‘But I know which part she’ll love best. That despite all the horror our people had to endure, we found a way. How her father and I and this good man who sits by my side travelled the land searching for the Captain and his Guard and my Mont cousins. How Beatriss of the Flatlands and Tesadora of the Forest Dwellers found a means from within the kingdom to lead us home and reunite our people.’
There was silence until Finnikin heard the Ambassador of Sarnak clear his throat.
‘We need each other, Your Majesty,’ he implored. ’Has my king not expressed his sorrow enough? The silence between our kingdoms has gone on for too long. Let us unite and fight a more cunning enemy.’
She leaned forward. ‘Do not bring me apologies from your king, Sir. Bring me the news that the men who slaughtered my unarmed people on that river bank have been brought to justice.’
She stood, her eyes never leaving the Ambassador. ‘Do me that honour, Sir, so that one day the Princess of Lumatere may befriend the grandson of the Sarnak Ambassador who convinced his king that great men make amends for wronging their neighbours.’
Finnikin felt his father’s hand on his shoulder. He must have made a sound, for Isaboe looked up again.
Finnikin turned and walked away.
Outside, as they mounted their horses alongside Lucian and his Mont cousins, Finnikin explained what had been spoken between Isaboe and the Sarnak Ambassador.
‘We might have to make do with nothing more than an apology,’ Trevanion said quietly. ‘If what happened on the mountain is an attack from Charyn, we may need the Sarnaks now more than ever.’
Finnikin shook his head. ’We’ve worked too long and hard for this,’ he said. ’She’ll not weaken on the matter. Mark my words. I know Isaboe. She will not give in until the Sarnaks give her what we want.’
Chapter 3
The Charynite was slight in build, but most Charynites Froi had seen were. His hair was worn long to the shoulders and although he appeared to be older than Finnikin, it was hard to determine his age. His face was bruised and bleeding and Froi knew from one of the Monts that the beating had come from Tesadora of the Forest Dwellers, tiny as she was, who now stood beside Perri with savagery in her eyes.
The wife that Lucian had sent back stood before them, trembling. She was small and plumpish with a sweet round face.
‘My kinsman does not understand why you require me here, Sir,’ Phaedra said quietly, looking up at Lucian, her face reddening.
‘We speak Lumateran,’ Lucian said. ‘You speak for us. Understood?’
Meanwhile Trevanion crouched down closely before the Charynite prisoner, studying the man with an unnerving intensity.
‘Ask him the reason for the attack?’ Trevanion ordered Phaedra, not taking his eyes from the Charynite.
Out of everyone in the room, Trevanion’s Charyn was weak, Perri’s a little stronger. Finnikin had insisted they learn the Charyn tongue if they were to travel into the enemy kingdom to kill the King. Some days, Finnikin insisted that they speak nothing but Charyn for practice, although both Finnikin and Froi would become frustrated at how slowly they were forced to speak.
Phaedra repeated the question.
Froi saw the movement in the Charynite’s throat, the swallowing of fear. But nevertheless, he stared Trevanion in the eye.
‘Because I had requested more than once to speak to the Queen … or her king, and I was refused time and time again.’
Phaedra translated the words.
‘So you take a dagger to Japhra’s throat?’ Lucian asked in Charyn, forgetting his vow to speak only Lumateran.
The Charynite tilted his head to the side, looking beyond Trevanion to where Finnikin stood. ‘Well it worked, did it not?’
Froi snarled, but didn’t realise he had done so aloud until the man looked towards him with little fear and a slight expression of … was it satisfaction? It was a long moment before the prisoner looked away.
‘We don’t need the girl,’ the Charynite said quietly, indicating Phaedra. ‘Most of you can understand me clearly. True?’ He looked from Froi to Lucian and then finally to Finnikin. ‘There aren’t too many men in this part of the land with hair that colour, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘And everyone knows the Lumateran Queen and her consort speak the language of every kingdom in this land.’
Finnikin stood coldly silent.
‘Ask the girl to leave,’ the Charynite repeated.
‘We make the demands,’ Lucian said. ‘Not you.’
‘Ask her to leave,’ the Charynite said tiredly. ‘For if she hears what I say, my men will have to kill her and they are scholars, not killers. They hate the sight of blood.’
Despite the regret in the man’s voice, Froi knew he spoke the truth.
Lucian called out to one of the Mont guards. ‘Get her out of here,’ he ordered. ‘Have one of the cousins take her down to the valley.’ Lucian turned his attention to the girl. ‘Return to your father’s house, Phaedra. Once and for all. If I see you in the valley, I’ll drag you back to your province myself!’
The girl walked to the entrance of the cell, turning to look at the Charynite hesitantly.
‘Go,’ the man said gently. ‘You’ve risked enough, Little Sparrow, and we are grateful indeed.’
Lucian bared his teeth. The Charynite gave a small humourless laugh as Phaedra left the cell.
‘Foolish of you to have let her leave your spously bed, Mont. If she had been given the chance, Phaedra of Alonso would have been the first step to peace.’
‘What makes you think we’re after peace with Charynites?’ Lucian asked.
‘Because Japhra of the Flatlands speaks of it in her sleep.’
Tesadora hissed with fury. ‘Don’t speak her name again or you’ll be choking on your own blood.’
‘Japhra’s a woman with worth beyond your imagining,’ he continued, as if Tesadora had not threatened his life. But Froi saw moisture gather on the Charynite’s brow and knew that Trevanion’s close proximity and Tesadora’s presence unsettled him more than he would care to admit.
‘Some women learn to listen better when they speak little.’ The Charynite’s eyes fixed on Finnikin again. ‘Did you not learn that from your queen in her mute days?’
Finnikin finally spoke. ‘You are pushing my patience, Charynite, and if you make one more reference to our women, including my queen, I will beg a dagger from my kinsmen and slice you from ear to ear. So speak.’
The Charynite kept his focus on Finnikin.
‘My name is Rafuel from the Charynite province of Sebastabol. I’m here in the valley with seven other men.’ He waited a moment for Lucian to translate. Rafuel met Trevanion’s stare. ‘I have a way of getting you into the palace, gentlemen. To do both our kingdoms a great justice.
‘To kill the King of Charyn.’
Froi could sense that the others were as stunned as he was to hear the words, but there was little reaction.
‘And why would we trust you, Charynite?’ Finnikin asked.
‘Because we have something in common, Your Majesty.’
‘We have nothing in common.’
‘Not even a curse?’ Rafuel said, calmly.
‘Sagra!’ Froi muttered. Another godsforsaken curse.
Rafuel’s eyes met Froi’s again.
‘Our curse was first,’ Rafuel of Sebastabol said.
‘Really?’ Finnikin asked, sarcasm lacing his words. ‘Was it worse than ours?’
Rafuel sighed, sadly. ‘If we sit and compare, Your Majesty, perhaps I may win, but we will all be left with very little in the end.’
