‘Go,’ Gargarin murmured, still looking upwards. ‘Away.’
Froi wasn’t one for taking instruction. ‘I could get up there, you know. Except she’s probably the worst- natured woman I’ve met.’
‘And you’ve met Lirah, how?’ Gargarin asked.
‘Remember when you left me rotting in that cell two days ago? Well, I climbed out the window and up to hers.’
Gargarin stared at him. ‘And what kept you attached to the walls? Magic?’
‘The gods,’ Froi mocked.
Gargarin settled himself against the wall and continued to look up, as though waiting for some type of apparition that could appear at any moment.
Froi sat beside him and couldn’t help but notice the bend in Gargarin’s elbow, the way he had clutched the pencil in the chamber the night before, the limp he walked with.
‘Were you born that way?’
‘No,’ Gargarin snapped. ‘And rude of you to ask.’
‘Born this rude. Can’t help myself.’
Gargarin stared at him and Froi thought, perhaps imagined, that he saw a glint of humour in the other man’s eyes. But soon enough, Gargarin’s gaze was drawn back to the prison tower.
‘You’re not one to pine over a woman, so what is this about, Gargarin?’
‘A desire to die with peace in my heart,’ Gargarin said quietly.
‘And when are you planning to die?’
There was silence for a moment.
‘Tell me what takes place in the Citavita,’ Gargarin said, and Froi felt as though he was changing the topic. ‘With the street pigs.’
‘That’s what Arjuro calls them, too,’ Froi said. ‘If they’re such pigs, how did they come to have so much power? They look as though they own the Citavita.’
Gargarin shook his head with a grimace. ‘Six years ago when we were plague-ridden. That’s how thugs get power. When a kingdom is at its most vulnerable.’
Froi knew of the plague. It had claimed the lives of a Flatland lord’s family. Lord August and Lady Abian had built a shrine to the Goddess on the edge of the first paddock of the village to remember those who had died, including Lord Selric of Fenton and his wife and daughters. ‘If we forget who we lost,’ Lady Abian would tell Froi and her children, ‘then we forget who we once were, and if we forget who we once were, we lose sight of who we are now.’
Froi felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t thought of his Flatland family for days.
‘What happened during the plague?’ he asked Gargarin.
‘People began dying and the palace riders raided the fields of crops and livestock and anything else they could get their hands on, so the King could barricade himself in the palace with only those he trusted. Beyond the Citavita, it was even worse. The provinces refused to give sanctuary to those who lived outside their boundaries and many of them overflowed into the Citavita, bringing disease with them. It was how the street lords were born. Theirs was a fury that came from dead sisters or wives who had thrown themselves to their deaths from the despair of barren wombs. But during the plague it festered as they watched the oxen carry their cargo of grain and seed into the castle from the fields outside.’
There was bitterness and anguish in Gargarin’s voice. Froi wondered how he could ever have thought Gargarin cared little for anyone.
‘At first the street lords found a way to bring some kind of stability where there had been theft and violence, neighbours killing neighbours for food. Sadly, the people failed to see that the street lords were always going to want something in return. Later, with the plague over and a third of our people dead, the palace tried to take control of the Citavita again. It appeared that the street lords had lost some of their power, but it was only on the surface. Today they still have a hold on the people because the people have no one honourable to hold onto. But make no mistake, those men who roam the streets are as greedy and corrupt as …’
Gargarin looked around to see if anyone was listening.
‘ …those here in the palace. In one breath they say they despise the King, in another the pigs are paid a handsome sum to be Bestiano’s eyes and ears in the Citavita. The street lords fear little. It is a foolish man indeed, who fears little.’
‘They’re scared of your brother,’ Froi said. ‘I can’t understand why. He’s nothing but a drunk with mad eyes.’
‘He is gods’ touched,’ Gargarin said. ‘That’s enough to scare any of us. Some believe that it could have been those touched by the gods who cursed Charyn or that by imprisoning the last Priestling of the Oracle’s godshouse, the gods were punishing the palace. Both beliefs led back to one person. Arjuro.’
‘Is that what you think?’ Froi asked, and it surprised him how much he cared what Gargarin thought. ‘About who cursed Charyn?’
Gargarin swallowed. ‘I think the curse of the lastborn came from more than one person. I think the power of it came from hearts filled with wrath and love and despair and betrayal and that even the gods are confused about where it came from and how to mend it.’
Gargarin turned to him. ‘It’s not safe in the Citavita, Olivier,’ he said quietly. ‘The street pigs are out of control. I’d advise you to get out of here as soon as you can.’
‘They’ll never enter the palace,’ Froi said.
‘There’s not a huge difference between not letting them in and the street lords not letting us out. I fear for the Provincari who will be here within days. They risk their lives.’
‘Why come then?’
‘They’re invited to the palace every day of weeping to discuss Charyn’s futureless future. But I fear that the street lords are more powerful than the palace has led the provinces to believe.’
‘So Quintana’s not delusional in believing that everyone is out to kill her?’
Gargarin’s eyes bored into Froi’s. ‘You ask a lot of questions for an idiot,’ he said.
‘Is that what they call me outside my province?’
‘Emphatically. Olivier the idiot.’
‘I’m charmed, to say the very least. I’ve never had a title.’
This time Gargarin laughed. Froi smiled at the sound. Lumaterans weren’t known for their sense of humour and Froi found himself in trouble half the time when they didn’t understand his.
‘Is it true that she’s mad?’ Froi asked.
The grimace was back on Gargarin’s face. ‘True enough,’ he responded. ‘But if you should believe anything, believe that everyone is out to kill her, Olivier. Her only delusion is the belief that she’ll break the curse.’
‘Then why am I here if everyone believes that she’s delusional about last and firstborns?’
‘Because the King doesn’t believe she’s delusional. Because the King is frightened by his own child and is convinced that she’s mad. When a mad Princess whose birth cursed a kingdom states that the gods have spoken, prophesising that she’s the last who will make the first, the King takes heed of her words.’
‘Do you believe her?’ Froi asked.
‘No,’ Gargarin said, his voice sad. ‘But I would like to. Something I can’t explain tells me to. But reason steps in the way.’ He looked at Froi, sadness etched in his expression. ‘She comes of age next week,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Once she’s proven to this kingdom that her prophecy was a lie, Bestiano will convince the King to find another way to break the curse.’
‘And how will they go about convincing Her Royal Delusioness that she’s not the last to make the first?’
Froi flinched at the intensity of Gargarin’s stare.
‘Mark my words, that girl will not live beyond her coming of age. It’s best that you get out of the palace before that happens.’
It was the second time in so many days that Froi had heard these words and they chilled him to the bone.
Later, when nothing came from their study of Lirah’s roof, they returned to their chamber. Froi picked up the sketches scattered all over the floor.
‘This is something Charyn is … we are,’ he corrected himself, ‘known for.’ Froi looked at Gargarin. ‘A
