When he climbed through Lirah’s window that night, she was lying on her cot, reading. He was surprised that the Serker whore could read. As he watched her engrossed in the words on the page, he recognized that the manuscript she held was from Gargarin’s collection. Did that fool of a man bribe her guard to pass on the books he treasured?
“Do you feel nothing for her?” Froi asked accusingly. “Is it why you tried to kill her?”
She stared up a moment and then turned her attention back to her reading. “That took you long enough to work out,” she said coolly.
“Do you feel nothing for her?” he repeated.
“I feel pity. Satisfied?”
At that moment, Froi hated her more than when Arjuro had revealed the truth of Lirah’s crime.
“And you?” she asked, putting the manuscript down. “What do you feel, Serker savage?”
Froi fought hard not to react to her words. “I’m just intrigued,” he said. “I’m wondering what it is that you’re good at. Your skill in drowning children and attacking scholars with a dagger is poor,” he added cruelly.
Her smile was bitter.
“Well, I must be good for something. The king has kept me alive for long enough.”
“I want to know about the brothers from Abroi,” he demanded.
“I loathe the brothers from Abroi,” she said coldly. “That’s all you need to know.”
“No, I need to know more, Lirah.” Froi had come to realize that somehow the clue to where the king was to be found was connected to Lirah, Gargarin, or Arjuro.
His eyes were fixed on Lirah’s. Trevanion referred to this as a gnawing war, where you sit and stare at your opponent as though gnawing away at their souls. Lirah was not one to look away, but Froi could see that she wanted him to leave. So she spoke.
“Arjuro was a priestling. A greater deviant the godshouse has never known, but he was the only person who could twist the oracle around his little finger. His brother, Gargarin, was the king’s prized protégé, cold and remote toward all except his twin and …”
She stopped. Froi waited.
“And you?” he asked.
Lirah ignored the question. Froi walked to the cot and grabbed the manuscript from her hands. He walked back to the window and held it outside threateningly. He could see the rage in her eyes.
“Talk,” he snapped. She refused to.
Froi took a chance and tore out a page, inwardly asking Finn and Isaboe for forgiveness. They loved words and books. They sent messengers far and wide to find manuscripts as gifts to each other.
Without waiting another moment, he tossed the page out the window.
“You dog,” she said with a bitter shake of her head.
“Talk.”
She walked to him and took the manuscript, clutching it close to her body. They both knew he could take it from her in an instant, but he waited.
“For too long the wisdom and intellect in this kingdom came from the teachings of those in the godshouses,” she said. “Some believed that the palace could be just as progressive and that the newly crowned king was the one to bring about the change. One of these believers, a lad who had been raised in Paladozza, traveled to the Citavita with his brother. He had the plans and drawings to prove that Charyn could be as mighty as Belegonia. He and his brother had spent years deciphering the books of the Ancients, discovering farm methods and surgical techniques that proved the brothers’ genius.
“The king was impressed with the lad, but he also wanted the gods’ touched priestling brother to serve him because he already had a reputation for being the best physician the Citavita had seen. But despite the wealth the king promised, the priestling was not interested in being solely in his service. More important, the oracle of the godshouse was not going to hand over her most gifted priestling to the palace.”
Lirah looked up at Froi a moment, but she seemed far away.
“Everyone believes the downfall of Charyn began with the godshouse slaughter and the sacking of Serker, but I know it began with the battle between the oracle and the king over Arjuro of Abroi.”
Froi couldn’t fathom such a thing. Arjuro was a drunk with no hope. How could he have ever provided Charyn with anything?
“Despite the tension that was brewing between the oracle’s godshouse and the palace, the brothers from Abroi refused to involve themselves. They began and ended the day greeting each other across the gravina. When they walked through the Citavita together, people would stop in awe. They were beautiful to look at, with their dark curls and fierce blue eyes. They may have come from nothing, but they held a fascination for those around them. The king tried to do everything he could to use them to his advantage. He believed that if Gargarin spoke to his brother and his brother came to be the physician in the palace, then Arjuro would also convince the oracle to sanction any plans the palace had to wrest control from the provincari. But the brothers made a pact to never allow the godshouse or the palace to come between them.”
“How did you meet the brothers?”
“I first made Gargarin’s acquaintance in the palace.”
It seemed difficult for Lirah to say Gargarin’s name.
“We spent a lot of time in a cave the brothers called theirs at the base of the gravina.”
“I know it,” Froi said, thinking of the first time he saw Gargarin.
“De Lancey of Paladozza would be there too. It was all quite primitive at times,” she said quietly. “They were strangely raw in their youth.”
“And then?”
“And then the godshouse was attacked, supposedly by the Serkers. It was a massacre. Forty of the priestlings were killed. One day later, the palace riders found the oracle with Arjuro of Abroi in the cave I spoke of. He claimed that he had not been present in the godshouse on the night of the massacre and had returned to find the carnage. He had found the oracle queen maimed, violated, and close to death, and he had sworn to do anything to protect her.”
“How did the palace know where to find him?”
“He was betrayed. De Lancey did it without realizing.”
“De Lancey of Paladozza?” Froi asked, surprised. He was the son of the provincaro who had taken the brothers into his home.
“They were lovers. Whatever De Lancey did, I’m sure he’s regretted it. After the capture, the palace held Arjuro in the gods house on his own. Said it was a sound punishment to keep him chained inside the Hall of Illumination where most of the slaughter took place. During the next nine months, Gargarin was allowed to visit him. He never believed his brother was responsible and worked tirelessly to have him released.”
Lirah looked up at Froi, anguish in her eyes.
“But ambition is an ugly thing, and on the night of the last born, the king asked Gargarin of Abroi for the allegiance he had always desired from his prized pet.”
“What type of allegiance?” Froi asked, his blood beginning to run cold.
“The type that ensures a man must sell his soul.”
Lirah walked away, her back to him, and Froi saw her stagger. If it were anyone other than Lirah he would have held out a hand to her. But Lirah did not seem the type of woman who invited help from any man. When he could see that she was composed, he walked around to face her.
“What did he do, Lirah?”
“Unbeknownst to the people of Charyn, the king ordered Gargarin to kill the oracle and the child she bore. To toss them out of the palace window into the gravina as though they were garbage.”
“What?”
“And the king’s guards dragged Arjuro to the balconette of the godshouse, chained him there, and made him watch. It’s why Arjuro has never spoken to Gargarin again. That, and the fact that Arjuro spent more than eight years in the cell below this one for supposedly conspiring with the Serkers.”
“Is that what you believe?” Froi asked. “About the Serkers?”
She shook her head. “Never. If anyone knows the immoral habits of the Serkers, I do. But I would bet the
life of this kingdom on the fact that no Serker would enter the godshouse and desecrate it. They may have resented the oracle over the years for instructing them on how to live their lives, but they would never have despoiled the godshouse. The Serkers were begot from the Ancients. No province was more devoted to the gods.”
“Gargarin couldn’t … I don’t believe you, Lirah.”
She studied him carefully and a cruel smile crossed her lips. “Oh, I see,” she said bitterly. “Gargarin of Abroi bewitched you, did he? Don’t worry. He’s done it to the best of us.”
“I’m bewitched by no man,” Froi said furiously.
“Then why are you here asking questions?”
“Because I needed to know whether he is worth saving.”
Lirah stared. Froi saw something flare up in her eyes.
“Saving? Aren’t you here just to plant the mighty seed of Charyn?”
“I’m not here to plant a seed, Lirah, and if anyone can tell me about the king’s chamber, you can.”
Suddenly Lirah grabbed his face viciously.
“Who are you?”
Froi was silent a moment.
“I’ll find a way to set you free,” he said quietly. “There’s a cloister in the kingdom of Sendecane. At the ends of the land. You take her there,” he ordered. “She can live in peace, and this kingdom can forget her. This land can forget her.”
“And what makes you think that I would protect her? I tried to drown Quintana, remember? I’m the scum of this earth in your eyes.”
“She’s your daughter. There’s no greater bond than between a mother and her child.”
Lirah of Serker laughed with little humor. “Let me tell you a truth, Serker savage,” she said. “And then I want you to leave and not come back. I gave birth to one child on that wretched night. He was a boy child, torn from my loins and given to Gargarin of Abroi to toss from the palace window into the gravina below. I woke up with the oracle’s bastard in my arms. Quintana the wretched. Quintana the curse maker. Quintana the whore.”
There were tears of fury in the woman’s eyes. “And she gnawed at my breasts day after day, screaming for her own mother, because that savage babe knew the truth. That I grieved my son until I had nothing left inside to give to her. So when you slit Gargarin of Abroi’s throat, you tell him. Tell him that on that cursed night, he didn’t murder the son of the oracle. He murdered mine.”
Chapter 16
Froi crouched by the side of the bed, waiting. He wanted to be the first thing Gargarin saw when he woke. Wanted to see the fear. He had been trained by Trevanion to watch for the signals that showed the difference between a man sleeping and awake. He saw the flicker on Gargarin’s face, and a moment later Froi held a hand to the man’s neck.
“I could snap it in an instant.”
“Then why didn’t you when you had a chance?” Gargarin asked.
“Because I wanted to hear the truth from your mouth first.”
The silence stretched without a flicker of emotion on the other man’s face. Gargarin of Abroi could do uncomfortable silence better than anyone Froi knew. Even Perri.
“I never took you for a murderer,” Froi said bitterly.
Gargarin sighed, as though a truth was revealed that had been waiting a long time to reveal itself.
“There are rules, even among the most base of men,” Froi hissed. “I’ve done things that shame me still, but if I killed a newborn babe, I’d dash my head against a rock rather than live one moment with such blackness staining me.”
Gargarin refused to look away. “I did what I had to do, and I have no shame. And I’ll not explain myself to you. I’ll not explain myself to those who refuse to listen to the truth but still judge me. And if I had to do it again, I would not change a single thing that took place that night. Nor would the oracle expect me to.”
Froi shoved him away, trying to block out the voice in his head that told him to forget his bond and kill this man.
“Do you know how easy it is to snap the life out of a body?” Froi asked. “Especially one that is broken?”
“Then do it,” Gargarin hissed. “Or are you as gutless as the rest of Charyn?”
“Olivier!” It was Quintana, from outside on the balconette. “Olivier, are you in there?”
Froi’s eyes were fixed on Gargarin’s. Deep down he had believed in the boy named Gar who had kept his brother safe all those years. Who had walked four days with no food to bring young Arjuro hope. It was what made Froi want to kill him: the knowledge that Gargarin had sold some part of himself to a darker desire. But Gargarin’s action had nothing to do with Lumatere’s safety, and Froi knew it was not part of his bond to take this man’s life. Yet Froi wanted to cause pain, and he pressed cruel fingers against the dagger wound Gargarin had received from Lirah. His only pleasure was watching the man wince.
“Olivier!”
“Your time will come,” Froi warned.
Quintana stood on her balconette, and Froi climbed onto its latticework and leaped, landing at her feet. He saw that her face was flushed with excitement.
“I’ve been waiting for you all night and day,” she said.
Froi shivered. He realized that the words came from Quintana the ice maiden. Realized, as he felt his face heating up, that the idea of this Quintana waiting for him with excitement spoke to parts of him he believed to be dormant, and then she winked.
“Did I do that right?” she asked. Her smile was lopsided, and he saw a glimpse of the teeth.
And Froi imagined that he would follow her to the ends of the earth.
They sat cross-legged on the bed, facing each other, and she began to deal the cards with a speed and skill that surprised him.
“I practiced,” she said. “I have a good memory for detail.”
He leaned forward, tilting his head to the side, a hand to his ear.
“Say that again.”
“I have a good memory for detail,” she repeated.
“You do, do you?” he questioned mockingly. “Not ‘we’? Not the reginita? Not the princess? Not the other? So what name should I use?”
For a moment, he thought he was losing her back to the coldness. She looked away, refusing to say her name, then she began to shuffle.
He was impressed and surprised and, more than anything, he was intrigued. He was growing to enjoy the way her eyes squinted and her mouth twisted as she concentrated hard. Sometimes he heard her murmur, “Hmm, yes, I know,” and he wanted to creep inside her head and join in her madness.
She snapped her fingers twice, mimicking one of the card players from that day in the cave dwellings. “Where are your coins?”
He choked out a laugh. “We’re not playing for coins. You may know how to shuffle, but that doesn’t mean you know how to play.”
She reached over to the trinket pouch on her bedside table and took out the coins she was given in the cave. She placed them before him and began to study her cards.
“Remember, the same suit is more powerful,” he explained.
She looked up at him, annoyed. “Why would I forget that?”
“Because you’ve only watched three rounds.”
“I told you, I have a good head for details. I can tell you the name of every person in this palace, and if a new palace appeared and one hundred people were introduced to me, I’d remember their names as well.”
“Wonderful,” he murmured. He took his time studying his cards. “That should come in handy if you’re ever fighting for your life. And you can sing as well. Beautiful voice, by the way.”
“I can play with apples, too,” she said.
He looked up, confused.
Quintana put her cards down and climbed over him. Decorum was not quite her forte.
She picked up three apples from the plate by his side of the bed, and concentrating hard, she began to toss them in the air with such precision that he wondered for more than the first time what else lay buried inside Quintana of Charyn.
“Sli
ghtly impressive,” he said, feigning indifference.
“And you can do better?”
The first skill taught to a boy on the streets of the Sarnak capital was the ability to juggle. He could do it with his eyes shut. He took the apples from her and did just that. When he opened them, he caught the last apple in his hand and took a bite. She reached out, and he held it away until she straddled him to grab it from his grip. She leaned over him, but with their loins almost joined and the dip in her nightdress revealing a glimpse of round full breasts, Froi’s control over his body failed.
Suddenly she jumped away, staring at him with fury.
“Well, you can’t climb all over me and expect it to just lie there,” he said, trying to fight the pain of his arousal.
Quintana watched him carefully. Then she settled back, shuffled the cards, and dealt them out as though nothing had happened between them.
“A good game is a fast game, Froi.”
His head snapped back in shock. “What did you call me?”
“That was the name you gave the dealer.”
He couldn’t explain it to himself. How it felt to hear her speak his name.
Froi dragged his attention back to his cards, annoyed. He didn’t want to feel whatever he was feeling for her. Or for anyone in this castle. He thought of Gargarin in the next chamber and how Lirah’s words had made him sick to his stomach. What was it about Gargarin and the whore and the priestling and this strange princess that made him care when he was trained not to?
“Arjuro says he was never in the palace,” he murmured, discarding a card and taking another.
“Well, who are you going to believe? Me or a drunk?” she asked.
“You’re not exactly considered the sanest mind in Charyn.”
“I’m going to win this round, so I’d advise you to give in now,” she said, reaching over for his coins. Froi slapped her hand away.
Froi of the Exiles Page 20