Froi of the Exiles

Phaedra thought about it. ‘It would mean so much to the valley dwellers if she visited, especially with the child. That precious girl would lift their spirits for days and days.’

‘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.’

Chapter 36

The 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?’