‘I’ll write the letter,’ Finnikin said. ‘Let it be seen that Lumatere was the first to make contact.’
In the weeks that followed, Froi found himself travelling to almost all corners of the kingdom. In the forest of Lumatere he attended a remembrance ceremony with Tesadora and the novices of both Lagrami and Sagrami. During his first year in Lumatere, Froi had spent much of his time with Perri guarding Tesadora, the Priestess and the girls. He had accompanied them when they moved their cloister back to the forest of Lumatere after ten years near the Sendecane border. Froi knew back then that he had earned trust from these women at a time when he was desperate for it, and each year when they had the remembrance ceremony, they invited Froi along.
The tree of remembrance had been planted in honour of the Charynite who had smuggled the Lagrami novices out of the palace village. It meant more to Froi now, knowing that Arjuro had been part of the escape. That morning he stood with the Priestess watching Perri carry earth to the separate plots surrounding the cloister. The novices had grown a spectacular garden of healing and Froi knew that Lumaterans from across the kingdom came to these women to cure their ailments.
‘Tesadora says you’re acquainted with the Charynite holy man who took us to her,’ the Priestess said.
Froi nodded. ‘His name’s Arjuro,’ he said. ‘He never spoke of his time in Lumatere.’
‘Yes, well who can blame him?’
‘What happened?’ Froi asked.
The Priestess held out her hand and he took it, escorting her for a walk around the gardens.
‘We met him through John, the Charynite soldier who smuggled us out of the village,’ she said. ‘The lad was working as a scout for the impostor King and heard of the heinous plans in the barracks. They wanted women in the palace as their … playthings and what better girls to have than those of the Lagrami cloister, who were close by in the palace village, and not protected by fathers and brothers?’
‘How did this … John make Arjuro’s acquaintance?’ Froi asked.
‘Earlier that month, John had been sent on a scouting mission by the impostor King’s captain to check the rest of the kingdom. The Charynites were hoping that the Sendecane and Sarnak borders were free of the curse. Your friend the holy man was camping close to the Sarnak border when John came across him. Despite the distance to the cloisters on the Sendecane border, Arjuro took John to meet Tesadora, for no other reason than that the holy man had read an instruction to lead the boy to the novices in his dreams. It would be a most symbolic meeting between them all because weeks later John of Charyn made a decision that would cost him his life. He smuggled us out of the village, for he had found the perfect place to hide us. He took us to your friend the holy man first but the palace riders had followed and we had little time for further acquaintance. The man we now know as Arjuro of Abroi drew us a map to where Tesadora was hiding the Sagrami novices, and then he and John became the decoys. We never saw them again. John of Charyn was seventeen years old when he died. Strange to think he’d be a man of more than thirty today.’
Froi looked out at the garden so similar to Arjuro’s on the roof of the godshouse.
‘Well, Arjuro survived. He’s a brilliant physician,’ Froi said, ‘and if there’s ever peace between Charyn and Lumatere, he’d welcome some of your girls as his students of healing. Your novices are smarter than the
Tesadora and Japhra joined them soon after and the Priestess took Tesadora’s hand. Two very different women stood before Froi, but the respect between them was fierce.
‘Are you ever going to allow him a bonding ceremony?’ the Priestess asked shrewdly.
‘Who? Froi?’ Tesadora asked and Froi laughed.
‘You know who she’s talking about,’ he said, looking over to where Perri was working.
‘She asks you every year,’ Japhra said, her voice soft.
‘I don’t need a ceremony,’ Tesadora said.
‘And what if a child comes to your union?’ the Priestess asked.
Tesadora sent her an annoyed look, but the Priestess persisted.
‘The end of the curse for Charyn means the end of the curse for you, Tesadora,’ she said.
‘I’m past the age,’ Tesadora said. Japhra made a sound of disbelief.
‘My mother birthed me at the same age as you,’ the Priestess said. ‘And the Queen’s beloved mother gave birth to her fourth and fifth children well past your age. He’s very virile, Tesadora.’
As if Perri suspected he was being spoken about, he looked across at them from where he was digging.
‘If you allow that man into your bed, be prepared to hold a child at your breast one day.’
‘Remember what John of Charyn said, Tesadora,’ one of the novices joined in. ‘That his mother was a midwife and women came to her at all ages.’
‘Yes, and his father was a man of horses and old mares dropped dead when they were carrying,’ Tesadora said, her tone tart. ‘Enough. All of you.’
Froi accompanied Tesadora and Japhra and two of their girls back up to the mountain that afternoon, his mind going over the talk of the day. There were names and facts he couldn’t get out of his head, for some reason.
Japhra was quiet and when they were well ahead of the others, he asked her about Rafuel.
He had spoken to Japhra about Rafuel last time he was in the valley and she had introduced him to Quintana’s women of the cave.
‘Do you love him?’ he had asked. ‘Rafuel?’
‘Does it matter?’ Japhra said. ‘My heart belongs here with Tesadora and my work, and his heart belonged in Charyn with the Priests and their work.’ She smiled. ‘But he helped me heal and one day I want to do something to repay him.’
Down in the valley, he was taken again to the women who once shared Quintana’s cave. Froi always found it hard to believe Quintana had bonded with these three: two who grumbled and argued, one who giggled and preened. But Cora, Jorja and Florenza loved his girl and they had taken care of her. If there was any reason to spend time with them, it was that. More than anything, he loved the valley. Because the valley was Lumatere and Charyn. Forest and rock and mountain.
‘If I write a letter to the palace,’ he said quietly to Cora, ‘will you sign your name to it?’
‘Why can’t you sign your own name to it?’ she demanded, making a rude sound any time he attempted to take a blade to one of the weeds in her vegetable garden that now lined the path along the stream.
‘Because I promised I wouldn’t,’ Froi said.
Florenza of Nebia nudged Cora.
‘Of course, you’ll do it, Cora. Or I will. I want to write to Phaedra anyway.’
Cora grumbled.
‘Don’t you go upsetting our little savage,’ Cora warned. ‘That’s all you men are good for. Upsetting women.’
‘What’s the letter about?’ Jorja asked.
‘It’s just a story I heard that may interest them,’ Froi said. ‘About a young man named John. John of Charyn.’
Chapter 44
I start my day counting. And it slows down the rage. And only then, when the rage is a melody, do I go see the little King, so he’ll hear a hum of joy the moment I speak. He knows me, this strange little creature. And it feels goods to be known this well. It makes me less lonely. Because I think I’ve lost my song to Froi. It was taken when the spirits of the unborn babes went away. I miss them. I miss blaming them for the rage and my cold, cold heart. In the end, the sum of my vices is all me. I was sired by a tyrant and a gods’ blessed. Sometimes, I’ve no idea which part of me is more frightening.
And most days we’re fine, the little King and me. Phaedra is by our side. ‘Because I’ll never leave you,’ she says, and she fusses and loves, but I hear her sadness deep in the night. There’s sadness all around. During the days, I watch Gargarin write and talk and fight and limp from one tower to the other. Those Provincari parrots are the bane of our lives. He goes to appease, to convince, to plan, to build, to try the guilty and release the innocent. Because the trials have begun and there’s death in the air. The Provincari have sent a judge from every province to
