Quintana of Charyn

Hope.

‘I’ve never heard that story,’ Froi said softly. ‘About a warrior shooting messages of hope.’

Simeon smiled ruefully. ‘Because it doesn’t exist.’ He pointed to his bedroll, which lay directly under the three words. ‘My grandson’s first work at the age of thirteen. He said I was a pessimist and he wanted me to stare up at it to remind me not to be. In the darkness, the gold letters are illuminated and all I can see are the words.’

Charyn needed more men like Rothen, Froi thought.

‘Did you know it was Arjuro who first took you to Sarnak as a babe?’ Simeon asked.

Froi was stunned to hear the words. He shook his head because he could hardly speak. There were so many secrets hidden inside Gargarin and Arjuro and he wondered if they would all ever be revealed.

‘Arjuro was a broken man on the night he escaped from the palace eighteen years ago. He said there was a darkness tainting his spirit and he had to make something right. It was his idea that we smuggle the abandoned babe out of the kingdom. He volunteered to be the one.’

Simeon’s stern face softened. ‘You spent the first month of your life in the safety of his arms. I’ve seen you both together these past weeks and it is clear the ties that bind you are still strong.’

The bond was strong because Arjuro was blood kin. Froi knew that more than anything else.

‘Arjuro returned from Sarnak and lived here with us. He was as wild as ever and full of rage at the world. At himself. Over the next few years we would hear news about you from the Priestess of the Sarnak godshouse. You were Our Dafar,’ he added. ‘If any of us ever experienced hardship, we would say, “At least Our Dafar is safe.”

‘But four years after we sent you to Sarnak, we received word that the godshouse of the Sarnak capital was destroyed by fire. All we knew at the time were the names of those who had perished. And that there was no child among the dead. So we sent a messenger to bring you home … but the messenger never reached Sarnak. Your fate was lost to us until Rafuel of Sebastabol sent word three years past that he believed he had found you in the woods on the Charyn–Osteria border.’

‘Rafuel was there?’ Froi asked. ‘In the barracks when I was taken by the Charynites?’

Simeon nodded. ‘Rafuel ran away from his father and the palace when he was fourteen years old. When he returned to the Citavita years later to find out what he could about the lastborn, he was rounded up with a group of lads and put to use in the army. And as fate had it, Rafuel was at the right place at the right time. And here you are, Dafar of Abroi.’

There was something about the way Simeon said his name this time that made Froi uneasy.

‘What do you want from me?’ Froi asked, because he knew he hadn’t been summoned to listen to Simeon’s stories.

‘Find us the girl.’

The Priest’s eyes were ice-cold.

‘And then go back to being Froi of Lumatere. And no one need get hurt.’

That night, Froi sat opposite Arjuro in silence for the most part.

‘What did he say?’ Arjuro asked finally when the candle between them had burnt low.

‘I think he threatened me.’

‘He sent Rafuel to find you, Froi. Rafuel is an assassin. A well-read assassin, but one all the same. When I first lived here with these people, one of their lovers in Nebia was murdered because she would not divulge their whereabouts. The retribution was bloody.’

‘You never said you were the one who smuggled me out of Charyn when I was a babe,’ Froi said softly. ‘Simeon said it was your idea.’

‘Yes, well, that proved to be one of my better ones,’ Arjuro said dryly. ‘Because Sarnak seems to have been a wonderful experience for you.’

‘You blame yourself?’ Froi asked.

‘Well, I’m to blame for many things, so I try to make it easier on the gods and take responsibility for all of them.’

‘Even for the war in the kingdom of Yutlind?’ Froi teased.

‘Oh yes, my fault. Shouldn’t have told the northern King that he was far more handsome than his southern cousin.’

But with all the jesting, they were both quite sombre and Froi knew why.

‘I’m ready to go, Arjuro,’ he said softly. ‘You know that.’

‘You’re safer with me.’

‘You sound like your brother.’

‘My brother?’ Arjuro asked. ‘The one who happens to be your father?’

Froi thought of Simeon’s story that day. ‘I wouldn’t say that too loudly.’

Arjuro’s face was suddenly cold.

‘If the Priests and Provincari will agree on one thing, it’s Gargarin’s fate,’ Arjuro said. ‘Locking him up in the palace as the next King’s First Advisor.’

‘But he’ll have Lirah by his side,’ Froi said. And Quintana, he thought. And his son.

He saw the uncertainty in Arjuro’s expression.

‘Do you think I should have stayed in Paladozza?’ Froi asked. ‘That I put Quintana’s life at risk?’

Arjuro studied him and shook his head.

‘There are so many awful possibilities. So many. But none worse than Quintana and the babe being in the hands of the Sorellians. Wasn’t that what you said Feliciano of Avanosh and his uncle planned?

‘And if you had taken Gargarin with you, they would have trained their arrows on him first. Intelligence and goodwill are Bestiano’s greatest enemies; he will kill my brother before he kills anyone else in this land. Gar is Bestiano’s greatest competitor for a place in the palace, as reluctant as he is to return there. You did the right thing.’

‘But I failed,’ Froi said, pained to think of how much he had. ‘You don’t know how that feels.’

Arjuro’s laugh was humourless. ‘You are saying those words to the wrong man, Froi. Failure is more of a twin to me than my own brother.’

Two days later, a messenger returned from Paladozza with a letter addressed to Arjuro. Froi watched him open it and noticed that Arjuro’s hands trembled.

‘Read it aloud. Hurry,’ Froi ordered.

‘What if it’s private?’ Arjuro argued. ‘It’s addressed to me. See. Arjuro,’ he added, pointing to his name on the note.

‘Read!’

Arjuro sighed.

‘Just so you know, De Lancey always gets carried away in his letters,’ he muttered.

Froi tried to snatch the parchment from him, but Arjuro stepped away.

‘Dear Ari,’ he read. Arjuro cleared his voice, hesitating a moment. ‘Quintana is not with us. We, too, have sent out messengers to Jidia and the Turlan Mountains, as well as Lascow, but each returns with no idea of her whereabouts. She has disappeared from existence and we hold grave fears for her life.’

Froi held his head in his hands. When Arjuro didn’t read on, he looked up.

‘Read,’ he said quietly.

Arjuro continued. ‘Gargarin and Lirah have left …’

‘What?’ Froi demanded, reaching for the letter. ‘Let me read.’

Arjuro held up a hand to silence him.

‘Your brother has been corresponding with the Belegonians. After writing a countless number of letters to every contact he had in the palace, the Belegonians have finally responded. A messenger of the King has agreed to meet Gar at an inn on the Charyn–Osteria river border.’

Froi didn’t like the news at all. How could Gargarin imagine he could protect Lirah and himself from enemies both inside and outside Charyn?

‘He shouldn’t have left,’ he raged at Arjuro. ‘He was supposed to stay safe in Paladozza.’ Froi paced the cave, fearing the absolute worse. ‘Doesn’t he know how dangerous it is to be travelling through the kingdom these days?’