From behind him, he heard the horses come out of the stables and as suddenly as the drawbridge was raised, more than a dozen palace riders rode past Froi towards the gates, followed by a heavily armed horse-drawn carriage. He stepped aside, curious about who was inside, and when the carriage rolled past him, he heard the name ‘Olivier!’ spoken with a whimper.
‘Quintana?’ he said, following it down the drawbridge as it lurched and rolled away. ‘Are you in there?’ he shouted. He continued to trail the carriage down the wall of the Citavita, but it was too narrow a stretch of path to share with the riders and the townspeople. Froi pressed against the rock to stop himself from being crushed. He recognised Dorcas riding close to the carriage and broke into a slow run to keep alongside the guard.
‘Dorcas,’ he shouted. ‘Where are you taking her, Dorcas?’
‘Soothsayer,’ Dorcas replied. ‘It’s a custom each year before the day of weeping.’
‘A custom to do what?’ Froi snapped.
Dorcas was irritated in the way he was always irritated when Froi spoke. ‘To rid her of the curse. Best you go back to the palace. You ask too many questions.’
‘Because you don’t ask enough, Dorcas, you fool. She’s scared.’
‘King’s orders.’
From the tops of caves and the road above, the Citavitans stopped to watch. Their stares were bitter. ‘Whore!’ one shouted and threw a rotten apple at the carriage. ‘Demon!’
Froi followed the entourage further down the road, watching the carriage totter close to the edge. It was too tight a fit on the narrow track and at any moment he imagined both horses and carriage toppling over the side. But halfway down, they stopped at the entrance to one of the cave houses and Quintana was taken into the soothsayer’s cave under a pelt of rotten fruit and fury from above.
Outside the cave, the palace soldiers stood guard, their attention on the roofs above. Froi watched merchants pack up their goods nervously, whilst others stared from the street lords to the soldiers, tensely waiting.
‘The carriage is blocking the road, friend,’ one of the street lords called out to the palace riders. ‘There’s a herd of cattle behind you that don’t take too well to following orders.’
Although the street lords were few in number, the palace riders were smart enough to look wary. A moment later the carriage jolted forward and it became impossible for the rider to see what was taking place on the narrow crowded road.
Froi heard cries from inside the soothsayer’s cave and then silence. Chants and then silence again. A warbling sound caused the horses of the carriage to lurch forward. Inside the cave, another cry was followed by silence. Froi could see the horses champing at the bit, moved close enough to see the carriage rider’s white knuckles gripping on tight. But the large herd of cattle was urged forward by the street lords and began to push both horses and carriage to the edge of the cliff road.
‘You’re going to have to let the horses go!’ Froi shouted up to the palace rider. The rider stood up in the carriage to look behind and was jolted again. Froi leapt up beside him, stared back at the road and saw the herd of cattle gaining on them.
Froi shoved the rider off the carriage before the fool was forced over the side into the gravina, carriage and all. He then climbed up to release the mounts as they tossed their manes with fury. The rider was back on his feet in front of the horses, working on the second harness. Less than a moment after the horses were released, the carriage went hurtling over the side, crashing against the rocks down in the abyss below.
On this narrow stretch of rock Froi watched cattle, soldiers, street lords and horses jostle for space. Inside the soothsayer’s cave there were screams and crashes, and the next moment Froi saw a figure come racing out, her hair drenched and tangled. But Froi wasn’t the only one to see her. From the flat roof of a cave above, a street lord noticed her as well. The man leapt down and landed close to Froi’s feet. Without a second thought, Froi caught him with a fist to the temple, knocking him down.
As Froi raced down the winding road after Quintana, he saw glimpses of her hair, but for bend after bend she would disappear until he reached a stretch where she seemed to have vanished altogether. He imagined that she was either heading down towards the bridge of the Citavita or was inside one of the caves teeming with vendors who were taking refuge. But then at the entrance of a cave beside him, Froi heard the rasp of heavy breathing behind a trio of baskets overspilling with threads and fabric.
‘Quintana,’ he whispered.
The breathing stopped a moment.
‘Olivier?’
He searched behind the baskets and saw her there. Her hair was plastered to her face, the front of her repulsive pink dress damp. Froi crouched down beside her.
‘Couldn’t you have worn something less noticeable?’ he muttered.
But she was too shaken and miserable to respond. He studied her closely, not knowing whether he was dealing with Princess Indignant or Quintana the ice maiden.
‘What did she do to you?’ he asked.
She looked weary, shaking her head. He settled beside her, hearing the sound of horses’ hooves hitting the hard ground outside the cave. After a moment she placed her head against his shoulders and Froi felt a tenderness towards her.
‘Sometimes … sometimes keeping alive is too tiring,’ she whispered, wringing her hands.
Before he knew what he was doing, he pressed his lips against her brow. ‘Don’t ever say that. Ever.’
He looked back to the entrance cautiously. A woman stood stirring a large pot with a paddle. Froi smelt saffron. He watched the woman drop a piece of cloth into the dye, retrieving another that had been soaking. On flat stones behind her he could see a basket of cotton tunics, waiting to be dipped into the pot.
‘Wait here,’ he said.
While the woman had her back turned, Froi grabbed one of the tunics and a scarf, and crept back to where Quintana was hiding.
He helped her remove the hideous pink dress.
‘Close your eyes,’ she said.
Froi stared at her, bemused. Sharing beds and lifting her shift to her thighs and dropping his trousers to his ankles was normal yet here she was, bashful.
He closed his eyes and when she was dressed, he wrapped the scarf around her head and took her hand, leading her into the cave.
‘It’s best we stay here for a while.’
Quintana was much too intrigued by her surroundings to complain and accepted the circumstances with her usual aplomb. If her eyes weren’t prone to squinting, she would have almost looked wide-eyed with fascination. In a corner, a woman sang a song so pure that it made something inside Froi ache.
‘What is she singing?’ Quintana stood transfixed, her hand close to her ears, as if she wanted to capture the sound in her fist.
‘I don’t recognise the language,’ Froi said. ‘But it’s a pretty melody.’
She looked at him, surprised.
‘What would you know of such things?’ she asked.
‘Well, if you’d really like to know, I can sing a pretty melody or two.’
Froi wanted to cut off his tongue for saying the words. Except for when working alone on the Flatlands where no one could hear, he hadn’t sung out loud since he was a child in a Sarnak marketplace.
He pulled her away. They were still too close to the cave entrance and not far enough away from the fury of those outside. But Quintana had seemed no safer with the palace riders. Was she any safer with Froi?