the Provincari when I was in Paladozza.’
De Lancey waved a hand of irritation. ‘Gargarin, don’t pick a fight. I’m annoyed enough with all of you,’ he said. ‘How did you know I was here anyway?’ he added.
‘We’re not in Sebastabol for you, De Lancey. We’re here to pass on a message from the Priests of Trist, who aren’t too happy about such a gathering taking place without them.’
De Lancey ushered them in and they followed him up a set of winding steps.
‘This is a Provincari’s meeting, last I was told,’ De Lancey argued. ‘Since when do the Priests make decisions in this kingdom, Gargarin?’
‘Since when do the Provincari?’ Gargarin responded.
De Lancey reached the top of the steps, staring down at them both. ‘Since we don’t have a king, and our princess has disappeared carrying the possible heir!’
Froi stiffened, knowing he wasn’t mistaken in hearing an accusation.
‘I hope this means you’re combining your armies,’ Gargarin said.
De Lancey hesitated and shook his head.
‘It just means we’re finding common ground,’ he replied. ‘And you’re here at the right time. They were overjoyed to hear you had been sighted.’
They walked down a long torchlit passageway, from which Froi could see a short walkway leading into another section of the residence.
‘Just agree to everything they say, Gargarin,’ De Lancey said softly. ‘We need to be unanimous about matters and you seem to be the only thing we agree upon.’
‘Is Grij here with you?’ Froi asked quietly.
De Lancey shook his head. ‘I’ve sent him and Tippideaux to … a safe house. We’re going to ground in Paladozza. Bestiano is desperate to find Quintana and with the help of Nebia’s army, he may just do so.’ De Lancey’s expression was bleak. ‘Did you know the Belegonians are on our doorstep, Gar? I thought you were travelling to the border to strike up a deal.’
‘Things changed,’ Gargarin said. ‘But for now Lumatere, at least, is not a threat to us. I can’t speak for the future, but their immediate plan is not to invade from the north.’
They stepped inside a large hall that afforded them a view of the ocean from three sides of the room. In its centre was a long bench that sat at least eight people. The individual guards of each province stood close to their Provincaro, watching suspiciously for any threat from another. At the head of the table was an older man with skin weathered by the sea, who was presumably the Provincaro of Sebastabol. He stood and walked towards them, extending a hand to Gargarin.
‘It’s as if we conjured you up, Gargarin,’ he said. The man’s eyes rested on Froi.
‘Is this the Lumateran impostor?’ the man asked. ‘How could he have ever passed as a Sebastabolion?’
‘How could a Sebastabolion lastborn betray the mother of our cursebreaker?’ Gargarin asked in return.
The Provincaro’s mouth was a thin line of anger.
‘Olivier no longer exists for us. He will never have a place here again and his entire family has been banished. He has a price on his head, and if he shows his face there’ll be a noose to greet him.’
Froi wasn’t expecting to hear such a definitive punishment. It made his stomach lurch regardless of how he felt about Olivier of Sebastabol.
‘Who is he really?’ the Provincaro asked Gargarin, indicating Froi with a toss of his head.
‘Froi of the Lumateran Flatlands,’ Gargarin replied without missing a beat. ‘He’s my personal guard, if you must know. But from a Lumateran perspective, he was sent as a spy, so until we can get him back to his people we’re going to have to keep him safe.’
Part of it was truth and part a lie. Gargarin’s purpose, however, was unclear. Why was it so important to Gargarin that the Provincari knew Froi was a Lumateran?
The Provincaro was studying Gargarin suspiciously. ‘And you trust him?’
‘He does me a favour. I do him a favour,’ Gargarin said. ‘It’s a good arrangement.’
The Provincaro indicated the room. Froi recognised one or two faces, and then he froze at the same time Gargarin spoke.
‘What’s he doing here?’ Gargarin demanded. ‘He’s not a Provincaro.’
Vinzenzo of Avanosh was sitting smugly beside Orlanda of Jidia. Froi had met him in Paladozza and hadn’t trusted him from the moment the man arrived with his family and nephew, Feliciano. Avanosh was an island off Charyn and Sorel, considered neutral despite being part of Charyn long ago. When the Avanosh lot had come with talk of Feliciano being Quintana’s Consort and rumours the island was aligned with the kingdom of Sorel, Froi had decided to escape with Quintana.
‘In these times of turmoil, we all agree that Avanosh has much to offer Charyn,’ Vinzenzo of Avanosh said. ‘I’m afraid we didn’t get to meet in Paladozza, Gargarin. You were ill, I hear.’
Vinzenzo looked around the table. ‘Yes, I do recall the dead King’s Serker whore mentioned it.’
There was whispering among those sitting around the table and Froi watched Gargarin’s hand clench his staff.
‘Sit, Gargarin,’ De Lancey ordered.
Froi wasn’t invited to sit, so he waited for a signal from Gargarin, who merely handed him the staff. Froi took it and went to stand beside one of De Lancey’s guards by the entrance.
‘We’re here to make decisions about the new Charyn,’ the Provincaro of Sebastabol said, once he was seated again. ‘A new Charyn that will exist, both if a king is born and if she gives birth to a girl child –’
‘Her Majesty Quintana of Charyn,’ Gargarin interrupted.
They all looked at him questioningly.
‘She is the Queen,’ Gargarin continued. ‘She was married to Tariq of Lascow, the heir. So it’s best that we refer to her as the Queen of Charyn. I stressed that to Orlanda and De Lancey when we were guests in their provinces.’
The Provincari looked uncomfortable and Froi watched them find each other’s eyes across the table.
The Provincaro of Sebastabol cleared his throat. ‘What’s important is that we decide –’
‘What’s important,’ Gargarin interrupted again, ‘is that Quintana of Charyn is acknowledged as the Queen. She is carrying the cursebreaker and possibly our future King.’
‘Regardless of her title, she has no power,’ Orlanda of Jidia said.
‘Move on,’ one of the other men ordered gruffly. It could only have been the Provincaro of Alonso. Phaedra’s father. Grief-stricken and bitter.
Froi watched Gargarin push back his chair and stand, slightly unbalanced on his feet. Froi reached him and handed him his staff.
‘Then my time here is wasted,’ Gargarin said.
There was dismay from most occupants of the room.
‘What are you doing, Gargarin?’
‘Sit, sit.’
Gargarin shook his head. ‘I’m here to pass on a message from the Priests of Trist who believe that they have a role in the new Charyn. It would be to your best advantage to include them. The people of Charyn will want the Oracle’s godshouse reopened and working alongside whoever is in the palace. That is my duty done. But if you would like me to stay to discuss the new Charyn, which will exist after the Queen of Charyn gives birth to the cursebreaker, then I will stay.’
Everyone nodded, except Vinzenzo of Avanosh.
‘But only if Quintana of Charyn is acknowledged as the Queen,’ Gargarin continued. ‘Are you writing that down, scribe? We have a Queen and regardless of how powerless she is, that is her title. It will be the title her people will become used to and a strange thing happens when people become used to good things. They forget who she was in the past and get used to who she will be in the future. The mother of the King. The first mother of Charyn. Trust me, gentlemen, and Orlanda, if Quintana of Charyn survives, she will be the new Charyn. She will have the people of the Citavita eating out of her hands. One hand anyway. The other will be holding the cursebreaker, a reminder that he or she has ended eighteen years of barren misery.’
He swayed, not having taken his staff, and Froi placed Gargarin’s arm around his shoulder to prop him up.
