Froi made himself comfortable on Gargarin’s desk. He handed over a sketch of a wheel in water.
‘Explain that to me,’ Froi said.
While Gargarin of Abroi was speaking of capturing rain and water wheels he didn’t seem so distant. He was smart, Froi could see that. Although Finnikin and Isaboe and Sir Topher and even Celie of the Flatlands were amongst the smartest people he had ever met, Gargarin was different. He knew little of other languages and failed in charm. But from the conversations Froi had listened to at dinner, he could see that Gargarin knew the land and the law, and he knew Charyn’s history and the agreements between provinces. What Froi had first believed to be a sense of superiority, he had come to understand was awkwardness. Gargarin of Abroi did not like people. He trusted no one and preferred to keep his own company. Regardless, Froi had witnessed those who wanted to gain Gargarin’s attention in the great hall, and had seen that Bestiano was threatened by this crippled, broken man.
He watched the pencil in Gargarin’s twisted grip as the man went back to his scribbling.
‘Going to see the Princess,’ Froi said, when it was clear their talking was over for the day.
Despite wanting to avoid a repetition of the night before, there was a part of Froi that was desperate to see how she was faring. It wasn’t that he cared about her, but he cared that the heinous scene he had witnessed that morning with Bestiano had been prompted by his actions.
‘Do you have an aversion to using doors?’ Gargarin muttered as Froi went out to the balconette.
‘I have an aversion to Bestiano knowing exactly when I pull down my pants and pull out my –’
‘Enough said.’
It was quiet in her room. At first he believed it to be empty, but then he heard the breathing. A moment later, he felt an arm around his neck and a dagger to his throat from behind.
‘That’s the best you can do?’ he scoffed. ‘Point the tip of a dagger under my chin?’
‘We thought you were an assassin,’ she said in the strange indignant voice. He was relieved. He had little time for Quintana when she was in her cold savage mood.
‘We?’ he looked around.
She pointed to herself.
‘And that’s how you protect yourself from an assassin?’ he demanded, removing the dagger from her hand. ‘If you really want to be successful, you give yourself five seconds to kill a man. In one second,’ he said, positioning her before him with her hands on both his shoulders, ‘you place a knee between the intruder’s legs, and with great speed and force you make sure that he is left … legless.’
‘Legless?’
‘In so much pain, Princess, that he can hardly hold himself upright.’
‘Second,’ he said, placing the dagger in her hand, ‘you plunge it into the side of his body and twist. Right about here.’
‘And then,’ he said, guiding her hand that was holding the dagger, ‘to make sure he’s dead, you take it from one ear to the other across the throat and you press hard and make sure he’s bleeding.’
She was contemplating what he said. He could see that from the concentration on her face.
‘Think you can do that?’ he asked.
For a moment she didn’t respond and then she asked, ‘Is this part of the plan, Olivier?’ There was excitement in her voice.
‘I don’t know what plan you’re talking about,’ he said.
She looked disappointed for a moment and then nodded with determination.
‘You’ll have to creep in again,’ she said. ‘But not straightaway. The Reginita needs to be surprised.’
‘Oh, she’s here, is she?’ he mocked.
He left the room, climbed onto the wrought-iron trellis, leapt onto his balconette and returned to where Gargarin was still at his desk.
‘It would probably be a good idea if you lay down a while,’ Froi said. ‘From what I’ve heard of dagger wounds, the loss of blood catches up with you.’
Gargarin ignored him. Froi was becoming used to it.
A short while later, Froi quietly leapt back onto the Princess’s balconette and crept inside.
This time when he tiptoed into the room, he felt an arm come around him instantly, the tip of a blade under his chin.
‘See, now you’re irritating me,’ he snapped, pushing her away. ‘Wrong place for the blade! All it will do is make a hole. Did I not tell you that already?’
She refused to look at him. ‘One more time?’ she suggested, her eyes downcast.
‘Are you pretending to be meek?’ he asked.
She looked up at him, pleased, and nodded. ‘Did it not work?’ she asked in her practical tone.
‘No.’
‘We were trying to impersonate Aunt Mawfa when she looks at Sir Gargarin. We’ve not seen that look on her face before, so there’s been little time to practise.’
‘You practise being Aunt Mawfa, do you?’ he asked.
‘Oh, all the time. It’s very important for us not to be noticed and no one notices Aunt Mawfa.’
Back in Froi’s chamber, Gargarin looked up at him when he entered.
‘You’re making me dizzy,’ he muttered.
‘That would be the dagger wound. I’m going to insist that you sleep on the bed tonight. I’ll take the floor.’
The next time Froi crept into the Princess’s chamber she had improved slightly and managed to draw blood.
‘Again?’ he asked. She went to nod and then shook her head.
She walked to the bed and lay down, as she had the night before, and lifted her shift to the top of her thighs. Froi lay beside her, contemplating how many nights he would have to go through this charade.
‘You need to be atop of me,’ she instructed.
Froi sighed and shifted himself closer to her.
‘You need to remove your trousers.’
Froi thanked her politely for the instruction. The moment his body touched hers, she did as she had the night before. Her hand left her side and reached over his head. Froi twisted away from her to study the shape on the wall. It made him think of Bestiano capturing her hand.
‘What is that?’ he asked quietly.
‘A bird.’
He rolled away from her and lay back staring at the ceiling.
‘You can do what you have to do at the same time,’ she said quietly. ‘It won’t interfere.’
She shivered.
He reached over and smoothed her nightdress down past her thighs and pulled a sheet over their bodies. ‘Why can’t they put a fireplace in here for you?’ he asked. ‘It will only get colder in the weeks to come.’
‘Bestiano says it will teach me to be strong,’ was all she said.
‘Bestiano needs to be taught a lesson.’
She looked surprised by his words and he had to remind himself that he was Olivier of Sebastabol and not Froi of the Exiles.
‘Show me how it’s done,’ he said, holding up his hand to the wall, trying to imitate the image she had made.
Quintana made a clicking sound of irritation and reached over to adjust his fingers. ‘Or else it will look like a rabbit,’ she said, and he heard exasperation in her voice.
‘Oh, we couldn’t have that.’
He practised for a moment. ‘I saw a low cave at the bottom of the gravina with the prettiest picture of a fan bird etched on it,’ he murmured, trying to give his bird a tail like that of a fan.
‘Do you want me to show you a bull?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Let me think of how to make one myself.’
He looked at his hands in the shadows and thought for a moment, hiding his middle fingers. She reached up and tried to alter them, but he slapped hers away, irritated. He tried another movement. She made a sound of approval. But then a light flickered across the gravina and she leapt out of bed, creeping to the window.
