dungeon when it’s empty. So I can see my mother, Lirah.’
Froi could easily see that Fekra wasn’t a friend of Quintana’s, accepting bribes of food and ale and turning a blind eye only because there was no way in or out of the palace from this tower. But it did mean that Quintana and her mother had found a way of speaking to each other whenever the dungeon was empty.
‘Lirah! Lirah!’
Froi’s head rang from Quintana’s high-pitched indignation.
‘Sometimes,’ she explained to Froi, as though he had asked, ‘I have to call out more than once because she’s on the roof. She has a small garden up there, you know. There’s no way down, of course, except for lunging to her death.’
‘Why is she imprisoned?’ Froi asked.
‘She tried to kill someone, poor Lirah.’
Poor Lirah indeed. She went around trying to kill people and seemed to be a failure at it.
‘Lirah. Lirah.’ Quintana snaked her body out the window, her feet flailing mid-air. Froi caught her around the waist.
‘You’re going to fall to your death, idiot girl.’
After a moment, Froi heard another voice.
‘Just a lastborn, Lirah! We thought he was here for some other purpose, but he is the one. It’s written all over him.’
Quintana turned back and beckoned to him. Froi sighed. She moved aside and he squeezed in, poking his head out and straining to look up.
The face that looked down at him from the window was not what he expected and, like an idiot, he stared. Agape. She was beautiful, but when it came to freezing a man with a death stare, Lirah of Serker could beat Gargarin and Quintana the ice maiden in the blink of an eye.
‘Don’t trust him,’ he heard Lirah of Serker snap. ‘He’s savage stock if ever I’ve seen it.’
Froi bristled and listened to ridiculous talk from Quintana to Lirah about Aunt Mawfa’s moon eyes for Gargarin. Suddenly Fekra was at the door above them, lowering a rope, with Dorcas appearing beside him.
‘The Princess only.’
‘Can you call Gargarin then?’ Froi demanded, watching Dorcas hoist Quintana up.
‘The King’s Advisor says you must stay here for the time being. To teach you a lesson.’
‘Didn’t know it was a crime to leave the palace, Dorcas.’
‘It’s not,’ Dorcas replied. ‘It’s a crime to threaten the King and your words,
‘Dorcas, it is in me to jest.’
‘And Olivier, it is in me to obey orders.’
Quintana’s face reappeared over Dorcas’s shoulder. ‘Oh, he’s very thorough about the rules, Olivier. He’s never let my father or Bestiano down in that way.’
‘Good for you, Dorcas. I pray to the gods that I can follow your example more readily.’
The door shut and Froi had a feeling he would be in this room for quite some time.
Chapter 10
Lady Beatriss arrived at the Flatlands’ meeting hall at the same time as Finnikin and his entourage. She looked for Trevanion, knowing he would be there as part of his son’s Guard.
She had found him distant these past weeks and it worried her. During the early days when the kingdom was reunited, they had danced a strange dance around each other that spoke of never being able to return to the lovers they had been. Ten years apart was too long and the events that had taken place during that time could not be forgotten. But during the spring this year, things had changed.
It was on the night of the Harvest Moon Dance when Beatriss felt his eyes on her from the moment she had crossed the bridge into the palace village. Vestie, as usual, had run for him, throwing herself into his arms. Who would have known that Trevanion and her daughter would share such a bond, but it was a joy to watch. That night at the celebrations the Queen’s Guard were impeccably dressed for the occasion with their boots polished and purple sashes around their waists to match the colours of the Queen, wearing short coats that looked stylish and much too attractive to every woman in their presence. And Beatriss noticed. That’s how she knew that things had changed within her. Because now she noticed every single woman who looked at the Captain of the Guard. But that night, he seemed to have eyes for no one but her and the days of denial were long gone, for she met his stare with her own. When he offered to escort her and Vestie to Sennington, it was there in the hallway of Beatriss’s home as she took her daughter out of his arms that he bent down and kissed her for the first time in thirteen years, and if it wasn’t for the child that was pressed between them, she could imagine where that kiss would have gone.
Since then, he had found any opportunity to stop by for supper or a ride around the village. They spoke of fallow fields and his son’s family in the palace and this brave new Lumatere, and although she was desperate to speak of the past, Trevanion refused.
‘The past is not important, Beatriss. We don’t look back.’
In the palace village she heard the whispers and suspected that he would ask her to be his wife soon, and she had practised her response. Yes. And then a Yes again.
But something had changed in the last few weeks. He visited less frequently and when he did, he seemed distant. Try as she might, Beatriss could not understand what words or event had changed things between them. The last time they had spoken, she told him her fears of no longer being able to keep her villagers fed. Beatriss had inherited Sennington upon her father’s death the year before the curse and from that moment on she’d ensured that her people were looked after, even during the ten years of terror.
‘We’ll speak of it when I return,’ Trevanion had assured her. He had been off to escort Finnikin to Balconio for a meeting with the Sarnaks. She knew there had been an incident in the mountains with a Charynite that day. A week later Froi had been dispatched to Sarnak, according to one of her villagers who was courting a girl from Froi’s village of Sayles. Beatriss suspected that something had happened on the mountain to change everything.
Today, Trevanion seemed a stranger except for the familiar rumble of his voice in her ear. ‘They’re waiting for you, Beatriss,’ he said quietly.
Inside, the Flatland Lords were already seated. Beatriss found a place beside August. He took her hand.
‘Abian says she’s not seen you for some weeks, Beatriss.’
‘There is too much work to be done,’ she lied, squeezing her friend’s hand.
She avoided looking across the table to the others. Lord Freychinet, Lord Castian and Lord Artor had been in exile during the ten years and were said to have deserted their people to live comfortable lives in foreign courts. Lord Nettice, who had been trapped inside the kingdom, had acted even worse, but Beatriss couldn’t bear to think of those days. She felt humiliated to be in the presence of these people. Although she had never spoken the words aloud, she despised them. None more than Lord Nettice. She felt a blackness come over her until suddenly a hand was on her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek. She knew it was Finnikin. In the short years Beatriss had been his father’s betrothed before the unspeakable, she had mothered the boy and loved him as her own. He had always been a child of great substance and here he was leading them with their beloved Isaboe.
Finnikin walked around the table, winking as he caught her eye before sitting down.
‘Well, I think it’s obvious why we are here,’ Lord Freychinet said. ‘There’s the matter of Fenton and the matter of Sennington. So let’s not waste time.’
Beatriss stiffened. ‘Sennington? What has my village to do with today’s meeting?’
Lord Freychinet stood without responding, disregarding the presence of the Queen’s Consort. Beatriss sensed Trevanion’s fury at the lack of respect shown, but Finnikin seemed unperturbed.
‘Split Fenton between its two neighbouring villages,’ Freychinet demanded. ‘And collapse Sennington.’
Beatriss fought to hold back a gasp and heard a sharp intake of breath from August behind her.
‘Only two of her small fields yield a crop and it’s not enough for her and her village to survive on,’ Lord
