Quintana of Charyn

women. It’s the men as well. Perri?’

Perri hesitated and then nodded.

‘But what do these shared experiences have to do with Froi’s lettering and the Charyn Princess?’ Finnikin asked.

‘Well, you gave me the letters just after supper, Finnikin,’ the Priestking said, his eyes twinkling with laughter. ‘Do you expect me to have worked it out that fast?’

Finnikin laughed with him. ‘Yes, actually I do.’

‘Did you know?’ Isaboe asked the Priestking quietly.

The old man looked up at her and Finnikin saw the tremble in his shoulders. Finnikin wasn’t quite sure what Isaboe was asking, but the Priestking seemed to realise exactly what it was.

‘Why do you ask?’ the Priestking said.

‘Because of the markings on Froi’s back that only the gifted such as you can see. Different to the visible ones on his skull.’

The Priestking smiled. ‘Well, let’s not pretend that you don’t have a gift, Your Majesty. Did you know?’ he asked.

Isaboe looked at Finnikin and shook her head. ‘Froi was naked that time in Sorel when he was to be sold as a slave. I saw nothing written on his back.’

‘Nothing at all?’ the Priestking asked.

‘I knew where to find him,’ Isaboe said. ‘I always seemed to know where to find Froi, but never realised I was looking. So he was a beacon of some sort. But I don’t have the power of this second sight.’

They waited for the Priestking to speak.

‘And from the very moment you met him, you began to teach him,’ she said, after he remained silent. ‘Even in exile. As if you were preparing him for something.’

‘I never saw the writing,’ the Priestking said. ‘He worked my garden enough times without a shirt on his back, but I saw nothing. I’m not as powerful as the Priestling Arjuro. But I knew there was something about Froi.’

The Priestking’s smile was gentle. ‘Sometimes … sometimes, I can see the essence of the gods in another. Rich or poor. Man or woman. Lumateran or Charynite. I’ve seen yours, Isaboe. Its power only matched by a few. That doesn’t make you or me or Froi better or worse than others. It just means the gods have marked us for a journey, regardless of whether we want to take it.’

‘Who else?’ Finnikin asked. ‘Who else is marked by the gods?’ He prayed it wasn’t his daughter. He didn’t want Jasmina to walk a path without them. He could see Isaboe’s hand pressed against her belly.

‘Who?’ Isaboe asked, but the Priestking shook his head.

‘If I tell you that, my queen, you’ll do all you can to alter their path. The gods don’t like that.’

The Priestking sighed, tapping at the pages before him. ‘But we’re not here to discuss the essence of the gods. We’re here to talk about spirits.’

‘Wonderful,’ August muttered. ‘I was just getting to understand all the essence talk.’

‘We’re born with a spirit,’ the Priestking said. ‘It exists before we are shaped by time and place and wealth or poverty or circumstance. The lives we live tame and shape our spirits.’

Finnikin watched the various expressions around the room. He was glad to see that most were as confused as he was.

‘I think it’s quite clear that Froi and the Charyn Princess have acquired more than one spirit,’ the Priestking said.

He was pensive for some time. ‘I remember long ago when I was a child, my pardu died. We were very close. Around that time, my sister’s child was born and I could have sworn I sensed the spirit of my grandfather in that babe. Soon after, my pardu’s spirit left the boy. Once the departed rest in peace most of their spirit settles with them. But they do leave some of it behind and it becomes part of another’s traits.’

‘So Froi and the Charyn Princess …’

‘… unfortunately for now are a mystery.’ The Priestking smiled. ‘But what this enemy girl has to offer Froi and Tesadora and Perri is a thing of beauty rather than malice, my queen.’

‘Then why do I want to kill her?’ she said coldly.

‘Because you’re human and she shares the blood of a hateful man who tried to destroy our lives,’ Abian said.

The Priestking took Isaboe’s hand.

‘This will take me time. I don’t recognise the strange lettering on Froi’s scalp and Quintana’s nape. It’s not of the ancients. Whoever, or whatever, placed it there may have cursed Charyn. It might not be ours to solve, but it threads through the lives of those in Lumatere just as much.’

‘Then how do we solve it?’ Finnikin asked.

‘I’ll see what we can find in our library, but our neighbours, the Belegonians and Osterians, are the greatest pilferers of the sacred mysteries from all over this land.’

‘Perhap Celie can …’

Finnikin felt a kick under the table from Isaboe and remembered August and Abian’s presence.

‘… ask a few questions. She’s so very good at that.’

August looked at him suspiciously. ‘I don’t want my daughter embroiled in this.’

Finnikin nodded. ‘Yes, yes. Women asking questions never ends well.’

He felt another kick. It was best to keep his mouth shut now.

The Priestking studied Froi’s note and then he smiled.

‘Beautiful penmanship. And who would have thought he could express himself so eloquently? What a waste that all he wants to do is be a soldier and a farmer.’

He looked at Perri and August. ‘No offence.’

‘None taken … I think. Is it true that the … father is clever?’ August stumbled on the words.

‘Very,’ Finnikin said, nodding, ‘and the uncle is apparently a gods’ touched genius. And the mother …’

‘Have you gone on about the mother’s beauty as well?’ Isaboe asked Perri.

Perri pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and displayed a bruise. ‘Twice. Tesadora’s fist.’

‘That would be interesting.’ Abian smiled at the thought. ‘Pitting the mother and Tesadora up against each other. Placing them in a room and seeing them fight it out.’

‘Mercy,’ Finnikin said.

‘Yes, I’d pay all the gold in the land to see that,’ Perri agreed. All the men agreed with gusto. Isaboe and Abian exchanged a look and Finnikin saw a gleam of cynical humour in their eyes.

‘Too predictable,’ Isaboe said. ‘You men are too predictable.’

Chapter 25

‘We’ll be his cocoon and he’ll never doubt he was loved, regardless of everything.’

Froi woke lying between Lirah and Gargarin and wondered if he had heard those words out loud or in his dreams.

Arjuro crouched beside them and handed Froi a cup of something hot. He took a sip and tasted the bitter herbs, made a face, but took another sip. Arjuro held the back of his hand to Froi’s brow.

‘You’ve got your colour back, at least.’

‘Why? Where did it go?’ Froi joked, because Arjuro looked so serious.

‘It went to that place you seem drawn to,’ Arjuro said. ‘The dead are greedy for you!’

Arjuro’s eyes blazed with fury. Gargarin sat up and Arjuro handed him a brew.

‘I’ll say this once, and if you don’t honour my wishes I’ll find a way of making your lives unpleasant,’ Arjuro said to them all. ‘You never sacrifice your life for me again. No matter what they threaten me with, you move forward. You don’t look back!’