‘If he sees you like this, he’ll blame me.’
The woman wrapped her arms around her body miserably. ‘Shouldn’t have let them go,’ she said quietly.
It was as though Finnikin didn’t exist and although he tried his hardest, he couldn’t keep his eyes off them both. Before him was love and contempt and yearning and it filled the air.
Then the food came, yet there was still no acknowledgement from the Charynites.
‘Did we organise to meet so I could watch you eat?’ Finnikin asked finally.
Gargarin lifted his eyes from his plate and stared. ‘Your army is waiting to cross the border from Osteria,’ he said, ice in his tone. ‘You have our people running scared. A strange turn of events since we exchanged letters.’
‘Yes, you’re quite the letter writer,’ Finnikin said, cursing the Belegonians for persisting with their plan to invade, despite Isaboe’s objections. ‘Give me something to offer my king and I may be able to speak to him about his eager soldiers.’
The woman spat at Finnikin.
‘Offer him that,’ she said.
Finnikin refused to allow his anger to surface. ‘That’s very rude,’ he said, wiping the spittle from his face. ‘Especially since, unlike you, leftovers are my least favourite.’
‘We promised you peace between our kingdoms, unheard of for at least thirty years,’ Gargarin said. ‘Why would Belegonia not take advantage of such a pledge?’
‘But what if Bestiano is offering Belegonia the same?’ Finnikin asked.
Through the information collected about Charyn, Finnikin knew that the battle for the palace would take place between two men. Bestiano of Nebia and Gargarin of Abroi.
‘Bestiano was the dead King’s advisor,’ Gargarin said. ‘Why would he offer Belegonia peace now when he had years to offer it while the King was alive? He wants something from you and he’ll promise you nothing but lies.’
‘And what do you want from us in return?’
‘A powerful ally. The Osterians are weak. They’ll give in to the Sorellians one day and we will all be left unprotected. What happens when the Sorellians cross the sea to invade your kingdom?’
‘We’ll have the Lumaterans. They’re our allies and neighbours.’
Gargarin of Abroi shrugged arrogantly. ‘Lumatere’s not a kingdom. It’s a road.’ He smiled. ‘Would you not agree?’
‘You’re forcing words in my mouth, sir,’ Finnikin said, keeping his tone even. ‘Is this a trap by the Lumaterans to test our allegiance?’
‘No, just a jest enjoyed by most Charynites and Belegonians I know.’
‘We must have a different sense of humour,’ Finnikin said, his hands clenched under the bench.
‘Oh no,’ the Charynite said. ‘Your kingdom and mine? Power and size ensures we have the same sense of humour. We all agree that Lumatere is insignificant except when it comes to its coal.’
That was all Lumatere ever was to Charyn. A road to Sarnak. A road to Belegonia and a coalmine. Murder Isaboe’s family, replace them with a puppet king who would give them a path to wherever they wanted to go. Finnikin swallowed, hardly able to speak from the fury.
‘So what will we get out of acknowledging you as regent?’ he asked Gargarin.
‘I never claimed to be regent. I’m here to speak for Charyn until the day that someone sound of mind is placed in charge. And you need an ally. Against Sorel to your east, and those Yut madmen to your south, who are going to bring the whole of Skuldenore down. United, we could be powerful. Divided, this land does not stand a chance.’
The only thing this Charynite and Finnikin had in common was the belief that Skuldenore would work better together than alone.
‘Call off the army,’ Gargarin said. ‘For now, that’s all we ask. Give us a chance to stand on our feet.’
Finnikin stood. ‘I’ll take you to the border. You may get the chance to call them off yourself.’
‘Then you accept the offer?’
‘I need to speak to the King,’ Finnikin said. ‘He didn’t seem to trust your letters and he wanted some sort of certainty that this wasn’t a trap.’
Finnikin held out a hand to shake.
‘But how do we know this isn’t a trap?’ Gargarin asked, not taking the hand outstretched. ‘That you aren’t playing Bestiano against us?’
‘You don’t. But many say that Bestiano of Nebia became First Advisor because the King sent his better men to Lumatere thirteen years ago, only to have them trapped by the curse. We don’t make treaties with last-resort advisors. You, however, were said to be everything a king wanted, and you walked away from it all. The Belegonian King is impressed.’
‘Well, there you go,’ Gargarin of Abroi said. ‘Always pleased to impress a foreign enemy. The King of Yutlind Nord remarked quite emphatically that he found me smarter than most men, and expressed great pity that he could not come to our assistance because he hated the Charynites as much as he hated his countrymen from the south.’
‘And how is it that you know the King of Yutlind Nord?’
‘Well, you see,’ Gargarin said, leaning closer to feign a conspiratorial whisper, ‘I’m a bit of a letter writer.’
Finnikin was being mocked. The only person who got away with mocking him was Froi and perhaps Perri. This man slightly intrigued him, which was unfortunate when Finnikin knew what was to take place this night. It actually made him feel sick to the stomach.
‘So when do I get to meet someone more important than you?’ Gargarin asked.
‘More important than me?’ Finnikin scoffed. ‘According to my wife, there is no one more important than me.’
A ghost of a smile appeared on the Charynite’s face.
‘Keep that wife.’
Finnikin stood.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
‘Hand him his staff,’ the woman ordered.
Finnikin stared at it.
‘You need it?’ he asked Gargarin.
‘Yes, well, it is a walking stick, fool.’
Finnikin had never killed an unarmed man with a limp before. Apart from training with the Guard and an incident with drunk yokels in Sarnak the year before on palace business, he hadn’t used a weapon since the battle to reclaim Lumatere. He was good with a sword. Not as good as Trevanion’s Guard, but better than most men. But he had never assassinated a man. It made him think of all those times Trevanion, Perri and Froi had done so on palace orders over the years. His and Isaboe’s. Sometimes the men would return from their mission and he’d sense a change in his father. A mood so dark. Perri always disappeared for days after and Froi … Froi would have a vacant look in his eye. As if he had lost a bit of himself.
Outside the inn, Finnikin watched the man and woman before him. They were of the same height. Both reed thin. And they loved each other. That was the fact Finnikin wanted to forget. That he was about to assassinate a man who loved someone. Who was gentle with her and cared whether she ate or not. But Finnikin remembered the stories of past leaders from the books of the ancients. The kindest of fathers were often the greatest butchers of innocent women and children.
When they reached the clearing, Finnikin saw Perri and his father. Unlike Gargarin of Abroi, he knew where to look for them in the shadow of the trees. And before he could change his mind, Finnikin had one arm around the Charynite’s shoulders, the other hand holding a dagger at his throat. Finnikin kicked away the man’s staff and Gargarin of Abroi’s body slumped against him.
He heard a sound from the woman as Perri’s hand muffled her cry and pulled her away.
‘Don’t hurt her!’ Gargarin said. Almost ordered. ‘Just let her go. She’s of no use to Bestiano. She’s suffered enough. If you have any compassion, let her go.’
