There’s a song that I hear at the back of my heart that I feared for so long, when I sensed you were there. And I think of those times when you crept into my dreams and I thought you a threat to curse my sweet king. But it was the boy in your belly that whispered to mine, and even before that, you lived in my spirit.
Because I think of those times when I was a child. I prayed to the gods and I begged for a sign. I know that they sent you, despite the blood of all those you loved shed at the hands of my kin. For you were the one who found him in exile and though it took time, you led Froi to his home.
And you’ve sent me this trinket that hardened my heart, because I wanted your words and a sign of true peace. But I’ve opened it now after all these long weeks and Froi stares at it, speechless, when I hold out my hand. And we see it before us, our spirits shaking. The brilliance of colour: the same ruby ring.
Oh, you’ve outdone me twice now, you queen of forgiveness. The ring’s a promise of peace and I’m greedy with hope. It’s a song that we sing in a tongue that we share. And though you say it’s a gift from a king to a king, I say it’s a sign from a queen to a queen.
* * * In the palace of Lumatere, Finnikin woke to the sound of Jasmina crying.
‘I’ll pay you all the gold in the land if you get out of this bed and see to her,’ Isaboe said sleepily.
‘I don’t want all the gold in the land,’ he said, placing his pillow over his head. ‘It’s your turn anyway.’
He felt her lift the pillow to place lips close to his ear.
‘I will do anything you want.’
In her little bed, Jasmina stared up at Finnikin from under the blankets, refusing to surrender their warmth until she was certain to get what she wanted in return.
‘Isaboe,’ she whimpered.
If there was one thing Finnikin understood, it was the yearning in his daughter’s voice when she spoke her mother’s name. He held out his arms to her, saw the smile of satisfaction on her beloved face. He chuckled at her brazenness.
‘You’ll make a brilliant queen one day, my love,’ he whispered.
‘Finnikin!’ Isaboe reprimanded from across the residence. ‘Remember our rules.’
Finnikin kissed his daughter’s cheek. ‘But for now, there’s room for only one queen in this kingdom.’
He waited until she slept and then returned to their bed.
‘So you’ll do anything I want?’ he asked, trapping Isaboe, a knee placed each side of her body. ‘Can we play any game?’
‘Which game were you thinking of?’ she said with a laugh.
He pretended to think deeply. ‘The one where you are a novice named Evanjalin.’
In the dark, he kissed the smile from her lips.
‘And you’re a farm boy named Finnikin?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he scoffed with arrogance. ‘I’m the King.’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘That game.’
* * * On Lucian’s mountain someone hammered on the cottage shutters.
‘It will be for you,’ he said drowsily.
‘No, it will be for you,’ Phaedra said, wrapping the blankets around her.
‘It’s your turn,’ he insisted.
Phaedra pulled the blankets from the bed, leaving him cold and exposed as she wrapped them around herself. She was back soon enough.
‘Sheep. Looting. Cousins.’
Lucian cursed and got out of bed.
It was too cold a morning to be settling disputes between two neighbours over marked sheep, but he knew he would have to see to it. The mountain was still dark, but down in the valley he could see the twinkle of lantern light as they woke to milk the cows.
Back inside their cottage, the fire was lit and Phaedra was dressed. As always, she left for the valley before first light.
‘Can they not go one day without you?’ he asked gruffly.
‘Can yours not go one day without you?’ she asked.
She took his hands and wrapped them in a cloth warmed by the fire. ‘They’re ice,’ she murmured.
‘You’re going to have to learn to ride a horse on your own, Phaedra,’ he said. ‘It will make the journey faster.’
‘The mule and I have an agreement.’
‘The mule and you have similar traits,’ he said.
He helped her with the fleece Yata had made for her and then he warmed her face with his hands. ‘If I don’t get called to the palace and if Raskin’s sheep don’t take all day to birth and if the Mont cousins don’t create a drama, I’ll come down the valley to collect you. The days are getting shorter and I don’t want you to travel in the dark.’
She pressed a kiss to his mouth and then she was gone. Sometimes when he watched her ride away on these cold mornings he’d want a better life for her, but then she’d return at night and they’d dine with Yata or visit the cousins or feast with friends and Lucian would hear her laughter, and he imagined that this was the better life.
* * * In the Citavita, Froi lay beside Quintana, both knowing that any moment now a cry would be heard from the other room and one of them would need to leave the warmth of their bed.
‘What’s creasing your forehead this morning?’ he asked.
She turned on her side to face him. ‘I was thinking of all the babes to be born today in this kingdom and what if you and I were to have another and it was a girl with Solange of Turla’s eyes or a boy with Arjuro and Gargarin’s face?’
‘I can see your concern,’ he said, nodding. ‘An awful thought. The idea of a babe born with
