Quintana of Charyn

When Feliciano was too slow, Finnikin was there, yanking Feliciano’s arms out of the sleeves.

‘Follow everything we say, Froi,’ his king said. ‘Put this on. Ask no questions.’

And then Lord August stumbled through the crowded entrance, followed by Lady Abian and Talon and the younger boys, their faces soaked with perspiration. And just when Froi thought nothing could shock him more, he saw the Priestking.

The Lumaterans looked dishevelled. Froi was so confused, his arm half-stuck in a jacket that was far too small.

‘You,’ Lucian said, pointing to Olivier. ‘Get us to the front.’

‘Just agree with everything,’ Finnikin said. ‘Let me do the talking. There’s no time for an explanation. Do you trust us, Froi?’

‘With my life,’ he said.

The path to the front seemed never-ending.

‘Excuse me.’

‘Excuse me.’

‘Out of the way.’

There was shoving and cursing and Froi’s heart was pounding. Lady Abian was adjusting her dress and hair, and swiping at the dirt on Lord August’s face.

‘Blessed Barakah is going to faint,’ Froi said, trying to hold onto the old man’s arm.

‘They dragged me off the carriage as if I was a sack of potatoes,’ the Priestking complained as they stumbled to a standstill at the front, facing a shocked Provincari.

There was furious whispering all around him. Froi heard someone gasp.

‘It’s the Queen of Lumatere’s Consort.’

‘No!’ another replied.

‘Yes. Look at the hair.’

Froi glanced at Finnikin, and already his friend’s face was a mask of arrogance. Finn said it worked well in negotiations. Isaboe said she hardly recognised him when she first saw it appear with the Belegonians.

Before them the Provincari and the leaders were staring their way. Quintana stood to the side. Tariq was on the ground, tugging at Gargarin’s leg. Gargarin’s stare was fierce. Angry. Hopeful?

‘Introduce me,’ Finnikin ordered Froi in Charyn.

Froi cleared his throat.

‘My lord Finnikin, Consort of Her Majesty Queen Isaboe of Lumatere, may I present to you the Provincari of Charyn.’

Froi held out a hand to indicate the Lumaterans.

‘Lord August of the Flatlands. Lady Abian of the Flatlands; the lords Talon, Duret and Ren of the Flatlands. Lucian, leader of the Monts. And the blessed Barakah of Lumatere.’

There was a stunned hush as the Provincari leapt out of their seats to offer the Priestking one of theirs. But despite his limp, Gargarin beat them to it.

‘You’re late,’ he hissed, glaring at Finnikin.

‘We had a slight problem … locating the letters you sent,’ Finnikin whispered back. ‘Explanation later,’ he added. ‘Go. Away.’

The Provincari were staring at the visitors, intrigued.

‘I’d prefer to speak Charyn so there’ll be no misunderstanding of our intention,’ Finnikin said to the Provincari. ‘I will be translating for Lord August and Lady Abian of the Lumateran Flatlands.’

Lord August stepped forward while Lady Abian was still swiping at his face with her kerchief. Finnikin gave the nod for Lord August to speak.

‘As stated, my name is Lord August of the Flatlands. Today, my wife and my family present to you our eldest boy as a prospective consort to Quintana of Charyn.’

Froi was speechless. He thought he would be sick on the spot. He could hate anyone, but not Talon who was a brother to him. Finnikin translated and glanced at Froi, who hadn’t taken a breath. Froi felt a pinch on his arm.

‘Don’t you dare faint,’ Finnikin whispered.

Lord August continued.

‘My eldest boy may not share my blood, but he is part of our life and has been since the rebirth of our kingdom. When we chose four years past to give him our name, we never imagined that we would be presenting him to a foreign court.’

August caught Froi’s eye. Him? They were talking about him. Not Talon. But Froi had never been given Lord August’s family title. Who had hatched up this lie?

Before them, the Provincari were bewildered by the turn of events. Gargarin wasn’t.

‘That doesn’t count,’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh said.

‘How does that not count?’ Lucian asked politely.

Finnikin nudged Froi. ‘Which one’s Paladozza?’ he whispered.

‘Fourth from right.’

Finnikin stepped forward.

‘My father is the Captain of the Lumateran Guard,’ Finnikin said coldly. ‘Don’t let me have to go home and tell him that the child he calls his own is not a daughter to him just because she doesn’t share his blood.’ He looked at De Lancey. ‘Provincaro De Lancey,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been told your children are not of your blood. Do they not count?’

De Lancey’s was livid. ‘They’re my children,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Regardless of blood ties, they have my name. They have my land. They have my title.’ De Lancey stared across at Avanosh. ‘Are you questioning the rights of my children?’

‘No one is questioning the rights of your children, De Lancey,’ the Provincara of Jidia tried to placate.

‘It’s not enough,’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh shouted.

‘He’s the son of a Lumateran Flatland lord,’ the Provincaro of Sebastabol said. ‘How much more do we want? The Belegonians turned down our invitation to be here today. It will turn them green with envy to have our Quintana wed to the son of a Lumateran Flatland lord.’

‘Don’t trust a Lumateran,’ the Provincaro of Alonso said, eyeing Lucian. ‘They lie.’

This time Lucian stepped forward.

‘For the sake of a beloved wife, I will forgive my father-in-law’s words,’ Lucian said. ‘And offer a hand of friendship to my neighbours in Alonso.’

‘Your wife?’ Alonso shouted. ‘The one you sent back and then claimed was dead? And then let go to the palace? And where is she now? Is my daughter a toy to be passed around?’

‘Your daughter is a woman who makes her own choices, sir,’ Lucian said. ‘And it was her choice to sacrifice her safety for Quintana of Charyn in the valley, and it was her choice to rightfully travel here and settle the first mother and child of Charyn into their home. I would never ask my wife to choose me over her king.’

Lucian stepped forward and bowed to Quintana. ‘And I will always be indebted to Quintana of Charyn for allowing Phaedra to return.’

Froi was most impressed with Lucian.

‘So you married her again?’ Quintana demanded to know.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Good,’ she said, looking away.

‘We don’t trust this lad,’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh said, pointing to Froi. ‘He’s lied and he stole the Princess from under us in Paladozza. I was there.’

There was more hushed talk.

‘Louder!’ someone from the back called out. ‘We can’t hear.’

Froi felt as if he was part of a pantomime, placed in front of a crowd hungry for entertainment.

‘I was there, too,’ De Lancey said. ‘And I don’t recall her being stolen.’ He looked across at Quintana. ‘Stolen, Your Highness?’

The Nebian Provincaro spoke up. ‘If I may be so bold as to say that our Quintana may not be the best person