Further along, a man juggled three apples, taking a bite from the same one at intervals until it was nothing more than its core. Quintana studied him with a sort of wonder beyond anything Froi had seen on her face.
But she was drawn away by the cries of a woman in the folds of the cave. Froi followed her to where a couple embraced, the man’s body pressing his lover to the wall, his hands concealed under her dress. Froi held out a hand to pull Quintana away, but he heard a snarl from her and suddenly she leapt onto the man’s back, grabbing him by the hair, pounding his head once against the stone wall. The woman screamed and the man twisted and turned to throw Quintana from him. But she held on tight and Froi saw her face, saw her small, slightly crooked teeth, savage in shape.
He grabbed her around the waist and forced her from the man’s back, only to feel a painful kick to his shin by the woman.
He took Quintana’s arm and they escaped through the labyrinth, choosing paths randomly.
A tunnel led down to a lower level of the caves and Froi dragged her towards it, climbing down first, his feet and hands pressed into the indents of the narrow space to keep his balance. When he reached the ground, he held up his hands, clasping her around the legs and settling her before him.
‘Are you a madwoman, Quintana?’ he whispered furiously, after they both caught their breaths.
She pointed up the tunnel. ‘Did you not hear her crying?’
Froi looked around guardedly. Men stared from small dank corners and music rang in the distance through the pocket holes of the cave.
He leaned forward to whisper. ‘She was crying from pleasure.’
Quintana shook her head, fiercely. ‘That’s a lie.’
‘No. It’s the truth. People enjoy touching each other. Holding each other. Mating. Since the time of the Ancients, lovers have enjoyed it.’
Even in the half-lit space he saw her expression of disgust.
‘Is that what you tell yourself, Olivier? To make yourself feel better about what you’re doing to a woman. Do you convince yourself that she’s enjoying herself?’
Froi bit back his fury. And his shame.
‘And what of you?’ he said coldly. ‘Lifting your nightdress in your chamber, convincing yourself that it’s a sacrifice for Charyn when it’s nothing more than a need to ease your loneliness because no one in this godsforsaken kingdom cares whether you live or die!’
He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. She stepped away and he tried to hold out a contrite hand to her, but she would have none of it.
‘Ease my loneliness?’ she asked bitterly. ‘If I wanted to ease my loneliness, Olivier, I would have asked my father for a kitten, not whored myself for Charyn.’
She turned and ran, and he caught her shift, hearing it tear. ‘Don’t draw attention to yourself,’ he said, but she pulled free.
He lost her twice, each time catching a glimpse of her in another nook or alcove.
At last, when he believed he would never find her; there she was in a huddle of musicians.
The music they were playing was accompanied by a wailing sound that seemed to beckon all that was untamed and buried deep within. Strange instruments twanged with every pluck of the strings, accompanied by the flicker of fingers across a hide drum. The man’s voice was rich, reverberating off the cave walls. Froi could tell he told a sad tale. But then the music changed in tempo and a woman with wild eyes spun and spun again, her arms raised high, and Froi was dizzy with the speed and the beat and the wails and grunts until the woman collapsed to the ground, a mass of sweat and deep breaths.
He saw Quintana then, her eyes bright with excitement. Perhaps it was the Serker in her that sang to him. Lirah’s Serker blood. Whatever it was, it seemed to awaken something in Froi that he couldn’t understand. That he didn’t want to understand. Not with Quintana.
And then the woman on the ground rose and the music was all things enticing. In the small crowd, she caught Quintana’s eye and held out a hand and then the Princess or Reginita or savage, or whoever she was, danced. It was as if she knew this dance in the deepest core of her and when she opened her eyes, Froi saw the Quintana who sat on the piece of granite between the palace and godshouse that day he had watched with Arjuro. The savage in her was a beacon to all things raw and base inside Froi. Her hips swaying, her eyes closed, her hands slowly twisting and turning above her head. It was as Rafuel had said. It was a dance of seduction and somehow in this dank cave with the half-mad Princess of the enemy, Froi was seduced. He walked between the dancers and took her face in his hands and kissed her, his tongue sparring with hers for only the slightest moment before he heard the snarl escape her lips and felt a sharp pain. He wiped the blood from his mouth where she had bit hard.
‘Do that again and I’ll make sure you bleed like a stuck pig,’ she hissed.
He clenched his fist. Remember your bond, Froi, he said to himself. He counted to ten.
The music slowly strummed to nothing and he felt bereft without it. Saw that she did too. Caught the tremble in her body as she came back from wherever she had been in her head. Froi reached out a gentle hand and drew Quintana to him, pressing their brows together.
‘In a kinder world,’ he whispered, ‘one I promise you I’ve seen, men and women flirt and dance and love with only the fear of what it would mean without the other in their lives.’
She was silent for a moment, but stayed with her head pressed to his.
‘Lirah says it’s a sport of blood,’ she said. ‘A dance between men and the women they own. What cruel lies you tell, Olivier of Sebastabol.’
He took her hand and they travelled deeper into the cave’s core, following the sound of cheering into a small crowded space.
Froi sat down beside a group of men playing cards, pulling Quintana down beside him. This was a game he knew, one he had mastered on the streets of the Sarnak capital.
‘You in?’ a man barked, half his teeth missing, which was always a warning not to join a game.
Froi pointed to himself and then shrugged, nodding.
The man with thinning hair clicked his fingers and held out a hand and Froi fished a handful of coins from his pocket. He dealt and Froi studied the cards he held in his hands.
‘Sir,’ he heard Quintana speak.
Froi turned to her, a finger on his lips, but Quintana was staring at the dealer, creases furrowing her forehead.
‘You forgot your card, Sir.’ It was Quintana the indignant.
There was a hiss of fury from the other players. Froi tensed, but relaxed when he realised Quintana was not in danger. The men were staring at the dealer.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about!’ the dealer snapped.
‘There,’ Quintana said, confused that he was unable to see. She reached over to touch the dealer’s sleeve.
The other players stared at her. Was it a game this creature was playing, pretending innocence and confusion at the sinister workings of the world?
They threw their cards down in disgust.
‘You’re out of play, Aesop. Out!’
Someone pushed the coins towards Quintana.
‘They’re yours, Miss.’
Another man began to shuffle and deal and he had a new admirer in Quintana, who watched him carefully, grinning a crooked smile each time he stared down and winked at her.
‘Did you see what he did with his eye?’ she whispered in Froi’s ear.
‘He likes you,’ Froi said.
When each man had their cards, Froi felt her at his shoulder studying the hand. He tried to push her away, wary of what she would reveal to the others by her reaction.
‘What’s your name, lad?’ one of the players asked.
He hesitated, realising he couldn’t use Olivier in case someone knew of the palace visitor.