Quintana of Charyn

no place for being simple when blood has been shed and the people we love have been torn from us.’ She took his hand across the table. ‘But forgiveness has to start somewhere, Lucian. It did start somewhere. It started with Phaedra. The Monts learnt not to hate all of the Charynites because of her. I learnt.’ Yata had tears in her eyes. ‘Because you may not have seen it, my darling boy, but I hated with a fierceness I can’t describe. And do you want to hear something that was breaking my heart, day after day? I forgot the faces of my granddaughters in all that hatred. Hatred smothers all beauty. Beloved Isaboe has little resemblance to her older sisters, but your Phaedra … she made me remember those precious, precious girls and I wasn’t angry anymore. I just missed them, and it’s the beauty in here,’ she said, pointing to her chest, ‘that made me remember them. Her beauty.’

He could see the truth in her words.

‘You know she lives,’ he said softly.

Yata nodded. ‘Constance and Sandrine have sworn me to secrecy.’

He felt the strength of her hands.

‘I don’t want you to take those sacks of grain,’ she said firmly. ‘They’ll tie you to someone who will bring you regret and dissatisfaction all your life. It’s not what your father would have wanted for you.’

He swallowed hard. ‘I’ve made my decision.’

She made a sound of frustration, shaking her head, but he held up a hand to stop her. ‘I’m going to write a note to Lord Tascan and thank him for the grain, but explain that it will compromise my role as a judge at the fair to accept it. I’m going to emphasise just how humiliating it may feel to him if anyone in the kingdom sees that I returned the grain, in case he doesn’t realise it’s humiliation he should be feeling, and then I’m going to suggest that I send the grain down to the valley where the Charynites are in need of it. I’ll promise him that no one in Lumatere will ever be able to say that flatland or river barley was consumed by a Mont judge, nor will they be able to prove that the grain existed in the first place.’

Yata smiled. ‘Oh, you’re a clever boy.’

‘It’s not enough, of course,’ he said. ‘The grain will run out eventually.’

‘Then we have weeks to think up another plan.’

He travelled to the valley with Jory, who insisted on coming along.

‘Do you want to know what I think?’ his cousin asked, as they passed one of the farms midway down the mountain.

‘No, I don’t actually, Jory. I want peace and quiet.’

‘I don’t think Phaedra’s dead,’ Jory replied. ‘And you know she isn’t.’

‘Really.’

‘Yes, really,’ Jory said, imitating his tone. ‘’Cause sometimes I come up to your cottage, you know, Lucian. You hide up there, all closed up, and everyone wishes you didn’t. At first, I’d see that small shrine you had to Blessed Lagrami and how you’d lay petalbane beside it every day. For Phaedra. Because petalbane is the flower for grieving the dead. But then weeks ago, after Cousin Isaboe left the mountain, you stopped. So the way I see it, something happened in the valley that day and you know she’s alive and you know that it’s bad luck to bring petalbane to the living, and you don’t want to curse Phaedra.’

‘It’s been some weeks since her death, Jory,’ Lucian said, his voice practical. ‘We all have to move on. That’s why I stopped laying the petalbane.’

‘The mourning season for Phaedra ends mid-spring. I know that because Cousin Cece was seen drinking ale and Alda, well, she blasted him. “How dare you?” she shouted.’

‘Funny that all of a sudden Alda cares for Phaedra,’ Lucian said.

Jory looked surprised. ‘I don’t think Alda cares that much for Phaedra. She hardly knew her. But Alda, she said to Cousin Cece, “You show respect for Lucian. He’s our leader.”’

Lucian had never heard one of the Monts acknowledge that before.

‘You know what my father says?’ Jory said. ‘He says you weren’t born to lead, Lucian. That you were made to. But regardless, Fa says Monts couldn’t have asked for a better man to get us through this time.’

Lucian stared at him, overwhelmed. ‘What are you all of a sudden?’ he demanded gruffly. ‘An ancient wiseman?’

Jory pointed to himself.

‘Look at me, cousin. Did ancient wisemen have shoulders like mine?’

The valley dwellers wept when they were told about the barley and crowded around Lucian and Jory as if they were gods. Lucian’s attention was on Harker and Kasabian. The men cut a sad picture working on the vegetable patch that Cora had planted. Jory worked alongside them for a while and Lucian couldn’t stay angry at his young cousin for too long. Then they followed Kasabian to his cave and Lucian saw Rafuel and Donashe watching carefully from their place by the rock face, Rafuel’s expression tense and questioning. Inside the cave, Lucian removed the bottle of ale Lord Tascan had given him from his pack and handed it to Harker to take a swig.

‘To my wife and my daughter,’ Harker said, his voice a hoarse whisper. Lucian winced to think of what he kept from him. Harker handed the bottle to Kasabian.

‘To my sister Cora.’

The flask was back with Lucian and the men waited. Lucian realised he was to drink to the memory of his wife. Jory watched him, questioningly.

‘To Phaedra,’ Lucian said.

Jory held out a hand and Lucian reluctantly gave it to him. The lad took a confident swig, but then choked, not so grown-up after all.

‘Arm us,’ Harker said quietly.

Lucian sighed.

‘I can’t do that, Harker. You know that. Whatever happened to the women was not at the hands of Donashe.’

Harker’s stare was hard. More than once Lucian had come to realise this man would have been a leader much like his own father. The type of man born for it.

‘My actions are not just determined by my sorrow,’ Harker said. ‘Donashe and his murderers are going to bring a bloodbath to this valley. I’ve seen this before.’

As if they knew they were being spoken of, Rafuel and Donashe and a third man entered the cave. There was an arrogance in the way they stood in Harker and Kasabian’s dwelling, but Lucian and the others refused to acknowledge their presence.

‘I mentioned to Donashe that I didn’t trust you here, Mont,’ Rafuel finally said. ‘And that I’d question what you were doing.’

‘My valley. My cave,’ Lucian said with a shrug. He knew Rafuel feared what Lucian knew about the fate of the women.

‘I was hoping to convince Harker and Kasabian to go hunting with me,’ he added. ‘As well as this grain, I’m willing to allow one or two of you on my side of the stream to catch an elk.’

‘I’d say it’s a better idea if you take Matteo,’ Donashe said. Lucian noticed the bitter jealousy in the expression of the third man watching the exchange between Donashe and Rafuel. ‘These two are useless old men,’ Donashe added, dismissing Harker and Kasabian with a sneer.

‘Get out of my cave,’ Harker said.

‘This moping and silence of yours is dampening camp spirits.’

Harker leapt to his feet, and it took Lucian and Jory and Kasabian to hold him back.

‘We don’t need lessons on how to move on,’ Harker cried. ‘Those lads you slaughtered and the deaths of our women have crushed this camp’s spirit.’

Rafuel stood between Donashe and Harker, pushing Harker back.

‘Let’s accept the offer to hunt for elk, Donashe. Before these fools force the Mont to take back his words. It will feed us for days.’

Donashe kept his stare on Harker, but Harker was not a man to look away.

‘When it’s time for the hunt, Mont,’ Donashe said, ‘Matteo here will accompany you across the stream.’ Donashe clasped Rafuel’s arm before leaving the cave, his lapdog following.

Lucian felt the full force of Rafuel’s stare.

‘You’ve turned into a hard man, Rafuel,’ Jory said. ‘Don’t you trust us anymore?’