Froi of the Exiles

  “Fawned?” Arjuro asked.

  “Like this, Brother Arjuro,” Quintana said, pressing her chest against him. Through her perfect mimicry, she reminded Froi exactly of the provincara. She was back to being Princess Indignant. A relief after days with the cold Quintana, who, despite their truce, couldn’t resist a snarl or two any time he came near. He had refused to sleep anywhere but by her side, dagger in his hand at all times. Most nights he wanted to reach out and touch her, wanted to speak the words that no one had dared to speak. That what grew inside of her belonged to him. He had no idea what that meant. All he knew was that he would kill to protect Quintana and she would kill to protect the child.

  At the gates, two guards asked for their papers.

  “We’ve come from the Citavita. Not much time to collect things like that,” Gargarin said. “We’ll be waiting at the gods house baths. Could you send a message to the provincara to find us there? Tell her it’s Gargarin of Abroi who asks.”

  The guard shook his head. “The provincara is a busy woman,” he said dismissively. “And you don’t enter without papers.”

  The second guard approached and whispered into the first man’s ear. Both looked at Quintana, who stared back at them. Froi stiffened, stepped beside her. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if Quintana began to make savage mewing sounds when the guard or any other stepped too close. Both guards studied Froi, and he unclenched the fist at his side. Gargarin’s instruction had been to keep out of trouble’s way and not draw attention. The second guard continued to stare, but then he nodded.

  “The godshouse baths,” the man acknowledged. “The provincara will send for you there.”

  At first Froi thought Gargarin had made a mistake and led them into the provincara’s compound and not a godshouse. He had never seen a more opulent place of worship. His experience had been Arjuro’s home or the priest-king’s cottage. But here in Jidia, the godshouse was almost the size of a Flatland village. Outside there were gardens, olive groves, and an amphitheater that could easily seat thousands. Inside there were steam rooms and baths and chambers with private altars where wealthy Jidians would make sacrifices to the goddess of the elements. In Lumatere, sacrifices to the goddess were never of animal flesh and blood, but here in Charyn, flames and animal flesh were the perfect beacon for the gods. It was why they burned their dead and refused to bury them in the ground. So the gods could follow the light and song to take a spirit home.

  In the foyer, minstrels played while attendants rushed around with linens and floral-scented soap, serving teas and sweet cakes. In the alcoves, Froi could see lively discussions between patrons while others played board games or disappeared into the rooms that housed the sacred baths.

  In one of the nooks, where they waited for the provincara to make her appearance, Gargarin spoke about the springs. Froi pretended not to listen, and Quintana walked away, to look in the different rooms. Lirah listened, though. Froi thought of her prison with its books and her drawings. Who would Lirah have been if they hadn’t sold her to the palace at the age of thirteen? Perhaps not a rich man’s wife, but certainly the wife of a smart man. Gargarin sketched her a diagram, his twisted hands precise, and Froi had his first glimpse of how things would have been between the two of them. Lirah liked facts, and Gargarin enjoyed explaining them. For this time alone, they seemed to forget their troubled history. Despite his pretense, Froi learned how rainwater fell on the hills outside the province walls hundreds of years ago.

  “It seeped through the stone thousands of feet beneath us, where natural heat raised the temperature and the heated water rose to the surface crevices and cracks, and then up through the stone,” Gargarin explained. Any talk of water excited Gargarin.

  “De Lancey brought me here when I was released from the Citavita,” he continued. “Soaking in that water, it was as though I died and went to the heavens.”

  “Did he make believe you were me?” Arjuro sneered.

  There was a strained silence.

  “You’re speaking out of line, brother,” Gargarin warned quietly.

  “Are we not copies of each other? It would matter little to those who take us as lovers.”

  “It would have mattered to me,” Lirah said. Any truce between the two had disappeared during Arjuro’s mood of the last days.

  “I wouldn’t have thought any lover in your bed made a difference to you, Lirah.”

  Lirah stared at him with hatred in her eyes. “Not my bed. Never my bed. I don’t own one, priestling. I’ve not owned one all my life.”

  “You would never have told us apart in those days, I tell you,” Arjuro said. “You could have shared my bed and not known the difference, Lirah.”

  “Enough,” Gargarin said, and Froi saw fury. “We no longer live in those days. You and I don’t have the same bruises and broken bones, Arjuro. They are all mine.”

  There was much left unsaid in Gargarin’s words. All mine but meant for you, Froi imagined him saying.

  Arjuro walked toward one of the smaller shrine rooms.

  “You cannot present yourself to the gods in that state with such a stench,” Gargarin called out after him.

  Arjuro dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “No soak can cleanse the filth from our hearts and minds, can it, Gargarin?”

  There were no more lessons after that. Just a strained silence until a godshouse guardian approached and led Quintana and Lirah to the women’s baths and Gargarin and Froi to those of the men. Froi was cautious. Quintana hadn’t been out of his sight since his return to the caves, and he trusted her with no one. More than anything, the godshouse guardians seemed more like the provincara’s Guard.

  “She’ll be safe enough,” Gargarin said. “It’s a sacred place, and if there is one thing the Jidians won’t do, it’s sacrifice the peace they have enjoyed here for centuries.”

  Froi paid his coin and followed Gargarin into the bathhouse. It was hazy with steam, its walls carpeted with moss and ferns. Gargarin stepped into the hot water, and Froi followed, shocked at the state of Gargarin’s body, his rib cage and shoulder blades protruding. Faded bruises from his beating at the hands of the street lords adorned his back and chest. Froi saw the strange twist in his arm where two bones had poorly mended years before.

  Settling beside him, Froi couldn’t help comparing himself to this man who was his father. Even in good health there would have been little resemblance between them.

  “Those from Serker resembled bull terriers,” Gargarin said, turning to Froi as if he could read his mind.

  Froi looked away. “How come Lirah doesn’t?”

  “Because when the gods made Lirah, they broke the mold.”

  Gargarin closed his eyes, surrendering to the water.

  “If the water is so comforting, why not settle in Jidia?” Froi asked.

  Gargarin opened one eye. “Orlanda likes to own those who answer to her, body and soul. It would tire me out.”

  Froi found himself grinning, and Gargarin flinched. Could Froi not even own his gestures without reminding the brothers of their barbaric father?

  Suddenly there was a shout and a commotion and a scream or two. Gargarin and Froi exchanged a look.

  “You don’t think —?”

  “Whore!”

  Froi quickly clambered out of the water and grabbed a cloth from an attendant, wrapping it around his waist before slipping and sliding across the wet floor toward the female bathhouse. Screams of outrage accompanied his entry, and he stepped back outside, waiting. By the time Gargarin caught up, trying to secure his cloth, Lirah was being dragged out by a guard with Quintana in tow. Both were still fully dressed. Behind them, Froi recognized Provincara Orlanda hissing with fury and being fussed over by her attendants. When she saw Gargarin, she instantly regained her composure.

  “Gargarin, dear friend,” she managed to say through gritted teeth.

  “Orlanda.” Gargarin stared from Lirah to Quintana. “Has there been an issue?”

 
“There’s been issue, indeed,” Orlanda seethed. “Follow.”

  Lirah shrugged free of the guard viciously, and they followed the provincara and Gargarin to a small private praying room.

  The provincara dismissed her guard and attendant and closed the door behind them.

  “There is a stable beside the inn, close to the wall gates. You would have passed it on your way here. It’s where you are to shelter for the night.”

  “A stable?” Gargarin questioned. “Orlanda, I’m traveling with Quintana of Charyn.”

  “And why would I not know that?” she continued, almost spitting out the words. “I will not have her sanctioned by my house.”

  Arjuro was shoved into the room by another set of attendants, cursing at the top of his voice.

  “We warned her, Sir Gargarin,” Quintana said. “Twice. Three times.”

  Orlanda stared at Quintana with contempt. She pointed to a doorway behind the altar. “That will lead you to the town square. Make sure you’re discreet and travel straight to the stable. In my own time I will call for you.”

  The provincara walked out.

  “Dressed like this?” Froi called out, looking down at his cloth. “I want my weapons!”

  Moments later, unfamiliar clothing was thrown into the room.

  “Why would we want to draw attention to ourselves?” Gargarin demanded of Lirah. “What happened to being discreet?”

  “It was the provincara, Sir Gargarin,” Quintana said, turning the other way as the men dressed. Froi waited for Lirah to turn. He wasn’t usually so bashful about presenting a bare body to the world, but this was Lirah. She humored him and looked away while Quintana continued to explain.

  “She took us to a private room and said she wanted us gone from her sight. ‘From my province,’ ” she shrilled, mimicking the provincara’s outrage.

  Froi pulled on a pair of trousers that were small and uncomfortable. He would need to return later to retrieve all their goods.

  “I tried to be very polite, sir, but the moment I stepped forward, she pushed me away and spoke words that we won’t repeat, will we, Lirah?”

  Lirah repeated the words all the same. Even Arjuro flinched.

  Gargarin ushered them all toward the doorway that would take them through a passage to the town square. “And I warned her, sir. Three times I warned her, not to press such a fist against me as she shoved.”

  “And?” Gargarin asked, leading them through the darkness.

  “Well, I didn’t have a choice but to try to choke the life from her,” Quintana explained. “Three times I warned her.”

  Froi was furious. “Are you both fools?”

  “I’m going to have to agree,” Gargarin said, seething. “Fools.”

  “Three warnings?” Froi asked with disbelief. “Three? There are to be no warnings. If someone touches you again, Quintana, you grab the first thing you can and hurl it at them.”

  “No. Not exactly what I would suggest,” Gargarin said. “It would help if this kingdom didn’t see us as a family of savages.”

  There was silence after that. It was too strange a word for Gargarin to use. Family.

  It was after midnight that they heard a sound outside the stable door. Froi retrieved his sword and wordlessly instructed the others to stand back.

  “Gargarin,” he heard a female voice whisper. Froi looked at Gargarin, who nodded.

  “Orlanda?”

  The door was pushed open, and the provincara entered. Beside her were two guards, their eyes searching the room before she ushered them out and shut the door.

  “Orlanda, you cannot keep the queen of Charyn in a stable outside the protection of your home,” Gargarin said.

  “She fancies herself as the queen now, does she?” Orlanda said. “First the princess, then the reginita, and now she’s the queen.”

  “She was wed to the heir, Tariq, before Bestiano’s men slaughtered him and his entire compound.”

  Orlanda stared at Quintana. “Why would that fool boy do such a thing?” she asked, not questioning Gargarin’s belief that it was Bestiano’s men.

  “Because in Tariq’s eyes it was the only way to protect Quintana. And her child.”

  The truth was certainly the last thing Froi expected to hear from Gargarin.

  The provincara’s laugh was bitter and furious. “Gargarin. I’ve never taken you for a fool. Are we still to believe this lying spawn of a whore?”

  Froi watched Gargarin’s face, but there was no reaction to the slur toward Lirah or her description of Quintana. Froi hated his weakness. Trevanion would have smashed a man in the face for such words. Perri would have had him limping.

  “Then don’t take me for a fool, Orlanda. Take me for the smart man you know me to be and ask yourself why I would believe a story unless I know it to be true.”

  “I want to see her belly,” the provincara said, grabbing Quintana by the arm. Although Froi could see no change in Quintana, when he had lain beside her the night before, he had felt the swell in her body.

  “If she touches her, I will bite off every one of her fingers,” Lirah warned.

  Orlanda slapped Lirah hard across the face.

  Quintana pushed between them, grabbed the provincara’s hand, and placed it under her shift. Froi watched the woman’s eyes widen, saw the disbelief and then the flare of hope.

  “You can’t stay here,” she said, her voice hushed. “I can’t protect her.”

  “Bestiano has only fifty or so riders,” Gargarin argued. “You have enough in your army to fight them!”

  Orlanda shook her head, unable to tear her eyes from Quintana. “Have you not heard, Gargarin? Bestiano is in Nebia. He has secured the confidence of the provincaro and has the entire Nebian army at his disposal.”

  “What?”

  Even Lirah and Arjuro were stunned by the news.

  “And if they enter my province demanding I hand the princess to them, I cannot sacrifice my people for her.”

  “You’re going to allow another province to align themselves with a man who wants the palace?” Gargarin asked.

  “What choice do I have?” she cried. “Do I need to remind you of Serker? Ask anything from me but this.”

  Gargarin took time to think, and Froi saw a determination in his expression. “When the time comes, I want your army. I want it combined with armies from Paladozza and Sebastabol and Alonso and Desantos.”

  She nodded, almost relieved to know she would be rid of them. “There’s a plague in Desantos. You don’t want an army from them.”

  “But you’ll pledge yours.”

  “Yes. But you need to go. They will know you’re here. Those in the godshouse baths who spy for the palace and now for Bestiano saw you and will already be sending word. When the provincaro of Nebia and Bestiano come to my gates, I will tell them the truth. That I will not be embroiled in this matter of Quintana of Charyn and that I sent you away. When the time comes and you ask for an army of men, I will honor my pledge to you.”

  Gargarin nodded. “We’ll leave in the morning and we’ll need horses.”

  The provincara glanced at Quintana one more time.

  “Thank the gods this babe belongs to Tariq of Lascow and not one of the province lads. That would be all we need,” she said bitterly. “One province believing they had the seed to break the curse.”

  She went to leave.

  “Orlanda,” Gargarin said. “An apology.”

  She turned and smiled tiredly, but with gratitude. “Not required, dear Gargarin. For old times’ sake, I’ll forgive you.”

  “No. An apology to the queen and to her mother.”

  There was that tone again. The one that demanded so much without him having to raise his voice.

  “And who are you to demand an apology on her behalf?” she asked, hurt in her voice.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am,” he said evenly. “But I would hate to have to tell my king in years to come that I stood by and heard words spoken against his mot
her and his shalama and did nothing.”

  The apology was not quick in coming, but the woman was no fool.

  “My apologies, Your Highness,” Orlanda said.

  “Majesty,” Quintana corrected.

  “My apologies, Your Majesty.” The provincara turned to Lirah. “My apologies.” She turned back to Gargarin. “My guard at the gate recognized her. Both of them. It’s well known throughout the land that the king refused to allow his daughter and whore … ​his daughter and her mother,” she corrected herself, “to cut their hair. I’d be careful if I were you. If all is true, we do not want her dead before she births the curse breaker.”

  But we don’t care if she dies after. The words she left unsaid were clear.

  After she was gone, there was silence for a while.

  “How big is this army?” Froi asked them.

  “Big.” They all spoke at once.

  “If you combine the armies of the other provinces, you can fight them,” Froi said.

  “They’re not Charyn’s only problem,” Gargarin said tiredly. “The moment the kingdom begins to war with itself, those surrounding us will surely invade. Belegonia and Lumatere have been waiting for the perfect moment.”

  “Lumatere will not invade.”

  “They’d be fools not to, and I’ve never taken your queen and her consort for fools,” Gargarin said tiredly. His eyes met Lirah’s.

  “Cut her hair,” he ordered. “She’ll be recognized in an instant by anyone who’s been to the palace and by anyone who’s heard of how long and strange it is.”

  Quintana started, horrified. “My hair? But Sir Gargarin …”

  Gargarin walked away to one of the few stalls that didn’t accommodate a cow or pig or horse. Quintana followed. “I can cover it with Froi’s cap,” she cried. “No one will suspect, Sir Gargarin. No one.”

  “This is not up for discussion. Lirah will cut your hair, and we will travel to Paladozza and try very, very hard to keep you alive. You were recognized within seconds in a province that can switch its allegiance at a whim.”

  Quintana wept. “My father said it was the only thing that was beautiful about me.”