Quintana of Charyn

  And his father did just that.

  ‘What does your heart say, Lucian?’ Yata asked. ‘You’re not torn about the barley. It’s more than that.’

  Lucian and Isaboe and any of the cousins would agree, they could hide little from Yata. He sighed.

  ‘Half of my heart says it would be so simple to share what we’ve got here with the Charynites in the valley. But the other half of me says I don’t want to share it with the enemy and then I have to work out who the enemy is. I mean, look at what we have,’ he said, pointing outside at the lushness of their mountainside, even in this winter haze. ‘And look at how little they have down there. And why don’t I care?’

  Yata gave a laugh. ‘Well, from where I’m sitting, it looks as if you do care, Lucian,’ she said. ‘Too much in one place, not enough in another, and wouldn’t it be simple if we shared? It’s that way across this land and it’s been that way since the beginning of time. Yes, it would be so simple to share. But there’s no place for being simple when blood has been shed and the people we love have been torn from us.’ She took his hand across the table. ‘But forgiveness has to start somewhere, Lucian. It did start somewhere. It started with Phaedra. The Monts learnt not to hate all of the Charynites because of her. I learnt.’ Yata had tears in her eyes. ‘Because you may not have seen it, my darling boy, but I hated with a fierceness I can’t describe. And do you want to hear something that was breaking my heart, day after day? I forgot the faces of my granddaughters in all that hatred. Hatred smothers all beauty. Beloved Isaboe has little resemblance to her older sisters, but your Phaedra … she made me remember those precious, precious girls and I wasn’t angry anymore. I just missed them, and it’s the beauty in here,’ she said, pointing to her chest, ‘that made me remember them. Her beauty.’

  He could see the truth in her words.

  ‘You know she lives,’ he said softly.

  Yata nodded. ‘Constance and Sandrine have sworn me to secrecy.’

  He felt the strength of her hands.

  ‘I don’t want you to take those sacks of grain,’ she said firmly. ‘They’ll tie you to someone who will bring you regret and dissatisfaction all your life. It’s not what your father would have wanted for you.’

  He swallowed hard. ‘I’ve made my decision.’

  She made a sound of frustration, shaking her head, but he held up a hand to stop her. ‘I’m going to write a note to Lord Tascan and thank him for the grain, but explain that it will compromise my role as a judge at the fair to accept it. I’m going to emphasise just how humiliating it may feel to him if anyone in the kingdom sees that I returned the grain, in case he doesn’t realise it’s humiliation he should be feeling, and then I’m going to suggest that I send the grain down to the valley where the Charynites are in need of it. I’ll promise him that no one in Lumatere will ever be able to say that flatland or river barley was consumed by a Mont judge, nor will they be able to prove that the grain existed in the first place.’

  Yata smiled. ‘Oh, you’re a clever boy.’

  ‘It’s not enough, of course,’ he said. ‘The grain will run out eventually.’

  ‘Then we have weeks to think up another plan.’

  He travelled to the valley with Jory, who insisted on coming along.

  ‘Do you want to know what I think?’ his cousin asked, as they passed one of the farms midway down the mountain.

  ‘No, I don’t actually, Jory. I want peace and quiet.’

  ‘I don’t think Phaedra’s dead,’ Jory replied. ‘And you know she isn’t.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Yes, really,’ Jory said, imitating his tone. ‘’Cause sometimes I come up to your cottage, you know, Lucian. You hide up there, all closed up, and everyone wishes you didn’t. At first, I’d see that small shrine you had to Blessed Lagrami and how you’d lay petalbane beside it every day. For Phaedra. Because petalbane is the flower for grieving the dead. But then weeks ago, after Cousin Isaboe left the mountain, you stopped. So the way I see it, something happened in the valley that day and you know she’s alive and you know that it’s bad luck to bring petalbane to the living, and you don’t want to curse Phaedra.’

  ‘It’s been some weeks since her death, Jory,’ Lucian said, his voice practical. ‘We all have to move on. That’s why I stopped laying the petalbane.’

  ‘The mourning season for Phaedra ends mid-spring. I know that because Cousin Cece was seen drinking ale and Alda, well, she blasted him. “How dare you?” she shouted.’

  ‘Funny that all of a sudden Alda cares for Phaedra,’ Lucian said.

  Jory looked surprised. ‘I don’t think Alda cares that much for Phaedra. She hardly knew her. But Alda, she said to Cousin Cece, “You show respect for Lucian. He’s our leader.”’

  Lucian had never heard one of the Monts acknowledge that before.

  ‘You know what my father says?’ Jory said. ‘He says you weren’t born to lead, Lucian. That you were made to. But regardless, Fa says Monts couldn’t have asked for a better man to get us through this time.’

  Lucian stared at him, overwhelmed. ‘What are you all of a sudden?’ he demanded gruffly. ‘An ancient wiseman?’

  Jory pointed to himself.

  ‘Look at me, cousin. Did ancient wisemen have shoulders like mine?’

  The valley dwellers wept when they were told about the barley and crowded around Lucian and Jory as if they were gods. Lucian’s attention was on Harker and Kasabian. The men cut a sad picture working on the vegetable patch that Cora had planted. Jory worked alongside them for a while and Lucian couldn’t stay angry at his young cousin for too long. Then they followed Kasabian to his cave and Lucian saw Rafuel and Donashe watching carefully from their place by the rock face, Rafuel’s expression tense and questioning. Inside the cave, Lucian removed the bottle of ale Lord Tascan had given him from his pack and handed it to Harker to take a swig.

  ‘To my wife and my daughter,’ Harker said, his voice a hoarse whisper. Lucian winced to think of what he kept from him. Harker handed the bottle to Kasabian.

  ‘To my sister Cora.’

  The flask was back with Lucian and the men waited. Lucian realised he was to drink to the memory of his wife. Jory watched him, questioningly.

  ‘To Phaedra,’ Lucian said.

  Jory held out a hand and Lucian reluctantly gave it to him. The lad took a confident swig, but then choked, not so grown-up after all.

  ‘Arm us,’ Harker said quietly.

  Lucian sighed.

  ‘I can’t do that, Harker. You know that. Whatever happened to the women was not at the hands of Donashe.’

  Harker’s stare was hard. More than once Lucian had come to realise this man would have been a leader much like his own father. The type of man born for it.

  ‘My actions are not just determined by my sorrow,’ Harker said. ‘Donashe and his murderers are going to bring a bloodbath to this valley. I’ve seen this before.’

  As if they knew they were being spoken of, Rafuel and Donashe and a third man entered the cave. There was an arrogance in the way they stood in Harker and Kasabian’s dwelling, but Lucian and the others refused to acknowledge their presence.

  ‘I mentioned to Donashe that I didn’t trust you here, Mont,’ Rafuel finally said. ‘And that I’d question what you were doing.’

  ‘My valley. My cave,’ Lucian said with a shrug. He knew Rafuel feared what Lucian knew about the fate of the women.

  ‘I was hoping to convince Harker and Kasabian to go hunting with me,’ he added. ‘As well as this grain, I’m willing to allow one or two of you on my side of the stream to catch an elk.’

  ‘I’d say it’s a better idea if you take Matteo,’ Donashe said. Lucian noticed the bitter jealousy in the expression of the third man watching the exchange between Donashe and Rafuel. ‘These two are useless old men,’ Donashe added, dismissing Harker and Kasabian with a sneer.

  ‘Get out of my cave,’ Harker said.

  ‘This moping and silence of yo
urs is dampening camp spirits.’

  Harker leapt to his feet, and it took Lucian and Jory and Kasabian to hold him back.

  ‘We don’t need lessons on how to move on,’ Harker cried. ‘Those lads you slaughtered and the deaths of our women have crushed this camp’s spirit.’

  Rafuel stood between Donashe and Harker, pushing Harker back.

  ‘Let’s accept the offer to hunt for elk, Donashe. Before these fools force the Mont to take back his words. It will feed us for days.’

  Donashe kept his stare on Harker, but Harker was not a man to look away.

  ‘When it’s time for the hunt, Mont,’ Donashe said, ‘Matteo here will accompany you across the stream.’ Donashe clasped Rafuel’s arm before leaving the cave, his lapdog following.

  Lucian felt the full force of Rafuel’s stare.

  ‘You’ve turned into a hard man, Rafuel,’ Jory said. ‘Don’t you trust us anymore?’

  ‘Rafuel?’ Harker’s head shot up in surprise.

  Lucian sent Jory a warning look.

  ‘Matteo,’ Jory muttered.

  ‘Rafuel was the name of the leader of those poor slaughtered lads,’ Harker said.

  A muscle in Rafuel’s cheek twitched with emotion.

  ‘You have a good memory for names, Harker,’ Jory said.

  ‘And you have a tongue that needs to be cut off,’ Lucian said to his cousin.

  Lucian could see the confusion on Kasabian and Harker’s faces. Jory held the bottle out to Rafuel, who hesitated, but then took a swig and passed it on.

  ‘Phaedra’s alive, isn’t she?’ Jory asked, barely able to contain his excitement.

  Rafuel stepped closer to them all. ‘Quintana of Charyn is hiding downstream,’ he whispered.

  Kasabian and Harker stared at him, stunned. Lucian could tell even Jory couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Harker gripped Rafuel’s coat, his fists clenched and trembling.

  ‘Did my wife and daughter die to keep the spawn of that wretched king alive?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, the spawn of our wretched king is going to spawn another hopefully not-so-wretched king in less than three months …’

  Lucian heard their intake of breath. He could see that Kasabian and Harker didn’t seem to know what to believe. He took the flask from Rafuel and raised it.

  ‘To the women … and whoever it is they’re protecting.’

  ‘Yes!’ Jory hissed, lifting Rafuel off his feet.

  ‘My sister Cora is alive?’ Kasabian asked, tears in his eyes.

  Lucian nodded.

  Kasabian clenched a fist and pressed a kiss to it, a thanks to the gods.

  Rafuel shoved Jory away with affectionate irritation.

  ‘And this is why they couldn’t know,’ he said, pointing to Harker and Kasabian. ‘Look at them. Do they look like grieving men?’

  Harker caught Rafuel in an embrace and Lucian watched as Rafuel held the older man in his arms, tenderly. ‘I’ve lost them twice,’ Harker wept. ‘I sometimes wake in the night and can barely breathe.’

  ‘We’ll have to tell that idiot Gies,’ Kasabian said. ‘He’ll want to know that his Ginny is alive.’

  Rafuel shook his head emphatically.

  ‘Gies has become one of Donashe’s men. We cannot trust him. I need to go now. Trust no one.’

  The men embraced again.

  ‘It may be some time before you see the women,’ Rafuel said. ‘I beg your patience, friends. Nothing gets in the way of Quintana of Charyn’s safety. She is the only hope we have left in this kingdom, and she is as helpless as the babe she carries.’

  Phaedra watched as Quintana waited and pounced, saw the satisfaction on their strange princess’s face as she removed the writhing trout from her spear and tossed it onto the ground. Phaedra tried next and almost succeeded, but it was always Quintana who caught them.

  ‘I almost had it,’ Phaedra said.

  ‘Almost isn’t enough, Phaedra,’ Quintana said.

  The women had joined them today, much to Quintana’s annoyance, but all seemed well-behaved. Florenza showed a great talent for trout-spearing and by the end of the afternoon she was looking as savage as Quintana. Ginny, on the other hand, did little to help.

  ‘Is there anything you’re good at except for complaining and pining for men?’ Cora asked Ginny as she scaled the fish with one of Quintana’s sharp stones.

  ‘Well, if you really must know, I’m a great seamstress,’ Ginny said.

  ‘Oh good, good. Much needed at the moment,’ Jorja said. ‘When we get invited to that feast at the Nebian ambassador’s home, you’ll be the first person we have in mind, Ginny.’

  ‘Why would you move from your village if you had such a talent?’ Phaedra asked, trying to grip a wriggling fish in both hands and failing. It hit the water with a plonk and she dared not look at Quintana.

  ‘Because I’m not privileged or born last, Phaedra,’ Ginny said, spite in her voice, as if she was speaking to a fool. ‘I had the misfortune of living in a village where the girls closest to me in age were lastborns. Five of them. Five!’ she said, as if the disbelief of it all was still raw. ‘Most villages had one, maybe two. But five?’

  ‘Five, you say?’ Quintana murmured, not looking up. Phaedra hid a smile.

  ‘If you weren’t a lastborn girl in my village, you were nothing,’ Ginny continued, oblivious to Quintana’s mockery. ‘They were given gifts all the year long. Even the privy cleaner’s daughter was considered better than me. The privy cleaner’s daughter! When they turned ten, the village threw the grandest of celebrations. I played with the lastborns every day of my life and was given nothing.’

  Quintana seemed genuinely confused.

  ‘I’m not quite sure what your point is, Ginny,’ she said. ‘Were you poisoned? Were you pinned under the heaving body of a man who smelled of pig fat and onions? Was your head held under water so the half-dead could clamber for your spirit?’

  They stared at Quintana, horrified. Was she speaking of her experiences or those of others?

  ‘It’s very easy for you to be so offhand, Your Majesty,’ Ginny said. ‘When there were those of us in Charyn who truly suffered while you enjoyed a privileged life in the Citavita.’

  ‘But you haven’t actually come to the point where you’ve suffered yet,’ Quintana said. ‘Apart from not getting as many presents when you turned ten. So I’m getting quite bored, Ginny, and I’m going to be tempted to slice off your tongue any moment now.’

  Quintana was gutting the fish with savagery and Phaedra thought she would surely carry out her threat.

  ‘I was good with dyes, if you must know,’ Ginny continued. ‘What I could do with fabric was a gift from the gods. My mother was an alchemist who worked with colours and one time I made a dress of indigo.’

  Florenza, who loved pretty things, seemed the only one interested.

  ‘What colour is that?’ she asked.

  ‘A much richer shade than the sky. The darkest of blue.’

  Florenza liked the idea of it.

  ‘If we ever attend a feast again, Mother, I’ll have Ginny make me a gown.’

  ‘You crawled through shit, Florenza,’ Ginny said, her voice nasty. ‘Do you honestly think the nobility is going to invite you anywhere ever again?’

  Florenza began to gag and they all sent Ginny scathing looks. Apart from what the memory of the sewers did to Florenza, it was a sickening sound to listen to. Jorja placed an arm around her daughter, fussing quietly.

  ‘You have the prettiest face in Charyn,’ she reassured Florenza. ‘The Lumateran nobility won’t be able to resist you when they let us in.’ But Florenza began to retch again and Jorja held her daughter’s hair from her brow. Phaedra wondered how long it would take Jorja to accept that the Queen of Lumatere was never going to allow any of them into her kingdom.

  ‘You people of privilege understand nothing,’ Ginny said.

  ‘I thought lastborns understood nothing,’ Quintana said, but her at
tention was on Florenza, who was still retching.

  ‘All of them. The privileged. The lastborns. The hags who could never get a man,’ Ginny added, looking at Cora.

  ‘Yes, well, I curse the gods every day for that one,’ Cora said, her tone dry.

  ‘The tailor’s sister was a hag,’ Ginny continued. ‘When the day came for the tailor to chose his apprentices, guess who he chose? A lastborn girl. Our precious ones,’ she mimicked. ‘I hardly existed until Gies came travelling through the village last autumn. Some men don’t care whether you’re lastborns or not.’ Ginny looked smug. ‘Not when they enjoy the pleasure you can bring to them. If you ever get the Mont back, Phaedra, I’ll teach you a thing or two about how to hold onto him.’

  Phaedra face smarted, but she watched Quintana get to her feet, one hand on her belly, the other on her back. The Princess walked to where Florenza was still retching and weeping. When Jorja noticed Quintana approaching her daughter with the spear, she put a shaking hand on Florenza’s shoulder to quieten her. No one spoke as Quintana bent before Florenza, gripping the girl’s face with one hand, studying it hard.

  ‘Our spirit is mightier than the filth of our memories, Florenza of Nebia. Remember that, or you’ll be vomiting for the rest of your life.’

  Florenza stared up at Quintana and something passed between them as she nodded solemnly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  ‘And Tippideaux of Paladozza, the Provincaro De Lancey’s daughter, has the prettiest face in Charyn,’ she continued to inform them all. ‘Not you. So don’t believe a word your mother says.’

  She stood up and looked down at their bounty of fish, satisfied.

  ‘If we can build a fire tonight, we’ll eat well,’ she said. ‘Phaedra and I will collect the kindling.’

  ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ Cora asked. ‘You’re beginning to waddle with that load.’

  ‘Waddling helps me clear my head of your voices,’ Quintana responded. ‘It lessens my need to kill you all.’