Froi of the Exiles (60 page)

‘Try having Jasmina for days and days and she’ll lift your temper,’ he said with a laugh. ‘She’s a minx, that one.’

‘Sometimes I imagine Charyn children in the valley,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t that change everything? Closer to Lumatere, I wonder if the children would feel a stronger kinship to it.’

‘Will you ever feel that?’ he asked quietly.

‘Never. Regardless of where I live, I will always know I’m a Charynite. Even with the shame of our past, I’ve never wanted to be anything else, and I pray to the gods that one day I will love the person who sits on our throne as much as you all love your queen and her consort.’

And that was how Phaedra became part of two worlds. Up in the mountains, if it wasn’t the Queen’s Guard who wanted to speak to her, it was the ladies of the Flatlands who were keen to send her seed for the valley’s vegetable patches. She met the Queen’s First Man one night when he wanted to see the census she had been chronicling. Sir Topher, the most distinguished man she’d ever met apart from De Lancey of Paladozza, wanted the names of those who were landless first and promised to take their names back to the Queen. Perhaps soon the first of the valley dwellers would be given permission to enter Lumatere.

Down in the valley, more people arrived and there was talk of a plague in the northern province, causing fear to flare up amongst the people again. From her cot on the ground Phaedra spoke to Lucian about her memories of the plague from years past. She became used to the strange conversations where she spoke Charynite and he responded in Lumateran, except now it was done out of convenience rather than spite. And it was on those nights that she imagined that she loved him and it shamed her that he did not love her in return. He was the only man she had laid with and she hadn’t enjoyed the experience. But it was this Lucian that she had learned to love.

Despite his wishes, Phaedra still found herself some mornings searching with Orly and Lotte for Bert. Lotte had made Phaedra gloves fashioned out of cowhide that kept her fingers from freezing. After their search each time, Phaedra would sip tea with Lotte whilst Orly built a shrine in the paddock thanking the goddess that Bert was returned to them once again.

‘He’ll run out of room for shrines,’ Phaedra said, as they watched him from the window of the cottage.

‘Perhaps if Bert mated Gert there’d be peace on the mountain,’ Lotte said quietly.

Phaedra looked at her. After a moment she smiled and then she laughed. Lotte was surprised at first and then she laughed with her.

‘Oh Lotte. What have you been up to all this time?’

‘Do you promise not to get angry?’ she asked Lucian as they travelled down the mountain that morning. Jory was riding ahead.

‘I never make promises I can’t keep,’ he said.

She sighed. How many times had she heard those words from her father?

‘Luci-en, I think Lotte has been letting the bull out of its pen. It’s why no one has been caught yet or confessed. Orly won’t let Gert breed with Bert, and his wife has been hoping that if both animals are free to wander, they’ll find each other.’

Lucian turned in the saddle to look at her, stunned, and then he shook his head and laughed.

‘I have the smartest wife in Lumatere and Charyn combined.’

T
he talk of a Consort made Froi tense. It made Quintana tense. She called him
fool
more often. He called her a cold-hearted cat. If she wandered away from his protection in the vicinata, he would snap at her. If she walked away and Froi didn’t follow, she’d accuse him of placing her life in danger. If she removed her clothing in front of him at night, as though he were some eunuch, his words would be cruel. If she told him to turn the other way or go to his quarters while she undressed, he’d remind her that there was no part of her body he was yet to see. In the palace when Princess Indignant had been about, she would break the tension between them. He realised that the desire between Quintana and Froi had always been there and the Reginita had balanced it with her innocence.

‘Bed the girl,’ Olivier said with exasperation. ‘Put us out of our misery.’

And then there was the matter between Arjuro and De Lancey. Froi feared what the friction would lead to and wished that Gargarin would intervene, but now more than ever, the gulf between the brothers was wide and the hurt too deep.

‘What do you think they’re talking about?’ Grijio asked one morning as they peered out of the grand window of the hallway into De Lancey’s private garden. Tippideaux was squeezed in between them.

‘Whatever it is, it’s making Arjuro angry,’ Froi said.

‘He’s not choking your father, is he, Grij?’ Olivier asked.

‘Gods. You don’t think they’re kissing, do you?’

‘That’s a shove.’

‘Looks like an embrace from here.’

All agreed the next moment was a shove.

‘How appalling!’ Tippideaux said. ‘I think the Priestling just punched Father in the mouth. Where are the guards?’

They heard a sound behind them and all four were reluctant to move away, but turned to Quintana.

‘I’m looking for Lirah,’ she said coolly. ‘What are you doing up there?’

‘We’re spying on Father and Arjuro,’ Grijio said, making room for her. ‘Care to join us?’

‘Don’t be so rude. Get down all of you.’

‘That’s definitely kissing,’ Olivier said with authority, having turned back to the window.

Quintana pushed herself in beside Froi, shoving Tippideaux to the side. She had never been able to resist the drama Arjuro brought into their lives, whether it was on the balconette of the palace or here in De Lancey’s compound.

‘Did you see the way she did that as if she owns this window?’ Tippideaux sniffed.

Quintana stood on tiptoes beside them. Froi hoisted her up around her legs. She placed her arm around his shoulders for support.

They all watched the two below for a while. For a long while, actually, and Froi heard Tippideaux sigh because it was romantic in a strange way. Froi wanted them to keep on watching because if he turned his head a fraction it would be buried in Quintana’s neck, an area of her body he had ignored all those nights they shared a bed. She looked down at him and he dared not look away. She was all twitches and gold-speckled brown eyes today.

‘I caught Gargarin and Lirah kissing in such a way one morning,’ she said. ‘As if they wanted to consume the soul of the other.’

The mention of Lirah and Gargarin infuriated Froi and he let her go abruptly and walked away.

He spent the rest of the day in the library penning a letter to Finnikin and Isaboe. If there was ever a chance of getting something to them it could be from Paladozza. Gargarin entered later and Froi stood to gather his pages, wordlessly leaving Gargarin’s quill on the desk where he found it.

‘Keep it. I have another,’ Gargarin said. ‘I’ve not seen you all these days, Froi. Stay so we can talk.’

‘About rainfall?’ Froi said, sarcastically. ‘And garderobes?’

Gargarin gave him one of his piercing stares. ‘Ah, so we’re in that type of a mood.’

‘Not in any mood at all,’ Froi shrugged nonchalantly, walking to the door.

‘We need to build her an army,’ Gargarin said.

Froi stopped.

‘This business with the Avanosh people disturbs me,’ Gargarin continued. ‘The last thing we want is Sorel running our country through a puppet Consort.’

‘Knowing Sorel, they probably will,’ Froi said.

Gargarin looked bemused. ‘You’re an expert on Sorel, are you?’

Froi walked back to where Gargarin had laid out a map on the desk and watched as he marked the provinces they could trust. There weren’t many.

‘Let’s just say I was a guest in Sorel,’ Froi said. ‘A guest of one of their slave traders.’

Gargarin’s hand froze.

‘The slave traders of Sorel?’ Gargarin asked, his eyes registering the horror of what Froi was saying. The stories of the traders and the fate of their victims were well known across the land.

Froi shrugged again and looked away.

‘Don’t tell Lirah,’ Gargarin said quietly.

Froi shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. ‘Wouldn’t want to upset Lirah with my sordid past.’

Gargarin hissed with frustration. ‘Froi, what has got into you? Be angry at me, but don’t shut her out. If she doesn’t know how to speak the right words with you, it’s because she doesn’t know what you want from her.’

‘But she knows what you want from her, doesn’t she, Gargarin?’ Froi spat.

Arjuro walked into the room, putting an end to the discussion. Froi could see that the Priestling’s body was tense with fury as he reached Gargarin and examined his map.

‘So where to next?’ Arjuro demanded to know.

Gargarin didn’t respond, but rolled up the chart quietly.

‘You’re in a hurry, are you?’ Arjuro asked. ‘To walk away?’

The brothers’ eyes were fixed on each other with bitter regret. At that moment they could not have looked more different.

‘You think I don’t see it every time you look at me?’ Arjuro asked. ‘The contempt.’

‘Not contempt, brother. Just sadness,’ Gargarin said, limping away from both Froi and Arjuro.

Arjuro grabbed Gargarin and threw him to the wall. ‘Say the words,’ Arjuro hissed. ‘Say you despise me for what I allowed to happen to you, because I see fury in your eyes, despite your soft tone.’

Froi stepped between them, a hand to both their chests. Gargarin shoved them both from him.

‘I don’t despise you for what you allowed to happen to me,’ Gargarin said through clenched teeth. ‘I despise you because when I was released you refused to be found and I needed you more than anything in my life. Not to mend my broken bones, Arjuro. I needed my brother to mend my broken spirit.’

The next day, Arjuro was not to be found. His belongings were gone and no message was left. De Lancey sent his men to search and Froi waited the whole day in the courtyard for them to return. The moment the guards arrived, De Lancey and Gargarin came down the steps, desperate for answers. But Arjuro had become a ghost.

‘What about the godshouse?’ Froi asked. ‘He’d wave to you and Gargarin every night when he was at school there.’

‘It was the first place we looked,’ one of the guards said.

Gargarin looked defeated and limped away. De Lancey followed.

‘Did you know that someone stripped the flesh from his back and branded the word traitor across his shoulder blades?’ Froi called out.

Both Gargarin and De Lancey looked back, anguish in their expressions. Froi nodded. ’I saw him one night in the godshouse baths of Jidia. I think it’s why he keeps himself covered up.’

‘We will find him,’ De Lancey said.

Gargarin shook his head. ‘No. We won’t. If there is someone who knows how to disappear without a trace, it’s my brother.’

Apart from searching for Arjuro, Froi spent the days awaiting Feliciano of Avanosh’s arrival and avoiding Quintana, Lirah and Gargarin. Most times he was in the company of Grijio and Olivier. Grijio knew of a cave with a long straight tunnel where Froi could teach them to hit a target with an arrow.

‘It was my secret place for target practice when we planned to save Quintana,’ Grijio explained. ‘I’d leave a bow and a quiver of arrows there so the guard would not see me walking out of the compound holding a weapon. If they knew, they would have told my father for certain.’

‘Did you … ever actually hit a target?’ Froi asked politely.

Grijio grinned. ‘No. Not once. My eyes are not good. They never have been.’

The cave tunnel was long indeed and Froi set up a target and gave his first lesson.

‘You’ll never get it this far back,’ Olivier said, straining to see where the target was in the dark of the cave.

‘A wager?’ Froi asked, steadying his hand, one eye closed. The lads loved a wager.

‘One piece of silver a hit,’ Olivier offered.

Froi succeeded first go and held out his hand, laughing.

Then the others tried. Grijio was all thumbs and fingers whilst Olivier seemed a natural, although it was a while before he hit the perfect target.

When they weren’t practising hitting targets they would sit on the roof of Grijio’s secret cave overlooking the province and answering a string of Olivier’s theoretical questions.

‘What if you were given a choice between being the Captain of the Guard or the King’s First Advisor? Which would you choose?’

‘King’s First Advisor,’ Grijio said. ‘Or Ambassador, at least.’

‘Captain, of course,’ Froi said.

Olivier thought of his own question. ‘I don’t enjoy taking charge, so I’d be hopeless at both. But I’m good on a mount and if I knew how to fight I’d be honoured to be a royal rider.’

They continued their quizzing as they walked home. Grijio hollered a ‘Hello there’ to everyone he passed.

‘What if you had to choose between the most beautiful girl in the land who was stupid and the ugliest girl in the land who was smart?’ Olivier asked, running out of intelligent things to ask.

‘Why can’t there be one in between?’ Grijio asked, dismayed. He sighed, thinking. ‘The problem with being a lastborn male is that there aren’t many women to pick from,’ he said. ‘I’d like her to be as smart as I am. Someone who doesn’t just place worth on the build of a man or his ability to fight.’

‘That’s very smart of you, Grij. Because your build and ability to fight are not your strong points,’ Olivier said.

Froi laughed and on Grijio’s behalf, jabbed Olivier with the arrow he was holding.

‘One who knows the languages of the other kingdoms,’ Grijio continued. ‘Who doesn’t believe the world ends at our borders. One who is kind.’ He looked at the others, pensively. ‘We don’t have enough kindness in this land.’

‘You’re describing the Queen of Lumatere,’ Froi said.

‘Is she as beautiful as they say?’ Olivier asked.

‘She is indeed.’

‘Is your queen what you are searching for in a woman, Froi?’ Grijio asked.

Froi thought for a moment. ‘I never imagined I was looking for something in a woman. But if I did, I’d have to judge her by the way I felt laying beside her before I went to sleep at night and how I felt in the morning waking up to her.’