‘My queen …’
‘Yes, my king?’
‘I’m dying,’ he groaned.
She laughed.
‘You’ve caught a chill because you weren’t wearing an under-shirt, and every year you catch a chill for the same reason and you believe you’re dying. It’s a common cold, my love. The type that men catch. The one they believe is killing them.’
‘I’m speaking the truth. I am dying. My nose is red raw and my throat …’ He made a choking sound. ‘It hurts,’ he said hoarsely. ‘And you mock me when all I need is your tender care.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t go home with your father and have Beatriss fuss over you.’
His arms bound tightly around her. ‘If I spent one more night away from my wife I would have just laid down and died.’
She chuckled. ‘Ah, you’re a clever man for saying all the right things.’
She covered them both with a blanket and he tucked her in the crook of his arm.
‘Tell me everything,’ she said quietly.
‘From the sounds of things you’ve got as much to tell me.’
She tried to find the words, but still hadn’t spoken them aloud.
‘Tesadora … and I are no longer on speaking terms,’ she finally said.
‘Because she’s befriended a strange Charynite in the valley? That doesn’t sound enough of a reason for you to break with someone you love as dearly as you do that hostile woman.’ He peered down at her. ‘Why are there so many hostile women in this land?’
‘You’re not very good with women, Finnikin. Your father, on the other hand, has them eating out of his hands, but you’re just hopeless.’
‘I am not.’
‘This is how my Mont womenfolk refer to you,’ she said, doing an exaggerated movement with her eyes and mouth.
He laughed. ‘You are ridiculous and we’re digressing from Tesadora’s strange friend.’
Isaboe turned to face him.
‘Are you ready for this?’ she asked.
‘After the tales I’ve heard in Charyn, I’m ready for anything,’ he said.
‘Tesadora is hiding the Princess of Charyn from the Charynites.’
‘Mercy!’ Finnikin sat up, stunned.
She nodded.
‘You mean Quintana of Charyn has been here all along?’ he asked.
Isaboe looked at him, confused and irritated.
‘That wasn’t quite the response I was expecting,’ she said.
Finnikin sighed. ‘We found Froi. With Gargarin of Abroi, who isn’t exactly the man we thought he was.’
‘And how certain are we of that?’ she asked.
‘Quite certain. All three of us agree that we could have made a catastrophic error.’
‘I wouldn’t exactly call killing a Charynite a catastrophic error,’ she said.
‘Are you ready for this?’ he asked.
‘I’m ready for anything,’ she said, but she felt the doubt of her own words. When it came to Froi, she wasn’t quite sure.
‘Gargarin of Abroi is not just a Charynite, Isaboe. He’s Froi’s father.’
‘What?’ She sat up instantly.
‘I met the mother as well.’
‘Awful woman. Beautiful beyond comprehension, but awful. Spat at me. Granted, I was about to kill her lover, but still … she hated me at first sight. But beautiful. Achingly beautiful.’
‘Yes, I do think I’ve got the point about her being beautiful,’ Isaboe said. ‘But tell me of Froi. How would he know such a thing?’
Finnikin slipped out of bed to get to his pack and she watched him shiver as he riffled through his belongings, holding up a letter before sprinting back to her and settling himself under the comfort of the blankets.
‘He’s written to you and Augie and the Priestking. It’s all strange. Lettering scorched into his head, hidden all this time. Wording on his back, only visible to the gods’ touched. That’s what they call their gifted. He’s been wounded and sewn up and he’s confused and I’m sure I saw a tear or two, and Perri hasn’t coped with any of it. Deep down I think Perri thought Froi was his. And the father … Gargarin. An intellect? Froi’s father an intellect? His body all mangled from palace beatings. The father’s, not Froi’s. And the father has a twin with the same face who was trapped in Lumatere for ten years and was almost poisoned by you and Tesadora with the rest of them.’
‘Finnikin, be serious.’
‘That was serious,’ he protested. ‘And they’re angry at each other, Froi and the father. And the mother is just cold.’
Isaboe studied Finnikin’s face for the truth and saw it there.
‘Poor Froi,’ she said, heartbroken for their friend. ‘Why didn’t you bring him home instead of leaving him with those hideous people?’
‘Because I think Froi loves those hideous people.’
Isaboe’s head was spinning from everything she was hearing.
‘It was strange … but he looked so foreign,’ Finnikin said.
‘Gargarin of Abroi?’
‘No. Froi. I’d never noticed before. Perhaps it was hearing him speak Charyn. His manner with the father and the awful … but beautiful mother … ouch, that hurt.’
‘I’ll pinch you harder the next time.’ She reached for the letter.
‘Have you read it?’ she asked.
‘Over and over again. It’s a fantastical tragedy … and you’re going to have to prepare yourself.’
‘I think I know a thing or two about fantastical tragedies,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s the mad princess you’ll have to prepare yourself for. She’s with child.’
Isaboe sighed. ‘I know. It was the only thing that stopped me from slitting her throat.’
‘Yes, we’ll talk about you running savage in the valley with a dagger later,’ he said, and she could hear the anger in his voice. ‘But read the letter and you’ll understand.’
She felt him watching her as she read and she felt sick from dread as she took in the details before her. She read it twice. Three times. Looked at Finnikin with disbelief and he nodded because he knew it all well.
‘What are your thoughts?’ he asked quietly.
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Then she’d have to feel anger … and regret. Guilt, perhaps. But she didn’t want to. She had every right to despise Quintana of Charyn.
‘You think it’s his?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yes I do.’
‘What a mess,’ she said. ‘I hope Froi doesn’t think they’ll let him raise that child alongside her.’
‘He’s not thinking that far ahead. He’s desperate to know she’s alive and here she is in our valley. If you want to know the truth … I believe that the Charynites want her dead more than we do.’
‘Well, I’m not protecting her, regardless of who the father of her child is.’
She thought about it a little longer, and the more she did, the angrier she grew.
‘Don’t tell me he’s in love with her, Finnikin. You’ve got to see her. She’s … this vicious cold-looking viper. All small and round, much the same as Lucian’s supposedly dead wife. Little people irritate me. I felt like this monstrous giant alongside them.’
‘Well, it’s not as if we’re letting her up the mountain,’ Finnikin said. ‘That’s all we need. More of our people killed to protect a mad princess, regardless of what she means to Froi.’
They stayed in bed sorting through correspondence.
‘Nothing from Jehr?’ he asked and it pained her to hear the sadness in his voice. In exile they had taken refuge in Yutlind, a kingdom that had been at war with itself for as long as anyone could remember. Finnikin, Isaboe
