Quintana of Charyn

Today, he saw a truer version of that joy.

‘I’m going down to Lumatere,’ he muttered and there was a collective sigh of annoyance.

‘Lucian, don’t be ridiculous,’ his cousin Alda snapped. ‘If you’re going to betroth yourself to that useless Tascan’s daughter, you’ll be insulting the women of this mountain and the memory of your poor mother.’

‘Don’t know what was wrong with the first wife,’ Pitts the cobbler said.

‘Yes, yes,’ most agreed.

‘I always said that if Phaedra of Alonso’s people weren’t cursed, those hips of hers were made for child- bearing,’ Ettore the blacksmith piped up.

Lucian caught his yata’s eye and he could see she was seething about something. She turned to them all, fire blazing in her eyes.

‘When Lady Zarah visited last, the little miss turned up her nose at the food on our table! I jest you not!’ she said.

There were gasps of outrage all around.

‘A good riddance to her now that Phaedra’s back!’

There was a cheer at Yata’s words.

Goddess forbid, Lucian had to get off this mountain.

Chapter 47

Most things had changed.

At the bridge leading to the Citavita was a guard station. No one was permitted to cross without dismounting. A garrison was camped on a piece of land by the road, swarming with soldiers asking questions and allowing entry onto the bridge, one person at a time.

‘What’s your business?’ Froi was asked. He recognised no one among the guards.

‘I’m from Lumatere,’ he replied. Lies only created problems. Even so, the man looked at him suspiciously. He indicated for Froi to raise his arms.

‘Shoulder, ankle and here,’ Froi said, patting the sword in its scabbard at his side. ‘All weapons revealed. Is there a rule about being armed?’

‘No, but there’s a rule about having a smart mouth.’

And some things stayed the same.

Unlike every other person before and after him, Froi found himself escorted across the bridge. Beast was just as disgusted. Halfway across, Froi stopped, daring to look down the gravina and then ahead through the mist at the splendour of the Citavita’s stone piled high.

How could he have imagined that Gargarin’s sigh that first time they arrived here was of anything but pleasure?

He continued walking, his heart thumping with anticipation. Home, it sang. You’re home. But he argued back with that part of his heart that couldn’t let go of the Flatlands. Until he stepped onto the Citavita. Home, his heart sang.

He steered Beast off the bridge and looked around. There were no street lords demanding a coin for use of the bridge. There was no wretched line of Citavitans desperate to leave the carnage behind. Instead, a marketplace was set up at the base of the rock and there was haggling and shouting. And laughter. Froi had never heard laughter in the Citavita.

He saw the sentinels instantly, guarding the roof of the Crow’s Inn. He imagined Scarpo’s men would be swarming the capital now that most of its people were returning to their homes. As he was led towards the walls of the city, a dozen or so soldiers came striding towards him.

‘Now that doesn’t surprise me,’ the guard escorting him said. ‘A welcoming party.’

‘My favourite type of party in the world,’ Froi muttered.

Could he expect less, leading a Serker horse?

‘I’m actually on my way to the godshouse to see the Priestling Arjuro,’ Froi explained. He wasn’t much in the mood for being interrogated by a group of soldiers who didn’t know him and wouldn’t believe a word he said.

‘The Priestling’s a busy man.’

Before they could exchange another word, one of the approaching soldiers broke free and lifted Froi off the ground in an embrace.

Mort.

‘Where you been, Froi?’

Mort was shoved out of the way and Florik was there.

‘We’ve been taking odds to see whether you’d return,’ the Lasconian said.

Froi looked from one to the other, laughing. ‘You’re both on the same duty?’

Mort and Florik placed arms around each other’s shoulders. They looked strange in uniform, but it suited them.

‘I’m teaching him thing or two,’ Mort said. ‘Lasconian lads know nothing.’

‘Except how to speak better than Turlan lads,’ Florik said. ‘So I’m teaching him a thing or two.’

Within moments, more of the fortress lads were surrounding him and Froi embraced and shook hands with as many as he recognised.

‘We take things from here,’ Mort told Froi’s guard. Mort moved in closer. ‘I got rank,’ he whispered. ‘Turlans outrank everyone on this rock.’

‘Who says?’ Froi asked.

‘She say. She don’t get much power, but she picks whoever protects Citavita, and our Quintana pick the Turlans.’

Smart girl. No one would protect Quintana and Tariq better than her kin.

‘How are things here?’ Froi asked.

How is Quintana and Gargarin and Lirah and Arjuro and my son? he meant.

‘Gettin’ there slow-wise,’ Mort said. ‘But gettin’ there all the same.’

‘What you doin’ here, Froi?’ another Turlan asked. ‘You here for the –’

The lad was nudged into silence. Froi saw their unease, so he held up his pack. ‘Palace business from Lumatere,’ he said.

Mort shoved Froi playfully. ‘Told you lads this one no soldier boy. He’s a palace big man.’

Froi laughed at the description.

‘We’d take you up there, but Scarpo would skin us if we left our post,’ Florik said.

Mort pointed up to the roof of the Crow’s Inn. ‘That’s where I aim from and if there a problem, fastest lad in Charyn here races to the castle and let ’em know,’ he said, shoving at Florik’s head.

Florik looked slightly sheepish. ‘Second fastest.’

‘Did you see Grij on your travels?’ one of the lads from Lascow asked. ‘He was on his way to Lumatere to deliver Phaedra of Alonso back to the valley.’

Froi shook his head, annoyed to think he missed seeing Grij in Lumatere of all places.

‘He would have travelled another path,’ he said. ‘I came through Osteria.’

‘He’ll be back soon,’ Florik said. ‘So you wait for him, Froi. He’ll not like missing you twice.’

‘And come see us at our post.’

Froi promised to return to the inn and made his way up the city wall to the road that led to the godshouse. He couldn’t avoid seeing the castle battlements, but he forced himself to look away.

On the path above the caves towards the godshouse, he was bewildered to see a cluster of women coming and going.

The Priestling’s a busy man, the soldier had said. Busy doing what?

Inside the godshouse it was stranger still. More women, as well as the collegiati Froi recognised from his days in the caves under Sebastabol. The entire lower level of the godshouse was bustling with activity. Questions were being asked, orders were being given. And then Froi noticed the swollen bellies and understood why.