‘What happened during the plague?’ he asked Gargarin.
‘People began dying and the palace riders raided the fields of crops and livestock and anything else they could get their hands on, so the King could barricade himself in the palace with only those he trusted. Beyond the Citavita, it was even worse. The provinces refused to give sanctuary to those who lived outside their boundaries and many of them overflowed into the Citavita, bringing disease with them. It was how the street lords were born. Theirs was a fury that came from dead sisters or wives who had thrown themselves to their deaths from the despair of barren wombs. But during the plague it festered as they watched the oxen carry their cargo of grain and seed into the castle from the fields outside.’
There was bitterness and anguish in Gargarin’s voice. Froi wondered how he could ever have thought Gargarin cared little for anyone.
‘At first the street lords found a way to bring some kind of stability where there had been theft and violence, neighbours killing neighbours for food. Sadly, the people failed to see that the street lords were always going to want something in return. Later, with the plague over and a third of our people dead, the palace tried to take control of the Citavita again. It appeared that the street lords had lost some of their power, but it was only on the surface. Today they still have a hold on the people because the people have no one honourable to hold onto. But make no mistake, those men who roam the streets are as greedy and corrupt as …’
Gargarin looked around to see if anyone was listening.
‘ …those here in the palace. In one breath they say they despise the King, in another the pigs are paid a handsome sum to be Bestiano’s eyes and ears in the Citavita. The street lords fear little. It is a foolish man indeed, who fears little.’
‘They’re scared of your brother,’ Froi said. ‘I can’t understand why. He’s nothing but a drunk with mad eyes.’
‘He is gods’ touched,’ Gargarin said. ‘That’s enough to scare any of us. Some believe that it could have been those touched by the gods who cursed Charyn or that by imprisoning the last Priestling of the Oracle’s godshouse, the gods were punishing the palace. Both beliefs led back to one person. Arjuro.’
‘Is that what you think?’ Froi asked, and it surprised him how much he cared what Gargarin thought. ‘About who cursed Charyn?’
Gargarin swallowed. ‘I think the curse of the lastborn came from more than one person. I think the power of it came from hearts filled with wrath and love and despair and betrayal and that even the gods are confused about where it came from and how to mend it.’
Gargarin turned to him. ‘It’s not safe in the Citavita, Olivier,’ he said quietly. ‘The street pigs are out of control. I’d advise you to get out of here as soon as you can.’
‘They’ll never enter the palace,’ Froi said.
‘There’s not a huge difference between not letting them in and the street lords not letting us out. I fear for the Provincari who will be here within days. They risk their lives.’
‘Why come then?’
‘They’re invited to the palace every day of weeping to discuss Charyn’s futureless future. But I fear that the street lords are more powerful than the palace has led the provinces to believe.’
‘So Quintana’s not delusional in believing that everyone is out to kill her?’
Gargarin’s eyes bored into Froi’s. ‘You ask a lot of questions for an idiot,’ he said.
‘Is that what they call me outside my province?’
‘Emphatically. Olivier the idiot.’
‘I’m charmed, to say the very least. I’ve never had a title.’
This time Gargarin laughed. Froi smiled at the sound. Lumaterans weren’t known for their sense of humour and Froi found himself in trouble half the time when they didn’t understand his.
‘Is it true that she’s mad?’ Froi asked.
The grimace was back on Gargarin’s face. ‘True enough,’ he responded. ‘But if you should believe anything, believe that everyone is out to kill her, Olivier. Her only delusion is the belief that she’ll break the curse.’
‘Then why am I here if everyone believes that she’s delusional about last and firstborns?’
‘Because the King doesn’t believe she’s delusional. Because the King is frightened by his own child and is convinced that she’s mad. When a mad Princess whose birth cursed a kingdom states that the gods have spoken, prophesising that she’s the last who will make the first, the King takes heed of her words.’
‘Do you believe her?’ Froi asked.
‘No,’ Gargarin said, his voice sad. ‘But I would like to. Something I can’t explain tells me to. But reason steps in the way.’ He looked at Froi, sadness etched in his expression. ‘She comes of age next week,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Once she’s proven to this kingdom that her prophecy was a lie, Bestiano will convince the King to find another way to break the curse.’
‘And how will they go about convincing Her Royal Delusioness that she’s not the last to make the first?’
Froi flinched at the intensity of Gargarin’s stare.
‘Mark my words, that girl will not live beyond her coming of age. It’s best that you get out of the palace before that happens.’
It was the second time in so many days that Froi had heard these words and they chilled him to the bone.
Later, when nothing came from their study of Lirah’s roof, they returned to their chamber. Froi picked up the sketches scattered all over the floor.
‘This is something Charyn is … we are,’ he corrected himself, ‘known for.’ Froi looked at Gargarin. ‘A Lumateran once came through Sebastabol,’ he lied, ‘and told the story that despite how barbaric the Charynite soldiers were, they introduced one vital form of water use that saved part of the Lumateran Flatlands.’
Gargarin stared at him, waiting.
‘The rainwater was collected by the placement of sliced animal bones around the entrance of a home. When it rained, the water ran down the grooves of the bones and was taken into a cistern under the house. Then during the dry season, they’d build pipes made of animal hide to run from the cistern into the fields.’
There was silence from Gargarin and Froi turned to him questioningly and saw the man look down.
‘Simple, but worthwhile,’ Froi said. ‘Don’t you agree?’
Froi watched a smile appear on Gargarin’s face. It was strange and twisted and reluctant, but it was also sincere and almost shy, which was strange coming from a grown man.
‘In my third year in the palace as a young man, I drew up the plans for that system of water capturing. It heartens me to think that Charyn had something worthwhile to offer Lumatere.’
Froi sat up, amazed. ‘You?’
Gargarin nodded, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. ‘In Abroi where I grew up, I saw people suffer and children die because we had so little water and, most years, no crops to speak of. It’s strange that in a single kingdom, there can be an abundance of gifts in one province and little in another. Have you ever been deprived of food, Olivier? As a lastborn, I doubt it.’ Froi looked away. He couldn’t remember a day in his life as a young child when he wasn’t deprived of food. It only served as a reminder of what he had to do to keep his stomach full.
Gargarin sighed, standing up and straightening his back.
‘Are you in a hurry to complete these plans because you have a meeting with the King?’ Froi asked.
‘Not yet, but I’ll see him soon and then my work will be done.’
Gargarin looked away. ‘If anything happens to me, can I trust that my drawings get into the hands of De Lancey of Paladozza?’
‘What can possibly happen to you?’
‘Can you promise without irritating me?’
‘Why would you trust me?’
The awkward bend of the head was there again. ‘I don’t know,’ Gargarin said honestly. ‘But I do.’
Froi shook his head. ‘How about I give you my word that I won’t let anything happen to you instead?’