‘Some of us weren’t born for rewards, Froi. We were born for sacrifices.’
‘I’ll not say my goodbyes,’ Froi said, walking away. ‘It might be best that I leave without ceremony.’
‘You saved her life,’ Tariq said to Froi’s retreating back. ‘Charyn may forget that one day, but I won’t.’
He got as far as the end of the tunnel of speckled light.
‘Froi!’ he heard her cry. Froi turned to see Tariq gripping her hand, and Quintana pulling away.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
He continued his way to the docked raft and began to untie the rope. She reached him.
‘Please, Froi. Only you can take care of us,’ she wept. ‘Only you.’
She held onto him and he tried to push her away gently, tried to get onto the raft, half-lifting her back on the landing.
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please stay and protect us.’
‘You have an army coming, Quintana. Tariq doesn’t need me.’
‘But we need you, Froi. Not Tariq. We need you.’
Froi sighed, pushing her gently away again. ‘Tariq!’ he called out. But she tried to climb on board again, almost toppling into the water as she wept.
‘Let us come with you, Froi. Please.’
Tariq reached them and tried to remove her from Froi, but Quintana held on fast, sobbing, ‘Please, please,’ over and over again.
‘Quintana, you’ll hurt yourself,’ Tariq said when she tried to board the raft a third time. ‘You’ll not survive a moment in the capital.’
‘He’ll protect us. He’ll make sure nothing happens to us.’
She managed to cling onto Froi, her arms clasped around him.
‘Can we have a moment, Your Majesty?’ Froi asked Tariq, his heart hammering hard at what he was about to do. Tariq was hesitant, but then stepped away.
Froi pulled free of Quintana, grabbing both her arms to shake her hard.
‘Listen and listen well, Princess,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I was sent to assassinate you. Do you hear me? By the Lumaterans who despise you. I was sent to snap your neck and put this kingdom and mine out of their misery.’
She recoiled and Froi knew he would take this moment’s expression to his death.
Quintana stepped back onto the landing, and her legs buckled. Froi reached to catch her, but Tariq was there, picking her up in his arms.
‘Go,’ Tariq said. ‘On my word, I promise that I will not let anything happen to her. Go.’
Chapter 22
The Belegonian Ambassador had outstayed his welcome. Finnikin knew it. Everyone in the room, including the Ambassador’s own scribe and guard, knew it. It had been too long a day with little compromise. No, the Lumaterans could not send fleece down the river through Belegonia to Yutlind. Belegonia now had a strong market selling their own fleece to wool merchants in Yutlind and Osteria. Did they not have the right during Lumatere’s curse to breed their own sheep for such purpose? And no, Lumatere should not expect the Belegonians to buy their ore when the kingdom of Sorel was selling it for half the price. Then there was the subject of Charyn. Belegonian conversation always came back to the subject of Charyn.
‘I will repeat this one more time, Your Majesty,’ the Belegonian Ambassador said. ‘My king is urging you to take up this opportunity. It’s what Lumatere has been waiting for.’
‘Do not presume to tell me what we’ve been waiting for, Sir,’ Isaboe said sharply.
‘The Charynite capital is in anarchy,’ the Belegonian Ambassador said. ‘The Osterians and Sarnaks have armies in place with our Belegonian soldiers standing by their side, ready to enter at any moment.’
‘The last I heard, one does not invade merely because another kingdom’s capital is in anarchy,’ Finnikin said from the window overlooking the garden where he could see Vestie of the Flatlands and Jasmina playing blindman’s bluff with Moss, who was guarding them.
He turned back and saw the Belegonians exchange looks. They were going to change tack. He was certain they were going to mention Sorel. They always used that kingdom as a threat in their negotiations. Finnikin tried to catch his wife’s eye.
‘The Sorellians will take advantage of this,’ the Belegonian Ambassador said.
‘You know this for certain, do you?’ she asked.
‘No, but our spies tell us that Sorel has been in constant discussion with those on Avanosh Island, who have claimed for hundreds of years that the Charyn throne was once theirs. The heir of Avanosh could be what the Charynite people want.’
Isaboe looked to Sir Topher. ‘Why would these people of Avanosh be what the Charynites want?’ she asked.
‘Because –’ the Belegonian Ambassador went to answer, but Isaboe held up a hand to stop him. Finnikin was used to the hand. The hand was held up at times when Jasmina tried to argue about what to wear on certain days, and the hand came into play when Finnikin tried to insist that Isaboe had no idea how to win a game of Kings and Queens fairly. His wife’s hand was mightier than a sword.
‘Because Avanosh is neutral,’ Sir Topher explained. ‘During times such as this a neutral leader will prevent Charyn’s Provincari from going to war with each other if one tries to take the throne.’
Isaboe stood and walked to Finnikin by the window. She leaned against him, so unlike her when they were surrounded by foreigners. He reached out a hand and kneaded her shoulder. As much as he wasn’t allowed to say she looked tired in front of others because, No one walks around saying that men and kings look tired, Finnikin, he wanted to say the words all the same. Isaboe, you look tired. Isaboe, you work too hard. Isaboe, you can’t solve everyone’s problems. Isaboe, you are not responsible for the happiness of every person you meet.
‘Then why not leave the Charynites to be ruled by the Avanosh lot who will keep their people from going to war?’ Finnikin suggested.
The Belegonian Ambassador shook his head emphatically.
‘If the Avanosh heir ends up in the palace, the kingdom of Sorel will play a role in the running of Charyn,’ the Ambassador said. ‘We don’t want that.’
‘But you have absolutely no qualms buying Sorellian ore when they are undercutting an ally of yours?’ Isaboe asked sharply.
The Belegonian grimaced. ‘You are misunderstanding the matter, Your Majesty.’
‘I don’t miss matters, Sir,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t afford to miss matters. Each time a Queen or King in this land misses a matter many people die. So I would advise you to think carefully of your words.’
‘Sorel and Charyn have been thorns in our side since the beginning of time,’ the Ambassador said. ‘Nothing can be worse news than if they unite.’
‘Not a thorn in your side, Sir Osver,’ she said, her tone so frigid Finnikin hardly recognised it. ‘Not a thorn in the side of Belegonia. Perhaps the kingdoms of Osteria and Lumatere and Sarnak, but you share no border with the Charynites. Yet you stand to gain much if they are forced to surrender to these joint armies you have in place.’
Finnikin watched his daughter below look up from her play, straight to their window. He moved Isaboe aside. If Jasmina saw them now, they would be ending one series of negotiations and entering another. At least they had a chance of winning against the Belegonians, but Jasmina was another matter.
He watched as his father rode into the garden on his stallion. Vestie and Jasmina ran to him with excitement and Moss lifted them, seating Vestie behind Trevanion and Jasmina in his lap. Trevanion proceeded to canter around the garden while both girls chortled with joy. It made Finnikin smile to see them. Who would ever have thought that Trevanion would be softened by two little girls?
But Finnikin’s attention was brought back to the Belegonian Ambassador.
‘The Charynites murdered your family! The Sorellians imprisoned your captain. The father of your consort. Take this opportunity, Your Highness.’