Quintana of Charyn

knowing what it was.

‘Be patient. Don’t give up on me. I’ll find a way.’

It was a strange plea.

‘That’s all?’ Froi asked.

‘When the time comes, you won’t think it’s nothing at all, Froi,’ Gargarin said sadly.

Before Froi could ask another question, they heard a shout and he scrambled to his feet, looking out towards the little woods, pulling Gargarin up with him.

‘Sagra!’

‘Gods almighty!’

Gargarin swung around. ‘Ariston!’ he shouted down into the bailey. ‘Perabo! We’re under attack!’

An army was thundering towards them from south of the little woods, hundreds of riders galloping at full speed towards the fortress. By the time the horsemen were halfway towards them, every Lasconian and Turlan was on the wall, weapons in hands. Froi felt Ariston at his shoulder.

‘Are they Belegonians?’ Ariston asked.

‘It’s too far to tell,’ Froi said.

‘There’s no flag. Nothing. Do I give the order?’ Ariston asked Gargarin.

‘If they’re the enemy, give the order,’ Gargarin replied.

‘Get out of here, now,’ Ariston ordered Gargarin. ‘Hide Lirah and your brother and yourself.’

Gargarin went to protest.

‘Just do it!’ Froi said, keeping his eyes on the approaching army.

‘It has to be the Belegonians,’ someone shouted from the flanks of the wall.

‘Belegonians!’

‘We don’t know that!’ another called out.

‘Hold,’ Perabo shouted in return. ‘Ariston, tell them to hold.’

‘Hold until I give the order!’

The late-afternoon light revealed little, and they waited, the pounding of the horses sounding closer and closer.

Froi’s fingers pulled the string of his bow taut and he waited.

Suddenly, an arrow from the keep’s battlement whistled past him and moments later he saw the horseman in the lead fall forward on his mount.

‘Idiot!’ Ariston roared to those around him. ‘Who fired?’

‘Hold. Hold!’

Froi and Ariston stared at each other, shocked. The shout had come from the approaching horsemen.

‘Did you hear that?’ Froi asked.

‘They’re not firing back,’ Perabo said.

Which could only mean one thing. The horsemen belonged to them.

‘No one move!’ Ariston bellowed. ‘No one!’

Froi kept his stance, his aim focused, but his heart was beating fast. It’s a trap. It’s a trap. This army was going to fool them into letting them in. It’s a trap. They could trust no one. Until Froi saw one of the horsemen.

‘Grij!’ he shouted. Froi shoved the others aside. ‘Hold your weapons. Hold!’ He flew down the gatehouse steps that had never seemed so never-ending, fearing that some other idiot would fire a bolt. ‘It’s Paladozza,’ he called out to those guarding the entrance. ‘Raise the gate. Do not attack.’

By the time he reached the gate, one of the Turlans had raised it and soon enough, the riders entered. Froi saw Grijio first. The lastborn leapt from his mount.

‘My father!’ Grij cried, rushing to the horse with the injured rider.

And Froi realised with horror that De Lancey had been hit by one of their own arrows.

Amidst shouting and threats from De Lancey’s guards, they lay him down on a cot in a chamber on the first level of the keep. And then Arjuro arrived, pushing the Paladozzans out of the way. Froi stood beside Grijio, his eyes glued to the arrow lodged in the Provincaro’s chest. Too close to his heart.

‘Arjuro, I’m begging you,’ Grij wept.

De Lancey opened his eyes wearily at the sound of Arjuro’s name. The look that passed between the two former lovers was powerful and Froi saw the paleness of Arjuro’s face as he studied the wound. De Lancey’s guards jostled around the bed, hissing and cursing any time De Lancey so much as moaned.

‘De Lancey,’ Arjuro said quietly.

‘Yes, Arjuro. Am I dying?’

‘Your guards may,’ Arjuro said, pressing his fingers against the pulse at De Lancey’s wrist. ‘Die, I mean. Very soon. They’re getting on my nerves and I want to kill someone at the moment. Tell them to go away.’

There were furious objections from De Lancey’s guards.

De Lancey opened an eye, and feebly pointed a thumb to the door.

‘Am I going to die?’ he asked Arjuro again.

‘Perhaps of stupidity. What possessed you to come galloping north?’ Arjuro asked, his hands pressing the swell surrounding the stalk of the arrow. De Lancey winced at the pain.

‘Did you honestly think I’d stay in Paladozza knowing they were using you as bait?’ the Provincaro still managed to snap.

‘An army just for me,’ Arjuro murmured, lifting De Lancey so he was sitting up. ‘You could have got yourself killed, you fool.’

Their eyes met and Arjuro held a hand to the other man’s face and bent to press his lips against De Lancey’s and the kiss made Froi feel as if something inside of him was breaking. Most times he knew there was no hope for Arjuro and Gargarin and Lirah and De Lancey. Too much pain in the past, too much power working against them in the present day. But as he watched Arjuro prop De Lancey up to better remove the arrow, Froi saw the foolishness of dreamers, and he decided he’d like to die so foolish. With a dream in his heart about the possibilities, rather than a chain of hopelessness. Finnikin had once said it was the only way to live. That he wanted to drown in hope rather than wallow in despair.

‘Grij, it hasn’t pierced his heart,’ Arjuro said, ‘but I could do damage removing the bolt if I’m distracted. It’s going to hurt you more than it’ll hurt him. So that’s why Froi is going to take you for a little tour around our fortress.’

Grij shook his head defiantly.

‘I’m not a child, Arjuro.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Arjuro agreed. ‘But you’re his son and I know him. He’s not going to want you to see him cry.’

‘I’m not going to cry,’ De Lancey protested feebly.

‘You’re going to cry,’ Arjuro said.

‘You’re going to cry,’ Froi agreed. ‘I did.’ He dragged Grijio away. ‘So how about I introduce you to Tariq’s people first, Grij? They’ll like you. They hate me. And then I’ll introduce you to the Turlans. We can get you etched.’

He heard De Lancey’s groan as they walked out.

Outside the door they walked into Gargarin, who was pushing through De Lancey’s men.

‘He’ll live,’ Grijio said when he saw the worry on Gargarin’s face. ‘Arjuro said it’s best I don’t stay for the painful part.’

Gargarin embraced the lastborn. ‘I would never have forgiven myself if the last words we spoke were in anger,’ he said.

‘Father says you never trust him, sir,’ Grij said, with no censure in his voice. ‘He was broken when he returned from Sebastabol. He told me about Arjuro and Lumatere. And then when we received word about Arjuro having been taken hostage and Bestiano ordering a trade with you …’ Grij shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen him like that. Never. I think the library is still in splinters.’

They heard a roar of pain from behind the door and Grij paled.

‘Take him,’ Gargarin said and Froi dragged Grij away.