escape from Bestiano’s armed men at the bottom of the gravina by concealing weapons at her wrists and on her back. She travelled from Jidia to Turla to Paladozza with a babe in her belly and not so much as a whimper. And as we speak, she’s hiding in this kingdom, keeping our king safe. She’s not simple. Anything but simple.’
Arjuro moved closer to Froi. ‘Not to mention her ability to kill a king in five seconds,’ he whispered.
Gargarin stepped aside and Ariston spoke next about what had taken place in the little woods.
‘Bestiano ordered the flanks of his army to guard the entrance to the woodlands.’
Ariston was quiet a moment.
‘They were young men. Strong lads. He’s sending them out to fight like lambs to slaughter,’ Ariston said, his voice full of sorrow. ‘Bestiano and his generals are camped between the first two hills of Charyn, but they send out their youngest and strongest to fight their own people, and Charyn loses more of its lifeblood.’
‘How is it you came this way?’ Dolyn asked.
‘There’s talk throughout Charyn of what took place on the lake,’ Ariston said, looking up at the elder. Froi heard anger in his voice. ‘That Bestiano was willing to sacrifice the last Priestling. We also knew Lasconians were taking refuge in this fortress and that Bestiano’s army was heading north. The slaughter of Tariq of Lascow’s compound was felt by us all. We fight to avenge your kinsmen, Dolyn. We fight to avenge the young King Tariq who never had a chance to prove his worth.’
And they fight to protect their own, Froi thought. Ariston was here for the Oracle, Solange of Turla’s daughter and grandchild.
‘I say we get a look at what’s happening between those hills and decide on the chances we’ll take,’ Ariston continued. ‘We need to find out what they know and what they think we know before we slaughter each other for no reason.’
‘Have you seen their sentinels?’ Froi called out. ‘Those in the tree?’
Ariston nodded. ‘One saw us coming and left his post. For the time being, they are there to keep an eye on this fortress. But after last night’s events, things may change.’
‘So we attack?’ Dolyn asked.
Ariston shook his head. ‘We need to see what takes place between those hills and how big that army truly is. I’m presuming they know as little as we do about our Quintana. So for now, they watch us and we need to do the same to them.’ He looked at Gargarin. ‘We have to find a way to blind the sentinel.’
Froi bunked down with his horse in the stables with the rest of the Turlans. One of the lads called Joyner, whose upper body was covered with etchings, was marking another lad using a bone needle and ochre mixed with earth. Froi had heard the Lasconians scornfully say that etchings were only for slaves and lastborn girls, but the Turlan lads were neither.
‘What have you chosen?’ Froi asked the Turlan, who winced with pain each time the needle channelled the ink into his flesh.
‘First time kill beyond little woods,’ the lad said quietly. ‘Mine a tainted spirit now. Keep it safe with name of my girl.’
‘Ariston’ll kill you,’ Mort said. He looked at Froi, shaking his head. ‘His girl Ariston’s niece.’
‘Most beautiful girl on Turla. And strongest. She beat any Lasconian today.’
The lad winced again.
Mort showed Froi his etching. Froi saw the name Jocasta.
‘My mother. Most beautiful woman on Turla,’ he boasted.
‘There must be a lot of beautiful women on the mountain,’ Froi said.
There was a chorus from all the Turlan lads in agreement.
He watched the etching and thought of what Quintana had told him once. That Lirah was marked with the name of the man who owned her.
Later, Froi went to visit Arjuro in his chamber.
‘Can you write these names in the language of the ancients?’ Froi asked quietly.
Arjuro wrote them neatly and Froi marvelled at how powerful the ancient words looked compared to those in Charyn and Lumateran.
‘What are they for?’ Arjuro asked.
Froi patted his arm. Arjuro grimaced.
‘It can’t be removed,’ Arjuro said. ‘You know that. The stigma stays with you.’
‘My feelings will never change,’ Froi said. He went to walk away, but turned back.
‘Where did you see the writing that time? On my back?’
Arjuro traced a finger across where the writing had started just below Froi’s shoulderblade.
Froi returned to the stables where he was next in line. He handed Joyner the parchment.
‘What say it?’ Joyner said out of curiosity.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Froi said. ‘Here. Here. And Here.’ He pointed to the exact place he wanted each individual word to be. Both arms and across his shoulders. ‘But don’t go here,’ he said, indicating where Arjuro had once seen the message from the gods.
‘Goin’ to hurt,’ Joyner said.
Joyner worked well into the night. He was precise and had the steadiest of hands. Despite the pain, Froi was pleased with what he saw on both his arms. Like the lettering on his scalp and on his back, he would never see the name across his shoulders, but he’d feel it. He’d know what it meant. He knew it linked him to her.
The Turlan lads looked impressed the next morning.
‘Joyner says you gods’ blessed,’ Mort said quietly, away from the others.
Froi shook his head. ‘What would make him say that?’
‘Bit of a gift himself, our Joyner. He say your back was aflame. Was something there not of this world.’
The other lads suddenly looked up, and Froi followed their gaze to where Lirah stood at the entrance. He saw the fury on her face before she turned and walked away. Froi followed her out into the courtyard. He kicked at the dirt on the ground, waiting for whatever it was she had to say.
‘Are you a slave?’ she asked harshly. ‘In Serker, only slaves are etched.’
‘With the names of the men that own them,’ he said, his eyes meeting hers. It sickened him to think of Lirah being owned by anyone.
‘I’m a Serker, Lirah,’ he said softly. ‘My body is etched with the names of the three women who own me. My queen. My mother. My woman.’
He took Lirah’s hand and placed it where Joyner had written her name on his arm, and he saw tears in her eyes. She traced the lettering with a finger, then quickly pressed a kiss against it and hurried away.
Froi smiled to himself and was about to climb up to his watch when Perabo called from above.
‘Get Gargarin.’
Moments later, Froi stood on the wall looking out into the little woods with Gargarin, Ariston, Perabo and Dolyn.
‘It’s too far away to see anything but movement,’ Perabo said. ‘But I’ve noticed a difference in the changeover of the guards. There are three of them. Guard one takes the day post. Guard two arrives in the evening to replace him for the night. The next morning, guard three fails to turn up on time. Every day since we’ve arrived. So guard two, after spending a whole night in the tree, always leaves his post and returns to camp instead of waiting. I presume he is forced to wake guard three. Or perhaps by the time he reaches the camp, guard three is on his way and they pass by each other. Any which way, for a short time early each morning, we have no one watching us.’
Ariston looked out towards the little woods. ‘So we can take advantage of those moments? We can send out a scout, the fastest lad we have, to see what is taking place between the two hills where Bestiano is camped.’
Gargarin shook his head. ‘I don’t like it. It’s too much of a risk. We can’t guarantee that tomorrow will be the same as today. If Bestiano’s men capture whoever we send out, they’ll use torture to find out what our lad knows.’
‘He’s right,’ Dolyn said. ‘It’s too much of a chance. We may lose our scout at the hands of one of those guards, or, worse still, at the hands of Bestiano and his riders.’
‘And if we don’t, her life stays in danger,’ Froi said. ‘The Captain of the Lumateran Guard would never question which of his men would be tortured or captured when it came to keeping the Queen safe.’
Ariston barked out a laugh of disbelief. ‘From what I’ve heard of Trevanion of Lumatere, I doubt he’d send
