‘De Lancey?’ she said, horrified. ‘Have you seen De Lancey? He’s the most handsome man in the land. He would never have a dalliance with Arjuro. Arjuro looks as though he hasn’t bathed since childhood.’
Froi pointed to his face. ‘Eyes closed. It means I’m trying to sleep.’
‘For some reason he is lying to you,’ she said. ‘Indeed he was in love with Lirah.’
Froi sighed, and opened his eyes. Her lips were pressed together in a grimace.
‘Why have you made Arjuro and Gargarin your business when you were sent here for other purposes?’ she asked.
‘I was sent here to swive you. Your word, not mine. Seeing it’s not your true desire, I’ve turned my attention to the lives of the brothers from Abroi and Lirah. It’s helped with the boredom.’
He wondered how much she knew of Gargarin’s hand in the Oracle Queen’s death.
‘Do you love Lirah?’ he asked quietly.
She studied his face. ‘Despite the fact that she’s not my mother?’
He wasn’t surprised that she knew. He was more surprised that she admitted it to him.
‘How is it that she spoke to you of such things?’ Quintana asked.
‘Oh, you know. She opened her mouth and words came out.’
She clicked her tongue with irritation. ‘We have an understanding with Lirah,’ she said.
‘So we’re back to “we”, are we?’ he asked. ‘Sometimes this bed gets too crowded.’
He turned away. ‘I’m going back to sleep. Send one of the others to wake me up later. I like you the least.’
She didn’t speak after that, but he sensed that she was awake and as much as he tried, he couldn’t keep himself from turning to face her. He felt her breath close to his.
‘Is it because we’re not beautiful?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘That you don’t want to save us … or plant the seed.’
Froi inwardly groaned.
‘In the books of the Ancients,’ she said, ‘the Princesses are always beautiful and they always get saved and men always want to swive them.’
At least if there was yearning in her voice, Froi would see it as an invitation. But there was only curiosity.
‘I’m going to say this once and once only,’ he said. ‘Are you listening?’
‘Only this once,’ she responded, and he couldn’t help smiling.
‘In the world outside this palace,’ he said, ‘men and women don’t go around speaking of planting seeds and swiving.’
‘What’s it called in the outside world then?’ she asked.
‘It’s not spoken of. It’s just done. It’s felt. I personally have nothing against the word,’ he said with a laugh. ‘But if you spoke it aloud, you would be judged.’
He thought for a moment, suddenly registering a word she had spoken a moment before. Saved. He reached over and touched a thumb to her face. But she flinched and pushed his hand away.
In all her talk of lastborns and seed planting, neither of the Quintanas had ever spoken of being saved. He couldn’t help thinking of the fear in her expression outside the soothsayer’s cave. The weariness in her voice when she spoke to him of staying alive. Then there were her words to the woman in the caves. The prophecy says that only the Reginita can break the curse. Only her. Not the innocent. Why would she not consider herself innocent?
Worse still, he couldn’t get the words from Arjuro and Gargarin out of his mind. That she would not live past her coming of age.
‘Go to sleep,’ she said after a while. But Froi couldn’t sleep. Too many questions were plaguing him. Why would Arjuro deny knowing Quintana?
In the early hours of the morning he heard Gargarin leave the adjoining chamber. Froi had spent enough time with the man to know that aside from being forced to attend breakfast and dinner each day, and sitting against the wall of the second tower and watching Lirah of Serker’s rooftop prison, Gargarin didn’t leave his chamber.
Froi dressed quickly and crept out of Quintana’s room, cautiously following Gargarin down the tower steps. Instead of Gargarin exiting into the outer ward of the castle, Froi watched him disappear to where the cellars were. Keeping a discreet distance, he trailed Gargarin through rows upon rows of wine racks and down into a lower basin that could only be accessed through a hole dug into the ground. Gargarin struggled to lower himself down into the narrow space. His hands, dependent on his staff, fumbled against the cavity wall, and Froi heard muttering and cursing that reminded him more of Arjuro than his brother.
The vertical tunnel led to a burrow so low in height that Froi stooped most of the way. He heard the tapping of the staff and in the distance could see the bobbing of light coming from an oil lamp that Gargarin must have stowed away. Further along, the tunnel tapered and turned and narrowed. Finally, he saw Gargarin lift a grate and extinguish the lamp. Then there was nothing but black and the quiet sound of breathing. Gargarin climbed the stones up into whatever lay above and disappeared from sight.
Froi waited a while, his heart hammering. Had Gargarin inadvertently led him to the King? How long had Gargarin secretly met him this way? Who were they keeping the truth from? Was it Bestiano? Froi remembered what Arjuro and Lirah and even Bestiano had admitted about the King’s prized pet. That he had been ambitious. Froi knew that if he was to find both men together, he would kill them. The King first and then Gargarin.
After a while, he followed Gargarin up the grate, climbing into an alcove with a small altar that served as a prayer cubicle. Gargarin’s feet were a short distance away from Froi’s head and the man was gazing down into what could only be the King’s private solar. From where he was, Froi could see frescoes richly decorating the wall, the eyes of the gods staring down at him in judgement. He heard the sound of heavy footsteps and voices below.
‘The Provincari and their people have arrived, Your Majesty,’ one of the riders said.
More footsteps. Froi suspected they belonged to more soldiers by the sounds of swords clanging as they walked. Suddenly there was a movement before him and he watched Gargarin place a hand in his pocket and retrieve a dagger. A cold fist seemed to grip Froi’s heart. Idiot. Gargarin was not there to meet the King. He was there to kill him.
Silently, Froi placed a hand over Gargarin’s mouth.
‘You’ll never get out of here alive, Gargarin,’ he whispered, wondering why he even cared.
Gargarin tried to shove him away, his movements furious.
He pulled Gargarin back to the grate and forced him down the hole. Froi followed closely behind. In the narrow tunnel he watched as Gargarin rested his head against the stone, wearily.
‘Lean on me,’ Froi said. ‘Lirah’s dagger wound must have triggered off spasms.’
‘Really. You’re gods’ touched, are you?’
Froi ignored the mood. ‘Not sure whether you noticed that I saved your life, fool.’
‘Not sure whether you noticed that I didn’t ask for saving, idiot!’
Gargarin was still clutching the dagger in his hand.
‘And where did you manage to get hold of that?’ Froi asked.
‘I’m not here to answer your questions.’
‘Then what are you here for, Gargarin?’
Gargarin stumbled away, his movements even more awkward in his fury. Froi grabbed him by the coarse woven cloth of his shirt, but Gargarin pulled away again.
‘Is this where you break your bond and kill me slowly?’ he asked.
‘Not today,’ Froi said. ‘I’m feeling too inquisitive.’
‘About?’
‘You. Your brother. The whore,’ he provoked.
Gargarin stopped and Froi walked into him. There was no room in so narrow a space for Gargarin to turn, but Froi saw the whipcord fury in the hands against the wall, the way they tightened on the staff and the dagger.
‘You watch what comes out of your mouth,’ Gargarin warned coldly. ‘Lirah of Serker was thirteen years old when she was sold to this godsforsaken rock. She deserves no one’s scorn.’