‘You want to make a good king?’ Gargarin asked. ‘One of sound mind? One who knows he was loved so he can love his people in return? One who understands justice and the sacrifice of those who came before him? Then treat his mother as a queen.’
Froi watched the others, his heart pounding with a truth he had never acknowledged before.
He loved Gargarin of Abroi. Never more than this moment.
No one spoke.
The Provincaro of Sebastabol cleared his throat. ‘I want us to make a good king.’
‘As do I,’ De Lancey said.
‘As we all do,’ Orlanda said.
Gargarin waited for everyone’s agreement.
‘Then allow Quintana of Charyn to raise her child. Acknowledge her as the Queen until her son takes a bride. Teach the people of Charyn that there is order in that palace … not what we have experienced for the last three generations, where kings either refused to wed the mother of their children or did as they pleased. We need Belegonia and Osteria and Lumatere and every other kingdom to look up to our throne and see dignity and a new order.’
Gargarin held out his hand for his staff and Froi gave it to him.
‘When you have something to offer the future of this kingdom,’ Gargarin said. ‘I may just agree to be who you want me to be.’
‘What are you truly hoping to achieve here?’ Froi asked quietly as they made their way out of the residence.
‘That they give us an army to go search for her,’ Gargarin said. ‘What are your thoughts?’
‘You’re right,’ Froi said.
Gargarin stopped, his stare hard. ‘Why am I right all of a sudden, Froi?’
Froi didn’t know how to respond.
‘What now?’ he mumbled instead.
‘Let’s take Lirah out for a treat.’
Sebastabol wasn’t as pretty a city as Paladozza. It was seedier and filthier in parts, but Froi liked the winding cobblestoned paths and the liveliness of it all. Despite the blistering cold, the sea breeze was invigorating, and he could almost taste the salt on his tongue as they walked along the shore. The port was bustling as men lugged merchandise off ships.
‘We were obsessed,’ Gargarin said, holding Lirah close to him for warmth as they sat on the shore. ‘Arjuro and I. We were convinced we’d live a life at sea. We’d build ourselves a boat and head off into the beyond.’ He grinned at them. ‘The closest we came was Arjuro drawing it all on the walls of our hovel.’
‘I was on a boat on the straits once,’ Froi said, looking out to where men were carrying willow pots of strange-looking orange sea creatures from one of the barges.
Lirah and Gargarin seemed surprised.
‘Yes, yes. Good times, indeed. I spent most of the trip with my head over the side vomiting.’ Froi nodded. ‘True. And then we came round the straits and travelled upriver into Yutlind Sud and the spirit warriors attacked and killed our crew and wounded Finn, who would have died if it wasn’t for Isaboe … well, Evanjalin. She begged for his life.’ Froi sighed. ‘I miss those days.’
‘What a ridiculous story,’ Lirah said.
‘It’s true!’ he laughed.
They stood among the fishermen, watching them store the writhing eels in barrels of salt. One of the men held out a basket of strange shells to them and Gargarin took a handful and broke one open, slurping the slug-like substance down his throat. Froi nearly gagged to watch him. Gargarin offered one to Lirah, who seemed just as disgusted.
‘It’s an ormer,’ he said, laughing. ‘The look on both your faces is priceless. Go on,’ he said, offering one to Froi.
‘I’d rather eat dirt.’
Gargarin laughed again, and there was something so normal about them all being together.
They arrived back at their inn early that evening, still laughing about the strength of Gargarin’s stomach after his consumption of some of the vilest food Froi had ever seen.
‘Morsels,’ Gargarin corrected as they climbed the steps to their room. Froi stopped suddenly, holding up a hand to silence them both. They waited and heard the creak of the floorboards above. Theirs was the only room up these final steps, and he silently retrieved a dagger and crept up to the top where the door of their room was slightly ajar. He turned back to the others, holding up his hand again to still them, and seconds later he kicked open the door and came face to face with De Lancey, the Provincaro of Sebastabol, and their guards.
‘Bit dramatic, these Lumaterans,’ De Lancey murmured, getting to his feet. ‘Gar!’ he called out.
Gargarin and Lirah appeared at the top of the steps looking slightly hesitant. De Lancey stepped out onto the landing to greet them. ‘Promise you’ll agree to everything, Gar,’ he said quietly.
‘I won’t promise anything at all until I hear what you have to offer and you agree to what I want,’ Gargarin replied.
Inside the room, the Provincaro of Sebastabol looked slightly uncomfortable in so small a space.
‘We’ll make this brief, Gargarin,’ he said.
‘Please do.’
‘Quintana of Charyn will be referred to as the Queen and will raise her child in the palace.’
Froi felt hopeful, but when his eyes caught De Lancey’s, the Provincaro looked away.
‘She will hold no power, of course,’ the Provincaro of Sebastabol said. ‘And she will be wed to the right consort when she’s settled in the palace with the child. A man of title, but not a Charynite. We must let nothing divide the provinces and there must not be an imbalance of power in the palace. This consort will provide guidance and stability in the life of the King if it’s a boy she births. If it’s a girl, let’s hope that if she succeeded the first time, she … the Queen can do it again with the man she is wed to.’
Froi could hardly breathe. He always knew it would come to this, but it shattered him to hear the words that some other man would raise his son and father another child of Quintana’s.
‘The little King, if one is to be born, will be instructed by a regent until the age of fifteen. A regent unaffiliated to any province. When he comes of age, the little King will take control of Charyn. Until that time, decisions on how to run this kingdom will be made by the Provincari together. They will each have an ambassador living in the palace … to keep an eye on things.’
De Lancey still refused to meet any of their eyes and Froi knew the worst was yet to come.
‘We will have no control over the Oracle’s godshouse, but hope that the union between the palace and the godshouse will be strong,’ the Provincaro of Sebastabol continued. ‘We believe this is possible if Arjuro of Abroi is made Head Priest of the gods-house and you, Gargarin, are the regent of the little King.’
Gargarin was silent.
‘Take time to think it over,’ the Provincaro of Sebastabol said. ‘You’ll be staying a while, I presume.’
Gargarin nodded. ‘We’ll speak soon, then.’
The Provincaro shook Gargarin’s hand and walked to the door.
‘One more thing,’ the man said.
‘There’s always one more thing,’ Gargarin muttered and they waited.
‘Most agreed … that the Serker whore is prohibited from living in the palace, regardless of her motherly ties to the Queen.’
The only relief Froi felt at the Provincaro’s words was that no one suspected the strange circumstances of Quintana and Froi’s birth. As far as the kingdom was concerned, Lirah had birthed Quintana, not the Oracle Queen.
‘It was you who gave us that idea, Gargarin,’ the Provincaro said. ‘We will be teaching our people new ways and it’s best that we teach them a whore did not beget their queen. We will show our neighbouring kingdoms that our palace is not a place of ill repute. So that one day they’ll forget. A whore has no place in a palace.’
Froi flew at the man, but was pulled away and held down by the guards. The room was silent except for the sound of Froi’s own breathing, rasping with fury.
‘You take back calling Lirah a whore,’ Gargarin said, his tone ice-cold.
