Finnikin shook his head. ’We’ve worked too long and hard for this,’ he said. ’She’ll not weaken on the matter. Mark my words. I know Isaboe. She will not give in until the Sarnaks give her what we want.’
Chapter 3
The Charynite was slight in build, but most Charynites Froi had seen were. His hair was worn long to the shoulders and although he appeared to be older than Finnikin, it was hard to determine his age. His face was bruised and bleeding and Froi knew from one of the Monts that the beating had come from Tesadora of the Forest Dwellers, tiny as she was, who now stood beside Perri with savagery in her eyes.
The wife that Lucian had sent back stood before them, trembling. She was small and plumpish with a sweet round face.
‘My kinsman does not understand why you require me here, Sir,’ Phaedra said quietly, looking up at Lucian, her face reddening.
‘We speak Lumateran,’ Lucian said. ‘You speak for us. Understood?’
Meanwhile Trevanion crouched down closely before the Charynite prisoner, studying the man with an unnerving intensity.
‘Ask him the reason for the attack?’ Trevanion ordered Phaedra, not taking his eyes from the Charynite.
Out of everyone in the room, Trevanion’s Charyn was weak, Perri’s a little stronger. Finnikin had insisted they learn the Charyn tongue if they were to travel into the enemy kingdom to kill the King. Some days, Finnikin insisted that they speak nothing but Charyn for practice, although both Finnikin and Froi would become frustrated at how slowly they were forced to speak.
Phaedra repeated the question.
Froi saw the movement in the Charynite’s throat, the swallowing of fear. But nevertheless, he stared Trevanion in the eye.
‘Because I had requested more than once to speak to the Queen … or her king, and I was refused time and time again.’
Phaedra translated the words.
‘So you take a dagger to Japhra’s throat?’ Lucian asked in Charyn, forgetting his vow to speak only Lumateran.
The Charynite tilted his head to the side, looking beyond Trevanion to where Finnikin stood. ‘Well it worked, did it not?’
Froi snarled, but didn’t realise he had done so aloud until the man looked towards him with little fear and a slight expression of … was it satisfaction? It was a long moment before the prisoner looked away.
‘We don’t need the girl,’ the Charynite said quietly, indicating Phaedra. ‘Most of you can understand me clearly. True?’ He looked from Froi to Lucian and then finally to Finnikin. ‘There aren’t too many men in this part of the land with hair that colour, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘And everyone knows the Lumateran Queen and her consort speak the language of every kingdom in this land.’
Finnikin stood coldly silent.
‘Ask the girl to leave,’ the Charynite repeated.
‘We make the demands,’ Lucian said. ‘Not you.’
‘Ask her to leave,’ the Charynite said tiredly. ‘For if she hears what I say, my men will have to kill her and they are scholars, not killers. They hate the sight of blood.’
Despite the regret in the man’s voice, Froi knew he spoke the truth.
Lucian called out to one of the Mont guards. ‘Get her out of here,’ he ordered. ‘Have one of the cousins take her down to the valley.’ Lucian turned his attention to the girl. ‘Return to your father’s house, Phaedra. Once and for all. If I see you in the valley, I’ll drag you back to your province myself!’
The girl walked to the entrance of the cell, turning to look at the Charynite hesitantly.
‘Go,’ the man said gently. ‘You’ve risked enough, Little Sparrow, and we are grateful indeed.’
Lucian bared his teeth. The Charynite gave a small humourless laugh as Phaedra left the cell.
‘Foolish of you to have let her leave your spously bed, Mont. If she had been given the chance, Phaedra of Alonso would have been the first step to peace.’
‘What makes you think we’re after peace with Charynites?’ Lucian asked.
‘Because Japhra of the Flatlands speaks of it in her sleep.’
Tesadora hissed with fury. ‘Don’t speak her name again or you’ll be choking on your own blood.’
‘Japhra’s a woman with worth beyond your imagining,’ he continued, as if Tesadora had not threatened his life. But Froi saw moisture gather on the Charynite’s brow and knew that Trevanion’s close proximity and Tesadora’s presence unsettled him more than he would care to admit.
‘Some women learn to listen better when they speak little.’ The Charynite’s eyes fixed on Finnikin again. ‘Did you not learn that from your queen in her mute days?’
Finnikin finally spoke. ‘You are pushing my patience, Charynite, and if you make one more reference to our women, including my queen, I will beg a dagger from my kinsmen and slice you from ear to ear. So speak.’
The Charynite kept his focus on Finnikin.
‘My name is Rafuel from the Charynite province of Sebastabol. I’m here in the valley with seven other men.’ He waited a moment for Lucian to translate. Rafuel met Trevanion’s stare. ‘I have a way of getting you into the palace, gentlemen. To do both our kingdoms a great justice.
‘To kill the King of Charyn.’
Froi could sense that the others were as stunned as he was to hear the words, but there was little reaction.
‘And why would we trust you, Charynite?’ Finnikin asked.
‘Because we have something in common, Your Majesty.’
‘We have nothing in common.’
‘Not even a curse?’ Rafuel said, calmly.
‘Sagra!’ Froi muttered. Another godsforsaken curse.
Rafuel’s eyes met Froi’s again.
‘Our curse was first,’ Rafuel of Sebastabol said.
‘Really?’ Finnikin asked, sarcasm lacing his words. ‘Was it worse than ours?’
Rafuel sighed, sadly. ‘If we sit and compare, Your Majesty, perhaps I may win, but we will all be left with very little in the end.’
Finnikin pushed past his father and grabbed the man to his feet, his teeth gritted. ‘How could you possibly win? My queen suffers with this curse.’
‘And so does her king, I hear.’
The Charynite had the power of saying so much in the most even of tones.
‘Did you not notice anything peculiar when you passed through Charyn during your exile?’ the Charynite continued.
Finnikin regained his composure and shoved the man away. ‘I passed through Charyn three times only. The first was when I was ten and visited the palace with Sir Topher, the Queen’s First Man. We were consigned to one chamber and spoke to no one. The second time was three years ago when we were searching for exiles and I can’t recall a friendly chat from a Charynite back then either. And the third time, a group of your soldiers took forty of our people hostage on the Osterian border and beat up our boy,’ he said, pointing back to Froi.
‘Your boy?’ the Charynite questioned, his eyes meeting Froi’s. ‘Are you sure of that?’
Tesadora flew at him, but Perri held her back.
‘Why does he still breathe?’ she demanded. ‘It’s simple. Snap his neck.’
Rafuel was staring at her, almost in wonder. ‘That’s the Charyn Serker in you, Tesadora of the Forest Dwellers.’
This time Perri let her go and Froi watched Tesadora throw herself at the Charynite, her fingers clawing his face. Froi had heard stories of her half-Charyn blood, but no one dared speak of it. Perri waited a moment or two, enough time for her to draw more blood. Only then did he calmly step forward to pull her away. Froi felt an instant regret that it was over so soon. Somehow he would always be drawn to darkness and no one in the room had a darker core than Tesadora.
Rafuel continued as if his face wasn’t bleeding. ‘It is forbidden for a Charynite to speak to outsiders. Such a rule gets in the way of a “friendly chat”.’
‘Why forbidden?’ Lucian asked. ‘What have your people to hide that we don’t already know of you?’