towards the door, ‘but you lead this kingdom with a good man by your side … as stubborn and annoying as he is. A man who has proven himself to have courage and compassion. The Charynite valley dwellers believe that if they could find a man as good as yours to marry Quintana of Charyn, their kingdom would stand a chance.’
Isaboe watched Finnikin grip Tesadora’s hand as she passed him, pressing a kiss against it.
Jasmina woke up, sleepy and shy, and looked up from her father’s shoulder.
‘Tell Mama what you did today,’ he said, approaching Isaboe. Jasmina hid her face in his neck and he chuckled and whispered in her ear until she looked up again.
‘Tell Isaboe,’ he urged. ‘Go on.’
Isaboe leaned closer to hear Jasmina whisper, ‘I put my head in the wiver.’
Isaboe gasped with delight. ‘Do I not have the bravest girl in the kingdom? Did Fa tell you that I didn’t put my head in the river until I was a grown girl in Yutlind Sud?’
Jasmina was pleased by the attention and held her arms out to Isaboe, and then Rhiannon was at the door.
‘She put her head in the river,’ Isaboe told her.
Rhiannon gasped on cue and held out a hand to Jasmina.
‘Then I think Miss picks out her own dress for tonight.’
Isaboe watched them leave and felt Finnikin’s eyes on her. Sometimes she felt as shy as Jasmina with this man. Grief stripped her of a veneer. Sometimes she wanted it back.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said and it surprised her to hear those words. She always felt his love when he was present, but Finnikin wasn’t one for words of endearment. It was because he came from the Rock. People there were practical and very contained.
They heard Jasmina’s laughter from down the hall and she caught Finnikin’s smile at the sound of it. Isaboe pressed fingers to his lips. He didn’t smile enough and the sight of it always caught her breath.
‘What if she’s all I give you in this life of ours, my love?’ she asked quietly.
‘Then I’ll shout at the Goddess in fury,’ he said fiercely. ‘I’ll beg to know why I’ve been given so much when other men have so little.’
‘We’re going to be late,’ Froi told the Priestking, trying to shuffle him quickly out the door of what was now the shrinehouse of Sennington.
But the Priestking was fumbling with the key.
‘Let me do that,’ Froi said. ‘You know Lady Abian hates people being late.’
‘You want me to hurry, do you?’ the Priestking asked. ‘An old man like me?’
Froi placed the oil lamp in the Priestking’s hand and hastened them towards the horse and cart he had prepared. Although the Priestking’s house was in use all the day long, most of Sennington village was still empty and once the sun set, there was nothing but the moon to light their road to the village of Sayles.
‘Froi, slow down,’ the Priestking said.
‘Half the mountain’s come down, blessed
‘Wonderful. I’m going to be forced into my deathbed because of pork-and-cheese rolls,’ the Priestking said, stopping a moment to wheeze. Froi flinched to hear the sound of it. Much had changed since he left, but he had only realised now just how frail the Priestking was.
When they reached the feast, most of the guests were already inside except for some of the Guard, who merely raised a hand in acknowledgement. Things had changed between them, Froi thought. In the past there would have been mockery or jest, but it was as if they could barely look him in the eye. Did they see him as a Charynite now? Would he be a stranger in every land? Not a Sarnak or a Charynite or a Lumateran?
‘You’re gritting your teeth,’ the Priestking said as they made their way to the entrance.
‘I liked it better when they used to call me a filthy little feef,’ Froi said bitterly.
‘And they probably liked it better when you had little control,’ the Priestking said. ‘You’ve become a surprisingly formidable young man, Froi. Nothing’s more frightening to others.’
On the porch, Perri was organising another shift of the Guard. Froi could understand the caution. Lord and Lady Abian’s home had little protection for such a royal guest list, and Trevanion’s men had to ensure that every entrance and corner of the village was secure. Upon seeing Froi and the Priestking, Perri pointed to the hall, which was rarely used except for large gatherings. One of the Guard pushed past them and hurried along without so much as a grunt of apology. Froi bit his tongue and held out a hand to the Priestking, who moved slowly. It made Froi wince.
‘I want you to see Tesadora now that she’s spending a little time in the palace,’ Froi said to him. ‘She may be able to give you something.’
‘For being old? There’s a cure, is there?’
‘And don’t stand around too long,’ Froi ordered. ‘Everyone’s going to want to talk to you and next minute you’ll be tottering.’
‘I’ve never tottered a day in my life. You’re annoying me, Froi.’
‘Yes, well, I’m annoying everyone these days.’
They reached the hall and stepped inside. They all were suddenly standing in silence. Staring at him. It was awkward and it made him feel uncomfortable and a stranger. Angry tears burnt at the back of his eyes.
He saw the Queen first. Froi had seen little of her since arriving home, and knew it would take her some time to heal. But tonight there seemed more of a bloom in her cheek. She bent to whisper something in Vestie’s ear. Vestie took Jasmina’s hand and they ran to Froi, beckoning him to bend to their level. Bemused, Froi crouched beside them.
‘Happy birthday, Froi,’ Vestie said proudly.
And then everyone was shouting it and the Priestking was pushing him forward, not weak at all, and Froi was engulfed in embraces and kisses, with friends pressing gifts in his hand.
Jasmina clutched his arm all night, abandoning her reserve from earlier in the day.
‘It’s all about your gifts,’ Finn said. ‘She thinks they’re hers. She’s stealing everything. Even letters addressed to us. She loves the pretty seals.’
Froi laughed, caught Lord August’s eye and shook his head.
‘You, sir, are deceitful.’
Lord August embraced him and then Celie was there with Talon and his brothers.
‘Mother’s been planning it for weeks,’ Talon laughed.
‘And if anyone dared say a word I think she would have had the boys strung up,’ Celie said.
Froi was jostled from one person to another, until he found himself with Lucian, quietly watching the revelry. Finnikin had expressed a suspicion to Froi that Lucian was in love with Phaedra of Alonso and missed her deeply. From what he had heard these past months, Froi knew Phaedra had been everything he imagined her to be. Kind. Loyal. And currently, Quintana’s only companion. Froi itched to ask.
‘No,’ Lucian said, reading his mind. ‘Only letters from the Priests of Sebastabol. They want to know how the seven scholars died. Every detail. Why would you want every detail of the way seven men died?’ he added, irritation in his voice.
‘They’re the Priests of Trist,’ Froi corrected. ‘And if one of the Monts died in Charyn, wouldn’t you want to know every detail? It’s the same for them. One of the lads, Rothen, was the grandson of the Head Priest.’
‘Rothen. I remember him,’ Lucian said quietly.
‘Then tell them everything you know. It’s not a trap, Lucian. It’s just people wanting to know how their loved ones died.’
‘You know them?’ Lucian asked. ‘The Priests?’
Froi nodded. Lucian looked at him shrewdly. ‘You seem to have had a very busy year, Froi.’
‘Almost as busy as yours, Lucian.’
Lucian was steered away by one of the Flatland lords and Froi caught Isaboe’s eye as she excused herself from speaking to Beatriss. He fought hard to stop the wave of emotion that always came over him in the Queen’s presence.
‘Will your husband come charging across the room if I do this?’ he said, catching her in an embrace. He felt her fists clenched with emotion against his back, and the shudder in her breath. They hadn’t spoken about the death of her son and her part in the birth of his. There were no words, just the certainty that he would love Isaboe
