The Lumatere Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Melina Marchetta

  He walked out with his guard. De Lancey looked at his men and signaled for them to wait outside. He closed the door behind them and turned to face the others. At least he looked contrite.

  “Gargarin, take the deal or they’ll give it to the next man.”

  “There is no next —” Gargarin stared at De Lancey, and Froi saw the provincaro of Paladozza look away uncomfortably.

  “What?” Froi asked, looking from one to the other. “Who’s the next man?”

  De Lancey winced. “We have no choice if Gargarin says no. Avanosh is neutral, and whoever acts as regent cannot have ties to any of the provinces.”

  “Vinzenzo of Avanosh?” Gargarin asked.

  “What?” Froi shouted, looking at De Lancey for confirmation. But the provincaro’s silence said it all. “No,” Froi shouted. “Never.”

  “They are even willing to make an agreement with Bestiano, to keep Charyn stable and safe from Belegonia and any other kingdom ready to cross our borders.”

  “You’d agree to any of those pigs raising the boy, De Lancey?” Gargarin asked.

  “Careful, Gargarin,” the provincaro of Paladozza warned, his eyes flickering to Froi. “You’re sounding like the future king’s grandfather. His shalamon.”

  Gargarin’s stare was deadly.

  “That type of talk is dangerous, De Lancey.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Not a threat, but say it out loud again and I may have to turn it into one.”

  “Take the deal, Gargarin,” De Lancey said, his voice tired. “I’ll make provisions for Lirah. She’ll have a home in Paladozza. She’ll want for nothing.”

  “I’ll want for everything,” Lirah cried out with bitterness, speaking for the first time. “And what will I have to give you in return, De Lancey? Will I be a gift to visiting provincari and their sons?”

  De Lancey was taken aback by the words, and Froi saw fury in his expression.

  “You’re getting older, Lirah,” he said cruelly. “You may not be what they want anymore.”

  Gargarin shoved him, and although Froi wanted to beat De Lancey black and blue, he knew the provincaro had spoken the words out of hurt. Froi didn’t know how he came to that realization. All he knew was that pain placed the wrong words into their mouths. All of them. Forces outside their control had destroyed the lives and friendships and loves of De Lancey and Lirah and Arjuro and Gargarin long ago, and now even the future would keep them apart.

  “You never trusted me, Gar,” De Lancey accused. “I was never good enough for the brothers from Abroi.”

  “You were the first person I went to upon my release. The first,” Gargarin said.

  “And what did you tell me?” De Lancey asked. “Half-truths. About a dead child, but you made no mention of the living. Was that punishment, Gargarin? For betraying Ari all those years ago?”

  “You mistake me for another, De Lancey,” Gargarin shouted. “You mistake me for yourself. You’re the one who never forgave yourself. That was your weakness, and that was why I couldn’t trust you with the truth of the last born. Because as long as you live, you will never, ever forgive yourself.”

  “I curse the day you and your brother came into my life,” De Lancey said. “I curse it. Go hide in your caves and punish anyone who cares for you. It’s what Arjuro’s done all these years. You care about no one but yourselves.”

  “He wasn’t hiding!” Gargarin said.

  “Gargarin,” Froi warned, standing between the two men, knowing this was not the time for De Lancey to know the truth.

  “Arjuro was trapped inside Lumatere, De Lancey,” Gargarin said, pushing Froi out of the way. “That’s what he hid from us. Nothing else. Arrested by our army, who mistook him for me. A traitor. The word carved on his body as if he was a rump of mutton. Chained in a Lumateran prison for ten years, believing he was forsaken.”

  Froi was tired of seeing the broken spirits of men and women. He finally understood the curse of Isaboe and Finn, weighed down by the grief of their people. It wasn’t a curse that belonged just to his queen. It was Froi’s curse to feel the sorrow of these people. Blood sings to blood, he had been told all that time ago by Rafuel. Charyn blood sang to Froi, but it was Charynites’ pain that gnawed at him. He saw it on De Lancey’s face now. It was as though he had aged in seconds, and Froi wished Grij were here to take care of his father. Grij and Tippideaux would know what to do.

  He saw regret appear briefly on Gargarin’s face. “Let’s talk in the morning,” he said quietly. “When our words aren’t dipped in poison.”

  De Lancey nodded listlessly. “Yes,” he said, opening the door and stumbling out to where his men stood. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Froi woke to murmuring. He was used to Gargarin and Lirah’s murmuring. These past few nights it had lulled him into a strange, peaceful sort of sleep — the first he had had since he lost Quintana.

  “. . . I don’t know, but he’s hiding something,” he heard Gargarin say. “I know De Lancey.”

  “You think he can’t be trusted?” Lirah asked.

  “I didn’t say that. But what if it’s not in his power to support us, Lirah? Regardless of how strong Paladozza is and how quickly they can go to ground, they’ve not had an army ever. I respected his decision for so long, but not these past months. He should have raised an army the moment those street lords took the Citavita, but he didn’t. That was weakness and a mistake, and we can’t trust ourselves with a man who makes mistakes.”

  Lirah sighed. “That may be, but only you can take Quintana and the babe safely back to the palace.”

  “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you go?” he whispered, and Froi heard pain in his voice.

  “Listen to me,” she said firmly. “We may doubt and question the truth, and entertain the horror that Quintana’s child may belong to Bestiano, but you know the gods have done something right here. That babe belongs to Dafar. And if you allow another man to raise our blood, I will never forgive you.”

  And at that moment, Froi was never so sure. Regardless of his constant fury at Gargarin, there was no other man he wanted taking care of Quintana and the little king.

  “You’re the smartest man I know,” Lirah said fiercely. “If you can’t find a way of placing my grandson in my arms or sharing my bed without the provincari knowing, then you are as big an idiot as the rest of them.”

  Gargarin made a sound of frustration. “I’m not agreeing to anything . . . yet. If I never have to step inside the palace again, I’ll be the happiest man alive. But I’ll meet De Lancey in the morning to see if we can come to an agreement.”

  Lirah was silent a moment.

  “Ask the boy what he thinks when he wakes.”

  “He’ll only say yes to anything I suggest!” Froi heard the irritation in Gargarin’s voice. “I need him to be sure. Not compliant. He’s lost faith in himself, Lirah.”

  Froi froze. Despite his attempt to stay quiet, he was desperate to get out of the room because he needed to breathe. He stumbled to his feet, tripping over his bedroll, and climbed onto the balcony. Despite the icy wind from the ocean, he sat down, smarting at the words he had just heard.

  A short while later, he heard a sound behind him and Gargarin was there.

  “Lirah said to go back inside,” he said. They both had a habit of doing that. Saying Lirah said . . . Gargarin said . . .

  Froi didn’t respond.

  “We thought you were asleep, Froi —”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Froi snapped.

  There was silence, and he wasn’t sure whether Gargarin was still there.

  “If you had stayed in Paladozza, the Avanosh lot would have taken her. She would have ended up in Sorel. Or being used as some bargaining tool.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Froi asked, looking back at him angrily. “To make me feel better about my lack of faith in myself?”

  Gargarin rubbed a palm over his eyes with frustration.

 
“I’m telling you because you’re punishing yourself over and over again. You caught eight barbs in your body to keep her safe, Froi. That’s enough.”

  “I lost her.” Froi was on his feet. “Do you understand? I lost her. Tariq would never have lost her.”

  “Tariq would never have left that cave in the Citavita. You take chances, Froi. When you were five years old, you went out into that filthy Sarnak capital and survived. Let’s pray to the gods that Quintana listened to everything you had to teach her.”

  Froi shook his head with frustration.

  “We could look at the side of wonder,” Gargarin said.

  “What?” Froi asked, as if Gargarin had gone insane.

  “Well, let’s say that instead of losing her, you gave her a chance to escape,” Gargarin explained. “That’s the side of wonder.”

  Froi heard a sound behind them, and Lirah was there.

  “Since when do you look at the side of wonder?” Froi asked.

  “I’m trying very hard,” Gargarin said, scowling. “It’s irritating me, but I’m not giving up. I try to think of a wondrous thought every day when I wake, if you’d really like to know.”

  “Yes, it’s very annoying, but slightly contagious,” Lirah said.

  Froi couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “It’s true,” Gargarin said. “And now even Lirah is saying, ‘Let’s look at the side of wonder as opposed to the disastrous.’”

  Froi wondered if they were mocking him.

  “Lirah?” he asked, looking up at her. “You are the least wondrous-thinking person I’ve ever met.”

  Lirah looked irritated. “Well, if you’d really like to know, I used to skip as a child and collect poppies. Sometimes I think that deep down there’s an idiot inside of me who wants to laugh.”

  For some ridiculous reason, Froi wanted to laugh now.

  “Do you want to know this morning’s wondrous thought according to Gargarin?” she asked. Gargarin looked uncomfortable.

  Lirah stood before Froi and held a hand to his face. “He said, ‘Well, at least the three of us are together.’”

  Froi was silent and then gazed at Gargarin, who merely shrugged as if to admit guilt at such a ridiculous thought. Hope. Hope. Hope. Rothen of Nebia had written it on his grandfather’s ceiling. Froi saw the hope in Gargarin’s eyes. He imagined a time when Arjuro would be with them. And Quintana. And the babe. Could they endure anything if they were together?

  “You want a decision?” Froi asked.

  Gargarin’s mood changed in an instant. He nodded solemnly. “Yes, I do.”

  “We’re nothing without an army. The queen of Lumatere’s greatest accomplishment in exile was reuniting Trevanion with Finn and his men to take back Lumatere. I saw it. We walked into death camps and exile camps, and the moment the Lumaterans saw Trevanion and the Guard, they’d follow us in an instant. I say we go to Serker.”

  Lirah looked surprised.

  “When I was with Tariq, he spoke of an army in the center of the land,” Froi said. “I’ve dreamed of him often these nights. It’s a sign.”

  “I’ll speak to De Lancey —”

  “De Lancey’s a weakness,” Froi said flatly. “Your news about Arjuro’s imprisonment will slow him down. We go now.”

  Isaboe heard the sound of the horses and knew Finnikin had returned.

  “My queen,” Rhiannon said, and there was a reprimand in her lady’s-maid’s voice. “You know it’s best to come out here. They’re approaching . . . and he’s sneezing.”

  Finnikin and Isaboe had observed a ritual ever since they moved into the palace. She’d wait in the courtyard to welcome him if he had been away for more than a day or two. He said it was the first thing he looked for. It meant he was truly home.

  Isaboe finished the document she was preparing for the Sarnaks and put down her quill, joining Rhiannon on the balcony. And there he was and her heart pounded. All of these years and her heart still pounded out of control at the sight of him. She had felt it that day in Sendecane almost four years past when she first saw him in the cloister. He had an irritated expression on his face when he discovered she was a girl. Even as a child, when her brother and cousin would insist on dragging her around to be part of their mischief, her heart would beat hard at the sight of Finnikin of the Rock.

  Today she watched him hunched over his horse, sneezing into his kerchief.

  “He looks quite ill,” Rhiannon said. “He’s always so . . . needy when he’s ill.”

  “Pitifully so.”

  “It’s a trait of the Rock people, I’m afraid,” Rhiannon said. She was from the Rock herself and was the best authority to say so.

  “Could you prepare a bath, Rhiannon? I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Isaboe watched as he glanced up, not quite as sheepishly as she would have liked, but she did see his shoulders relax at the sight of her. It had been weeks since he left in rage, and she still felt raw from the accusation he had made before they parted. She felt raw from everything. She remembered the time she had carried Jasmina in her belly, when the future had felt promising. But this time was different, and she didn’t know how to put it into words. This fear. This premonition of doom.

  She went back inside to where Rhiannon was pouring water into the tub and waited. She knew him well. Now that his father no longer lived in the palace, they would speak for some time at the stables about the outcome of their travels.

  A short while later, he shuffled into the chamber, and she could see his relief that the tub was filled. She imagined he was cold to the bone. His clothing seemed to weigh him down. Wordlessly she approached him and unhooked his fleece cloak, pushing it from his shoulders and dropping it to the ground, and then she pulled free his shirt. He held up his arms as she dragged it over his head, his eyes on her the whole time. Her hands went to the fastening of his trousers and his head bent toward hers, but she turned her face away, though not before she caught the flash in his eyes. Then he stepped out of his clothing and climbed into the steaming water with a deep sigh of pleasure. Isaboe crouched beside him, and her hand tugged his hair back.

  “If you ever walk out of this palace accusing me of disloyalty to our spousal bed again, I’ll tear you apart, piece by piece.”

  A hand as quick as hers gripped her face. “And if you wake with another man’s name on your lips again, I’ll tear him apart, piece by piece.” His mouth was hard on hers but she matched his force and then he let go, lifting a hand to trace her lips with his thumb. She gently pushed him back and tended to him, and she could see his eyes on the opening of her shift that allowed him a glimpse of the curve of her body, ripe with their child. He reached to clench her garment in a fist. “Take it off,” he begged hoarsely. “Please.” And she lifted it over her head and climbed into the tub, straddling his thighs as his hands wandered over her swollen belly. He pressed a kiss against it before taking her face between his hands, his mouth back on hers. She felt a hunger from him like never before, their mouths greedy for anything they could take, and when she moved above him, he thrust into her and she covered his mouth with her hand to stop his cries echoing across the quiet chamber to where their guard stood outside.

  Later, they lay in each other’s arms in their bed. She pressed her lips against his pale chest, tracing a finger across a new bruise or two.

  “My queen . . .”

  “Yes, my king?”

  “I’m dying,” he groaned.

  She laughed.

  “You’ve caught a chill because you weren’t wearing an undershirt, and every year you catch a chill for the same reason and you believe you’re dying. It’s a common cold, my love. The type that men catch. The one they believe is killing them.”

  “I’m speaking the truth. I am dying. My nose is red raw and my throat . . .” He made a choking sound. “It hurts,” he said hoarsely. “And you mock me when all I need is your tender care.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go home with your father and have
Beatriss fuss over you.”

  His arms bound tightly around her. “If I spent one more night away from my wife, I would have just laid down and died.”

  She chuckled. “Ah, you’re a clever man for saying all the right things.”

  She covered them both with a blanket, and he tucked her in the crook of his arm.

  “Tell me everything,” she said quietly.

  “From the sounds of things, you’ve got as much to tell me.”

  She tried to find the words, but still hadn’t spoken them aloud.

  “Tesadora . . . and I are no longer on speaking terms,” she finally said.

  “Because she’s befriended a strange Charynite in the valley? That doesn’t sound enough of a reason for you to break with someone you love as dearly as you do that hostile woman.” He peered down at her. “Why are there so many hostile women in this land?”

  “You’re not very good with women, Finnikin. Your father, on the other hand, has them eating out of his hands, but you’re just hopeless.”

  “I am not.”

  “This is how my Mont womenfolk refer to you,” she said, doing an exaggerated movement with her eyes and mouth. “Finnikin!”

  He laughed. “You are ridiculous, and we’re digressing from Tesadora’s strange friend.”

  Isaboe turned to face him.

  “Are you ready for this?” she asked.

  “After the tales I’ve heard in Charyn, I’m ready for anything,” he said.

  “Tesadora is hiding the princess of Charyn from the Charynites.”

  “Mercy!” Finnikin sat up, stunned.

  She nodded.

  “You mean Quintana of Charyn has been here all along?” he asked.

  Isaboe looked at him, confused and irritated.

  “That wasn’t quite the response I was expecting,” she said.

  Finnikin sighed. “We found Froi. With Gargarin of Abroi, who isn’t exactly the man we thought he was.”

  “And how certain are we of that?” she asked.

  “Quite certain. All three of us agree that we could have made a catastrophic error.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call killing a Charynite a catastrophic error,” she said.