The Lumatere Chronicles

by Melina Marchetta

  Lucian didn’t know what to say. He could have convinced himself that these people were not Lumatere’s responsibility, but how could they not be?

  “Come,” Tesadora said to Lucian quietly. Reluctantly, he followed her up into the caves. She wanted him to see firsthand, but he didn’t have to. What was he expected to do? Defy Isaboe?

  The valley dwellers were listless, worse than they were in the days Phaedra had kept their spirits high. There was barely any talk among them, and the only emotion they seemed to show was a pitiful flare of hope at the return of Tesadora and the girls. Later, they entered a cave where a handful of the men sat miserably. One man clutched Tesadora’s arm.

  “Can you see to my wife?” he asked her. “They won’t let us share the same cave, and I know she’s not herself here,” he said, pointing to his heart.

  “Does she suffer from melancholy?” Tesadora asked.

  “I’ve not seen her in such a way since . . . since a long time ago. Since the first day of weeping eighteen years past.”

  Lucian saw sorrow on Tesadora’s face. “You lost a babe?” she asked huskily.

  The man nodded. “It was so close to being birthed,” he said. “And then it was gone. But we learned to live with our pain, and my wife swallowed her grief. Until now. Until all those weeks ago . . . on our journey here to the valley. We came across a girl . . . a mad-looking girl, who begged us for a ride. From the first moment my wife . . . even myself . . . from the first moment we saw her, there was a bond I cannot explain.”

  Tesadora looked up at Lucian, who said, “Repeat his words in case there are some I don’t understand.” She looked at the man. “Speak.”

  The man smiled at the memory. “It was as though I could look into the girl’s eyes and see a spirit I knew. My wife felt the same.” The man shook his head. “And then she was gone.”

  “Gone where?” Lucian asked.

  “Dead. From the plague. She was one of the younger women who took ill.”

  The man’s face was pained. “And for my wife, it was as though we lost our unborn babe again.”

  Lucian heard the intake of Tesadora’s breath. She bent forward and cupped the man’s face in her hands.

  “I’ll go see your wife,” she said.

  Lucian followed Tesadora out of the cave.

  “Is it her?” he asked quietly. “The girl he was speaking of? Is it that . . . princess?”

  “Shh. And don’t speak of her again,” Tesadora warned. “Don’t you risk her life, Lucian. Enough has been lost. Do you understand? Enough.”

  There was more than a warning in her voice. And Lucian remembered the day they had first interrogated Rafuel in the prison on the mountain. “Have you noticed anything strange in the valley?” the Charynite had asked. Lucian remembered how Tesadora had been the one to guess that day. There were no children in the valley. They had bled from the loins of the women. Tesadora had left the prison shattered. Lucian knew she was half Charynite. She claimed it was her Charyn blood that called her to this valley.

  “You lost a babe?” Lucian said. “Eighteen years past?”

  Tesadora stared up at him and continued to walk, but Lucian gripped her hand.

  “On the day of their weeping, you bled, didn’t you, Tesadora?”

  Tesadora pulled away, and Lucian saw the tears that refused to fall.

  “Mind your business, Lucian,” she said, her voice cold. “And feed these people, or may the food you put into your own mouth turn to parchment.”

  Late that night, Phaedra heard a sound outside their cave.

  “Did you hear that?” Cora asked.

  “Shh.”

  There was silence. Nothing but the sound of the malevolent wind. And then Phaedra heard it again. Three short whistles. Rafuel.

  They hadn’t seen Rafuel for weeks, and something inside Phaedra made her feel uneasy. She held a finger to her lips to signal the others to stay silent. Until she saw Tesadora and Japhra and the Mont girls, Constance and Sandrine. The Mont girls gaped when they saw Phaedra.

  “How . . . how could you do that to us?” Constance said. “After we gave you a home. How could you do that to Lucian?”

  “I warned you not to make a fuss,” Tesadora told Constance. “If you can’t keep silent, go back to the camp.”

  Sandrine began to weep, while Constance stared at Phaedra with anger. And hurt.

  Meanwhile, Phaedra’s companions were as furious as the Monts, turning on Rafuel.

  “Why trust Lumaterans over Gies and our men?” Ginny cried.

  “You need to tell Harker,” Jorja said.

  “Father will know what to do,” Florenza added.

  “If you can trust anyone, it’s Kasabian,” Cora snapped.

  Tesadora threw them a scathing look.

  “You’d think death would have silenced you all,” she muttered. She knelt beside Quintana, and Phaedra saw the beauty of Tesadora’s face now more than ever. Her eyes, normally so hostile, danced with joy and life, with an almost purple hue to them. Her hair looked silver in the light of the moon. Phaedra had only seen Tesadora this animated once before. When the queen of Lumatere had sat in her tent with Princess Jasmina on her lap, laughing with the women of her kingdom. And now, here, with Quintana. Deep down, Phaedra had wanted Tesadora’s laughter and warmth herself.

  The princess responded to Tesadora’s presence with a show of savage teeth, the closest thing she had to a smile.

  “Are you going to let Japhra see to you?” Tesadora asked Quintana, her Charyn still weak.

  “I’ll translate if you want,” Phaedra said.

  Tesadora waved her away. “Oh, we understand each other, don’t we, my little savage?”

  Quintana looked almost haughty with such attention, her smile now wolfish. Tesadora laughed and held a gentle hand to her cheek.

  “Japhra is the best midwife we have. More than a midwife. Gifted beyond imagining.” Tesadora gently lay Quintana down. “It will seem as if she’s doing strange things, but it’s only to ensure the babe is safe.”

  They lifted Quintana’s shift and Phaedra wanted to look away. The belly frightened her, but she didn’t want them to think she was a coward.

  Quintana flinched at whatever Japhra was doing.

  “I’ll hold your hand,” Tesadora reassured.

  “I can hold it,” Phaedra said. “She’s beginning to trust me.”

  “She snarls at you all day long,” Florenza said.

  Tesadora turned to them, annoyed.

  “Go away. Both of you. Go speak to Rafuel. He has news from the camp.”

  Phaedra stood and walked outside onto the rock face, where Rafuel was speaking to Cora and Jorja.

  “What is the news, Rafuel?” Phaedra said, her voice weary.

  “Not good. Your father has stopped the grain, Phaedra. The older valley dwellers aren’t faring well. Donashe and his men are the lowest of dogs, and they are growing in numbers. There is also one who watches me. As if he suspects. You all need to be careful. How could you have allowed the princess out of your sight?” he said, anger in his voice. “Her throat was almost slit by Isaboe of Lumatere. What were you thinking, Phaedra?”

  But I begged the Queen Isaboe not to, Phaedra wanted to cry. And she let us go. Didn’t that say something of her worth?

  “How are the men?” Jorja asked. “How is my Harker?”

  Rafuel shook his head. “Angry. I fear he will do something foolish and get himself killed for it. Donashe’s men don’t have the discipline of an army. They don’t have a bond to anything or anyone, including one another.” Rafuel’s eyes met Ginny’s. “Your husband and some of the other men in the valley have taken to being Donashe’s lackeys. It means their bellies are better taken care of than the rest, but they have sold their honor.”

  “Well, that’s your fault,” Ginny said spitefully. “Gies is despairing without me.” She looked at the other women, nodding in satisfaction. “He’s smart to have aligned himself with those in power.” />
  “Those in power, you stupid girl, slaughtered seven innocent men,” Cora said.

  Ginny looked away. “Well, my Gies and me, we weren’t here to have seen that, and according to Gies, those scholar lads were traitors.”

  Rafuel’s stare was murderous. The seven scholars had been his men, and Phaedra knew he would never forgive himself for not dying alongside them. By the look on his face, she thought he’d strike out at Ginny. She was relieved when Tesadora and Japhra were finished with the princess and joined them.

  “Will you come again soon, Matteo?” Cora said.

  Rafuel didn’t correct her.

  “Now that Donashe and his men believe that I’ve taken to Japhra, they may not question me slipping away more often,” Rafuel said.

  “The princess is fine for now,” Japhra said in Lumateran. “The babe will be born in the spring.”

  And then Tesadora, Rafuel, and the girls were gone, and Phaedra stood on the rock face watching until the last flicker of their lamps disappeared. Back inside, she lay beside the princess, turning away from her. But then she felt Quintana lean over her, her lips close to Phaedra’s ear.

  “I do believe we’re going to have to kill that piece-of-nothing girl Ginny.”

  Phaedra’s heart thumped to hear the words. She turned to face Quintana.

  “Are you mad?”

  “A knife to her side and a slit ear to ear. It’ll take us less than five seconds.”

  “That’s evil.”

  Her Royal Awfulness gave a laugh.

  “Can you honestly say with the clearest conviction that Ginny will not betray us the first chance she is given?”

  No, Phaedra thought. She couldn’t honestly say that. But nor could she sanction anything this mad girl suggested.

  “Find a better way of securing Ginny’s trust,” Phaedra said. “It would help if you were nicer to your own people . . . and not just the Lumaterans.”

  “Well, only one Lumateran has tried to kill me so far, as opposed to the number of Charynites who have attempted.”

  What kind of a girl was this who would speak of taking another’s life so freely?

  “I think —”

  “Go to sleep,” Quintana said dismissively. “You’re useless to me when you feel sorry for yourself.”

  Froi woke to see five faces staring down at him.

  “You fainted,” Lirah said.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did,” Gargarin argued.

  “You climbed down well enough, but the moment we touched the ground, you fainted,” Finnikin said.

  “I’ve never fainted a day in my life.”

  “Well, you fainted today,” Finnikin said, leaning closer, “and you’re going to really upset Perri and my father if you don’t speak Lumateran,” he added, feigning a whisper.

  Froi’s eyes met Perri’s and then Trevanion’s. Neither looked happy.

  “Reckon I stumbled. Hit my head on a rock,” he said in Lumateran. It felt so strange on his tongue now.

  “You fainted,” Perri said, his voice flat.

  If Froi had fainted in front of Gargarin, he wouldn’t have cared, but it was different in front of his captain and Perri and Finnikin. Warriors didn’t faint. Froi was shamed.

  “If you like, I can tell you in Sarnak or perhaps a bit of Yut, and then we would have made it clear in quite a few languages that you fainted,” Finnikin said with a grin.

  “I fainted,” he concluded miserably.

  Lirah made a sound of disgust. “I can’t understand a word anyone’s saying,” she said, walking away.

  Froi watched Finnikin stare after Lirah, shaking his head. “Rude, rude woman,” Finnikin muttered. “She spat at me, you know.”

  Froi wanted to sink into the earth beneath him. He sighed and sat up, but the movement was too abrupt and he found himself lying back down again, his head spinning.

  “Slowly,” Finnikin said, holding out a hand for a second time that day. “We’re going to have to move from here. There are still some riders out in the woods.”

  “From which direction did you come?” Froi asked.

  “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 one another 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 traveling 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 toward 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.”