She turned, her eyes finding Froi’s over Bestiano’s shoulder.
‘Get out of that filthy sack, you stupid girl,’ Bestiano grated. Quintana had taken to wandering through the castle wearing the calico shift Froi had stolen for her in the caves. It made her look even more ordinary. Even more human than the peculiar Princess in the hideous pink dress.
When Froi heard Bestiano’s footsteps retreat towards where the Provincari were dismounting, Froi approached her.
‘You’re going tomorrow,’ she said quietly. ‘Without having planted the seed.’
Froi tried to hide his frustration. Deep down he wanted her to be of a sound mind, but each time she mentioned the planting of the seed he knew she was nothing more than a half-mad girl.
‘If you fulfil the prophecy,’ she said, ‘we will let you kiss me.’
‘A kiss is the prize?’ he asked sadly. ‘Even more than giving me the rest of you? It should be the other way round, Princess. In the real world, it’s called courting. You let a lad kiss you and then you offer him more.’
‘Let me tell you something, Olivier,’ she said with tears of sorrow in her eyes, ‘this is my real world.’
Gargarin approached, returning from greeting the Provincari. He went to enter their tower, but stopped when he caught Quintana’s expression.
‘Has Olivier said something to distress you?’ he asked gently, noticing the tears in her eyes.
‘He has a wicked tongue, Sir Gargarin.’
‘Pity it’s not in our power to cut it out then,’ Gargarin said. ‘The Provincaro of Paladozza would like a word,’ he told Froi.
Froi looked back to where the portcullis was still raised and the drawbridge down.
‘I’ve someone to meet,’ he muttered, walking away from them both.
Froi hammered on the godshouse door for what seemed an eternity. He was always wary on this quiet part of the rock, away from the noise and business of the Citavita.
He stared into the peephole the moment he heard Arjuro slide it across. After a moment, the Priestling opened the door and stepped aside. Froi watched him look down towards the palace.
‘I suppose the Provincari have arrived?’
Froi didn’t answer. Arjuro shut the heavy door, pushing his weight against it before placing a piece of timber across the length of the entrance.
They stood silently in the dark.
‘Did you swap places?’ Froi asked.
Arjuro met his eyes. He didn’t pretend not to know what Froi was saying.
‘In a way.’
‘In what way?’ Froi demanded.
‘In the way where I beat him to a pulp and walked out of a prison as Gargarin of Abroi and the real Gargarin stayed locked up for eight years as the Priestling Arjuro.’
‘Oh,’ Froi said quietly. ‘That way.’
Arjuro was holding a bottle in his hand. He took a long mouthful. He looked worse than Froi had ever seen him. They both sat on the cold hard stone of the stairs.
‘Lirah told me the truth. About what Gargarin did all those years ago.’
Arjuro didn’t respond.
‘Is there any chance –’
‘No,’ Arjuro said, as though he knew what Froi was asking. ‘I saw him do it. You’ve seen the distance between the godshouse balconette and yours. They shackled me to the railings outside mine and they made me watch. First he tossed my beloved Oracle, then her child.’
Froi’s heart sank.
‘It was Lirah’s child,’ he told Arjuro quietly. Respectfully. ‘They swapped the babes.’
Not even a day’s worth of ale could numb Arjuro from those words.
‘Gods,’ the Priestling muttered, hammering his head against the wall. ‘Gods. Gods. Gods.’
Froi grabbed him, taking the bottle out of his hand. Suddenly, a thought seemed to cross Arjuro’s mind.
‘Then the Princess …’
Froi nodded. ‘ … is the Oracle’s daughter.’
‘Well, that makes sense. There was no one madder than the Oracle.’
‘Was it quick?’ Froi asked. ‘The way they died, I mean?’
‘I could see the Oracle was already dead. The struggle had already taken place inside the chamber. Same with the babe.’
Arjuro took the bottle from Froi and was back on his feet, trudging upwards. Froi sometimes forgot that the brothers were no older than Trevanion and Perri and Lord August. But they walked like old men, as though the weight of evil stood on their shoulders.
Arjuro stopped at a landing that led to cell after small cell. Froi followed him into one of the rooms and watched the Priestling collapse onto the cot, the bottle hitting the ground, shattering into pieces. ‘They made me watch,’ Arjuro repeated over and over again. ‘They made me watch my brother kill innocence and goodness that day.’
‘And what of you, Arjuro? What of your innocence or guilt? Who was it that betrayed this godshouse to the Serkers the year before?’
‘There was no betrayal by me and no attack by Serker,’ the Priestling said.
Froi sat on one of the cots waiting. If he had to, he would wait all day.
‘I had fought with the Oracle. I always fought with the Oracle. It’s what she loved about me. I was her favourite, you know.’
Froi pushed the shattered glass out of the way and stepped closer.
‘I went to meet De Lancey. He was visiting from Paladozza and one thing led to another and we spent the night together. When I arrived here I found the horror. All dead, but her. Men and women I adored. Most no older than twenty-five. The Oracle couldn’t speak or write because they had cut off her tongue and fingers. I knew that we couldn’t stay, so I took her across the bridge and we travelled down into the gravina to the cave house I shared with Gargarin. I left a message for De Lancey at the inn. He joined us the next day. Told me I was insane for suspecting the palace. In those days the King could do no wrong in his eyes. De Lancey believed that by keeping the Oracle away from the protection of the palace, I was placing her life at risk. Said I was to leave her in the cave and that he would send a message to the King to advise him where to find her. He would pretend that the Serkers had left her there on the way back home so I would not be accused.
‘But De Lancey was too cowardly to do it himself and sent the farrier from the Citavita. When the farrier’s headless corpse was found in the town square, De Lancey realised the truth and went home to Paladozza. I think he’s been plotting against the palace ever since.’
‘Why didn’t you leave her there?’
‘Leave her?’ Arjuro asked, tears in his eyes. ‘She was my beloved Oracle. I left her once, but not again. If they were going to take us, they’d take us together. But the King had a different plan and locked me up in the godshouse, keeping her in the palace. The only thing that brought me comfort was that they allowed me to see my brother.’
Arjuro shuddered.
‘Nine months later, I never wanted to see him again. He came straight to see me after the murder on the balconette. Wanted to explain what I had witnessed. I begged him to remove my shackles because they were cutting into my wrists. He agreed and I took my chance.’
‘And you never looked back.’
‘You always look back,’ Arjuro said bitterly. ‘Always. And if you don’t, the gods look back for you. But from that day as far as Charyn knew, Arjuro of Abroi was a prisoner of the King for the next eight years.’
‘So it was Gargarin who cried for Lirah when she tried to kill herself and Quintana?’
Arjuro nodded.
‘He doesn’t love easily, my brother. He loved me and he had a strong affection for De Lancey of Paladozza and De Lancey’s father, who was the Provincaro at the time. Women flocked to him, beautiful women. At first I thought he was like me and preferred the company of men in his bed. Men pursued him with the same passion as women. But nothing. It was as though he was in his own world of thoughts and inventions and books.’