half impressed with the underground nest Quintana had built for herself. It was a space big enough for two or three, but the princess refused to make room. Phaedra shoved the girl aside and wrapped her blanket around herself, shivering, but soon Quintana clutched at the end of blanket and they were forced to huddle together. And there they sat for a while in hostile silence.
“You need to give me most of that blanket,” Quintana ordered after some time. “I’m with child, and I’m covering up for two. I don’t like the cold. Did I not mention that?”
Phaedra bristled. “More than once.”
The princess watched her closely.
“Are they still bickering? What are they saying back there?”
“That we have a lot in common, you and I. Both useless.”
The princess curled her lip in disgust. “What does one have to do in this kingdom to be considered useful?”
Phaedra had to agree and was glad to hear that the princess recognized Phaedra’s efforts.
“I don’t see any of them staking rodents and catching hares,” Her Royal Awfulness continued. “I think I’m the least useless Charynite in these parts, if you ask me.”
“And me? I saved your life!” Phaedra said. “A thank-you would be appreciated.”
A show of savage teeth this time. “Oh, you’re one of those,” the princess said.
“One of what?”
“One of those who need to be told their worth over and over again by others. Do you know who tells me my worth, Phaedra of Alonso?”
The princess pointed a hard finger to her own chest.
“Me. I determine my own worth. If I had to rely on others, I’d have lain down and died waiting. See this,” she said, pointing to her belly. “This is Charyn. It can ill afford a curse breaker who’s waiting for everyone’s approval.”
She studied Phaedra suspiciously. Phaedra could sense that she was not going to like the next words that came from Quintana’s mouth.
“You’re more useless than I am. That piece-of-nothing girl Ginny told me your Mont husband sent you back, and that ugly hag Cora mentioned it, too.”
Phaedra bristled. Not only did the princess have the habit of repeating everyone’s favorite description of one another, but Phaedra’s marriage to Lucian was now being discussed with vigor among the women. How many of them had ridiculed her behind her back?
“Did your Mont husband not enjoying swiving you? Is that what it was?”
Phaedra was mortified to hear such filth come out of the girl’s mouth. She yanked Cora’s blanket away.
“If my father were here, he would wash your mouth out to hear such a word,” she said.
“Well, he’s not here, Phaedra of Alonso. He’s too busy trying to starve the people of the valley. Do you know what Gargarin of Abroi says?”
“I don’t care!”
“That it is what a man does for strangers that counts more than what he does for his family.”
“Oh, really,” Phaedra asked. “And what have you and your father done for strangers?”
The girl’s hand suddenly gripped Phaedra’s mouth.
“You’ll not enjoy my response to that question,” the princess said. “You don’t seem the type to stomach such filth.”
She shoved Phaedra away. “Leave me in peace. I’ll take care of the little king on my own.”
There had been silence among the three of them
for most of the next day. Gargarin had suggested that they first return to the inn for their horses and then head north to the Lascow Mountains. If there were any chance of raising an army, it would be with the people grieving the heir Tariq and his family.
“What are your thoughts?” Gargarin asked Froi.
“Whatever you think is right,” Froi replied.
When they reached the inn, however, Gargarin and Lirah’s horse was gone. Stolen. The stable boy knew little, except that out of all the horses taking shelter, theirs was the only one gone. Froi was suspicious.
So Lirah rode with Gargarin on Froi’s horse and Froi kept up with them on foot. Once or twice he felt Lirah’s stare, but he couldn’t meet it. He thought of what he had told them in Paladozza that last day, when he escaped with Quintana. About who he had once been on the filthy streets of the Sarnak capital. There were too many ugly memories. Too much shame. He didn’t want to see judgment in Lirah’s eyes. Froi didn’t have to worry about seeing anything in Gargarin’s eyes. Gargarin refused to look at him.
They traveled farther into the woodlands that evening. It was a peculiar place, where branches hung low and bare limbs in a blue-gray mist hovered over them like the long, thin specter of death that sometimes haunted Froi’s dreams. He knew they would soon be back in the stone terrain he had become used to. But, for now, these woodlands were a strangely familiar reminder of winter in the forest of Lumatere. Rather than feeling comforted, Froi was reminded that he no longer belonged in that kingdom.
When they were deep in the heart of the woodland, Lirah stopped the horse.
“I can go on,” Froi said, his voice curt. Did they think him weak? Had he shown in any way that his body didn’t have the strength it once had?
“Well, I’m tired,” Lirah said, dismounting. “I need to rest, so we rest.”
Froi made himself scarce, collecting kindling and ignoring Gargarin, who sat hunched on a log, scribbling.
“We need to write a list of where she would have gone,” Gargarin said, not looking up. “We can’t leave any stone unturned. Tell me of those last moments.”
The Lumatere Chronicles Page 96