anything that would cause them harm, so he was glad when Finnikin and Lucian returned so they could get down to the Valley and the captain could take charge and forbid Finnikin from doing anything that could end in his death.

He watched as Finnikin swung onto the horse, his sleeve stained with blood. Froi liked the way Finnikin reached behind him and took Evanjalin's hand, placing it around his waist. It made everything seem normal because Finnikin always wanted to touch her.

'Let's go,' Finnikin said quietly, and like each time he had spoken on this day, everyone listened and followed.

Chapter 24

When they reached the hill overlooking the Valley of Tranquillity Finnikin saw the tempest. It was impossible to approach the Valley and not see the dark clouds shrouding the kingdom beyond. But it was what lay just ahead of them that took his breath away. Not a valley, but a sea. Of people. Tens of hundreds of them waiting to go home. Finnikin heard the queen's sob behind him.

'I want to walk,' she said urgently, slipping off the horse. He followed, trailing her, his hand resting on the handle of his sword, ready for anything that might go wrong. There were too many people, any one of them a threat to her. He was used to small camps of exiles, but not half the kingdom.

As they reached the edge of the crowd, he became aware of the energy around them. At the other end of the settlement was a training camp where weapons were being made and men were taking target practice. In other areas, people stood in clusters talking and arguing, and he recognized Lord August and Lady Abian with those from the Flatlands, distributing food among their group.

Finnikin caught a glimpse of Trevanion and the Guard patrolling the boundaries on horseback, and for the first time in days he felt relief. As if Trevanion sensed them, he turned to face the slope where Finnikin and Evanjalin stood. He exchanged a word with his men, and then the Guard was making its way toward them and Finnikin was nine years old again, his chest bursting with pride because he would never see anything as grand as his father astride a horse leading his men.

Trevanion dismounted, his hand coming out to grip Finnikin's shoulder. Finnikin knew this was not just a greeting. It was an acknowledgment of what would take place in the next few days beyond the main gate. Trevanion's men dismounted, and all around them groups of exiles stopped to see what was taking place.

And then the captain of the Guard reached the queen. He knelt and then lay prostrate on the path before her, his men following his lead as a hush came over the settlement.

Finnikin saw the tears in her eyes as she stared down at her men. She looked small and vulnerable and he feared for her, but then he remembered that Isaboe, the youngest daughter of the king and queen of Lumatere, had walked thousands of miles over ten years to get to this place. And it was this, he knew, that caused his father to bow down to her more than her royal bloodline. The Lumateran royal family truly came from the gods. Never had Finnikin believed it more than in this moment watching his father lie before their queen.

After some time, Trevanion stood. Finnikin held out his hand to her. Quietly, hesitantly, she walked the path among the exiles. There was silence, but Finnikin knew that these people were stunned. A hand snaked out toward the queen, and in an instant Finnikin had stepped in front of her, sword in hand. But she gently touched his arm and moved around him. Despite Finnikin's hold on her, she was swallowed by the crowd, yet she pushed through them, becoming a part of them.

'Don't let go of her, Finnikin,' he heard Trevanion say.

They were jostled from side to side, hands reaching out, wanting to touch the queen, to see if she was real, to convince themselves they were truly going home. Yet the queen seemed to take it in her stride, as if she had been born for this. Born to it. And at last Finnikin understood why he had felt so sorrowful and silent these last few days.

He knew how to be Finnikin of the Rock to Evanjalin of the Monts. But he had no idea who to be to Queen Isaboe.

Finnikin watched Lord August and his family come toward them, and then the queen was engulfed by the women. Behind Lord August, he could see Ambassador Corden and his entourage approaching, looking flustered. Instinctively, Finnikin pulled the queen toward him.

'Everyone must step back,' Ambassador Corden said, full of self-importance. 'Finnikin, is that you behind all that hair? It is not right to touch the queen. Step away! Lady Celie, would you be kind enough to find some proper attire for Her Majesty?'

Lord August looked unimpressed. He fell in step beside Finnikin as they followed the entourage to the main tent.

'I'm presuming you knew about this the whole time as well,' Finnikin said, watching the ease with which the women conversed.

'Of course I didn't,' the duke snapped, irritated. 'Because I'm not married to an obedient novice of Lagrami, am I? I'm married to one who chose to tell me about the queen only as we entered this valley.'

'Do you suppose the queen told them while we were in your home last month?'

Lord August nodded. 'Abie saw it instantly. She knew our previous queen well. And Evanjalin confirmed who she was to my wife and daughter.'

As they approached the main tent, a party of nobles dressed in silks came toward them.

'Lord Castian and his mob. Try not to fall asleep as he speaks,' Lord August muttered.

Long days of waiting followed. Two thousand and twelve exiles had returned, and more trickled in each day. Finnikin could not help but think of the Valley as it had been ten years ago on the day of the curse, back when they had no idea what lay ahead but the clearest memory of what they had left behind. Now the years had numbed their people into silence, as again they waited for the unknown, too frightened to hope for anything more than a queen in their midst. But there was no news of when they would attempt to access the main gate and little was seen of her.

Finnikin spent his time with his father and the Guard as they drew up plans for the attack.

'When we get past the main gate,' Trevanion informed his men, squeezed into an overcrowded tent, 'we attack them on ground with as many as one thousand missiles in the first minute. I want the impostor king and his men decimated with the sheer volume of our arrows, and I want our body count close to nothing. Then the Guard takes the palace, along with the best of the archers and swordsmen among the exiles.'

'But how do we get past the main gate?' one of the guards asked.

'The queen will know what to do,' Trevanion said firmly, daring anyone to challenge him. He looked over to Saro, who had joined them with Lucian and a number of the Monts. 'The moment the bastards know we're in, they'll ride to the mountains and attempt to cross the border to Charyn. The Charynites may be waiting there to invade once they see the curse has lifted. They will want the impostor king dead almost as much as we do, for no other reason than to stop him from talking. Saro, you ride to your Mountains the moment we enter. Take all your warriors.' Trevanion turned back to his Guard. 'Make sure those of you working with a team of exiles explain to them their role before the fighting begins.'

'When will we enter the kingdom?' Saro asked.

Trevanion's eyes met Finnikin's across the crowded tent. 'It is the queen's decision,' he said. 'She is waiting for a sign.'

Finnikin trained Sefton and the village lads who had been part of the group of exiles taken hostage by the Charynites. They were Finnikin's age, strong and sturdy young men. They had recognized Finnikin when he entered the Valley and trailed around after him, keen to play a part in the upcoming battle. Froi was usually close by. The thief spent his time being a messenger, racing from one end of the Valley to the other, ensuring that communication between the Guard, the nobility, the queen's First Man, the queen and the priest-king stayed open. Not once did the boy utter a word of complaint, and Finnikin felt a fierce protectiveness toward him. He came from strong stock, that was evident. But it was all they would ever know. There were no telltale signs of lineage. No memories of anything Lumateran before his days in Sarnak. Froi was one of the orphans of their land whose life as a Lumateran would begin at the age he was now.

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