‘Most of the people I’ve come across in my travels through Charyn are going underground, fearful of rape and pillage,’ he continued. ‘The Lumaterans will exact their revenge.’
Froi grabbed Olivier by his vest, slamming him against the wall. ‘You dare to say such a thing, Charynite? No Lumateran soldier would take a woman by force.’
Grijio pulled Froi away from Olivier and an uneasy silence settled around them.
‘But will the Lumaterans invade, Froi?’ Grijio asked quietly.
Froi had come to respect this even-tempered lad. ‘I’m not privy to the business of my kingdom,’ he said honestly, ‘but invading Charyn was never part of the plan.’
Froi bent to pick up Olivier’s cap and handed it to the lastborn. Olivier took it, a solemn expression on his face.
‘Pray that you know your queen and her consort well, Lumateran,’ Olivier said. ‘A war between our two kingdoms is the last thing we all want.’
In the drawing room of the guest compound, Olivier was reintroduced to Quintana. His eyes roamed around the room surreptitiously before returning to her stomach.
Tippideaux patted Quintana’s dress around the waist, proudly. Froi saw Quintana’s lips curl. He had taught her a counting exercise the night before so she could control her savage rage when provoked. Froi could tell today that Quintana only made it as far as the number four before twisting Tippideaux’s fingers away.
‘I shaped an outfit to disguise her belly,’ Tippideaux continued, as though nothing had happened. ‘She’ll be showing soon and we don’t want to draw attention to her. It’s all in the panelling, you know.’ She looked at the others for approval. ‘Because of my gift with the needle I’m called on frequently by the fatter women in Paladozza to design their outfits.’
Quintana had developed an impassive stare that she reserved solely for Tippideaux. During the last week Grijio and Froi had taken bets on who of the two girls would look away first. Secretly, Froi was dying to see them both in hand-to-hand combat with a bit of hair pulling thrown in.
‘You look much better than the last time I saw you, Your Highness,’ Olivier said cheerfully.
‘Well I suppose it was because I had a noose around my neck then and they’re always so unattractive,’ she replied, bitingly.
There was a strained silence and then Olivier had the good grace to grin.
‘Then it’s true that you do have a sense of humour,’ he said, placing an arm around both girls. Quintana stiffened and Olivier had the sense to let go.
‘I arrived at the same time as a troupe of actors, and their costumes and props looked a treat. What say you all that we go down to the vicinata and watch the greatest show in the land? That’s what is said on their caravan,’ Olivier said.
Olivier ’s good cheer was contagious and they spent the day browsing through the stalls of the vicinata, talking to the merchants, snacking on corn sticks, looking through the armoury. Froi noticed that Quintana was drawn to colourful things, and he watched her glance through the stalls where rolls of brightly hued cloth and carpets adorned the space. Olivier dragged Froi and Grijio to the window of an ale house, known to be the most disreputable in town.
‘We’ll steal away and come here one of these nights without your father’s men knowing, Grij,’ Olivier said. ‘It will be wild.’
Later they stood in the crowd watching the actors perform and Froi’s sides ached from the laughter. He heard Quintana’s laughter and it was not the endearing snorts of the Reginita, but a sweet sound to his ears all the same. He managed to push closer to the front and place her before him, his chin leaning on her head, his arms around her to protect her against the jostling of the crowd.
The troupe was made up of five men who each played a number of characters. They covered everything from a witless fool’s amorous adventures, to the comic feud between two neighbours over a pig named Herbert.
A few moments into another skit Froi knew there was something wrong.
‘Let us go,’ Tippideaux said, urgently grabbing Quintana’s arm. ‘My father said not to be late for dinner.’
‘Can we not wait for the next to finish?’ Quintana resisted.
‘Let us go now!’ Tippideaux pulled her away and when Froi saw one of the troupe actors place a straw-coloured broomstick of hair on his head, Froi understood Tippideaux’s persistence. Another actor wore a crown and what they did on stage was lewd. The crowd laughed at their bawdy antics and Froi wished he was with the indignant Reginita. She would not have understood what she saw, but Quintana did and he could see the tears of rage and hurt in her eyes. He saw the shudder of her body.
Don’t let her think of Bestiano, he prayed to the most merciful of the gods, if one existed in Quintana’s life.
Few words were spoken on their walk back to De Lancey’s compound other than Quintana’s ragged breathing and mutterings. But then her mutters became words. Numbers.
And then the numbers became grunts and she was weeping with fury, tearing at her hair. This was Quintana without the Reginita to calm her down. All rage with little reason.
‘We need to do something,’ Grijio said as one or two of De Lancey’s neighbours emerged from their homes to see what the commotion was about. ‘If they suspect who she is …’
By now Quintana was shouting the words, pounding at her head with her palm. Froi grabbed hold of her, but she slipped out of his hands and onto the ground, crawling into a crevice in a wall, pressing herself into it as though she wanted to disappear inside the stone. He knelt, taking her face between his hands.
‘It doesn’t go away if I count,’ she sobbed. ‘Nothing goes away.’
‘Then we’ll find something else,’ he said gently and placed his lips against her ear. ‘Think of her,’ he whispered. ‘What would she say to you? Think of the Reginita.’
And he watched as the fight left her body and only then did he look up at the others and see the horror and the sorrow in their expressions. Here was the mother of their heir. Their cursebreaker. Did Charyn stand a chance?
‘Do they think I’m that hideous?’ Quintana finally asked in a broken voice. Her words made Froi’s heart twist even more. ‘Do they think I would have done such things with my father?’
The others chorused their no emphatically.
‘Father has probably mentioned that I’m a genius at writing plays myself,’ Tippideaux said. ‘Well, when I have the time I will pen the true story of Quintana of Charyn.’ She gave Quintana a determined nod. ‘And of her beautiful and faithful friend, Tippideaux of Paladozza.’
Tippideaux held a hand out to her. Quintana studied it. Froi feared she would bite the fingers off to the bone.
‘Will Quintana of Charyn be beautiful in your play?’ she asked, quietly.
Tippideaux thought for a moment.
Just say yes, Tippideaux.
‘She’ll be strangely intriguing,’ Tippideaux said, her eyes faraway. ‘With a touch of mystery and savagery that will bewitch only the bold and courageous amongst us.’
Froi and the lads held their breaths.
After what seemed an eternity, Quintana took Tippideaux’s hand.
He spent each morning on the roof with Lirah watching the sunrise. Most times it was to observe if Bestiano’s riders were heading for Paladozza. Despite there being no province walls, the land outside to the south was flat and Nebia’s powerful army would be seen from miles away.
In Paladozza a peculiar world of colour existed on the roofs of people’s houses. Unlike Lumatere with its lush greens and golds, here the strange landscape of stone cones and cave houses was coloured in shades of light pink and soft brown and white. Once upon a time, stone had been stone to Froi. In Paladozza it had a beauty he was beginning to love.
One morning, De Lancey joined them and they sat appreciating the view.
‘They say a volcano erupted thousands upon thousands of years ago,’ De Lancey explained. ‘And the ash and rain water made that stone. It’s called tufa.’ He pointed to one stone house and then another. ‘That one is made of lava and that one out of sandstone. It’s why they differ in colour.’