a murderer of babes and Oracles, but you can’t accept that he preferred another woman?’
‘There was no other woman,’ she spat. She threw a look at Froi. ‘This one looks like the shit and garbage of this kingdom. Isn’t that what they say Abroi is? He could be anyone’s trash. Sent by anyone. Probably the Serkers living in the underground city who want their revenge.’
The Provincaro searched Froi’s face. ‘Who sent you?’ he demanded. ‘Was it the Serkers?’
‘Does it matter? I didn’t kill the King.’
‘Pity,’ De Lancey said. ‘I would have liked you much better if you had.’
Arjuro led them to a room laid out with straw cots once used by Priestlings. He pushed Lirah towards one.
‘Sleep,’ he said to them, ignoring De Lancey, who stood at the door watching them all. ‘The sun will rise soon and it will be another long day.’
Froi sat with his back to the others. He felt a hand at his shoulder and shrugged it away viciously.
‘Not the time to be sulking,’ Arjuro said. ‘What would you expect from me?’ he added, gently. ‘A, “Hi-de-ho to you, lad. By the way, you have the face of my demented father which could only mean that you are either his child or Gargarin’s, who also happens to be a killer of women and babes.” ’
Froi turned to them. He could only see their outlines in the darkness. Lirah lay with her back to him, her body huddled.
He studied Arjuro closely. ‘Is there a chance I’m his son?’
That Froi and Arjuro had the same blood was too hard to fathom.
‘I don’t know,’ Arjuro said honestly. ‘The only way I can answer that question is if you tell me the truth. Days ago you inform me the Oracle’s child was not tossed into the gravina. That my brother murdered Lirah’s son instead. Today you tell me he didn’t murder the child. That it was smuggled out of the palace. What am I to be told tomorrow? That my brother is dead without me knowing the truth?’ Froi saw tears in the man’s eyes. ‘I don’t even know your real name, Olivier.’
But Froi couldn’t tell the whole truth without betraying Lumatere. Did he trust these people enough to do that?
‘Do you know a man by the name of Rafuel of Sebastabol?’ he asked, after a stretch of silence. ‘He approached … my people with a plan.’
He saw Arjuro stiffen. Lirah turned slowly from her cot to face them. ‘I know that name,’ she said.
‘What was the plan?’ De Lancey asked from the door.
‘That he could get an assassin into the palace to impersonate the lastborn from Sebastabol.’
Froi waited for Arjuro to speak.
‘Arjuro?’ De Lancey said. ‘Give him something in return.’
‘No,’ Arjuro said. ‘I’m more interested in what Rafuel of Sebastabol had to say to … sorry, what did you say your name was?’
The stare from Arjuro was sharp and Froi fought back a shiver. He felt as if he was looking at Gargarin.
‘I didn’t,’ Froi said.
A hint of a knowing smile appeared on Arjuro’s face. ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’
‘I don’t trust anyone here.’
Arjuro looked at him shrewdly, eyebrows raised in contemplation.
‘You don’t trust anyone
‘Are you saying he’s a foreigner?’ Lirah asked, studying Froi with confusion.
Froi didn’t respond for a moment. ‘You’re not so slow when you’re sober, Arjuro.’
‘He’s Lumateran,’ De Lancey said. ‘Who else would be training an assassin?’
Froi didn’t respond.
‘But why would Rafuel of Sebastabol go all the way to Lumatere to find an assassin when he could train one here?’ De Lancey continued. ‘I could have provided him with one or two myself.’
‘Didn’t say I was a Lumateran, and careful, Provincaro, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned the death of the King. You could be accused of treason.’
‘He can’t be a foreigner. He has Serker eyes, and a face from Abroi,’ Lirah said.
‘I disagree,’ Arjuro said. ‘In the times when nomads travelled throughout the land, a Sendecanese or Sarnak or even a Yut could be found with Serker eyes.’
Arjuro eyed Froi. ‘Your Charyn is flawless.’
‘Perhaps I’ve inherited a sharp mind from my father,’ he whispered mockingly in Arjuro’s ear. ‘Or perhaps from my uncle. Perhaps I’m gods’ touched.’
‘What else did Rafuel of Sebastabol have to say to your leaders?’ De Lancey asked.
‘Nothing,’ Froi said.
The Provincaro made a sound as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘It’s true. He said nothing more to my leaders. But he did make mention of something to me without my leaders knowing.’
The others waited.
‘But as part of my bond, my captain said I was not to interfere with the matters of another kingdom.’
De Lancey gave another humourless laugh.
‘They sent you to assassinate the King and that’s not interfering?’
Froi felt weary. He wanted more from Arjuro, but the Priestling was a man who had been betrayed too many times and Froi knew he would have to give a whole lot more before Arjuro spoke. Two of De Lancey’s guards appeared at the door.
‘My lord, it’s not safe for you here,’ one said, eyeing Froi.
‘Go check on Grij,’ the Provincaro said tiredly, and Froi heard the voice of a man concerned for his son. It made him hate everyone even more.
De Lancey’s attention was back on Froi.
‘Rafuel of Sebastabol made mention of … the lost lastborn of the Citavita,’ Froi said quietly.
‘A myth,’ Lirah said. ‘Used to dismiss the importance of Quintana as the lastborn.’
‘Not a myth,’ Arjuro said.
‘You can’t prove that,’ De Lancey argued.
‘I saw the lastborn of the Citavita. Held him. Do you need any further proof than that, De Lancey?’ Arjuro raged. ‘Or are we going to have a repeat of eighteen years past. Last time you refused to believe me about the King an innocent messenger was murdered.’
They all stared at Arjuro.
‘You held the lastborn?’ Lirah asked.
Arjuro nodded.
‘When I escaped from the palace after … after taking Gargarin’s identity.’
‘What?’ she gasped, stunned.
‘It was Gargarin who was imprisoned for eight years,’ Froi said. ‘Not Arjuro.’
‘I took refuge with the only people I trusted in this world. I knew where the Priests of Trist were hiding because they had found a way to send a message to me after my arrest the year before. When I arrived at the caves, they told me the strangest tale. That the night before, they had heard a sound outside and saw the figure of a young boy fleeing. And at their feet was a filthy basket that smelt of cats with a babe inside. A male. No note. Nothing. They had no idea where he came from.’
De Lancey moved away from the door, his eyes wide. Lirah placed a trembling hand to her throat.
‘That night, every Priest in the cave, whether gifted or not, woke up with the same words on their lips.’
‘That the last will make the first?’ Lirah asked.
Arjuro shook his head. ‘That if redemption was ever to be possible, a sign would appear in the palace. We had no idea what it meant. We didn’t know that at the time Charyn was cursed. All we knew was that the Oracle was dead. The Priests have always believed that even the gods were divided over this curse. That not one god has claimed it as their own.’
‘If no god claimed it as their own …’ De Lancey said.
‘Then no god could break it. Perhaps in their realm they’ve been searching for clues themselves.’ Arjuro
