Lumateran once came through Sebastabol,’ he lied, ‘and told the story that despite how barbaric the Charynite soldiers were, they introduced one vital form of water use that saved part of the Lumateran Flatlands.’
Gargarin stared at him, waiting.
‘The rainwater was collected by the placement of sliced animal bones around the entrance of a home. When it rained, the water ran down the grooves of the bones and was taken into a cistern under the house. Then during the dry season, they’d build pipes made of animal hide to run from the cistern into the fields.’
There was silence from Gargarin and Froi turned to him questioningly and saw the man look down.
‘Simple, but worthwhile,’ Froi said. ‘Don’t you agree?’
Froi watched a smile appear on Gargarin’s face. It was strange and twisted and reluctant, but it was also sincere and almost shy, which was strange coming from a grown man.
‘In my third year in the palace as a young man, I drew up the plans for that system of water capturing. It heartens me to think that Charyn had something worthwhile to offer Lumatere.’
Froi sat up, amazed. ‘You?’
Gargarin nodded, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. ‘In Abroi where I grew up, I saw people suffer and children die because we had so little water and, most years, no crops to speak of. It’s strange that in a single kingdom, there can be an abundance of gifts in one province and little in another. Have you ever been deprived of food, Olivier? As a lastborn, I doubt it.’ Froi looked away. He couldn’t remember a day in his life as a young child when he wasn’t deprived of food. It only served as a reminder of what he had to do to keep his stomach full.
Gargarin sighed, standing up and straightening his back.
‘Are you in a hurry to complete these plans because you have a meeting with the King?’ Froi asked.
‘Not yet, but I’ll see him soon and then my work will be done.’
Gargarin looked away. ‘If anything happens to me, can I trust that my drawings get into the hands of De Lancey of Paladozza?’
‘What can possibly happen to you?’
‘Can you promise without irritating me?’
‘Why would you trust me?’
The awkward bend of the head was there again. ‘I don’t know,’ Gargarin said honestly. ‘But I do.’
Froi shook his head. ‘How about I give you my word that I won’t let anything happen to you instead?’
He had no idea where those words came from. He wasn’t here to protect Gargarin or any of them. He was here to kill a King. But deep down he realised that he wanted to impress this man. That despite their first meeting and Gargarin’s hostility towards Froi, he reminded him of Lord August and Finn and Sir Topher combined. At strange moments he imagined introducing Gargarin to them all.
That night, Froi was allowed to attend dinner. Bestiano stared at him from where he sat at the head of the table, as though practising to be the King himself. Froi gave a polite wave of acknowledgement.
He was assigned a place sitting with a cluster of the women Quintana had referred to as the Aunts. Their heads were bent and they were speaking rapidly, furiously.
Suddenly Quintana was beside him.
‘I searched for you all day,’ she said, and he could see that she was back to her indignant self, all breathless and irritated.
‘I was avoiding you.’
The Princess Indignant seemed oblivious of any type of malice directed toward her. Sometimes it made him want to be even crueller. To punish her for doing nothing to stop herself from getting killed. Isaboe would have fought to survive.
‘You can sit on our right,’ she instructed. ’Aunt Mawfa will bore you senseless.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. The moment Aunt Mawfa speaks, everyone falls asleep. It has to do with the pitch of her voice.’
She nudged him. ‘Look at her shoes,’ she whispered, pointing under the table. Froi humoured her and ducked his head under. Lady Mawfa had plump little legs that barely touched the ground and a pair of silly pointy shoes with red bows.
Froi sat back up again. ‘She had them sent from Belegonia,’ Quintana said in a hushed tone. ‘They are said to have belonged to the first goddess who walked the earth.’
Froi looked under the table again and sat back up.
‘Not possible. I’ve been told that goddesses are a practical bunch,’ he said. ‘They’d never have tolerated the red bows.’
She covered her mouth, laughing. A truly ridiculous laugh, all snorts and giggles.
‘Quintana!’ Bestiano shouted out to her. Froi stiffened. The last thing he wanted was for Bestiano to drag her out of the hall. Froi looked at her and put a finger to his lips to quieten her.
‘Ask her something,’ Quintana whispered. ‘Ask her about the weather and you’ll see what we mean. When she speaks, no one listens. It’s why we’ve chosen to be like her. We don’t get into half as much trouble.’
He studied Quintana, waiting for the announcement that she had been jesting the whole time. That she was an ‘I’ and not a ‘we’. But she swung her eyes to the side and flicked her head towards Lady Mawfa and for a moment he wanted to laugh. He turned and politely asked Lady Mawfa about the weather.
Lady Mawfa responded in an indignant voice that was high-pitched. It was as hushed and dramatic as one reporting the enemy at the gates of the Citavita. The only part of Quintana missing was the squint.
‘… and it’s all suffering for my joints. Poor, poor me.’
Froi choked out a laugh, thinking of Quintana’s own dramatics when reporting on events.
A moment later he felt her lips to his ears. ‘So have you fallen asleep yet?’
Although the Princess’s indignant tone had not changed, all of a sudden everything else seemed to.
Froi had no idea what lay beneath all the incessant chatter, but there was more to her than even the cold unsettling Quintana and the savage he had caught a glimpse of outside Arjuro’s window.
‘Have you?’ she asked again.
‘At about the time she spoke of the dew on her windowsill.’
Quintana covered her mouth again, snorting. Bestiano barked out her name, but Froi grabbed her hand and pulled it away. And there were those teeth, small and crooked in parts. Froi was slightly charmed, snorts and all.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he whispered, dragging her to her feet.
Chapter 12
Finnikin was crouched on the rock of three wonders surrounded by the children of his mother’s village. They stared back at him, wide-eyed and full of awe, and he found himself swallowing a lump in his throat. This rock would always remind him of Balthazar: Lucian’s adored cousin, Finnikin’s beloved friend, Isaboe’s brother and saviour, and once the heir of Lumatere. But since the birth of his daughter, the rock also had Finnikin thinking of his mother.
When he had lived here as a child, he rarely imagined Bartolina. His mother had died giving birth to him and her spirit had failed to reveal itself to Finnikin, despite the fact that Aunt Celestina sensed her all the time and even Trevanion had mumbled about days when he felt her presence. But in these past years Finnikin had dreamt of his mother often, especially when he brought Jasmina with him to visit his people.
Aunt Celestina wept each time, embracing both Finnikin and Isaboe. ‘Thank you, my darlings. Thank you for returning to us the image of my beloved sister.’
Little Bartolina, Jasmina was called by the rock villagers. Of course, she loved the attention. He had noticed in her first attempts at speech she had referred to herself as Jasmina of Bartolina. Whenever she spoke the words, everyone would clap at the sweetness of her voice. So Jasmina of Bartolina would repeat them over and over again until Isaboe would smother her face with kisses. ‘Enough, my love,’ she would laugh.
Each time Finnikin returned to his rock village the elders would beg him to tell the children a story from the chronicles he had collected for the
