Quintana of Charyn

‘Bestiano’s guard,’ Fekra whispered.

Which meant Bestiano could be alone. But for how long?

‘Let’s go,’ Froi said. He slithered down the hill, his eyes fixed on those protecting the former King’s advisor. He remembered what Trevanion and Perri would say each time he hesitated. ‘Dead men don’t come back to kill you, Froi. They don’t shout out warnings. Make sure you do it right the first time.’ And that was how simple it was. The type of simplicity that turned his stomach. At the perfect vantage point, he dropped on one knee. One longbow. Four arrows. Four dead men. He heard Fekra’s ragged breath beside him.

‘You knew them?’ Froi asked.

‘Does it matter?’ Fekra asked. ‘If I didn’t, someone else did.’ He shook his head with regret. ‘How do you get used to it? All the killing?’

‘Who says you do?’ Froi asked, and bolted for the tent.

He reached the entrance.

No mistakes, Froi. No mistakes.

He stepped inside. Bestiano looked up, startled, his hand instantly reaching for his sword, but Froi was faster, leaping on the table and flying across the space to knock him down. Make it fast. Don’t waste time. Don’t take chances. Every second counts. Yet the sight of Bestiano, with his mottled skin and weak mouth and ever-present smirk, changed everything. Froi wanted every second to last. He wanted to inflict pain. No mercy. And by not using his sword, Froi knew he was making the first mistake of many. But he didn’t care. His fist connected with Bestiano’s cheek and the man’s head flew back, causing him to fall to the ground. Froi leapt, straddled him, pounding into nose, mouth, cheek. There was no counting. All rage. Blood, flesh and might and cries of pain and grunts of fury. He snapped both the man’s wrists, the howl ringing through his ears. And on and on he pounded, landing his blows with precision. Froi wanted Bestiano to feel his rage.

For that morning he witnessed Bestiano in Quintana’s chamber.

For not allowing her to make shapes on her wall.

For trying to capture her spirit.

For trying to break it.

For all the times Froi didn’t see.

And then Froi’s head burst with his own memories of Sarnak. A strike for every man who had held him down under the force of their own weight. A strike for the hatred he would always feel for himself when he remembered Isaboe’s face that night in the barn in Sorel. This is what Froi would do to that boy he once was. Blow after blow. He wanted him dead.

A clean kill, Froi. Always a clean kill.

He felt his knuckles crack from the force, but this would not be a clean kill. And when Bestiano had almost passed out from the pain of it all, Froi pulled him forward to speak in his ear.

‘You were never able to break her. She is the stone of this kingdom.’

Suddenly, there was a sound behind him and Froi let go of Bestiano, leaping onto the table. Too slow. The blade of a sword tore into the skin at his thigh and Froi crumpled in pain, kicking the intruder with his other leg. But past wounds betrayed him and his legs gave way. It was all the time Bestiano’s guard needed. Froi felt the tip of a sword pierce the wound already in his thigh and he cried out, mustering up the strength he had left to kick the man between the legs. And although Bestiano’s guard faltered a moment, the sound of another entering changed everything.

‘Kill him!’

Dorcas.

What had Gargarin said all that time ago? That he didn’t want to die at the hands of someone like Dorcas, who only knew how to follow orders.

Above him, Froi could see Bestiano’s man step back to strike.

‘Wait,’ Froi croaked. He closed his eyes a moment, felt the dirt and grime in his tears.

‘Dorcas, tell him to wait.’

He could hear the heavy breathing of those who stood in the room, but he was too weary to open his eyes. Too heartsick at the thought of never seeing her again. But he needed to find a way to speak a bond to his son and this weak, pathetic rider was Froi’s only messenger.

‘Listen to me, Dorcas … listen well … if all you can do in this life is follow orders, then these are the orders of a man who’s to die. Take care of the little King … tell him he was made from love and hope … that is your bond to him, Dorcas. If you’re good for nothing else, follow a bond that makes him a good king.’

Froi raised himself, opening his eyes. He turned to look at Dorcas who was kneeling beside Bestiano. The palace rider’s hand reached out to Bestiano’s injured face.

‘I said, kill him,’ Dorcas ordered, looking towards where the guard stood over Froi. Froi heard the surprised gasp, the gurgle of blood and then felt the weight of the man fall across him as Fekra revealed himself with a dagger in his shaking hand. And then Dorcas pressed a hand over Bestiano’s mouth and pushed down hard. Bestiano’s body jerked against it with force, but Dorcas held it there for a very long time, until finally he looked over to Froi.

‘Tell the little King yourself, Lumateran.’

Chapter 36

Ginny entered the cave long after she had left to find some kindling.

‘Where have you been?’ Phaedra asked.

‘I thought I heard something and went to look,’ Ginny said. ‘We can’t be too careful.’

‘Only squirrels,’ Cora said. ‘Our fear will turn us into madwomen.’

‘And we’re not already?’ Phaedra watched Ginny fussing with the entrance of the cave, concealing it with some of the shrubs and branches she’d dragged back.

‘Come closer and eat before our piglet gobbles everything up,’ Cora said gruffly.

The piglet didn’t defend herself; instead, she tugged at the meat on the bone. Since finding it more difficult to move around outside the cave because of her belly, Quintana had taken to setting traps for the hares that boldly came to their entrance and there was a glee to her when she held up their lifeless forms.

‘There’s nothing more harmless than food you catch yourself,’ Quintana said. ‘Free of hemlock and whatnot. I’ve never enjoyed eating so much as I have these past months.’

‘Wipe your hands and come and sit against me,’ Jorja said to her. ‘I’ll rub your back. It’s a heavy load you carry there.’

Phaedra tried to wipe the filth from Quintana’s hands and face. The soak in the stream had done little to remove their grime, and it shamed Phaedra to think that Charyn’s first child would be born in a cave.

‘Harker would rub my back when I was carrying Florenza and it always felt such a relief,’ Jorja said when Quintana was sitting comfortably between her knees.

Perhaps this was better than the luxury of another place, Phaedra thought, watching them all. Florenza caught her eye and smiled.

And that’s how Phaedra would remember the moment before it all changed. In her province, the tailor’s wife would speak about before and after the curse. One moment she was carrying a baby in her belly, and the next there was a puddle of blood on the ground between her legs and screams sounding across the city. The tailor’s wife knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Phaedra understood the truth of those words when she heard the voices outside the cave. She saw the horror of understanding in Florenza’s eyes and then chanced a look at the others. They all knew. Because they smelt the violence of the intruders. The malevolence. And when Donashe and his men stormed in with their swords and ugliness, there was no screaming or crying this time. Phaedra and the women clambered around Quintana. Wordlessly, they clasped their hands together as a shield. As if that would be enough, foolish women that they were. They thought that would be enough.

One of the men beat at Jorja’s hand with the edge of his dagger until it was a bloody pulp. But still Jorja didn’t let go. And worst of all, Phaedra saw Ginny, who was holding no one’s hand, but staring at her man Gies with horror, and then Quintana’s eyes met Phaedra’s. What had she once whispered in her ear? ‘I do believe