Froi closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.
An important rule of the bond was: never break a bone if Lumateran lives are not at risk.
He opened his eyes to see De Lancey nursing his wrist. In the flickering light, he could see Lirah’s face.
‘They’re becoming hysterical in the hall,’ she said coolly. ‘They think the street lords have entered.’
De Lancey caught one of his guard’s eyes and gestured him towards the hall. A moment later, all four men reluctantly limped away.
‘Take Lirah’s hand, Olivier,’ Arjuro said quietly. ‘The steps are steep.’
‘Yet he’s not Olivier,’ De Lancey said, ‘are you? The lastborn from Sebastabol is in the library downstairs with my son, burying the ancient books in case the street lords enter and destroy them.’ De Lancey’s eyes met Froi’s. ‘The real Olivier claims to have spent the last few weeks held captive in the caves outside Sebastabol.’
Arjuro’s breath was ragged as he looked at Froi, shaking his head with regret. ‘Bit of truth would have helped.’
‘You ask him for truth, Arjuro?’ De Lancey said. ‘When you’ve been interested in no truth but yours.’
Arjuro pointed a finger at De Lancey. ‘And what was your truth?’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘What was Gar’s? That my brother didn’t murder the Oracle? That you didn’t send your messenger to betray me? Did you know the farrier left behind a family, De Lancey? Did you ever give them another thought?’
De Lancey’s eyes met Arjuro’s and Froi saw something flare up between them. History was history, he once told the Priestking. Why couldn’t it stay in the past? All this hatred between these two men could only mean that once there had been so much love.
‘The Oracle and the child were already dead. That’s Gar’s truth!’
Lirah pushed the Provincaro away with all the fury she could muster. And he winced from the pain, nursing his hand. He couldn’t disguise his anger and disgust.
‘Oh, we care about children now, do we, whore?’ he sneered. ‘After you tried to murder your own?’
Arjuro grabbed De Lancey’s injured wrist and snapped it back into place. De Lancey gasped from the pain.
‘Ask the Serker whose child it was Gargarin tossed from that window,’ Arjuro said. ‘She should know. It was hers.’
‘The child belonged to the Oracle,’ De Lancey said. ‘Born dead. It was what Gar swore to me.’
‘Yet he told this impostor that the child was smuggled out of the palace,’ Lirah said, looking at Froi bitterly. ‘So who are we to believe, De Lancey? A liar or a liar?’
Arjuro stared at Froi, shocked by the words. ‘When did Gargarin tell you that?’ he asked huskily. ‘When?’
‘Today. Before the street lords took him away,’ Froi said.
‘But he told me the babe was born dead,’ De Lancey argued. ‘Gargarin swore he was forced to toss a dead child into the gravina.’
‘My son was born with a mighty voice,’ Lirah said fiercely, a tremble in her words. ‘And Gargarin tells you both lies. In one breath, a dead child. In the next, a smuggled lastborn. Do you believe the gods conjured up a spell and made his brother see our worst nightmares?’
‘Come,’ Arjuro said quietly. But he pointed a finger at De Lancey emphatically. ‘Not you. And bind that wrist.’
They left De Lancey standing alone in the dark corridor. Arjuro lead Lirah and Froi to the tiny marble steps that spiralled down. But De Lancey was a hard man to lose.
‘So whose bastard is this lad, Arjuro?’ he called out from the top of the steps. ‘Yours or Gargarin’s?’
Lirah gasped. Froi swung around to look up, almost tumbling down the narrow steps.
‘The person I was swiving eighteen years ago hasn’t the capacity for childbirth. Curse or no curse,’ Arjuro said coolly. ‘Does he, De Lancey?’ Arjuro continued down the stairs, refusing to look back. There was a ringing in Froi’s ears and when they reached the landing, his legs buckled under him. Arjuro forced him to sit, resting his back against the wall and pushing his head between his knees.
‘Breathe, idiot boy. His words are false. It’s pure coincidence.’ But Froi heard doubt in Arjuro’s voice.
‘That face can’t be pure coincidence, Ari,’ De Lancey said, suddenly behind them. He reached over Arjuro’s shoulder and grabbed Froi’s face, but Froi leapt to his feet and shoved them both away.
‘Who do I resemble?’ Froi hissed. There was silence.
Arjuro looked away.
‘Who?’
‘The most base of beasts born to this world,’ Arjuro said sadly. ‘My father. But I see my father’s face in half of Charyn.’
Froi sucked in a breath.
‘He cannot possibly be Gargarin’s son,’ Lirah said coldly. ‘I was the only woman he had.’
De Lancey gave a short laugh of disbelief. ‘Don’t you think it’s strange, Lirah, that you can believe Gargarin is a murderer of babes and Oracles, but you can’t accept that he preferred another woman?’
‘There was no other woman,’ she spat. She threw a look at Froi. ‘This one looks like the shit and garbage of this kingdom. Isn’t that what they say Abroi is? He could be anyone’s trash. Sent by anyone. Probably the Serkers living in the underground city who want their revenge.’
The Provincaro searched Froi’s face. ‘Who sent you?’ he demanded. ‘Was it the Serkers?’
‘Does it matter? I didn’t kill the King.’
‘Pity,’ De Lancey said. ‘I would have liked you much better if you had.’
Arjuro led them to a room laid out with straw cots once used by Priestlings. He pushed Lirah towards one.
‘Sleep,’ he said to them, ignoring De Lancey, who stood at the door watching them all. ‘The sun will rise soon and it will be another long day.’
Froi sat with his back to the others. He felt a hand at his shoulder and shrugged it away viciously.
‘Not the time to be sulking,’ Arjuro said. ‘What would you expect from me?’ he added, gently. ‘A, “Hi-de-ho to you, lad. By the way, you have the face of my demented father which could only mean that you are either his child or Gargarin’s, who also happens to be a killer of women and babes.” ’
Froi turned to them. He could only see their outlines in the darkness. Lirah lay with her back to him, her body huddled.
He studied Arjuro closely. ‘Is there a chance I’m his son?’
That Froi and Arjuro had the same blood was too hard to fathom.
‘I don’t know,’ Arjuro said honestly. ‘The only way I can answer that question is if you tell me the truth. Days ago you inform me the Oracle’s child was not tossed into the gravina. That my brother murdered Lirah’s son instead. Today you tell me he didn’t murder the child. That it was smuggled out of the palace. What am I to be told tomorrow? That my brother is dead without me knowing the truth?’ Froi saw tears in the man’s eyes. ‘I don’t even know your real name, Olivier.’
But Froi couldn’t tell the whole truth without betraying Lumatere. Did he trust these people enough to do that?
‘Do you know a man by the name of Rafuel of Sebastabol?’ he asked, after a stretch of silence. ‘He approached … my people with a plan.’
He saw Arjuro stiffen. Lirah turned slowly from her cot to face them. ‘I know that name,’ she said.
‘What was the plan?’ De Lancey asked from the door.
‘That he could get an assassin into the palace to impersonate the lastborn from Sebastabol.’
Froi waited for Arjuro to speak.
‘Arjuro?’ De Lancey said. ‘Give him something in return.’
‘No,’ Arjuro said. ‘I’m more interested in what Rafuel of Sebastabol had to say to … sorry, what did you say your name was?’
The stare from Arjuro was sharp and Froi fought back a shiver. He felt as if he was looking at Gargarin.
‘I didn’t,’ Froi said.
A hint of a knowing smile appeared on Arjuro’s face. ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’
‘I don’t trust anyone here.’
Arjuro looked at him shrewdly, eyebrows raised in contemplation.
‘You don’t trust anyone here in the Citavita? Or anyone here in Charyn?’