Sebastabol.
Rafuel gave a humourless laugh. ‘Does it matter, Froi? What’s more important is what would
That day Trevanion and Perri had asked for information about the role of the Provincari in Charyn. Rafuel explained they were in power until they died and then the people of their province chose either their offspring if the person was desirable, or another.
Froi absently translated, bored by the information. Rafuel droned on about their power within their province and how they differed from the nobility and how they worked hard to keep the palace out of their affairs. But in the middle of his swift lesson, the Charynite caught Froi’s eye and slipped in the words, ‘You don’t belong in this kingdom, lad.’
Froi was alert in an instant. He looked back to where Trevanion and Perri sat.
‘What did he say?’ Perri asked.
Froi hesitated. His mouth felt dry and he could hardly speak.
‘The Provincari don’t care too much for the King these days,’ he found himself saying.
Trevanion nodded. ‘We know. Once you get inside, we’ll want you to find out who holds the most power amongst them. The Queen and Finnikin want to know who helped the Charyn King plan the slaughter in our palace.’
A Mont guard came to the prison door. Perri and Trevanion stood to speak to him.
Froi turned back to Rafuel. From Trevanion’s calm tone, the Charynite knew Froi hadn’t repeated his words.
‘Why do you travel down into the valley each night?’ Rafuel asked with urgency.
Froi didn’t respond.
‘Do you want to know why I think you’re there, Froi?’ Rafuel asked, leaning as far forward as he could with the iron bracelets around his hands. ‘Because blood sings between Charynites far from home. My blood sings to you. The blood of every Charynite in the valley sings to you.’
Froi stared at him, fury in his expression. ‘I’m not a Charynite far from home,’ he spat. ‘I’m a Lumateran from over the mountain.’
‘Why is Tes– the white witch in the valley?’ Rafuel asked, looking over Froi’s shoulder to see if the men had recognised that he had almost spoken Tesadora’s name. But Perri and Trevanion were still speaking to the Mont guard.
Froi thought for a moment. Swallowed hard.
‘A worse-tempered woman I’ve never met, despite her beauty that makes a man ache regardless of age,’ Rafuel continued, ‘but she’s in the valley because our blood sings to her. It’s out of her control.’
Froi shuddered. Rafuel’s words were too close to Tesadora’s the night before.
‘She’s half-Charynite, is she not?’ Rafuel continued. ‘It’s what kept her apart from the other Forest Dwellers when she was a child. Outcast from the outcasts themselves.’
Froi’s hands were shaking.
Rafuel’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘My men are searching for an assassin to kill the King, Froi. But I’m also searching for the last male child born to the Citavita on the day of the curse and smuggled out of the kingdom. Most say he’s a myth. But I know for a fact that he’s not.’
Froi stared at him, confused.
‘Do you know why you seek out the white witch, Froi? Because her blood sings to you. Two Charynites far from home.’
Froi’s palm flattened itself with great force against the bridge of the Charynite’s nose. Trevanion and Perri were on him in an instant, dragging him away from Rafuel, whose face was bloody and swollen. They shoved Froi towards the guard.
‘Get him out of here,’ Trevanion snarled.
The silence Froi experienced as they rode down the mountain was unnerving. He prayed it wouldn’t last long, but it wasn’t until they reached the foot of the mountain that the Captain spoke.
‘What were you thinking?’ Trevanion demanded, as if it had taken him all that time to quell his fury.
‘I wasn’t thinking,’ Froi said.
‘He’s a prisoner, Froi! He was chained. We’re not savages.’
Perri’s face stayed impassive. ‘We can’t let him go to Charyn, Trevanion. We can’t.’
Froi leapt off his horse, standing before them both. ‘You say I’m not ready?’ he shouted.
‘In might and skill, you are. Here,’ Perri said, pointing to his head. ‘No.’
‘I can imagine explaining ourselves years from now to the less hostile Provincari of Charyn,’ Trevanion said. ‘ “Our boy doesn’t work well without instruction. He needs to be informed of his bond. Of what is expected of him. Of what is unacceptable. He has little idea how to do that on his own. He lived fourteen years as a savage on the streets of Sprie. Three years in Lumatere has changed many of his ways, but he insists on a bond.” ’
‘I can do this, Captain. You know that.’ Froi was begging.
‘What if your rage is hard to control, Froi?’
‘Count to ten, Captain. And then count to ten again.’
‘Speak to us your bond.’
‘Only kill those who are a threat to Lumatere. Make sure the kill is clean. Treat all women as I would the Queen. Don’t answer back an elder who deserves my respect. Listen with my ears and not my rage. Never act on anger. Never ever disregard an order from you or Perri.’
‘No spitting at the nobility regardless of what comes out of their mouths,’ Perri continued.
Froi bristled. ‘I’ve never spat at Lord Augie or Lady Abian.’
‘They’re different, Froi,’ Trevanion said, irritation in his voice. ‘They’ve given you a home. There’s no doubt that you are protective of those you care for, but it’s the way you treat others that causes strife. You spat at Lord Nettice at the Harvest Moon Festival. Grabbed him by the throat and didn’t let go until he turned blue.’
‘I didn’t like the way he spoke to Lady Beatriss,’ Froi said, looking at Trevanion. ‘How could you not understand that, Sir?’
‘I’m the Captain of the Guard, Froi,’ Trevanion said. ‘Do you honestly think it is my place to choke every man who insults those I love?’
‘And he insulted the King. Your son, Captain.’
‘He’s the Consort, Froi. Not the King. There will be men who will insult Finnikin for the rest of his life. It’s what happens when you marry the most powerful woman in the kingdom. But that’s no reason to almost choke the life out of a man. A wise man has tolerance for such people. A wise man walks away or finds a means of changing the way they think.’
Froi looked away.
‘Don’t turn away from me when you don’t care for the words spoken,’ Trevanion said through gritted teeth.
Froi counted to ten in his head and turned back. ‘Sorry, Captain.’
Trevanion and Perri exchanged a look. Something passed between them as it always did. They had spent ten out of the last thirteen years apart, yet both men could still speak so much to each other with just one glance.
‘You follow the bond that only we speak to you. Not Rafuel of Sebastabol or even the Priestking who may want you to search for the hidden Priests of Charyn. You do only what we instruct you now.’
Froi nodded, excitement strumming his blood.
‘You enter that palace. A place filled with nobility more useless than any you have ever met here. At least in Lumatere they do not rely on the Queen to house and feed them. When they speak words that insult you, you keep to your bond and your mouth stays shut. As far as they’re concerned, you’re a witless idiot from the provinces.’
Froi nodded, although he wanted to tell them that according to Rafuel, those from Sebastabol were not witless.
‘You make no attachments to any other person and you never involve yourself with the plan of another. There are those living in the King’s court who will always search for new blood to give their cause more weight. You do not join forces, even if they are an enemy to our enemy. You work on your own.’
‘As if I’d be that daft.’
