Quintana of Charyn

leave.’

‘My lord,’ Lucian said, ignoring Donashe and staring at Finnikin with a strange expression in his eye. ‘Your child is coming and your queen needs you by her side.’

Finnikin was speechless. He heard the intake of breath from his father and Perri and every other Lumateran around him. Was this a cruel jest?

‘Stay,’ Finnikin ordered the others. He turned to Donashe. ‘And if you come anywhere near the cave where my wife is giving birth, my guards will kill you, regardless of how powerful the army is that is coming this way.’

Finnikin followed Lucian up to the cave, taking the steps two at a time. He caught the warning look in his cousin’s eye as he went to speak.

‘Not a word,’ Lucian said quietly.

They entered and Finnikin heard the muffled cry from the base of the cave. Stooping, he followed Lucian through a small entrance and saw Isaboe beside a girl who could only be Quintana of Charyn.

‘Isaboe –’

‘They won’t dare enter if they think it’s me birthing the child,’ she said. ‘We claim it’s mine and we take it across the stream. They’ll believe the Princess is still to give birth, which may keep her alive long enough for her army to arrive, if one exists.’

Finnikin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘This isn’t right for you!’ he said.

But she stepped forward and placed a finger to his lips and there it was before him. The greatest prayer to the gods he could muster with a heart so broken. Don’t let me outlive this woman. Don’t let me exist one moment without her.

‘Is it right for anyone?’ she asked, her voice so sad that he had to pray for the strength not to weep before her.

Here was Evanjalin. The girl he fell in love with, who could block out the pain with a bloody-mindedness that shamed those around her. But he remembered the time on the hill in Osteria when she first saw her yata. She had held her sorrow for all those years and then it erupted with a devastation beyond comprehension of anyone present that day. He knew her. He knew her ability to contain everything, but he also knew the girl who still wept in his arms when she spoke of her sisters and Balthazar.

Finnikin turned to Tesadora as Isaboe stepped away. ‘How could you allow this? It will tear her heart in pieces.’

But Isaboe reached out and removed the wood between Quintana’s teeth and the girl’s cry of pain etched its place into the walls of the cave and drowned out any further talk.

Finnikin was there the whole day long as this strange creature writhed and buckled and spat curses at the gods, and he thought of what his mother had endured to give him life. Bartolina of the Rock, who never lived to see her son. Worse still, he thought of what Isaboe had gone through and he grieved for his son who would never know a mother. He watched how the Charyn Princess gripped Isaboe, their hands clenched, and he knew he’d never loved his wife as much as he did at that moment.

‘I can see its head,’ Phaedra said over Tesadora’s shoulder. ‘I can see its head, Your Majesty!’

And Finnikin saw the women surround Tesadora to look in wonder. Even Lucian.

‘I shouldn’t be looking, but I can’t keep my eyes away,’ Lucian blurted out, his eyes wide.

‘Once more,’ Tesadora ordered as the girl tried to raise herself again. Finnikin watched as Quintana mouthed a word with a weariness that was heartbreaking.

‘Froi.’

So Finnikin gently pushed past Isaboe and the women and stepped behind Froi’s girl. Pressing himself against the cave wall, he propped her up against him.

‘Lean on me. I won’t let you fall back,’ he promised.

And although it gave the Princess strength, the pain was too much and her head lolled back against his shoulder.

‘Why not just … pull it out like we do a calf?’ Lucian suggested to Tesadora, who sent him a withering look.

‘Once more,’ Isaboe ordered. ‘It has so much to tell you, Quintana, and no matter how long you live this life, it will never be enough time spent with your child. So don’t you waste a moment.’

Quintana hesitated, raised herself again, and in a final burst of strength she pushed and the babe slipped out into Tesadora’s hands. The Charynite women cried with the fright of seeing such a strange creature.

‘What is it? What is it?’ Harker’s daughter asked.

They held their breath.

‘It’s a king,’ Harker’s wife said. ‘You were right all along, Quintana. It’s a little king.’

And they placed the little King of Charyn in his mother’s arms and Finnikin watched Froi’s strange girl look at her babe with surprise, almost indignation.

‘I know you,’ she said to her son. ‘Do you know me?’

And later, when the babe had his fill of his mother’s milk for the second time, Finnikin sat in the corner of the cave with Isaboe in his arms.

‘Perhaps in a better world, Your Majesty, our little king and the babe you birth will meet as friends and not enemies,’ Harker’s wife said.

Isaboe was silent. It pained Finnikin to breathe.

Finnikin stood and held out a hand to his wife. ‘We can’t stay here. We need to get back to our people, and if there’s an army coming, I don’t want my queen … or your little king in danger.’

Finnikin could see that the Princess was not going to let go of her son.

‘Quintana, if you want to live, you must give him to the Queen,’ Tesadora said firmly. ‘He knows your love. He’ll not forget it.’

‘But what if he goes hungry?’ the Princess begged to know.

‘He won’t,’ Isaboe said quietly. ‘My milk will feed a king.’

The women stared, confused, and then Phaedra of Alonso covered her face and wept, for she understood the truth of Isaboe’s words.

They stepped outside the cave with Tesadora and the babe in the crook of Isaboe’s arms. Finnikin held a tentative hand to Isaboe’s shoulder as they climbed down the steep descent. He could see Trevanion at the halfway ledge, a place where the earth seemed more stable underfoot. But Isaboe’s step was slow and sure. Once or twice she glanced down at the sleeping babe, murmuring a word or two to him, at first in Lumateran, but then she stopped herself and spoke Charyn.

They reached the landing and the men stepped aside, both Lumateran and Charynite. Trevanion’s eyes met Finnikin’s, but his father and their men dared not give away their confusion at these strange events.

‘Let’s hope you taught our useless princess a thing or two in that cave, Your Majesty,’ Donashe said.

Isaboe pressed the babe to her and placed a hand to his ear to stop it from hearing Donashe’s voice. And she followed Aldron and Jory down the steps, flanked by Finnikin and Trevanion and the rest of the Guard until they reached the lower caves where the valley dwellers stood staring up with yearning. Finnikin bit his tongue to stop from telling them the truth.

At the stream, Isaboe stopped to place the Charynite King in Finnikin’s arms and he hesitated a moment. He didn’t want to hold another’s child. He wanted to hold his own. But he took the boy all the same and watched as Isaboe held a hand out to Harker of Nebia who was standing close by.

‘Your assistance, if you please,’ she said coolly, as if taking advantage of the closest man standing without a weapon in his hand. Harker looked surprised and took her hand and escorted her across the stream.

‘What is it you want from us?’ she asked quietly. ‘You’ve been boring a hole into my head the moment we arrived.’

‘Arm us,’ he pleaded.

‘And what if you use those weapons to storm my mountain and wipe out my people?’ she asked. ‘It is a habit you Charynites have. What then, sir? I’ve met your pretty daughter, Harker of Nebia. Do I take her and cut out her heart as punishment?’

He flinched, a flash of anger crossing his expression.

‘My fight is not with Lumatere, Your Majesty. It is with whoever brings harm to this valley. I know it’s your valley, but these are our people and I need to keep them safe.’