Froi kept his eyes on the Priestling. ‘Where I grew up, they crushed the skulls of babes born from the same loins on the same day. Gods’ cursed, they would say.’
Arjuro looked up, his eyes narrowing. ‘They only do that in the kingdom of Sarnak.’
Suddenly, a thought entered Froi’s head that was so strange he almost felt foolish speaking it aloud. ‘There’s two of her, isn’t there? The Princess?’
It could be the only answer. That like Gargarin and Arjuro, there were two Quintanas.
‘More than two, I say,’ Arjuro said, looking over Froi’s shoulder out the window. ‘Up here,’ he said, pointing to his head. ‘I’ve counted three.’
‘There’s two,’ Froi argued. ‘The one who called out to you the other day,
Arjuro winced at the sound. ‘She’s the one who annoys me the most. The other demands in that cold voice,
‘What’s a Reginita?’ Froi asked, dipping his bread into the oil and dried herbs before him.
‘A little Queen.’ Arjuro stared over Froi’s shoulder again and pointed. ‘That’s the one I like best.’
Froi turned and choked on the bread. He leapt out of his chair, but Arjuro grabbed him and made him be still. ‘Don’t move. We don’t want our mad princess going into the gravina just yet. Wouldn’t want to take that opportunity away from someone else.’
Froi stared out the window to where he could see Quintana straddling the granite he had stood on earlier. He knew in an instant that in this mood she was all rage. Teeth. A sneer. A snarl. He could have sworn she was one-part animal.
‘Slowly,’ Arjuro warned, as Froi calmly walked to the balconette.
The look she directed at them both was one of pure blazing fury.
‘That’s a side of her I’ve only seen glimpses of,’ Froi whispered, intrigued.
‘Oh, that’s not a side,’ Arjuro said. ‘That’s a whole person. She perches herself out there once in a while. If she is Lirah of Serker’s daughter, then that’s all Serker savage there, bundled up into a ball of hatred towards all men. Looks like you’ve joined the list, Olivier of Sebastabol.’
Froi watched Quintana get to her feet and the hairs of his arm stood tall. ‘Sagra!’ he cursed, stepping closer. ‘Get down, you fool girl.’
Arjuro was there behind him. ‘That one wants to die. Whatever’s down there is beckoning her to jump.’
But Quintana, or whoever was standing there balanced on the granite, wasn’t looking down into the abyss. Her stare went straight to Froi.
‘Come inside,’ the Priestling ordered. ‘She’ll go away.’
‘And if she falls?’ Froi asked, unable to take his eyes off her.
‘Well, she hasn’t so far without your help, and she can’t leap across here as you did. So it’s either down in the gravina for her, or sidling back to where she came from. I presume the others living inside her head convince her to return. It’s the same thing each time. Sometimes I want to shout out, “Jump, you little abomination!” ’
Froi stared at Arjuro. ‘You’re not like other holy men I know.’
‘And how many holy men would a lastborn from Sebastabol know when no more Priests are left inside the province walls?’
Froi didn’t respond. He turned back to look outside and saw Quintana standing on her balconette. Relief washed over him.
‘How’s my brother faring amongst all that insanity?’ Arjuro asked quietly.
Froi shrugged. ‘He’s not much into confiding.’
‘Why is he struggling to walk this morning?’
‘Lirah of Serker took a dagger to him.’
Arjuro grimaced. Froi recognised the expression as one he had seen on Gargarin’s face.
‘What does my brother have to say about the fact that the girl’s prophecy has not come to be?’ Arjuro asked.
‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’ Froi suggested. ‘Perhaps holler across to his balconette this evening?’
Arjuro stared at him.
‘It may bring much-needed colour to both your cheeks,’ Froi continued. Arjuro’s stare suggested that Froi was bantering with the wrong person.
‘He says that the gods have forsaken Charyn,’ Froi said.
Arjuro gave a short laugh of disbelief. ‘The gods have not forsaken Charyn. The gods love Charyn. Where else can they shit, if not Charyn? It’s the purpose of this kingdom. To be the place where the gods shit.’
Froi was surprised by the words. ‘You’ve lost hope in the gods.’
‘No. The gods lost hope in me. Long ago.’
Froi sighed. If Arjuro wasn’t going to be a source of information for him, perhaps he would be a source of entertainment.
‘I’ve got to go. Can I use your entrance into the Citavita? Getting over here is far easier than returning the same way.’
‘Out there you’ll be dealing with the street pigs,’ Arjuro said.
‘I’ve not seen any pigs out there.’
‘I’ve not seen any pigs out there,’ Arjuro mimicked. ‘Who are you trying to fool with your fancy talk, you little shit?’
Certainly not the last Priestling of the Citavita.
Arjuro walked out into a dark corridor and Froi followed him down a winding stairwell that seemed to go on forever.
‘They call themselves the street lords,’ Arjuro said. ‘The less Citavitans see of the King, the more powerful the street lords become. It’s in the nature of humans,’ he added bitterly. ‘The need to be ruled by tyrants.’
‘Do those of the Citavita have faith in the Princess producing an heir?’ Froi asked.
‘The Princess is not going to produce an heir,’ Arjuro said. ‘The Princess is insane. Perhaps insanely brilliant because her delusions have managed to keep her alive all these years.’
They passed one of the landing windows and Froi saw the stone buildings of the Citavita outside.
‘They’ll kill her, you know,’ Arjuro said quietly. Froi heard regret in his voice.
‘Quintana?’
Arjuro nodded.
‘The street pigs?’
Arjuro shook his head. ‘She’ll come of age this month and mark my words, she’ll go over that balconette.
‘What does Bestiano hope to gain from her death?’ Froi asked.
‘A peaceful reign for the King. Bestiano has all the power he wants while the King lives. He’ll begin to scour the land for lastborn girls and bring them to the palace on the off-chance that one of them produces the first. You can imagine the rest.’
Froi was still reeling from the threat to Quintana. ‘So Bestiano will take over one day?’
Arjuro shook his head. ‘The Provincari would never let a commoner rule. Bestiano will do anything to secure an heir, but only one he has control over, so he can continue enjoying his power. Unfortunately for him, the heir Tariq will never acknowledge him.’
‘Then who will Tariq choose as his First Advisor if he ever comes to power?’
Arjuro’s eyes caught his, but then he looked away and suddenly Froi understood.
Arjuro refused to respond and they continued down the dark steps in silence.
At the bottom, the Priestling unlatched the iron door and then removed a key from his sleeve and fixed it into the lock.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Froi asked.
‘Can’t promise I’ll answer,’ the Priestling said.
