Phaedra looked away, shamed. Alonso was crowded and her father had refused to allow the travellers in. She remembered those days when people arrived in droves. Alonso land was fertile and it seemed to promise everything after the curse on the Lumateran border was broken. But her father’s people threatened to turn on him if he allowed another traveller in.
‘But there’s still some land left to share,’ she’d hear him cry to his lords.
‘And there are other men we can find to lead this province,’ they threatened. And that was how Phaedra’s family, whose ancestors had ruled Alonso for centuries, could have lost the province. Not from war or the enemy or even the palace. But because her father dared to allow the landless into the walls of Alonso.
‘It may count for nothing,’ Phaedra said to the women. ‘And I make no excuses for my father’s behaviour, turning his back on anyone who begged at Alonso’s wall, but there were some nights I’d hear him weep as he prayed to the gods and to my dead mother. I never imagined a man so proud could weep.’
Ginny was already bored with their talk and decided it was time to return to the cave. She waded away with Florenza and the others began to follow.
‘I saw my father weep before me,’ Quintana said to the others. ‘When he was dying.’ She was pensive. ‘Do you want to know something about tyrants? When faced with death, they weep and they beg just like the rest of us.’
Phaedra’s eyes met Cora’s and then Jorja’s, who warned her with a quick shake of her head.
At the rocks, they collected their clothes and wrapped themselves in blankets, hurrying back to the cave to dry. Jorja gripped Phaedra and Cora as they were about to follow the others.
‘If you value your lives … and hers, never repeat what you heard her say here today,’ Jorja said.
‘She couldn’t possibly have …’ Cora said.
‘Couldn’t she? We would always hear of her madness. And these weeks I’ve understood it is anything but that. It’s survival. She has a madness to survive now. What more could we want from a little king’s mother?’
Up ahead, Phaedra saw Quintana shiver despite the blanket covering her body. Phaedra dressed quickly, her body still damp, and hurried towards Quintana, wrapping her own blanket around the Princess, fussing about her. She felt Quintana’s gaze and their eyes met.
‘You were his thirtieth, Phaedra.’
‘Thirtieth?’ Phaedra asked absently, leading Quintana along the uneven ground before them. ‘I don’t understand. Whose?’
‘Froi’s, of course. He said, “Phaedra of Alonso is kind.” So he chose you to be on his list of those he trusted. It’s why I came to you.’
Phaedra stopped them both, her hand still gripping Quintana’s arm. ‘You came here for me? Here, in the valley?’
‘Well, it’s not as if I could have gone to any of the other twenty-nine on his list,’ Quintana said bluntly.
‘Me?’
‘Have I not already said that?’
Phaedra was speechless.
‘He was half-right, of course,’ Quintana said.
Phaedra wanted to weep. She would have done a better job if she knew. She would never have left Quintana alone or snapped at her or rolled her eyes to the heavens. She would have been a better protector.
‘There’s much more to you than kindness,’ Quintana continued. ‘That day after I arrived in the valley and you visited, the other women were all flustered when they saw my baby belly. Until you walked into the cave and you thought fast. And then that time with the Queen of Lumatere … well, make no mistake of this. She would have used that sword. I’ve killed a man, Phaedra. I imagine the look in my eye was just like hers. A bit of justice. Self-loathing. Hatred. Pity. We’re not so different, me and the Queen of Lumatere.’
Quintana pulled free of Phaedra’s grip and moved ahead to Jorja and Florenza. Both mother and daughter had taken to fussing over her, and Quintana was a cat who went to anyone who showed her affection. Phaedra stood, shivering in her wet shift. And she did weep.
‘Phaedra! Don’t stray,’ Jorja called out.
Phaedra hurried to catch up, gripping Quintana’s hand tightly.
‘You’ll have to take your blanket back, Phaedra,’ Quintana said, stopping to wrap it around her, imitating Phaedra’s earlier fussing. ‘You’ll catch your death and it’ll cause hysteria.’
Their eyes met for a moment and Phaedra nodded with a smile.
‘Yes, my queen. I think you’re right.’
Chapter 35
Froi watched as Ariston and his men thundered through the Nebian camp, taking the soldiers by surprise. The army had been in the middle of their morning drills and duties and the Turlans’ speed on their horses meant that they were halfway to the second hill before Bestiano’s men had even mounted theirs. Froi’s orders were clear: to wait until the battle was dragged well away from the camp to enable him a clear path to Bestiano. By then, Ariston and his men would be heading towards the Lumateran valley while Perabo and the Lasconians would join the battle against the Nebians.
From where he knelt, concealed by the old well on the first hill overlooking the camp, Froi could see at least four men guarding Bestiano’s tent. Beside him, Fekra was nervous and Froi had come to learn that a nervous man either had something to hide or made mistakes.
‘Who’s protecting Bestiano inside?’ Froi asked.
‘His guard. One of the rogue brigands Bestiano managed to acquire somewhere outside the Citavita. He speaks the language of gold and more gold.’
‘So, he’s not part of the army?’
‘No. The army is under the orders of Scarpo, Captain of the Nebian Guard.’
‘Easily controlled?’
‘Scarpo is a soldier, so he follows orders,’ Fekra said. Froi could tell that Fekra liked a man who followed orders. It was why Fekra didn’t particularly like Froi.
‘But he takes care of his men,’ Fekra continued. ‘According to Dorcas, Scarpo did question Bestiano’s decision regarding the execution of the riders. And when Bestiano ordered one hundred men to fight the Turlans in the little woods, Scarpo questioned why so many. The lads are merely numbers for Bestiano. For Scarpo, they are more than that.’
‘It’s a pity I’m going to have to kill this Scarpo.’
‘You may not have to,’ Fekra said, as they watched the Turlan horses trample the clearing just as Perabo and his men entered the fray. ‘Scarpo may be long dead at the hands of your friends. If Desantos arrives from the north, Scarpo’s army will be destroyed.’
Froi heard the regret in Fekra’s voice.
‘Is Scarpo for Nebia or is he for Charyn?’ Froi asked.
‘Nebia is Charyn,’ Fekra argued. ‘Don’t judge them harshly. Including the Provincaro. He’s sitting in a province with no protection because his entire army is here. What would the Provincari of Paladozza or Sebastabol or any other have done if they were kin to the King’s First Advisor and he came to them asking for an army after the King was murdered?’
‘You’re obviously a Nebian, Fekra. So let me rephrase the question. Is Scarpo a madman?’
‘He’s not one much for talking. But his men will die for him and he makes sure, in turn, that his men don’t die from bad decisions made by others.’
Men were dying around them now. Both Ariston and Perabo had succeeded in dragging the battle from the Nebian camp into the valley beyond, where Froi could hear the sickening tune of cries and shouts and the clang of steel against steel. All that was left here were the dead or dying.
‘Froi!’ Fekra said, pointing down to Bestiano’s tent.
A man stepped outside, exchanging a word with those who guarded the tent. He was armed with at least two swords and a dagger at his ankle. He mounted his horse and headed towards the second hill.
