Quintana of Charyn

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Froi asked, looking back at him angrily. ‘To make me feel better about my lack of faith in myself?’

Gargarin rubbed a palm over his eyes with frustration.

‘I’m telling you because you’re punishing yourself over and over again. You caught eight barbs in your body to keep her safe, Froi. That’s enough.’

‘I lost her.’ Froi was on his feet. ‘Do you understand? I lost her. Tariq would never have lost her.’

‘Tariq would never have left that cave in the Citavita. You take chances, Froi. When you were five years old you went out into that filthy Sarnak capital and survived. Let’s pray to the gods that Quintana listened to everything you had to teach her.’

Froi shook his head with frustration.

‘We could look at the side of wonder,’ Gargarin said.

‘What?’ Froi asked, as if Gargarin had gone insane.

‘Well, let’s say that instead of losing her, you gave her a chance to escape,’ Gargarin explained. ‘That’s the side of wonder.’

Froi heard a sound behind them and Lirah was there.

‘Since when do you look at the side of wonder?’ Froi asked.

‘I’m trying very hard,’ Gargarin said, scowling. ‘It’s irritating me, but I’m not giving up. I try to think of a wondrous thought every day when I wake, if you’d really like to know.’

‘Yes, it’s very annoying, but slightly contagious,’ Lirah said.

Froi couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘It’s true,’ Gargarin said. ‘And now even Lirah is saying, “Let’s look at the side of wonder as opposed to the disastrous.”’

Froi wondered if they were mocking him.

‘Lirah?’ he asked, looking up at her. ‘You are the least wondrous-thinking person I’ve ever met.’

Lirah looked irritated. ‘Well, if you’d really like to know, I used to skip as a child and collect poppies. Sometimes I think deep down there’s an idiot inside of me who wants to laugh.’

For some ridiculous reason, Froi wanted to laugh now.

‘Do you want to know this morning’s wondrous thought according to Gargarin?’ she asked. Gargarin looked uncomfortable.

Lirah stood before Froi and held a hand to his face. ‘He said, “Well, at least the three of us are together.”’

Froi was silent and then gazed at Gargarin, who merely shrugged as if to admit guilt at such a ridiculous thought. Hope. Hope. Hope. Rothen of Nebia had written it on his grandfather’s ceiling. Froi saw the hope in Gargarin’s eyes. He imagined a time when Arjuro would be with them. And Quintana. And the babe. Could they endure anything if they were together?

‘You want a decision?’ Froi asked.

Gargarin’s mood changed in an instant. He nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘We’re nothing without an army. The Queen of Lumatere’s greatest accomplishment in exile was reuniting Trevanion with Finn and his men to take back Lumatere. I saw it. We walked into death camps and exile camps and the moment the Lumaterans saw Trevanion and the Guard they’d follow us in an instant. I say we go to Serker.’

Lirah looked surprised.

‘When I was with Tariq, he spoke of an army in the centre of the land,’ Froi said. ‘I’ve dreamt of him often these nights. It’s a sign.’

‘I’ll speak to De Lancey –’

‘De Lancey’s a weakness,’ Froi said flatly. ‘Your news about Arjuro’s imprisonment will slow him down. We go now.’

Chapter 18

Isaboe heard the sound of the horses and knew Finnikin had returned.

‘My queen,’ Rhiannon said, and there was a reprimand in her lady’s-maid’s voice. ‘You know it’s best to come out here. They’re approaching … and he’s sneezing.’

Finnikin and Isaboe had observed a ritual ever since they moved into the palace. She’d wait in the courtyard to welcome him if he had been away for more than a day or two. He said it was the first thing he looked for. It meant he was truly home.

Isaboe finished the document she was preparing for the Sarnaks and put down her pen, joining Rhiannon on the balcony. And there he was and her heart pounded. All of these years and her heart still pounded out of control at the sight of him. She had felt it that day in Sendecane almost four years past when she first saw him in the cloister. He had an irritated expression on his face when he discovered she was a girl. Even as a child when her brother and cousin would insist on dragging her around to be part of their mischief her heart would beat hard at the sight of Finnikin of the Rock.

Today she watched him hunched over his horse, sneezing into his kerchief.

‘He looks quite ill,’ Rhiannon said. ‘He’s always so … needy when he’s ill.’

‘Pitifully so.’

‘It’s a trait of the rock people, I’m afraid,’ Rhiannon said. She was from the Rock herself and was the best authority to say so.

‘Could you prepare a bath, Rhiannon? I’ll take care of the rest.’

Isaboe watched as he glanced up, not quite as sheepishly as she would have liked, but she did see his shoulders relax at the sight of her. It had been weeks since he left in rage and she still felt raw from the accusation he had made before they parted. She felt raw from everything. She remembered the time she had carried Jasmina in her belly, when the future had felt promising. But this time was different and she didn’t know how to put it into words. This fear. This premonition of doom.

She went back inside to where Rhiannon was pouring water into the tub and she waited. She knew him well. Now that his father no longer lived in the palace they would speak for some time at the stables about the outcome of their travels.

A short while later he shuffled into the chamber, and she could see his relief that the tub was filled. She imagined he was cold to the bone. His clothing seemed to weigh him down. Wordlessly she approached him and unhooked his fleece cloak, pushing it from his shoulders and dropping it to the ground, and then she pulled free his shirt. He held up his arms as she dragged it over his head, his eyes on her the whole time. Her hands went to the fastening of his trousers and his head bent towards hers, but she turned her face away, though not before she caught the flash in his eyes. Then he stepped out of his clothing and climbed into the steaming water with a deep sigh of pleasure. Isaboe crouched beside him and her hand tugged his hair back.

‘If you ever walk out of this palace accusing me of disloyalty to our spousal bed again, I’ll tear you apart, piece by piece.’

A hand as quick as hers gripped her face. ‘And if you wake with another man’s name on your lips again, I’ll tear him apart, piece by piece.’ His mouth was hard on hers but she matched his force and then he let go, lifting a hand to trace her lips with his thumb. She gently pushed him back and tended to him and she could see his eyes on the opening of her shift that allowed him a glimpse of the curve of her body, ripe with their child. He reached to clench her garment in a fist. ‘Take it off,’ he begged hoarsely. ‘Please.’ And she lifted it over her head and climbed into the tub, straddling his thighs as his hands wandered over her swollen belly. He pressed a kiss against it before taking her face between his hands, his mouth back on hers. She felt a hunger from him like never before, their mouths greedy for anything they could take, and when she moved above him, he thrust into her and she covered his mouth with her hand to stop his cries echoing across the quiet chamber to where their guard stood outside.

Later, they lay in each other’s arms in their bed. She pressed her lips against his pale chest, tracing a finger across a new bruise or two.