Quintana of Charyn

  At the stream, Isaboe stopped to place the Charynite King in Finnikin’s arms and he hesitated a moment. He didn’t want to hold another’s child. He wanted to hold his own. But he took the boy all the same and watched as Isaboe held a hand out to Harker of Nebia who was standing close by.

  ‘Your assistance, if you please,’ she said coolly, as if taking advantage of the closest man standing without a weapon in his hand. Harker looked surprised and took her hand and escorted her across the stream.

  ‘What is it you want from us?’ she asked quietly. ‘You’ve been boring a hole into my head the moment we arrived.’

  ‘Arm us,’ he pleaded.

  ‘And what if you use those weapons to storm my mountain and wipe out my people?’ she asked. ‘It is a habit you Charynites have. What then, sir? I’ve met your pretty daughter, Harker of Nebia. Do I take her and cut out her heart as punishment?’

  He flinched, a flash of anger crossing his expression.

  ‘My fight is not with Lumatere, Your Majesty. It is with whoever brings harm to this valley. I know it’s your valley, but these are our people and I need to keep them safe.’

  Finnikin, Isaboe and Lucian spent the night in a cottage halfway up the mountain. Tesadora woke them once … twice to feed the babe, and later, Finnikin held Isaboe in his arms as she wept, sobs that ripped at the core of him. Then they were awoken a third time.

  ‘An army is entering the valley,’ Trevanion said. ‘More powerful than we could ever imagine. Take her back to the palace, Finn. Don’t even stop in the mountain. I don’t want you or Isaboe close if they cross the stream.’

  ‘She hasn’t lost her hearing,’ Isaboe murmured, getting to her feet. Trevanion embraced them both.

  ‘Find a way to arm Harker’s people,’ she ordered. ‘And I want Quintana of Charyn on our side of the stream. She needs to be with her son.’

  And Finnikin watched as Isaboe took the Charynite King in her arms one last time and pressed her lips to his cheek and whispered something in his ear. She returned him to Tesadora and then took Finnikin’s hand and walked outside to where Perri had prepared her horse.

  ‘What say you, Perri?’ Isaboe said wearily. ‘Is it time to go home?’

  Perri lifted her onto the horse. ‘I say what I said in that Charyn woodlands four years past, my queen,’ he said, his voice husky. ‘You humble me. You humble us all.’

  Phaedra and the women listened to the fighting from inside the cave. They knew little except to do what Harker had told them earlier that day. To stay where they were and not move until they were given a sign that it was over.

  ‘It could happen that while we fight Donashe, an army will enter the valley and we won’t know who is friend or foe,’ he whispered when he was granted a visit, accompanied by Donashe, who Cora kept busy with one of her outbursts. Harker smuggled a dagger into his wife’s hand and she quickly placed it up her sleeve. The Lumaterans had left weapons for Harker’s men concealed on their side of the stream and Phaedra prayed no one on the Charyn side would be foolish enough to cross beyond the bank. More than anything, Donashe and his men could not suspect that the little King of Charyn was hidden there.

  They stayed huddled together all the day long, frightened by the cries coming from outside and below. Sometimes they heard the clambering of footsteps outside the entrance and they’d press themselves into the darkest crevice of the cave, but most times it was a valley dweller finding safer refuge on higher ground.

  ‘It’s cat and mouse down there,’ an old man whispered. ‘And Donashe’s men are not just fighting Harker and the lads, they’re fighting each other. There are already corpses floating downstream.’

  ‘Father’s going to get himself killed,’ Florenza wept.

  They heard wails and shouts and Phaedra prayed with desperation that Donashe and his men would not take refuge up so high. If they decided to sweep through the caves with their weapons, a single dagger was not going to save Phaedra and the women. Fear was vicious and whispered cruel thoughts into their hearts.

  ‘At times such as this, I’m grateful for the curse,’ Cora said. ‘How could we ever have protected children from this?’

  Phaedra felt Quintana take her hand and she gathered her in an embrace.

  ‘If there is one thing I would bet my life on, it’s that the little King is safe,’ Phaedra whispered.

  Night brought with it new sounds. A scurry of a rat, or a branch knocking against stone in a grim beat. Sometimes a quick cry would reach them from the world below. And nothing else would follow.

  ‘A dead man,’ Cora would say. They had learnt to tell the difference between the sound of a man with a deadly wound and one that caused pain to linger and sing a maudlin tune. And then they heard footsteps come from the outer cave. No one so much as muttered a word. They heard flint against stone and a flicker of light appeared. Phaedra could see now that sometime during the night the cave had filled with valley dwellers, their eyes wide with terror.

  ‘The Mont!’ someone said and suddenly Lucian was pushing between those standing before him. Phaedra sobbed with relief as he gathered her to him.

  ‘You’ve got to trust me,’ he told the women, whose instinct was to huddle around Quintana. ‘There’s so much confusion and more than one army is about to enter. I’ll find a way to take Quintana to the little King and keep her safe on my side of the stream. I have to do it now, or it will be too late.’

  ‘Whose army?’ Cora asked.

  Lucian shook his head. ‘Harker sent out a scout but there’s little to see in this darkness. He says it looks like Nebia. So I need to be gone. If they know a Lumateran is on this side of the stream, it could trigger a crossing. Donashe and his men are turning on each other. Some surrendering to Harker, others attacking anything that moves and never mind those caught in their way. Trevanion’s orders are that the moment I take the Princess to safety, the Monts are to return up the mountain. Tesadora will stay with Quintana and the boy.’

  Lucian pressed a kiss to Phaedra’s lips.

  ‘If I get a chance –’

  ‘Don’t!’ she said. ‘Just keep her alive.’

  Lucian picked Quintana up in his arms and the women wrapped her in blankets and cloaks, and then the two were gone.

  ‘If he gets her safe across the stream, I’ll never call him an idiot again,’ Cora said, and Phaedra could hear she was crying.

  It was in the early hours of the morning that an army entered the camp. Phaedra heard the shouting, demanding surrender in the name of a united Charyn. Jorja said there was no such thing. Phaedra and Florenza crept to the outer cave and stole a look at the path behind them. A never-ending stream of horses and riders were arriving from the Alonso road. Phaedra took Florenza’s hand and they crawled on their bellies to the tip of the rock that overlooked the stream before them. And they wished they hadn’t.

  Men lay dead, sprawled over lower cave ledges. The valley dwellers from below began to emerge, searching for their husbands, their sons, wailing at what was to be found. Florenza began to weep, but Phaedra’s throat was dry and it felt as though fear had torn and scratched away at its core. Had Quintana and Lucian made it across the stream?

  Phaedra and the women made their way down with caution. There were soldiers rounding up Donashe’s men and questioning anyone else. The women heard whispers that an army from plague-ridden Desantos had arrived, and those from Turla and Avanosh as well, not to mention those from Nebia. Jorja recognised the uniform.

  ‘Trust no one,’ Cora said, grabbing a bloody sword discarded across their path. ‘Plague-touched or enemy.’

  It was only Jorja’s cry of joy when she saw Harker speaking to one of the Nebian soldiers that brought the first hope and certainty of the day. Nebia was not the enemy. They watched as two of the camp leaders were being dragged in chains beyond the caves. One of them had taken part in the murder of the seven scholars. A soldier, Phaedra didn’t know if he was Turlan or Lasconian, said Donashe and his men would be handed
over to the Priests of Sebastabol for execution. The Priests would want the seven lads avenged and they would want to know the whereabouts of Rafuel. She saw Ginny in chains alongside Gies, and Phaedra walked away from Cora and the women and followed the soldiers between the caves to the Alonso road where Donashe’s men and Ginny were being placed in a wagon. Ginny’s eyes widened the moment she saw her.

  ‘Phaedra!’ she screamed. ‘Save me, Phaedra, please. Please!’

  But Phaedra could only think of being on her knees beside Florenza and Jorja as Donashe’s men held his sword to Cora on the day Ginny betrayed them. Once, her compassion had no boundaries. The months since Donashe and his men entered the valley had changed that. So Phaedra turned away and walked back towards the caves. But suddenly, she was dragged into a crevice and she found herself face to face with Donashe. There was a crazed look of fear in his eyes and he held a filthy, bloody hand to her mouth.

  ‘You tell them that I kept her safe in the end,’ he said. ‘You tell them.’

  He dragged Phaedra back towards the Alonso road where more soldiers were arriving from the south.

  ‘You tell them or I’ll make you pay,’ Donashe threatened, his mouth close to her ear.

  But when the new arrivals stopped to tether their horses, Phaedra broke free with a cry and it was then that she saw a figure limp towards them, an axe in hand. And his eyes met Phaedra’s, and she saw the vengeance that they promised, and knew exactly who he was. He was not a boy anymore, this lad who had placed her on his list of those he could trust.

  ‘Keep running and don’t turn back, Phaedra,’ Froi of Lumatere ordered and she did as he asked, but stumbled, falling forwards into the dirt.

  ‘Did I not tell you I never forget a face, Donashe?’ she heard Froi say and then there was a cry and the sick thud of axe hitting bone. And Phaedra lay there on the ground, weeping until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She stared up to see another lad caked with mud before her. She took his hand and he helped her to her feet.

  ‘Don’t look down, miss,’ he said, as he led her back to the camp. ‘It’s not a pretty sight.’

  And then a sound rang out across the valley that unfroze hearts made of Charyn stone. A babe’s cry. And the newly arrived soldiers hurried to the sound and it led them to the stream. Phaedra followed. The cry rang out again and the valley was still and those from the caves appeared, their eyes searching.

  But the cry was drowned out by a roar of Quintana’s name that ripped through the camp, a cry so hoarse that Phaedra could have sworn the ground rumbled beneath her. She saw Froi of Lumatere drop to his knees. The wildest men she had ever seen circled him in sorrow and still the babe’s cry echoed across the valley, mingled with Froi’s pain.

  ‘She dead?’ one of the wild Turlan lads asked Phaedra. ‘If there’s King born, Scarpo say our Quintana dead, for sure.’

  Before Phaedra could answer they heard a voice.

  ‘Froi?’

  Phaedra watched Froi freeze at the sound of his name. He stumbled to his feet, searching to see where it came from.

  ‘Froi?’

  It was Quintana’s voice from across the stream and Froi of Lumatere walked towards it, his hands to his head, almost dazed in wonder. And Phaedra and the wild Turlan lads followed and she heard the breath catch in their throats when they saw Quintana of Charyn across the stream, holding the little King. As Froi dragged himself across the water, Phaedra marvelled at the look on the face of her queen.

  ‘Do you think you love him?’ Phaedra had once asked.

  ‘I don’t know really what that is,’ Quintana had responded in her cold, practical way.

  Yes, you do, my queen, Phaedra wanted to say now. Quintana’s love was unabashed. Wondrous. The type of love that lit a strange, strange face and turned it into a beacon. Every man and woman in the valley saw the joy on the face of their king’s mother that day. He was born in love, this king of theirs. Phaedra watched as Froi reached Quintana and then he fell to his knees before her, weeping, his arms circling her waist as she held him to her with one hand, the screaming, squirming babe with the other. And there were sighs all around her and she smiled to hear them come from such savage lads.

  But everything changed so suddenly and the captain they called Scarpo of Nebia and his soldiers came riding across the stream in frenzy.

  ‘We need to get you to the palace, Your Majesty,’ he said, bellowing orders to the soldiers surrounding him. And they pushed Froi aside and wrested Quintana and the little King from out of his arms, and the savage lads beside Phaedra flew across the stream, shouting and cursing.

  ‘Let him hold them! Let him!’ one shouted.

  ‘Froi!’ Quintana cried.

  One of the Nebian riders picked Quintana up in his arms, another tried to pull the babe from her grip.

  ‘Froi!’

  ‘You’re hurting her!’ Froi shouted, trying to get to her. ‘She’s scared!’

  Scarpo of Nebia leapt from his mount and stood before Froi. ‘They are my orders,’ Phaedra heard him say. ‘We need to get them both to the Citavita and secure their place there. You stay here, Lumateran. Gargarin’s orders are that you stay in Lumatere and wait. In weeks to come, do not make contact with the Charyn palace. You wait. “Trust me,” he said. These were Gargarin’s words.’

  But Froi fought like a madman and the Turlan lads tried to protect him, tried to hold him down.

  ‘Don’t hurt him. Please,’ Quintana begged, as she pulled free of the soldier’s arms and cowered on the ground, covering her babe’s head with her arms.

  And then things got worse and Phaedra watched as Lucian and Jory and the Mont lads came charging out from between the copse of trees, swords in hand, ready to cut down any man who was a threat to Froi, and when the Turlans saw the Monts, they cocked their bows and raised their swords and Phaedra cried in fear at the blood that would be shed in this stream.

  ‘Stop!’ Froi shouted, stumbling between the Monts and the Turlans, arms outstretched. ‘Stop!’

  And then there was silence. The Turlans stepped back across to the Charyn side of the stream and Lucian and his Monts stood beside Froi.

  Phaedra pushed through the Nebian soldiers and reached Quintana, who rocked in the mud with the screeching little King in her arms.

  ‘Shh,’ Phaedra said calmly, looking up at the Captain of the Nebian army and his men. ‘You’re going to hurt her and the babe if you don’t restrain yourselves.’

  Scarpo of Nebia hesitated and then nodded.

  Phaedra looked across the water and her eyes met Lucian’s. Their needs came second. It came from the privilege of being trusted.

  But that doesn’t mean I love you less.

  And she held a hand down to Quintana, who took it and stood, and they followed Scarpo of Nebia to the waiting cart that would take them back to the Citavita.

  Froi began each day counting the moments that made his life breathable. The feel of soil in his hands. The colours of autumn in Lumatere. The murmuring between Lord August and Lady Abian on the porch each night. The sight of their eldest son Talon relieving one of the village women of the hay bale she carried. The Priestking’s belly laugh. The sound of Vestie’s voice when she asked about Kintana of Charyn. And then the next count would begin. Of everything that made his life unbreathable. And each time, it outnumbered the first.

  It had been four months since he had arrived back in Lumatere, and most days he was able to put aside the ache and complete his work on Lord August’s farm. But today was different. It was the curse day. Their birthday. Charyn’s day of weeping. Let her be happy. Perhaps this would be the first of the birthdays she’d enjoy, for she had his son in her arms. The image of the two was etched in Froi’s memory and although they had only those few moments together in the valley that day, he missed Quintana more than ever. And try as he might, Froi couldn’t get the scent of the boy off his hands. He began to understand Lirah and Gargarin, and the way they had coated their hearts with ice, so they wouldn’t fe
el.

  As if Finnikin had sensed his pain that morning, he came riding by with Jasmina.

  ‘I’m going to teach her to swim,’ Finn said. ‘Come with us. I’ll enjoy the company.’ By the look on Jasmina’s face, the invitation was not extended to Froi, but he agreed all the same.

  Trevanion joined them later. He kept a river cottage in Tressor, which was beginning to look like a village now after all these years of grieving the Tressorians who were slaughtered in Sarnak. Froi watched the three from the riverbank and even found himself chuckling once or twice to see the authority the Princess had over her father and Trevanion. Later, when the Captain left, Froi and Finnikin lay on the grass under the last moments of the afternoon sun, Jasmina asleep in Finnikin’s arms.

  ‘How is she?’ Froi asked and they both knew he was speaking of Isaboe.

  ‘Bad days. Good days. Bad days.’

  Finnikin looked at his daughter, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

  ‘She doesn’t want Jasmina to see the bad days.’

  Froi saw the dark circles of weariness under Finnikin’s eyes.

  ‘You’re not trying to do it all on your own, are you, Finn?’ he asked. ‘You should ask the women for help. Lady Beatriss would understand, and Lady Abian.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not against begging,’ Finnikin said. ‘I went to see Tesadora, you know. Me?’ He laughed. ‘We’ve rarely exchanged a civil word. But I asked her if she would come to the palace and stay a while.’ Finnikin shrugged and smiled. ‘And she said yes. And then Celie returned, as you’d know. For this week anyway … especially for the feast tonight. And I asked her to stay too and she said yes.’

  Tonight would be Isaboe’s first public outing since the death of the child, and Lady Abian had been preparing for weeks, demanding that those most loved by the Queen attend. The whole week’s talk in the village had been about the feast and Celie’s return.