offer. He let go of Lirah and Froi took her hand and hurried away. But just as they reached the drawbridge, drops of blood splattered at their feet and Froi stared up in horror at the body of a man hanging from the battlement, his throat cut, his body bludgeoned. Reaching out to drag Lirah away from the grisly scene, Froi caught the expression of bitter satisfaction on her face and he knew that the street lords had found the King’s body to flaunt to the people.
The King of Charyn was indeed dead. What was it Trevanion had instructed?
But the pull of Gargarin and Quintana’s fate was too much and Froi took Lirah’s hand, breaking his second bond to those he loved, in as many days.
They arrived to find a crowd of people gathered at the godshouse door, begging to be let in. Froi recognised a Provincaro’s guard at the entrance.
‘There is no room,’ the guard shouted, shoving the crowd back. ‘No room.’
Froi pushed through, closer to the door, his fingers digging into Lirah’s hand, determined not to let her go. He caught a glimpse of Arjuro inside the foyer. The Priestling stood behind the guards, searching anxiously over their shoulders.
‘Arjuro! Arjuro!’
Froi climbed onto the back of the man before him. ‘Arjuro!’
Arjuro pushed past the guard and pointed towards Froi. A moment later one of the guards shoved his way through the crowd and grabbed Froi and Lirah, dragging them inside.
The door was latched shut behind. The small foyer was packed with not only those who had escaped the palace, but the people of the Citavita, fearing for their lives.
Froi hurried past Arjuro and raced up the stairwell all the way to the top, dodging floor upon floor of people. When he reached the Hall of Illumination, it was filled to the brim, but he shoved his way to the balconette where only the brave stood watching what took place across the gravina.
‘Have you seen her? The Princess? Or Gargarin? Have you seen him?’
And the only good news for a day so bleak was that Quintana and Gargarin had not been tossed into the gravina below.
Yet.
Chapter 19
Pale faces, stunned by the carnage they had witnessed, studied any newcomer who entered the room. The main hall was filled with those from the streets of the Citavita who had taken refuge in the godshouse, as well as the Provincari, their guards and advisors. Alone in a corner, Arjuro caught Froi’s eye and Froi saw wretched misery in the Priestling’s expression. They had spent most of the day watching the macabre scene taking place on the balconettes across the narrow space between the godshouse and the palace. The palace scribe had asked for Froi’s assistance, pen and parchment in his hand as he identified those hurled into the gravina below.
‘Who was that?’ he asked Froi as they looked on.
‘The King’s cousin from Nebia,’ Froi replied, recognising the body of the simpleton who had spoken to Froi most often in the palace.
Sometimes the scribe would stop a moment to throw up over the balconette before calmly returning to his task. ‘Cyril of Nebia, would you say? No, no, Chabon of Sebastabol.’
When there was little to be seen in the darkness, they returned inside and spent the rest of the night crowded in the Hall of Illumination with hundreds of others.
‘Are we safe here, De Lancey?’ a woman asked.
Froi looked up to study the boy who had grown up alongside Arjuro and Gargarin. The lover who had betrayed Arjuro. A more unlikely pair Froi could never imagine in his life. Even under the dramatic circumstances, De Lancey was all perfection and charm, his skin bronzed, his garments tailored to perfection, while Arjuro’s stark white skin contrasted with his dark torn hair and beard. The black robe that covered him from neck to ankle was grubby and shapeless.
‘Best that you ask that question of the Priestling,’ the Provincaro replied in his smooth voice, pretending to study something nonexistent on the wall, as though it was the most natural thing to do under the circumstances. Arjuro refused to respond to the woman with anything beyond a grunt. Despite his forced benevolence, most in the room seemed wary of him and kept their distance.
‘It’s best we all leave and return to our provinces,’ De Lancey said. ‘At least we are safe there with armies to protect our people.’
There was a chorus of agreement, but also dismay.
‘What about the people of the Citavita?’ a woman cried. ‘You care only for your own provinces and leave us to this carnage. Who rules Charyn when you return to the safety of your walls?’
‘And what would you have us do?’ De Lancey said calmly, but Froi heard restrained anger in his voice. ‘You’ve all seen what happens the moment a King dies and his men desert their post. The ignorant take over. Savages killing their own people. Innocent people.’
‘Those who live in the palace aren’t innocent,’ another shouted from across the room. ‘They deserve what they get.’
There was uproar at those words.
‘We were in the palace,’ De Lancey of Paladozza argued. ‘On province business. Do I deserve to die? Do the other Provincari? And do you know who else was visiting the palace? Gargarin of Abroi.’
Froi watched the feverish whispers. ‘Yes,’ De Lancey confirmed. ‘How soon we forget men who have worked for the good of Charyn.’
‘What about the Princess?’
It was Lirah’s voice. Froi had lost sight of her the moment they entered the godshouse. But here she was asking the question that no one else dared to ask. There was an uncomfortable silence and most looked away. Froi heard the words
‘With these savages, one does not negotiate with a list,’ De Lancey of Paladozza said coolly. Dismissively. ‘We speak one name. Gargarin’s. He has the trust of almost every Provincaro in this kingdom. Tariq of Lascow has stated that Gargarin is his choice as First Advisor if Tariq is ever to be crowned King.’
There was more fierce discussion, more anger.
‘Tariq knows nothing of the world. He’s been in hiding since he was fifteen.’
‘But he is the legal heir and at this moment, he’s our only King. Gargarin knows enough to guide him. Both are aligned to no province and that fact in itself will satisfy every one of us Provincari. We return home, combine our armies, march into the Citavita and place Tariq on the throne with Gargarin alongside him.’
There was approval for this suggestion, the first sign of calm.
‘And what of Quintana?’ Lirah demanded again. ‘You can’t leave her in the palace to die!’
‘Your daughter is worth nothing,’ a man called out.
‘If she had broken the curse, at least we could have forgiven her for something,’ the Provincara Orlanda of Jidia said. She was a handsome woman who had fawned over Bestiano and Gargarin the night before.
‘She’s our lastborn,’ Lirah said.
There were hisses and fury directed at Lirah.
‘Our lives have been ruined because of her,’ Orlanda spat.
‘Your spawn, Serker bitch,’ a woman Froi didn’t recognise shouted.
‘Her birth. Her lies. Her failure to break the curse,’ another joined in, advancing on Lirah.
‘If we choose between Gargarin of Abroi and the Princess, we choose Gargarin,’ the Ambassador for Sebastabol said.
Despite his anger towards her, Froi pushed through the crowd of people to Lirah, but Arjuro was there before him, grabbing her arm.
