‘Leave,’ the guard said. ‘We don’t need trouble here.’
Froi pushed past him, but the man gripped his arm.
‘You have a very short memory,’ Froi warned. ‘Don’t let me remind you of what I can do.’
Suddenly De Lancey was between them.
‘Come,’ he said to Froi, holding up a hand to his guard. ‘I’ll take care of this.’
‘Sir –’
‘I said, I’ll take care of this.’
Froi followed De Lancey as he pushed through the crowd and resumed his seat.
‘We’ll speak later,’ the Provincaro told the men at his table, who eyed Froi suspiciously. They walked away, turning at intervals until they left the room.
‘What don’t they trust more?’ Froi asked, bitterly. ‘The fact that they don’t know who I am, or the fact that I saved her life and they didn’t want it saved?’
De Lancey didn’t respond.
‘Where’s Lirah?’ Froi asked, not wasting time.
The Provincaro shrugged, an effortless movement. ‘I’ve not seen her since the day of the hanging.’
‘And Arjuro?’
‘I’ve not seen him either.’
Froi shook his head, giving a humourless laugh. ‘You’ve been most helpful, Provincaro,’ he said as he stood.
‘If you ask me where Gargarin is, I can tell you that,’ the Provincaro said, his voice silky in its lazy drawl.
Froi stiffened. He wanted to walk away.
‘Sit,’ De Lancey ordered.
‘I don’t –’
‘Now.’
Froi sighed and sat and they eyed each other a moment or two before De Lancey pushed over the carafe of wine.
‘I’d prefer food.’ Froi hoped there wasn’t a plea in his voice. Food had been scarce during the week and he had taken to stealing whatever he could, regardless of who he was taking it from. Those in the Citavita had made it clear that it was each out for their own. De Lancey signalled to one of his men and gave him an instruction before the man walked away.
‘We think Lirah and Arjuro are staying at the Crow’s Inn, close to the bridge of the Citavita,’ he told Froi.
‘Think?’
‘Someone with an abundance of wild hair and clothed in black from head to toe was heard calling one of the street lords a horse arse of gods-like proportions. Could only be him.’
Froi closed his eyes a moment, feeling a relief that almost made him faint.
‘Are you going to take them with you?’ he asked, clearing his voice of its hoarseness.
‘No. Should I?’ De Lancey asked.
‘You’ll take Gargarin, but not Arjuro?’
Froi could tell by the narrowing of De Lancey’s eyes that he was unimpressed with his tone.
‘Well, they’re not exactly attached and Gargarin doesn’t owe Arjuro anything,’ the Provincaro said coldly.
‘But you do.’
‘Do I?’
Froi bristled. The man was too calm and cool-blooded.
‘I would have done the same to Gargarin in that prison cell,’ Froi said. ‘If I had seen Gargarin kill the child and the Oracle, I would have escaped the exact way Arjuro did.’
‘So would have I,’ De Lancey said. ‘I think Gargarin’s accepted that, too. But ten years ago, when they released Gargarin from the prison after they had broke every bone in his body, we searched this kingdom high and low for one of the most briliant young physicians in Charyn. And Arjuro refused to be found. Gargarin’s bones mended twisted.’
A plate of pigeon stew was placed before Froi and he wolfed it down.
‘How long since you’ve eaten, you fool?’
Froi burped and stood. ’Not your concern.’
De Lancey sighed. ‘Sometimes I think you and Grij and the lads are a punishment to us all for our wild youth.’
‘I’m not one of the lads,’ Froi said. ‘I’m just someone’s bastard, remember?’
There was regret on De Lancey’s face.
‘I did not mean for you to find out the way you did.’
Froi shrugged. ‘You had a dalliance with Arjuro and you wanted to pick a fight.’
De Lancey gave a bitter laugh. ‘Dalliance? Is that what he told you?’
‘I knew he was lying,’ Froi said with a sneer. ‘As if you would lower yourself. I know your type.’
The Provincaro was quick. He reached over and gripped Froi by his shirt, bringing him an inch away from his face.
‘No,’ De Lancey said through clenched teeth. ‘You don’t. Never presume.’
The Guard were at the table in an instant.
‘We’ll take him outside, Sir.’
The Provincaro shoved Froi back and waved them away. Froi studied him a moment. He wondered who was telling the truth. Arjuro or De Lancey?
‘He lied about the dalliance part,’ the Provincaro said quietly. ‘We were lovers from when we were sixteen years old until the night of the lastborn. Nine years. Not quite a dalliance, don’t you agree?’ he added bitterly.
‘But you betrayed him?’
A flash of regret crossed the other man’s face. ‘I betrayed many that night. But I believed I was doing the right thing.’
De Lancey poured wine from the carafe. ‘Do you have trust in your king?’
Froi pushed his mug towards the wine and De Lancey poured another. ‘I have a queen and you have caught me on a mellow day, De Lancey. Because if anyone dared to question my allegiance or trust in my queen and king I’d take a knife to their throat.’
‘I trusted my king. I thought Arjuro was mad and in his madness he was risking the life of our beloved Oracle. I felt there was no better place to protect her from the Serkers than in the palace. But I was a coward in my plan. It cost an innocent farrier his life and I realised afterwards that the Serkers were not involved.’
De Lancey looked up and Froi followed his gaze to where the three lastborns entered the crowded room. Froi watched Grijio speak to one of the guards, who pointed to the Provincaro.
‘Arjuro was your lover, but you had a wife who bore you a son?’ Froi accused.
‘No,’ the Provincaro said. ‘I’ve not had a wife. It’s far more complicated and tragic than you’d imagine.’
‘Everything in Charyn seems far more complicated and tragic.’
Froi stood, skolling the wine.
‘By the way,’ Froi said. ‘It’s no business of mine, but I would reconsider asking Tariq to travel into the centre of Charyn, regardless of how many men your envoy promises him.’
‘My envoy?’
Froi saw genuine confusion on the man’s face.
‘Lad, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
The hairs on Froi’s arm stood tall as he stared at De Lancey.
‘Are you saying you haven’t sent an envoy to meet with Tariq of Lascow?’
The lastborns arrived to hear Froi’s words.
‘Who told you that?’ De Lancey asked.
‘Tariq.’
‘What?’ De Lancey asked.
Froi bolted, shoving through the crowd. He heard the Provincaro call out Grijio’s name and felt someone at his shoulder and knew it was one of the lastborns. They clambered up the stairs and out of the cave. Once outside, the wind tore at their skin, but they raced up the Citavita wall, flying over cave tops to reach Perabo’s home.
‘He’ll not let us in,’ Grijio shouted over the wind. ‘The rule is that we are never to search him out.’
Froi ignored him, fighting the images that came to his mind. You should never have left her, he raged to himself.
When they reached the roof of Perabo’s cave, Froi grabbed a piece of stone and hammered, shouting out the man’s name over and over again, his voice raw. Olivier and Grijio and Satch collapsed beside him, their voices joining in with his. Until finally they heard a sound from inside and the trapdoor was lifted to reveal Perabo.
‘They’ve been betrayed,’ Froi shouted at the man. Perabo ushered them in. Froi leapt down into the room, pushing aside the chest placed over the trapdoor.
‘How can you be sure?’ Perabo said, crouching down to where Froi pulled at the ring to lift the door.