Quintana of Charyn

of Lumatere for the remainder of his life.

‘So you heard about his outburst in our residence?’ she asked huskily, stepping away after a while and eyeing Finnikin across the room.

‘Yes, well, he did beat me black and blue on the Osteria–Charyn border.’

‘Strange that he left that part out,’ she said, somewhat dryly.

They were awkwardly silent for a moment or two.

‘Thank you for all of this,’ he said, looking around the room, knowing she was involved as much as Lady Abian. Then his eyes met hers. ‘Thank you … for everything you did … for her.’

Isaboe’s stare was fierce. ‘I did it for you. I don’t do Charynites favours.’

‘I’m a Charynite,’ he reminded her softly.

She shook her head emphatically. ‘I don’t care what your blood sings, Froi. You belong to us. You’re a Lumateran.’

And he was. How could he feel both so strongly?

She took his hand and they walked to where Jasmina was playing under the long table with the village children. The little girl was giddy with the sort of hysteria he noticed in those her age.

‘All the laughing will end in tears,’ Isaboe said, sitting down while the children crawled between her feet. Froi sat down beside her.

‘Did blessed Barakah tell you about the spirits and the Yut madman’s theory?’ she asked quietly.

‘Oh, yes,’ Froi said, his tone dry. ‘He decided to tell me in front of Perri, who didn’t cope at all.’

They both laughed at the thought, but then she was serious again.

‘Is it true that you can sing spirits home, Froi?’ she asked.

He didn’t know how to answer that.

‘I don’t know what’s true,’ he said, awkward at hearing the words. ‘I know my … uncle … Arjuro can.’

‘Can you tell … if a spirit is lost?’ Isaboe asked.

Froi saw the sadness in her eyes.

‘Is that what you think?’ he asked. ‘That your boy’s spirit is lost?’

She winced, but he could also see her confusion. ‘When I was carrying him in my belly … I’d sense her … Quintana … but not like when I walked the sleep with Vestie and Tesadora. This was different. More distant in a way, and I think it’s because …’

She couldn’t finish. She looked away, pained, and Froi tried to search the room for Finnikin because he knew his friend understood Isaboe’s despair better than anyone. But Finn wasn’t there and Froi could see that Isaboe wanted to speak.

‘Do you still walk her sleep?’ he asked softly.

She shook her head. ‘Quintana and I do not have a connection, Froi. But I think our sons walked each other’s sleep … and I don’t know whether I was desperate for a sign or whether all this talk of spirits has played with my mind, but I sensed him … I sensed my boy in your boy’s eyes. Isn’t that what you wrote in the letter about the husband and wife you shared a barn with? She said the half-dead spirit of her child lived in you.’

He nodded. Tesadora told him how Quintana had spoken the same words to her. Froi’s mind had been filled with sorrow for the families of the lost Charynite babes. He wondered if they still would sense those spirits within him or Quintana now, or had they been passed to Tariq?

‘I think you’re wrong about Quintana and you,’ he said to Isaboe. ‘Because I first heard a voice four years past in Sarnak. It was on the bleakest day of my existence, at a time that I almost gave up. Almost. Until I heard her song. I didn’t know what it was at the time. But it told me to go to Sprie. Sprie? You saw it. Why such a nowhere place in Sarnak? I could have chosen any place in the land, but not Sprie. And it’s taken me all these years to realise that she was singing me to you. And Finn. And Sir Topher.’ He looked around the room. ‘And this, Isaboe. And all this, led me to Charyn. Blessed Barakah says our paths aren’t straight and they make little sense. But Quintana heard my pain and she led me to you. Which means that your connection with her existed long before the sons you both carried.’

‘You don’t know that, Froi,’ Isaboe said, her voice cool.

‘No, I don’t. But your plan for revenge on Charyn led me straight into Gargarin of Abroi’s path. And I crossed a gravina to be with Arjuro of Abroi and I climbed a tower to be with Lirah of Serker. Call it coincidence, but I’ve spent a year questioning what I know and what I sense, and sometimes what I sense overpowers everything.’

Isaboe sighed. Jasmina’s head popped up between her feet again and they both laughed.

‘Well, let’s hope they’re making a fuss over your Quintana today,’ Isaboe said, gathering her daughter to her.

Froi grimaced. ‘She’s not very good with … fuss,’ he said.

‘Every princess is good with a little fuss,’ she said, kissing Jasmina. ‘Aren’t you, my love?’

Froi sighed. Yes, but Quintana wasn’t exactly the most normal of princesses.

‘Perhaps they’ve thrown her a party.’

Sagra! He couldn’t think of anything more frightening for her. Or those who tried.

Chapter 42

‘You’re not thinking of throwing me one of those odious surprise parties?’ Quintana asked coldly, clutching the little King. ‘If you do, I’ll lock myself and Tariq in our room and never come out.’

Phaedra looked from Quintana to Gargarin of Abroi. ‘Well, it’s not as if you don’t already do that, Your Majesty,’ Gargarin said. His eyes met Phaedra’s. They had managed to coax Quintana out of her self-imposed prison and into the courtyard to greet those who now lived in the palace. Phaedra and Gargarin hoped they could lead her further to the portcullis and perhaps down the drawbridge and into the Citavita.

‘Could I suggest that we visit the town square and greet those who have travelled here for your birthday?’ Phaedra said.

‘The town square?’ Quintana asked. Phaedra watched Gargarin wince, as if he knew the following words would not be pleasing to the ear.

‘The town square where they once set up the gallows and jeered when the street lords placed a noose around my neck? Brayed for my blood?’

And this was how they had begun each day since they had arrived all those months ago.

‘It’s about time and compromise,’ Gargarin of Abroi had said to Phaedra outside Quintana’s chamber one morning. He had said those words after yet another failed attempt to have her join them outside the palace. ‘Let’s give her the time she needs.’

Time, Phaedra noted, was spent in Quintana’s cold, sparse chamber. Its only appeal was a balconette that looked over the gravina. Phaedra was fascinated with the way the godshouse opposite tilted towards them, not to mention the hollering that took place between Quintana, Gargarin, the Priestling Arjuro and Lirah of Serker. The Provincari’s people who had settled in the palace tower on both sides of theirs complained the whole day long about the early-morning and late-night shouting. Phaedra would have died of boredom without it. As she would have without the nocturnal visits from the godshouse residents.

On the second night in the palace she was introduced to two Priests, both in robes and cowls. She was soon to discover that one was Arjuro and the other Lirah of Serker. Perabo, the keeper of the keys of the palace, had smuggled Lirah in with Arjuro, far from the prying eyes of those they called the Provincari’s parrots.

Lirah of Serker was the most beautiful woman Phaedra had ever seen apart from Tesadora. They reminded her of each other. Especially in their disdain for the world, until they were in the presence of someone they loved.

As long as she lived, Phaedra would never forget the first moment Lirah of Serker held the little King in her arms.

The Queen allowed only Phaedra, Lirah and Arjuro to hold the child. And Gargarin, but he refused each time, preferring to admire the little King over the shoulders of others.