“Half-dead?” Lucian asked, thinking of his own conversations with his dead father.
“Well, Quintana says they can’t be completely dead if they live inside of you.”
Light pierced through the branches shrouding them, and he held both their hands up to its illumination.
“We’re such different shades, you and I,” Phaedra said. “Strangely, you could belong to the Paladozzans and Nebians of my kingdom. You have their coloring.”
“I belong to you and you belong to me. That’s all that counts.”
She pressed her lips to his shoulder.
“I can take you away,” he whispered. “Hide you on the mountain. You don’t have to stay here, Phaedra. I can look after you.”
She made a sound of regret. “We come second, you and I, Luc-ien,” she said. “Our allegiance is always to our kingdoms. Without that allegiance, our people would fall.”
She placed her head back against his chest, and he felt her tears. “This is not our time.”
“But that will never mean I love you less,” he said.
They slept awhile, and when he woke, he kissed her brow. He wanted to stay, but there was too much happening on the mountain. Isaboe would soon come for her birthing, and his village would be swarming with her guards and those wanting to visit her.
He crawled out of their resting place and faced the spear first. Then he looked up and saw the strange Quintana of Charyn staring down at him, with her rounded belly and savage snarl. Harker’s daughter, Florenza, was there as well, her face battered but her eyes defiant as she gripped her own weapon.
“I was just with Phaedra,” he mumbled as a means of explanation.
“Really,” the princess said coolly. “You don’t think the whole valley heard the caterwauling?”
Lucian felt his face flush as he stood. Quintana of Charyn pressed the spear to his chest.
“Phaedra,” he called out softly. “Can you come out here . . . now?”
Phaedra heard the voices and was wide awake in an instant.
“Your Highness,” she said, crawling out and getting to her feet. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Come now, Phaedra,” Quintana said briskly. “We’ve got to go home.”
She sounded like Cora, and Phaedra wondered if she was mimicking her.
Phaedra stole a look at Lucian, who bent to kiss her good-bye but changed his mind.
“We’ll speak later, Luc-ien,” she said.
He stared down at Quintana’s belly. “You should be resting, Your Highness. Your birthing time will come soon.”
“And you’d know that because you’ve birthed a child before?” Quintana asked.
“No,” Lucian said politely. “I know that because I live on a mountain with many women. I’ve seen enough of those,” he said, pointing to her belly. “And you don’t have much time to go.”
Quintana rolled her eyes. Lucian narrowed his.
“Queens and princesses should show more restraint in eye-rolling,” he muttered. He stepped forward again to kiss Phaedra, but Quintana tugged her hand and dragged her away. Phaedra turned to see him, still standing by the shelter. Lucian held up a hand and waved, then disappeared between the trees.
She looked at her two companions, feeling lighthearted despite Quintana’s fingers digging into her hand.
“You were away too long,” Quintana said accusingly.
“What have I missed?” Phaedra asked.
“Oh, the usual,” Florenza said.
“Cora says no one will marry Florenza now with a broken nose,” Quintana said.
“Cora is playing with you,” Phaedra said.
“And Ginny is acting strange, sniveling in a corner one moment, disappearing the next,” Florenza said.
“You’d think she had never seen a corpse before the hangman’s,” Quintana said.
“We’ve all had a shock,” Phaedra said. “Florenza could have been killed, and the hangman could have taken you, Quintana. We’ve just got to be patient with everyone’s moods.”
She felt the princess studying her.
“What were you doing all that time, Phaedra? Swiving doesn’t take so long.”
“We were talking, Your Majesty,” Phaedra said, ignoring the word, knowing quite well that Quintana was only using it to irritate her. “We had much to say to each other.”
Quintana was silent for some time.
“On my last night in Paladozza, I lay with Froi and we spoke of everything,” she said. Phaedra wondered if she was trying to compete.
“And in the end, he asked me who I trusted most in the world and I told him the names of four people and then I asked him who he trusted most in the world and he told me the names of thirty.”
“It’s a Lumateran thing,” Phaedra said absently, the memory of Lucian’s hands on her body.” They travel in packs and trust one another with all their hearts. It doesn’t mean that they have the capacity to love more than us, but they do know how to trust. It’s because of their queen and her father before her and his father before him. The trust of a people comes from the goodness of their leaders.”
Quintana stopped. “Are you questioning my family’s failure to rule, Phaedra?”
Phaedra wanted to be mean-spirited. She wanted to hurt Quintana because so much was broken due to her. Phaedra wanted to hide on the mountain with Lucian, but this girl and Charyn’s unborn child stopped her.
“Your father and the house of Charyn didn’t fail as rulers,” Phaedra said boldly. “They failed as leaders.”
Quintana’s stare was fierce, and Phaedra shivered at its force.
“Well, now you’ve gone and offended me, Phaedra, and I’m not going to tell you what I meant to tell you.”
Phaedra sighed. “I haven’t offended you,” she said, trying to keep a patient tone, because she knew that Quintana had nothing to tell her. It was just a ploy so that Phaedra would be forced to beg Quintana for the news. “I offended your father and the house of Charyn.”
“I am the house of Charyn. This,” Quintana said, pointing to her belly, “is the house of Charyn. And you didn’t just mean my father, Phaedra; you meant to insult the whole bloodline.”
“Your Highness, she didn’t mean —” Florenza began.
“Didn’t you?” Quintana demanded.
Phaedra stared at her. “Yes,” she said truthfully. “I meant your father and his father and his father before him. My own father says that Charyn’s royal bloodline is tainted.”
“And your father thinks that women don’t have courage,” Quintana said, “and that his grief is mightier than his duty to feed a people. So perhaps you should question what your father has to say about the bloodline of Charyn’s first child.”
“I didn’t mean to insult your child,” Phaedra said. “Come, now,” she added gently. “What were you going to tell me?”
Quintana looked away with an arrogant toss of her head. “You’re humoring me now, Phaedra. Placating me like I’m some stupid hound who will be satisfied with a bone. When you learn to respect me, I will speak to you as an equal.”
Froi spent the rest of the morning with the leaders, questioning Fekra in the castle’s dungeon. He couldn’t help remembering the interrogation of Rafuel of Sebastabol on Lucian’s mountain. That day had begun it all. He would hardly recognize the lad he was back then. Who was Froi, not having known Quintana and Arjuro and Lirah and Gargarin?
Unlike Rafuel, Fekra kept his head down the whole time.
“Were you there?” Dolyn of Lascow repeated. He had insisted on joining them all for the interrogation. “When Tariq and our kinspeople were slaughtered?”
Fekra finally looked up, and Froi saw the bleakness in his eyes.
“No. But I was there when the men returned. They had lost their spirit.”
“And that is supposed to appease my people?” Dolyn asked with anger.
Fekra shook his head.
“You’re not a soldier,” he said. “You don’t understand orders.�
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“Ah, the defense of all great men. I was ordered to do it,” Perabo said, looking away with disgust.
“At first we were told that Tariq of Lascow and his people had planned the murder of the king,” Fekra said. “Months later, a different story emerged.”
“The true assassin?” Froi asked cautiously.
Fekra nodded. “In a way. Whispers suggested that Bestiano ordered the killings of Tariq of Lascow’s compound because he wanted Charyn’s heir dead. That it had been Bestiano who did indeed kill the king because he had discovered that Quintana of Charyn was with child and he wanted more control over the kingdom. What better way than being regent to a helpless little king?”
Fekra shook his head. “Bestiano and those he paid to be his advisers said it was only talk, but a handful of the palace riders began to question the truth, including our captain.”
“Oh, the noble palace riders,” Gargarin said with sarcasm.
“Upon accepting the rumors, our captain attempted to desert but was betrayed,” Fekra said, and Froi heard anger in his voice. In spite of everything, Fekra was still loyal to the riders. “When my captain was dragged back to the camp, Bestiano decreed him a traitor, to be punished by death. And not just the captain. Bestiano ordered him to choose ten riders to die alongside him as a warning to anyone else who would defy him again. It was the longest night of our lives.” Tears welled up in Fekra’s eyes. “Thirty men deciding who would live. Finally, those who had been sent into Tariq of Lascow’s compound volunteered to die alongside their captain, as did some of the older riders who had been present as young men at the slaughter of Serker. They said they lived with shame and they would die for Charyn.”
No one spoke for such a time. Fekra’s tardiness each day to reach the sentinel’s tree wasn’t about laziness. He had given up.
They heard a sound at the entrance, and Lirah entered with Arjuro, her eyes on the soldier. Gargarin had asked her to be present. Regardless of everything, Fekra knew her.
“What can you tell us, Fekra?” Gargarin said.
“I’ve told you enough.”
“No. You’ve told us about the past. What can you tell us about what’s taking place over the hill now?”
Fekra’s eyes met Lirah’s. Froi saw his regret and knew Gargarin had made the right choice asking Lirah here.
“One hears things,” he said.
“From whom?”
Froi shrugged bitterly. “Friends . . . the surviving riders . . . those who are in Bestiano’s service.”
They waited.
“Bestiano is paying lowlifes across the kingdom to keep an eye out for the princess. At every border, every outpost. There’s an army of scum out there, sir. Made up of men who have lost their souls. Soldiers follow orders. These men don’t. They want the gold in return for . . .”
“For what?” Gargarin asked.
“For the babe. At all costs. No stone is to be left unturned. If one is even suspected of hiding Quintana of Charyn, the punishment is death.”
Lirah gripped Froi’s arm, and her nails sank deep into his flesh.
“And they just accept this order?” Gargarin asked. “These men?”
Fekra shook his head. “You don’t understand. These men are brigands. Murderers. Street lords. You saw firsthand what they did in the palace after the king’s death.”
“After Bestiano and the riders deserted it, you mean?” Gargarin asked.
“These brigands . . . all of them can be bribed,” Fekra continued, ignoring the taunt. “Whoever delivers Quintana of Charyn’s babe to Bestiano has been promised a . . . king’s ransom.”
“Where would you hear that talk?” Froi asked angrily. “I saw how protected Bestiano’s tent was. You’re a sentinel who spends his day in a tree, Fekra. So why would a messenger know about such an order?”
“Friends . . . they talk,” Fekra responded. “Friends who work close to Bestiano. They hear the truth.”
“And this friend?” Arjuro asked. “Can you trust him? Is he merely close to Bestiano, or is he forced to work close to him?”
Fekra shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said, frustration in his voice. “The riders no longer talk about trust. Trust is dead. My . . . friend follows orders. He knows no other way. Sometimes he tells me what he’s heard, but do I trust him? I trust no one!”
“Dorcas,” Lirah said.
Fekra didn’t respond.
“He’s Bestiano’s messenger, so he would hear a thing or two. And he told you,” she said. “Because you’ve been palace soldiers together since you were fourteen.”
Fekra went back to his stubborn silence.
“Your shift will be over soon, Fekra,” Gargarin said. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Return to the sentinel’s tree and when you get replaced, return to camp and find out everything you can and report back to us tomorrow.”
“And what makes you think you can trust me?” Fekra asked.
“Because you were the only person in the palace who made it possible for Quintana to see me,” Lirah said. “That wasn’t just about a bit of extra food and ale, Fekra. That was about compassion. What if you could be the one to keep her safe now?”
“And the way I see it, there’s no way for you to betray us,” Gargarin said. “We’re in this fortress. There are about one hundred and twenty soldiers here. If you’re going to betray us, Fekra, there’s not much you’ve got. They want me. At the moment, they’re not attacking because they know exactly where I am. In a way, we’re already their prisoners. So what are you going to do? Go back and say, ‘You’ll never believe what happened. Gargarin of Abroi took me hostage, but he let me go.’ They’d question why. Rest assured it would not end well for you, Fekra.”
“Or else you can return to your camp and do something right for Charyn,” Arjuro said quietly.
“And what if I choose to stay here a prisoner?”
“Then I’ll suggest that you’re put into the barracks with Tariq’s kinsmen,” Dolyn said. “I’ll tell them you were once a palace rider and they’ll know exactly what that means.”
After more silence, Fekra looked up at Froi.
“I need to get back to the post, then,” he said.
“Find a way to meet Dorcas tonight,” Gargarin ordered. “See what he can tell you, but whatever you do, don’t tell him the truth.”
Later, Froi climbed the steps up to the wall and watched as Fekra walked back across the field toward the woodlands, as if he had the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders. Perhaps he did.
“It’s ridiculous, really,” Gargarin said behind him. “We’re all camped in the middle of Charyn waiting to see which direction she appears from, and meanwhile we’re all being attacked from the north and possibly the south, by foreigners.”
“If you’re suggesting we need Bestiano and Nebia’s help, I’ll walk away now,” Froi threatened.
“Why would you think I’d suggest that?” Gargarin asked.
“Because they’re the sort of deals that get made in desperate times. Someone as base as Bestiano gets spared as a favor. He needs to die,” Froi said. He hadn’t thought of anything else since catching a glimpse of the man outside his tent. “Because he loved sitting at the head of the table in the absence of the king, lording over everyone, while people starved. Nothing worse than a weak man with ambition, who gains power because those before him died rather than because his ideals were grand. Promise me she didn’t suffer for nothing. If men like Bestiano get to live, then Quintana’s pain was for nothing!”
Gargarin settled himself down with his back against the wall. “I can’t promise that at all. Not if your life or Lirah’s and Arjuro’s and Quintana’s are there to be bargained with.”
Froi sat with him. It reminded him of the days in the palace at the Citavita when Gargarin would wait for a glimpse of Lirah. It was the first time they had been alone since their time in Sebastabol. Froi missed him. Gargarin seemed to belong to everyone now. Froi studied
his features, wondering about all the layers that made up this man. His father.
Gargarin looked at him questioningly. “What?”
“It suits you,” Froi said quietly. “Power.”
“This isn’t power,” Gargarin said.
“Call it what you will,” Froi said. “It suits you. They hang off every word you speak.”
Gargarin didn’t respond. Froi shrugged.
“It suits you,” Gargarin said.
“What?”
“Idiocy.”
Froi laughed.
Gargarin glanced at him. “Courage,” he continued. “You hit the Lasconian lad because you saw his fear and rather than show him up in front of his kin, you made it seem as if you did it for yourself. You’ll probably get a beating from them because of it.”
Froi was overwhelmed, and his eyes smarted as he looked away.
“I did it for myself,” he said. “I can’t breathe at the thought of her being hurt. So I did it for me and her. No one else.”
“And almost sacrificing yourself for me and Arjuro at the lake? Was that for you and her?”
Froi didn’t respond.
“Listen,” Gargarin said gently. “I want you to promise me something.”
Froi nodded. He realized that he didn’t even need to ask. That he’d promise Gargarin anything without knowing what it was.
“Be patient. Don’t give up on me. I’ll find a way.”
It was a strange plea.
“That’s all?” Froi asked.
“When the time comes, you won’t think it’s nothing at all, Froi,” Gargarin said sadly.
Before Froi could ask another question, they heard a shout and he scrambled to his feet, looking out toward the little woods, pulling Gargarin up with him.
“Sagra!”
“Gods almighty!”
Gargarin swung around. “Ariston!” he shouted down into the bailey. “Perabo! We’re under attack!”
An army was thundering toward them from south of the little woods, hundreds of riders galloping at full speed toward the fortress. By the time the horsemen had closed the distance by half, every Lasconian and Turlan was on the wall, weapons in hand. Froi felt Ariston at his shoulder.
“Are they Belegonians?” Ariston asked.
The Lumatere Chronicles Page 115