Quintana of Charyn

  Lucian felt her study him.

  ‘You have a scar,’ Phaedra said. ‘On the lid of your eye. It looks as if it’s been there some time, but I never noticed.’ There was a sadness to her words. ‘Did you receive it at the hands of a Charynite?’

  ‘I received it at the hands of my cousin Balthazar when we were children,’ he said. ‘Or one of his ideas, anyway. He decided that we’d swing from one tree to another to save Isaboe and Celie of the Flatlands from the silver wolf we imagined in the forest.’ He chuckled. ‘It didn’t end well.’

  He watched a smile appear on her face. ‘Silly boys,’ she said. ‘Brave, silly boys.’

  She shrugged out of his arms, took his hand and drew him away and Lucian let himself be led until they reached a small shelter made of ferns. She crawled inside first and then he followed.

  ‘Is this yours?’ he asked, as they knelt before each other in the small space.

  ‘I share it with Her Majesty,’ she said, as if it was the most natural thing to do with the strange princess.

  Lucian waited, thinking that perhaps he’d like to speak. To tell Phaedra that he loved her because it didn’t seem so hard to think the words.

  ‘Do you love me?’ he asked instead. ‘Because if you don’t, I’d wait until you did. I’d wait weeks and months and years.’

  Phaedra traced his jaw with a finger, then his cheeks, the space around his eyes, the lump in his throat.

  ‘No need to wait,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’ve loved you for weeks and months and years. When I was a young girl in Alonso my father told me about a Lumateran lad who would keep me safe and perhaps I loved you then.’

  She reached for the frayed edges of his tunic and when it was removed, she traced a finger against the scars: some from the battle to take back Lumatere, some from the skirmishes with his cousins.

  ‘The gods drew you well,’ she said.

  He chuckled softly.

  ‘Can I be reminded of how the gods drew you?’ he said. She nodded and he slowly fumbled with her clothing and she was naked before him and suddenly it all felt new. He copied her actions, tracing her body with a shaky finger. No scars but a small purple birthmark on her breast. A bruise or two on her body.

  ‘I’ve made windows in the cottage so we can see the entire mountain,’ he murmured. ‘For you.’

  ‘Speak Lumateran,’ she said. ‘When you speak Charyn, you sound so strangely distant. Our voices sound kinder in the skin of our own language.’

  He cupped her face in his hands and he kissed her open-mouthed and he imagined she had never been kissed before, but they kissed all the same until their lips felt bruised and swollen and then she lay back and his hand found its place between their bodies and she gasped and Lucian thought he’d never heard a sound so promising.

  Later, they lay talking, her head on his shoulder. They spoke all day and night as if they didn’t have time left in the world. About the cottage and its views and Orly and Lotte’s pregnant cow and of Yata who was excited about his cousin Isaboe’s decision to birth the babe on the mountain soon, as she had done with Jasmina. They spoke of the valley, and Harker and Kasabian’s sadness and joy, and of her father’s fury and whether Lucian could find a way to send word to the Provincaro that Phaedra was still alive without putting her life or that of the women at risk. She spoke of the women and he could hear in her voice that she had grown to love them in a way. And they spoke of Quintana of Charyn and of every scar on her body, and of the hangman who twice tried to take her life.

  ‘I’m no better than an animal,’ Phaedra said, after talking about the man’s death.

  ‘And no worse,’ he said. ‘It’s what I’ve always liked about our four-legged friends. They act on what’s inside here.’ He placed her hand against his heart. ‘It’s their instinct and their need to survive. No malice, nothing.’

  He brushed the back of his finger across her cheek.

  ‘I didn’t kill my first man until the battle to take back Lumatere. All those years of practice and my father’s pride in the great warrior I was.’ Lucian shook his head. ‘But nothing prepares you for the real thing. In practice, there was no blood spraying into my eye and blinding me and there were no sounds quite like an axe wedging itself into a man’s flesh. And in practice there was no rage for …’

  He bit his tongue to stop himself from saying the word.

  ‘For Charynites?’ she asked.

  He took her hand. ‘For the Charynite King. For his family. I wanted all of them dead. And four years on … I’m protecting her in this valley.’

  ‘Despite everything, Luc-ien,’ Phaedra said softly, ‘she is worth protecting.’

  ‘Is she as mad as she seems?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, not at all,’ Phaedra said. ‘Which doesn’t mean she’s not the strangest person I’ve ever met, but those deemed mad in Alonso have no control over their minds. Quintana of Charyn has total control over everything she does.’ He noticed the smile on Phaedra’s lips.

  ‘I told her once that I constantly hear my mother speaking to me. Guiding me. In my head I ask her questions all the time. Quintana understood perfectly what I was talking about. “Oh yes,” she said, “They’re most helpful, the half-dead spirits are. I only wish I knew where mine came from.”’

  ‘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 colouring.’

  ‘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 a while 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 goodbye, 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 tha
t 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 to wave and 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, snivelling 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 each other with all their hearts. It doesn’t mean 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 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 humouring 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 recognise 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.’

  ‘Ah, the defence 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 advisors 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 rumours, 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 who?’

  Froi shrugged bitterly. ‘Friends … the surviving riders … those who are in Bestiano’s service.’

  They waited.

  ‘Bestiano is paying low-lifes 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 soul
s. 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.