his stomach. Or if he waited in line for whatever scraps were available for supper, his plate became the plate of those who surrounded him. The Lasconian lads worked in numbers, never on their own. The leader, named Florik, rarely got his hands dirty. It was what Froi didn’t like about him. In Froi’s first encounter with Grij and the lastborns, he had understood that their anger came from the fury and frustration of not having freed Quintana. With these lads, he suspected it came from envy and dissatisfaction. There seemed no group with more to prove than those born a year or two before the Last. They had come second to Tariq all their lives. Worse still, the heir had died in exile before these lads could get to know him and prove their worth. And with Froi, it was personal. He hadn’t just lost Tariq’s supposed unborn child, he had befriended the heir. Perabo had spoken of this to the Lasconians. That despite everything, Tariq’s last message had been to the Lumateran, Froi of the Flatlands. The heir had written part of Froi’s name in his own blood on the cold stone as he lay dying.
Regardless of their treatment, Froi silently pledged his bond to Tariq. He would endure anything from the Lasconians and never raise his fists against Tariq’s people. That wasn’t to say that Froi’s fists weren’t clenched the whole day long in fury, or that he was to do more counting to control his temper than he ever had. Even when he woke with a sack pressed over his face, threats in his ears and the humiliation of untangling himself from the thick cloth, only to find them gone, Froi kept his bond. He missed Finn and Lucian. He missed Grij and Olivier. No, never Olivier. Not the traitor.
So he spent his days on the wall-walk searching the trees that lined the little woods. Each day he recorded the facts with precision and when he was certain of movement in the woods, he called for Perabo.
‘There,’ he said. ‘See that rustle of shrubs? It means the army Dorcas spoke of is now passing through. They’re heading north. There,’ he said, pointing to one of the trees, ‘someone’s watching us from up in the branches. More than one, but they take turns. They know we’re here, but they don’t seem interested in doing anything about it for the time being.’
Perabo nodded. ‘Good. I’ll let the others know.’
‘Perhaps I can share a word with Gargarin, Perabo.’
The keeper of the caves waved Froi off and walked away, and the moment Perabo disappeared down the steps of the wall, Florik and two of his companions gripped Froi by the arms.
‘Perabo, perhaps I can share a word with Gargarin,’ Florik mimicked. ‘You’re a lord, aren’t you, with your fancy talk?’
Froi marvelled bitterly at how strange life was. After being told all his young life that he was nothing but street filth, here he was, taunted for the way he spoke.
He struggled and pulled free. He didn’t want to lose control. Tariq was the first person ever to show kindness to Quintana. He saved her life and Froi would never betray the memory of him.
‘You think you’re better than us,’ Florik sneered. ‘Just because we live on the mountain and belong to no province or precious flatland.’
‘No, Florik, I think I’m better than you because you’re stupid and I’m not. Has nothing to do with provinces and flatlands and mountains, my friend. It’s all about up here,’ Froi said, pointing to his head. It was a mistake, of course, but Froi knew he’d make plenty of mistakes in the days to come. He wanted to say more. That the lads followed Florik not because they believed him to be a leader, but because they hadn’t a thought of their own. They followed him because of their weakness, not Florik’s strength. But most days, Froi kept quiet and spent his time alone on watch, despairing at the weakness of this army. These lads had never seen battle. Tariq’s decision to go underground in the Citavita had kept war away from his people. They had experienced loss from afar. But they had never been forced to defend or be the sentinels of their kingdom as Lucian of the Monts had. So it made them lazy and proud of achievements that were small in comparison to those experienced in greater Charyn or Lumatere. Trevanion said often that there were some who shone brightly in a crowd of five, but very few could do so in a group of thousands. Froi imagined that Florik was one of the bright stars in a small crowd and somehow he had chosen Froi as the one he needed to pound into the ground to win. No one else around the Lasconian tried to compete. Florik, he learnt, was betrothed to the prettiest girl on the mountain. And Florik, he learnt, was the best archer on the mountain. And Florik was the mountain’s messenger because of his speed. Froi found that out every time Florik’s fist caught him in the face, as two of his lackeys held Froi down.
But what he could endure the least was being kept out of the talks held in the great hall between Gargarin and the elders of Lascow during the day. He knew Gargarin was appeasing them and they were working on a treaty that would have a Lascow elder represented among the Provincari. Since Froi’s time in Charyn he had always been part of the decision-making, but here among the Lasconians, his opinion was not required. He especially felt the sting of Arjuro and Gargarin spending all their free time together, leaving him to his own devices. From the entrance of the great hall that day, Froi could see the two brothers surrounded by the Lasconians and answering questions thrown at them from all corners of the room.
‘Back outside,’ a guard ordered when Froi tried to step inside the hall.
‘I’m with Gargarin and Arjuro of Abroi.’
‘You will be told what you need to be told. Run along.’
He went to find Lirah, who was at a desk in the room she shared with Gargarin. The chronicles Perabo had given her from Serker were spread before her.
‘They wouldn’t let me in,’ he said, furious, sitting on the corner of her desk. ‘I couldn’t even step inside to listen.’
‘Yes, well, try being me,’ she said, not looking up. Pushing the chronicles aside, she reached for her own journal. ‘I need you to go through that conversation you had with Quintana about who she trusted.’
Froi was sick and tired of Lirah’s questions. When he didn’t speak, she looked up, her eyes narrowing. ‘What’s happened to your face?’ she asked, reaching out a hand. Froi pushed it away.
‘It’s nothing,’ he muttered.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Enough, Lirah,’ he said, irritated. ‘It’s nothing.’
She stood up. ‘Well, I’m going down to the bailey to have a word with this “nothing”.’
Froi stared at her, horrified. ‘Lirah, are you insane? You’ll ruin my life.’
‘I ruined it long ago,’ she said. ‘Come on. Take me to him. Point him out.’
Froi responded with a stony silence and she sighed, pointing to a stool beside her desk. ‘Sit. We can’t spend all our time here idle. Tell me everything you spoke to Quintana about.’
‘Lirah, how many times do I have to repeat myself?’ he shouted with frustration at her. At everyone.
‘As many times as it takes us to work out where she is, Froi! Do you think you’re going to discover the truth in a crowded room with a bunch of men who will spend days quibbling about what your son should be named?’
Froi froze. He saw her regret and she looked back down.
He gritted his teeth with frustration. ‘This is what Quintana spoke about. She trusts me, you, Gargarin and Arjuro. Remember how I said that yesterday and the day before and the day before that? You should find something better to do with your time, Lirah.’
This time when she looked up, her eyes were fierce. ‘Well, let me see, Froi. I could walk down to the barracks and hear one of the lads point out that “she was the King’s whore”,’ Lirah said, feigning a whisper. ‘Or I could walk through the crowd you’re so desperate to be part of and have one of the elders order me to his room because, “If Gargarin of Abroi is having her, why can’t anyone else?” Or perhaps I can sit here and write out a list of all my options of where to live if Quintana is ever returned to the palace with the little King. I’m actually thinking of the soothsayer’s cave. No? How about the Crow’s Inn near the bridge? I think the landlady took a liking to me.’
She didn’t speak after that and it was shame that made him walk out of her chamber.
As he descended the stairs and reached the landing, Gargarin was there with Perabo and Dolyn and another elder, still arguing.
‘You know that if any of the Provincaro’s armies are the first to get to her, they will claim it as a victory for years to come,’ Dolyn argued. ‘They will have the greatest favour with the new King. So I say it’s my men who return Quintana of Charyn to the palace. No one else.’
‘We’ll speak of this later, Dolyn,’ Gargarin said. ‘The safety of Quintana and her child is more important than who will have the greatest favour with the new King in years to come. For now we pray that she’s kept herself alive.’
