Quintana of Charyn

Arjuro looked just as unhappy about the news. He went back to the letter.

‘You may want to know that two weeks ago, your moronic horse-arse father arrived, demanding to see you and Gar. My guard had his heinous self escorted from the province, cursing you both to oblivion. As much as your leaving angers me still, I was relieved you weren’t here to see him …’

Arjuro stopped reading aloud.

‘What?’ Froi demanded. ‘What are you keeping from me?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re hiding something, Arjuro.’

Froi snatched the letter from Arjuro, pointing a furious finger at his face.

‘You keep nothing from me, do you hear?’ Froi said, his eyes fixed on the page. An instant later he handed back the letter sheepishly. There was a hint of a smile on Arjuro’s face.

‘The letter was addressed to me, runt. See here,’ he said, pointing. ‘Arjuro.’

Froi’s face felt warm. ‘Yes, well, I thought you left on bad terms. I didn’t expect him to express himself so … explicitly.’

Arjuro folded the letter. Something told Froi that Arjuro and De Lancey expressed themselves explicitly whether they were on speaking terms or not.

‘Perhaps it’s best I read it in privacy,’ Arjuro said.

Chapter 6

Isaboe watched Jasmina and Vestie play among the children of the Fenton house staff. After weeks of preparation, Beatriss had finally moved into the village. The manor house was large and the children raced from room to room, giddy with excitement. Beatriss showed Isaboe the home while Lady Abian helped Tarah in the kitchen, listing every item that had arrived to stock the larder.

In the library, there was a portrait of Lord Selric and his family, and Isaboe studied their faces sombrely.

‘I’ve decided to keep it there,’ Beatriss said softly. ‘They’re as much part of this village as we are now.’

‘I hardly remember them, you know,’ Isaboe said. ‘Pretty girls.’ She tried not to think Lord Selric’s daughters would have been a year or two younger than her own sisters when the entire family died from plague during their exile in Charyn. She reached out to touch the painting. The replicas of Isaboe’s family in the palace had been desecrated during the curse by the impostor King. There was not one likeness left of them, and some days she could hardly recall their faces.

Abian called out from the other room and they joined her in the kitchen.

‘Your husband comes to this union with one box?’ she asked, glancing at Trevanion’s chest sitting on the bench.

Beatriss laughed. ‘Two uniforms. One image of me drawn when we were first betrothed fifteen years ago; one of Finnikin’s mother, Bartolina; a lock of Finnikin’s hair as a child; and a fishing rod. His kingdom, his river and his family. “Who needs anything else?” he says.’

‘Where would you like them?’ Abian asked.

‘I’d like you to sit, Abian,’ Beatriss said. ‘We’ve not spoken for so long and I just want to sit and enjoy my time with my friends.’

‘Yes,’ Isaboe said shrewdly, glancing at Abian. ‘So would I. At times I think you’re avoiding me. Lord August, too.’

‘Trevanion has spoken of the same thing,’ Beatriss said with a meaningful look.

Abian continued her counting and recording of the grain sacks.

‘Is your silence about Celie?’ Isaboe asked.

Abian was not one for restraint, but finished what she was writing before giving them her full attention.

‘August is livid,’ she said. ‘And I can’t say I’m too happy about it, either. Our daughter spying for the Belegonians!’

‘It’s not spying at all,’ Isaboe said in a light tone with a shrug. ‘It’s stealing mail. Jasmina steals mail all the time. She loves the colourful seals on the notes, and days later we find the most important of letters in obscure places around the palace.’

Abian seemed in no mood for humour, but Isaboe was in no mood for wasting time. ‘We would never put Celie’s life in danger. Stealing the mail was her idea. And this anger … your anger, is not about Celie. You and August distanced yourselves from me long before Celie gave us the news from Belegonia.’

Abian collected the records and placed them on a shelf built into the wall.

‘This matter with Froi …’

Isaboe stiffened. She shook her head, not wanting to hear another word.

‘Well, if you must know, it’s affected us all,’ Abian said. ‘Froi’s been part of our family all these years and then suddenly he was gone, sent away on some mission to Sarnak, which we then find out is Charyn. We’ve waited all autumn and it’s almost winter’s end and still he’s not home. Now there’s talk about Froi collaborating with the tyrant who was behind the slaughter in this kingdom. Talon and the boys are furious to hear those words from others. Froi is a brother to them and it’s too much to bear.’

‘He doesn’t belong to you, Abian.’

‘How can you say that, my queen? Does one have to be blood kin to be considered family? We love him as a son. Celie and the boys miss him terribly. Celie’s reckless actions are a reflection of how she’s feeling. She wants to know where the brother of her heart is and stays in the Belegonian court for any whiff of information about Charyn.’

‘Celie has a reckless spirit, Abian. She inherited that from you, despite her pretty politeness and quiet ways. You should celebrate the fact that she’s her mother’s daughter.’

But Isaboe could see Abian didn’t want to hear it.

‘Will it always be my children, Your Majesty? Augie’s and mine? First Froi and next Celie, and then the boys. Do you know what they say in the Belegonian and Sarnak and Osterian courts? Probably in Charyn, too? That the children of a Lumateran Flatland lord are a prize in this land. Sired by the gods themselves, and the perfect marriage match. It’s as close to Lumateran royalty as one can find. Are all my children going to be sacrificed for the protection of this kingdom?’

Isaboe heard a sad sigh from Beatriss, but she was too angry to care.

‘Yes,’ she said coldly. ‘Your children will be used to impress our neighbours, Lady Abian,’ she added, stressing the formality. ‘And I’ll watch you closely, as will Finnikin. You and Lord August will be our guides. So when the time comes for our daughter to be given to a useless son of a foreign king to keep this kingdom safe, I’ll know how to hold back my tears because I will have learnt from you!’

There was stone-cold silence in the room.

Jasmina and Vestie came racing back, giggling and panting with fatigue. But as they did, Jasmina tripped and fell, her head hitting the floor. Abian was closest, picking her up in her arms as they all crowded around, soothing Jasmina’s cries with words and soft kisses. Finally Abian placed her in Isaboe’s arms and pressed a kiss to both their cheeks.

‘I spoke out of line.’ Abian shook her head with regret. ‘But promise me that Trevanion and Perri have not been sent to Charyn to …’

‘Abian, enough,’ Beatriss said, sorrow in her voice. ‘Froi means everything to the Guard. To Isaboe and Finnikin and all of us. If he’s done any wrong, he will be dealt with here. Fairly.’

Isaboe rocked her daughter in her arms. ‘It always ends in tears, my love,’ she murmured. ‘All this silliness ends in tears.’

When everything was calm except for Jasmina’s quiet sobs, Tarah served them sweet bread and honey brew and they sat talking a while about Beatriss and Vestie’s time on the mountain.

Vestie came to stand by them, brushing Jasmina’s cheek with a gentle hand until the little sobs were merely hiccups.

‘Is it true I’m her aunt?’ Vestie asked.