‘No, but our spies tell us that Sorel has been in constant discussion with those on Avanosh Island, who have claimed for hundreds of years that the Charyn throne was once theirs. The heir of Avanosh could be what the Charynite people want.’
Isaboe looked to Sir Topher. ‘Why would these people of Avanosh be what the Charynites want?’ she asked.
‘Because –’ the Belegonian Ambassador went to answer, but Isaboe held up a hand to stop him. Finnikin was used to the hand. The hand was held up at times when Jasmina tried to argue about what to wear on certain days, and the hand came into play when Finnikin tried to insist that Isaboe had no idea how to win a game of Kings and Queens fairly. His wife’s hand was mightier than a sword.
‘Because Avanosh is neutral,’ Sir Topher explained. ‘During times such as this a neutral leader will prevent Charyn’s Provincari from going to war with each other if one tries to take the throne.’
Isaboe stood and walked to Finnikin by the window. She leaned against him, so unlike her when they were surrounded by foreigners. He reached out a hand and kneaded her shoulder. As much as he wasn’t allowed to say she looked tired in front of others because,
‘Then why not leave the Charynites to be ruled by the Avanosh lot who will keep their people from going to war?’ Finnikin suggested.
The Belegonian Ambassador shook his head emphatically.
‘If the Avanosh heir ends up in the palace, the kingdom of Sorel will play a role in the running of Charyn,’ the Ambassador said. ‘We don’t want that.’
‘But you have absolutely no qualms buying Sorellian ore when they are undercutting an ally of yours?’ Isaboe asked sharply.
The Belegonian grimaced. ‘You are misunderstanding the matter, Your Majesty.’
‘I don’t miss matters, Sir,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t afford to miss matters. Each time a Queen or King in this land misses a matter
‘Sorel and Charyn have been thorns in our side since the beginning of time,’ the Ambassador said. ‘Nothing can be worse news than if they unite.’
‘Not a thorn in your side, Sir Osver,’ she said, her tone so frigid Finnikin hardly recognised it. ‘Not a thorn in the side of Belegonia. Perhaps the kingdoms of Osteria and Lumatere and Sarnak, but you share no border with the Charynites. Yet you stand to gain much if they are forced to surrender to these joint armies you have in place.’
Finnikin watched his daughter below look up from her play, straight to their window. He moved Isaboe aside. If Jasmina saw them now, they would be ending one series of negotiations and entering another. At least they had a chance of winning against the Belegonians, but Jasmina was another matter.
He watched as his father rode into the garden on his stallion. Vestie and Jasmina ran to him with excitement and Moss lifted them, seating Vestie behind Trevanion and Jasmina in his lap. Trevanion proceeded to canter around the garden while both girls chortled with joy. It made Finnikin smile to see them. Who would ever have thought that Trevanion would be softened by two little girls?
But Finnikin’s attention was brought back to the Belegonian Ambassador.
‘The Charynites murdered your family! The Sorellians imprisoned your captain. The father of your consort. Take this opportunity, Your Highness.’
Finnikin could see Isaboe was speechless with fury at the mention of her family’s death.
‘Thirteen years ago,’ he reminded, ‘your King and the Charyn King, amongst others, stepped in and made a decision about who would run this kingdom. Did you see any good coming from that?’
‘Regardless of what has taken place in the past, Charyn will be ruled by her own,’ she said.
‘A peasant heir from the mountains of Lascow or a Sorellian puppet from Avanosh?’ the Ambassador scoffed.
‘As opposed to a leader controlled by the strings of Belegonia?’ Isaboe asked. ‘We won’t be part of that. Take that back to your King.’
When they were finally gone, Isaboe sat back in exhaustion.
‘Give me names,’ she begged Sir Topher. ‘Of men inside Charyn who are prepared to be King. Fair men. Good men. If there is such a person, then I will be the first to offer them a neighbour’s recognition of their right to rule. Better that than a war between every kingdom of this land.’
‘I’ll find out what I can,’ Sir Topher said, ‘but from what we know, Tariq of the Lascow Mountains could be our best chance for peace.’
Finnikin watched a grimace cross Isaboe’s expression. ‘Did I do the right thing with the Belegonians?’ she asked them both. ‘Or were my emotions ruling me?’
‘Nothing wrong with emotions ruling you,’ Sir Topher said gently. ‘I think the important thing is to keep our ears open to the events in Charyn. If it’s true what they’re saying we need to be cautious. A new King could be a good thing, but Sorel being involved causes me concern.’
She looked at Finnikin.
‘Would you have made the same decision?’ she asked. ‘That’s what I’m asking you, Finnikin.’
‘What I would have done differently …’
She bit her lip and he knew that look. They were never happier than in the moments when they acknowledged that they would have made the same decision.
‘ … is that I would have told the Belegonians what they could do with their plan using different words.’
‘What words?’
‘Shut your ears, Sir Topher,’ Finnikin said, speaking the words. He saw a ghost of a smile on her face.
‘Ah, my wife likes it when I speak filth,’ he said, and they all laughed.
Sir Topher excused himself. ‘We need to prepare for the Fenton lot,’ he reminded Finnikin.
‘The Fenton lot,’ Finnikin muttered, kissing her a quick goodbye. ‘I forgot about them.’
‘I’ll walk with you,’ Isaboe said.
He was quiet as they made their way down to the garden. She spoke to each person they passed. She would ask about a husband’s health, comment about the bloom in one’s cheek, gently remind another that the hounds needed exercising, marvel at the taste of the grapes served that morning at breakfast. Their people, in turn, would walk away beaming and sometimes Finnikin wished for the ease Isaboe possessed with the world.
Outside in the garden, they watched Trevanion with Jasmina and Vestie.
‘I’m worried about my father,’ he said. ‘I think he’s beside himself, although he’d rather not admit it. This thing with Beatriss. She’s not turned up for the last two meetings with the Flatland Lords and is rarely seen around her village. Lady Abian is out of her mind with worry.’
‘What’s he said?’ she asked. ‘Trevanion?’
‘He can’t get past Tarah. Each time she says Beatriss is resting.’
They watched Trevanion hand Jasmina to Moss before dismounting. A moment later their daughter was hurtling towards them. She’d go to Isaboe first. She always went to her mother first. Lord August had once told Finnikin that there were years when his children were so attached to their mother that he could hardly approach for fear of being cursed by their wails. Finnikin knew those moments well.
With her cheek pressed against Isaboe’s shoulder, his daughter stared at him. After a moment, she extended a hand and he pretended to bite at her fingers. Finally she smiled.
Trevanion approached with Vestie clinging onto his hand.
‘This situation in Charyn makes no sense,’ his father said quietly.
‘Isn’t it exactly how we planned?’ Isaboe asked.
Trevanion shook his head and looked at the little girls.
Isaboe placed their daughter on the ground. ‘Can you help Jasmina find a chestnut for Finnikin, Vestie?’
Vestie took Jasmina’s hand and went searching.
When the girls were a distance away, Trevanion continued. ‘They’re saying the King’s First Advisor, not a nameless assassin, has killed the King.’
Finnikin and Isaboe exchanged a look.
