‘Fro,’ Satch said urgently, his voice a gasp.
‘It’s Froi.’
‘There!’
They looked back to the step where Satch pointed and where Tariq’s hand had first rested when they found him. And they saw the letters F – R – O written in blood. Froi studied Tariq’s hand. A finger was stained with blood.
‘He cut himself to bleed,’ Froi said urgently, looking around for something else. Anything. ‘He hacked himself with the paper dagger so he could write those letters, but he was interrupted and even after they slit his throat, he dragged himself from here to there,’ he said, pointing to the trail of blood.
‘So he could finish your name?’ Olivier asked.
Tariq would have known that nothing would keep Froi away the moment he heard Quintana’s life was in danger. The young King was speaking to him beyond death.
‘Why hack at Ariel’s throat?’ Froi asked the others, needing them to think with him.
‘He wanted them to believe she was already dead,’ Perabo said. ‘That one of their own had already come across her.’
‘Because then …’ Olivier’s eyes blazed with excitement. ‘ … then they wouldn’t go near her body!’
‘Because they’d realise she had died much earlier and he didn’t want them to know that,’ Grijio suggested. ‘But it doesn’t make sense. Why?’
‘Sagra!’
Froi flew down the steps, the others following. Tariq hadn’t dragged himself to the steps to complete Froi’s name. He had done so to point him in the direction of the crypt.
‘Quintana!’
‘Be as smart as you were kind, Tariq,’ Grijio prayed.
Froi burst into the crypt where two bodies wrapped in white linen were lying on a slab of stone. He began to tear at the cloth around the face of the smaller of the two.
‘Stop!’ Olivier said, grabbing Froi’s shoulder to pull him away.
‘You’ll offend the gods!’ Grijio shouted.
Froi threw the lastborn aside, desperate to get back to the gauze-covered body. He tore at the fabric around the mouth, trying to find a beginning or an end. The moment they heard the sound of a gasp beneath, the others were around him tearing at the bindings until the face was free. Froi grabbed Quintana to him, fighting back a sob as her breath returned.
‘Tariq?’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Where are you, Tariq?’
He helped her to the steps, his own heart pounding as hard as hers.
‘You’re going to keep your eyes shut, Quintana. Do you understand?’ he said as they stumbled up the steps. He wanted nothing more than to protect her from the sight that would meet them at the top. He covered her eyes with a hand, but she tried to pull free, struggling against Froi viciously.
‘Don’t look, Your Highness,’ Grijio pleaded as they reached the top of the steps.
She shook her head, clawing at Froi’s hand. ‘I want to see. I need to see. Tariq,’ she shouted.
Froi dragged her away and they struggled over the slippery surface of the bloodied ground around the bodies of the two cousins.
‘Perabo will keep us safe until we can travel to where De Lancey of Paladozza is staying,’ Froi tried to comfort. ‘The Provincaro and Grijio will be the first to leave the Citavita when the bridge is open and you’ll go with them.’
And it was only when Froi almost lost balance that Quintana finally broke free and turned back to where Tariq’s body lay with Ariel’s.
‘Close your eyes, Quintana!’ Froi begged.
But she sank onto her knees, taking the two lifeless hands of Tariq and Ariel’s in hers and pressing them to her face. And she wept a pitiful cry from a place in her spirit so hopeless that Froi thought she’d will her own death.
Perabo placed a gentle hand on her arm.
‘It’s not safe here, Your Highness. We must go.’
But she refused to move and the keeper of the caves picked her up in the crook of his arm and dragged her away. Froi knew that he would remember her screams for days and years to come. Despite their pleas that she close her eyes, she looked into the face of every one of the Lascow dead and spoke their names out loud, until the gods took mercy on them all and broke her voice until she could speak no more.
Grijio, Olivier and Satch stayed for the first two days, but Grijio was desperate to return to his father.
‘He’ll tear himself apart with worry,’ the lastborn said. ‘I will speak on Quintana’s behalf and pray that he’ll give her sanctuary.’
They looked over to where she lay on the bed, facing the wall.
‘And you?’ Olivier asked Froi.
‘I’ll return home.’
‘Then at least travel with us part of the way,’ Grijio said.
Froi shook his head. ‘My weapons are hidden in a cave near the bottom of the gravina. They’re all I own.’
Grijio nodded and held out a hand. Froi shook it. He turned to Olivier.
‘Were you treated well in captivity?’
Olivier was silent a moment. Then he nodded.
‘I’m going to join Lascow’s army,’ Olivier said. ‘I know they are gathering one for Tariq.’
‘B … b … but you don’t know how to fight,’ Satch said.
‘The days of keeping the lastborns weak and safe are over,’ Olivier said fiercely. ‘I’m going to be the best fighter they’ve ever seen.’
Froi held out his hand to Olivier and the lastborn shook it firmly. Then Satch’s.
‘If Gr … Gr … Grij’s father does not t … t … take her to P … P … Paladozza, I’ll speak to my people in Desantos.’
‘If not, keep her safe, Froi,’ Grijio said, solemnly.
He missed them the moment they left, and the days that followed were long. Froi spent his time playing silent card games with Perabo and listening to the wind howl. It was a sound he had not heard before and at times he felt as though the gods were wailing with fury. Perabo said more than once that it was as though they were heralding the end of time.
Quintana’s silence was the most frightening. It had been four weeks since the King’s death and she had experienced more during that time than another would in an entire life.
‘Where will you take her?’ Perabo asked quietly one night.
Froi had no idea how to answer the question.
‘I need to find Arjuro of Abroi first. And Lirah of Serker. I think they’re both staying at an inn near the bridge. I need to get them all out of the Citavita.’
Perabo looked down to where Quintana lay.
‘I don’t care what you’ve done to save her,’ he said bitterly. ‘I would have had her halfway across this kingdom if not for your deceit.’
Days later, when the winds finally died, Froi shook her out of her stupor and helped her up.
Without a word, Perabo went to a basket beneath his cot and pulled out some clothes, handing them to Froi. Froi helped Quintana dress in the man’s garments. He grabbed the knotted mass of her hair and stuffed it inside his cap. He took the coat Perabo held out and placed it around her, fastening it all the way to her bruised throat.
‘Head down,’ Froi ordered gently.
Perabo stood on a stool and pushed the stone away from the ceiling. When he gave the signal and stood aside, Froi lifted himself out, holding a hand down to Quintana. She grasped it. Froi pulled her out of the cave house and, not letting go of her hand, he led her across the roofs of the caves.
When they reached the centre of the Citavita he felt her shudder, saw the hanging gale perched high on its platform. The moment the winds had died, it seemed as though every Citavitan was determined to leave. Froi had never seen so many people in the one place, shoving their way through to the road that led down towards the bridge. He placed an arm around Quintana, holding her close to him, tenderly pressing a kiss to her capped head. They were jostled, elbows shoving against them, their bodies wedged between the crowd. And then Quintana looked up at him and Froi would remember that look for a long time to come. Betrayal. Hurt. Sadness.