Quintana of Charyn

‘The Priests of Trist,’ Froi said, reading quickly, his heart heavy by the end.

‘Rafuel?’ Finnikin asked.

Froi nodded. ‘They obtained information from one of Donashe’s camp leaders and found Rafuel outside Jidia in a mine shaft with no food and only a little water trickling from a stone – skin and bones. They don’t expect him to live. They want me to pass on the news to the women of the valley as well as Japhra and Tesadora. The Priests of Trist found mad ramblings on the walls imprisoning Rafuel and the names of the women of the valley were amongst them.’

Froi heard Perri’s sound of regret.

‘Tell us about your correspondence with these Priests,’ Finnikin said.

‘The Priests of Trists wrote to Lucian first and I replied on Lucian’s behalf. They wanted to know how the scholars died.’

‘Why didn’t that order come from the Charyn palace?’ Finnikin asked.

‘Because the palace is taking care of political traitors, not personal vengeance, and what happened with the scholars … and Rafuel is about personal vengeance. The Priests had five camp leaders in their prison. They wanted to make sure those who murdered the lads were tried and executed and they didn’t want to get it wrong, especially if there was a chance that Rafuel lived.’

‘Is Rafuel of Sebastabol being alive your business?’ Trevanion asked, looking at Froi. ‘You hardly knew him except for the week he taught you about Charynite customs. You smashed his nose, last I remember.’

Froi felt the regret he always did when he thought of Rafuel these days.

‘Let’s just say that Rafuel and I go back … nineteen years. If you remember anything about the events I spoke about in the letter I gave to Finn … Your Highness, it was that I was smuggled out of the palace as a babe.’

‘By a boy.’

Froi shrugged. ‘Rafuel was that boy. So yes, him being alive is my business. And for all of your information, it won’t do us any harm finding allies in the Priests.’

Isaboe stood and walked to Froi’s side, sitting before him.

‘And that is why we need you, Froi. Talk us through it. What if we want to take a step towards peace? Who has the most power? Gargarin of Abroi? The Provincari? The godshouse?’

‘The Provincari united have the power,’ Froi said. ‘My advice is that you go to Gargarin, but you also establish a relationship with the individual Provincari. Deep down, they’re slightly impressed with Lumateran nobility. Take advantage of that. And then remember that the godshouse is important to the people and if you’re going to impress Charyn, you’re going to want to impress the godshouse.’ He looked at the Priestking. ‘They want nothing more than absolution from the blessed Barakah. They understand the pain that took place here at the hands of Charyn’s army and they know they can’t change the past, but they want to acknowledge it.’

‘How strong is their army now, Froi?’ Trevanion asked.

Froi was dreading that question. His eyes met Trevanion’s.

‘Very strong. United, it’s even stronger.’

‘If they were ever to attack …’ Isaboe asked.

‘We wouldn’t stand a chance.’

He heard the sharp intakes of breath around the room.

‘So the way I see it, we try very, very hard not to be attacked by them,’ Sir Topher said.

‘Well, we could see the situation from the side of wonder,’ Froi said.

‘Oh, there’s a side of wonder in all of this?’ Finnikin asked, sarcasm lacing his words. ‘Charyn has a new army large enough to decimate us and he tells us we’re going to look on the brighter side.’

They all stared at Froi as if he was some foolish child.

‘If we make friends with them, we’ll have a powerful ally in Charyn,’ he said.

‘Very simplistic,’ Isaboe said.

Froi shook his head with frustration. ‘It’s the way I see things now,’ he said. ‘The simpler it is to keep peace, the better our lives are. You don’t want Lumaterans to die, my queen. They don’t want Charynites to die. Trust me on that. A powerful Nebian captain surrendered and was on his knees because he didn’t want one more Charynite to die. He knew the man he surrendered to was a good man who did not want one more Charynite to die. So when good leaders don’t want their people to die, they spend quite some time trying to work out how to achieve things without going to war. It’s that simple!’

He needed to walk. He needed to count, because his blood was jumping. But most of all he needed to show them that he had control over himself. No counting. You can do this without the counting.

‘At the moment Charyn has a stable alliance between the Provincari and the way I see it, they want peace,’ he continued. ‘They need it. They may have the power to decimate a neighbouring kingdom, but they need that power to mend their decimated people.’

Isaboe took his hand. ‘You’d be our perfect envoy to them, Froi, and regardless of who … she is married to, you would still have an opportunity to … see her. Each time you visit.’

‘An arrangement that would work for us all,’ Finnikin said with a shrug. Froi shook his head, wondering if his king would ever understand.

‘That’s very easy for you to say, my lord,’ he said in an even tone. ‘You’re married to the woman you love and your daughter sleeps between you.’

‘Well, if you’d really like to know, she’s getting used to her own bed now, and I wish everyone would stop going on about it,’ Isaboe said.

‘Froi –’ Finnikin said.

But Froi stood. He needed air.

‘Sit,’ Finnikin ordered. Gently.

Froi sat.

‘So you get half the dream, Froi,’ Finnikin said. ‘You can’t have the whole thing because they won’t let you. Not us. So why the anger towards Lumatere?’

‘I’m not angry at you, Finn,’ Froi said, frustrated. ‘But you can’t go around expecting me to spy and be happy with halves and whatnots while you get the whole dream.’

‘I don’t get the whole dream,’ Finnikin said. ‘My whole dream is that my wife wakes in the morning and doesn’t have to worry about an entire kingdom. That all she has to worry about is … I don’t know … looking after her husband and child.’

Isaboe choked out a laugh.

‘Or her husband looking after her, then,’ Finnikin said.

‘Wonderful. I get reduced to either a slave or a helpless idiot,’ she said, with a smile towards Finnikin. But then she was all seriousness. ‘In the games of queens and kings,’ she said to Froi, ‘we leave our dreams at the door and we make do with what we have. Sometimes if we’re fortunate, we still manage to have a good life.’

She thought about her own words for a moment and smiled.

‘We don’t want you in the Charyn palace to spy, Froi,’ she said. ‘Regardless of what you think of the situation with Celie, she is in Belegonia to provide us with an opportunity to talk. Without talk between past adversaries, we don’t stand a chance.’

‘If you want peace, you begin with the valley, then,’ Froi argued back. ‘You begin at the foot of your mountain, Isaboe!’

‘But there’s more to all of this than the valley, Froi,’ Isaboe argued. ‘If Gargarin of Abroi is as smart and noble as I’m sick of hearing he is, why has the man not written to us? To you?’

Why indeed? Froi wondered angrily.

‘When the time comes, will you travel to Charyn and begin talks between the kingdoms?’ she said.

‘When?’ Froi asked.

‘Not now. Let’s take the time to get the treaty right. As you said, perhaps we speak his language first. Water and land and how we can learn from each other. In the meantime you can write Gargarin of Abroi a letter –’

‘No,’ Froi said.

They all stared at him. Regardless of Froi’s fury and betrayal, it had been Gargarin’s order not to make contact with any of them and Froi’s pride demanded he honour that.