Quintana of Charyn (41 page)

 

 

F
roi was led through the gilded doors and into the palace throne room. He had never been in here before and marvelled at the rich tapestries of fierce men battling impressive boars with bare hands. On the ceiling was a fresco of women, stupendous in their girth and beauty, the serpents they had conquered beneath their feet. Froi understood with great clarity why he wasn’t meeting Finnikin and Isaboe in their private residence. But he had been waiting for this day. Regardless of his time spent with Finnikin, riding around the kingdom; and with Trevanion, fishing in the river; and with Perri and Tesadora down in the valley, laughing with the camp dwellers; and blessed
Barakah
, translating a journal in the shrinehouse; and with Isaboe, suggesting changes to her garden; and with Sir Topher, beating him in a game of kings – today they weren’t those people to him. They were the Queen, her king, the Captain of the Lumateran Guard and his second-in-charge, the Queen’s First Man, and the Priestking.

And he wasn’t Froi. He was their assassin who had spent nine months in an enemy kingdom. He had a head full of information they wanted, and this was the time to give it.

‘Was the palace exactly as Rafuel of Sebastabol sketched?’ Finnikin asked when they were finally seated.

Froi didn’t answer. He didn’t expect them to begin with that question. He had thought they’d skirt around things before they asked him that.

‘Froi?’ Sir Topher prodded.

‘Do you not trust us with that information?’ his queen asked.

‘I trust you with my life,’ Froi said. ‘But if I answered your question, then the people I love in Charyn would never trust me again.’ His eyes met hers and then Finnikin’s. ‘And in my whole time there, I never once betrayed Lumatere. So if there’s no reason for you needing to know how to enter my son’s home, I’d prefer not to speak of the Charynite palace.’

There was silence. Perri was already on his feet, pacing the room.

‘Then what shall we speak about?’ Finnikin asked.

‘The weather is always a safe topic,’ Froi said pleasantly. ‘It could lead into some vital information about the storage of rain-water, and growing produce. We have different terrain to Charyn and what we grow, they want, and what they grow, we may want.’

‘Anything else, Froi?’ Finnikin asked dryly. ‘Any other suggestions?’

‘Well, you have invited me here for a reason,’ he said with a shrug, ‘and I have become used to people asking my opinion, so it’s a bit difficult to hold my tongue.’

Sir Topher sat forward in his seat. ‘And you gave your opinion readily?’ he asked. ‘With them?’

‘Most times. I did lose my confidence once … after I was injured,’ he said, remembering Gargarin discussing Froi’s self-doubt with Lirah that time in Sebastabol.

‘After you were betrayed by a Charynite … friend?’ Isaboe asked.

‘Yes.’

‘An opportunist? This traitor friend?’ Finnikin asked. ‘Did he do it for money? Lucian mentioned what greedy, ignorant Charynites they were, those who placed themselves in charge of the camp dwellers. Do most Charynites betray for money?’

Froi felt himself bristling. ‘Well, firstly, I tend to refer to him just as a traitor these days,’ he said. ‘Not a friend. And … no. Most Charynites don’t betray for money. Most Charynites want to stay alive and hold their children in their arms.’

He regretted the words the moment he spoke them. Caught the pain in Isaboe’s eyes. But there was understanding there, as well.

‘He … the traitor didn’t do it for money,’ Froi said quietly.

‘And you know this for certain?’ Sir Topher asked. ‘Someone just wakes up one morning, Froi? And decides to betray those who trust him? But not for money? And you believe that?’

Froi sighed. ‘No, sir. I’ll explain to you how betrayal happens. A bunch of lads come up with a plan. Quite noble, if not naive,’ he said, thinking of Grijio and Satch and Olivier. ‘And then what happens is that one of the lads gets kidnapped as part of a plan hatched between a neighbouring enemy kingdom and a very secretive organisation …’

Finnikin sighed. ‘If it’s Lumatere and Rafuel’s people you’re referring to, then let’s get rid of the cryptic references. I get so confused when I haven’t slept.’

‘Yes, let’s use names,’ Isaboe said.

Froi nodded. ‘I took Olivier’s place at your instruction, and meanwhile he was held captive underground, guarded by a man, Zabat, who convinced him that he could make a difference. Except Zabat had switched sides and believed Bestiano of Nebia was the best chance for Charyn. And when Olivier of Sebastabol was released, he became what Zabat, not his original captors,
wanted him to be. Which led to betrayal.’

‘In what way?’ Sir Topher asked.

‘Olivier withheld the truth,’ Froi said.

Isaboe made a sound of annoyance.

‘He doesn’t seem so naive after all,’ she said. ‘If you’re ever writing to the Charynites, Froi, tell them not to execute the smart ones. They do come in handy.’

He looked up at her again. Would Froi’s rotten corpse be lying somewhere in a ditch in Sorel if Froi was less smart?

Yes, of course it would be, her eyes told him.

Froi smiled, half bitterly, half in amusement that he would think she had lost any of her fight or backbone. That he would think that Lumatere’s charming, loving Queen and her king were any less than they presented. But they didn’t lie about who they were. They just omitted details.

Finnikin retrieved a letter and passed it to Froi. Froi’s heart hammered at the thought of Gargarin finally writing.

‘This came to us yesterday, addressed to you.’

Froi opened it, recognising the writing from a letter Simeon had sent to Lucian.

‘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 –’