‘King’s men?’ Tesadora asked.
Aldron shook his head. ‘From how we hear it through the Belegonians, there is no King of Charyn.’
‘No King?’ Lucian asked. ‘When?’
‘Perhaps a week or two ago.’
‘Where’s Froi then?’ he demanded. ‘If he succeeded, he should be home by now.’
Aldron shook his head. ‘There’s too much uncertainty about who actually assassinated the King. Some are saying he died at the hands of his First Advisor.’
Lucian turned back to where Rafuel was chained to the tree and crept beside him.
‘Your King is dead, Rafuel. Approaching now are men with no uniform, but they ride with great authority.’
Hope blazed in Rafuel’s eyes. He leapt to his feet before collapsing under the weight of the chains. He strained to look through the trees across the stream.
‘Perhaps Zabat has returned with Froi,’ Rafuel said. ‘Unshackle me and I can see for myself.’
Lucian looked at the shackles and then at the prisoner.
‘If you run, Charynite, I will kill you,’ he warned, reluctantly unlocking the chains. ‘If I don’t kill you, which is highly unlikely, then Aldron will kill you. Aldron is the Queen’s bodyguard, so you can imagine his aim is almost as good as mine.’
The moment the chains were off, both Lucian and Rafuel wormed their way to the stream beside Tesadora and Aldron, who had crept closer to see what lay through the reeds.
‘I never doubted the lad would succeed,’ Rafuel chuckled.
‘From the way we hear it, the King’s First Man was the assassin,’ Lucian said.
Rafuel turned to him in disbelief. ‘You mean the King’s Advisor, Bestiano? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘So who’s in charge if the King is dead?’ Tesadora asked Rafuel in Charyn.
Lucian noticed her language skills had improved since the Charynites had first arrived.
‘The son of the King’s first cousin,’ Rafuel said. ‘Tariq. His father died of a mysterious illness in the palace three years ago and Tariq’s mother’s people managed to have the lad smuggled out. If he sits on the throne, the Priests will be happy, the Provincari will be happy and Charyn will be happy. Royal blood without the insanity. Nothing like it to make a Charynite dance with joy.’
‘One can understand why,’ Lucian murmured.
‘But it has been foretold that the last will make the first and the Princess Quintana will produce a male child by the time she comes of age to be both a cursebreaker and heir. All we will need is an honourable man, unaligned to the provinces, to act as regent to the boy until he comes of age. If that does not come to pass, we will be happy for Tariq to take the throne and for the Priests to come out of hiding and find a better way to break the curse than turning our women into whores.’
‘But if a son comes from the Princess, wouldn’t your people despise his tainted blood?’ Lucian asked.
Rafuel turned to Tesadora. ‘What do you believe? That one is born evil or raised evil?’
‘Why ask me?’ she snapped.
Rafuel shrugged. ‘Because you seem the type to have an opinion about such things.’
She looked away. ‘No child is born evil,’ she said quietly.
‘And I’m presuming that you and your men know exactly who the honourable regent to the heir will be?’ Lucian asked.
Rafuel nodded, grinning, trying to make himself comfortable. ‘We do indeed. He has a fiercely smart mind and is the fairest of men. All he needs is convincing that his place is in the palace.’
‘And does this paragon of virtue have a name?’ Lucian asked.
‘He exists. That’s all you need to know.’
Rafuel nudged Lucian and the idiot Charynite’s good humour was contagious. ‘Be reassured, Mont, tonight you travel to the capital with our lad.’
‘Our lad?’ Lucian asked. ‘Froi’s ours, Charynite.’
But Lucian grinned all the same and even Tesadora seemed happy at the news. He hadn’t realised how much he missed Froi’s visits up to the mountain. The boy had worked harder than any other these past three years, perhaps because he had the strongest wish for the Queen’s goodwill. Lucian imagined Isaboe and Finnikin’s joy as Froi rode into the palace village. Trevanion and Perri and the rest of the Guard would drag him away to find out what they could about the death of the Charynite King, but Lucian knew that deep down everyone would be relieved that Froi was returning home unharmed.
‘There are my lads,’ Rafuel said, excitement in his voice. The seven men stood huddled together.
‘I can’t see Froi with the riders,’ Tesadora said, as the horsemen came closer. She snaked through the reeds, within a breath of the stream.
‘Come back, Tesadora,’ Aldron whispered.
The closer the horsemen rode, the more silent the valley dwellers became. From his vantage point, Lucian could see it in the way Kasabian and Cora and Rafuel’s men and everyone else stood, their bodies rigid.
‘Do you recognise any of the riders, Rafuel?’ Lucian whispered.
Rafuel did not respond. Closer and closer came the men and Lucian feared they’d cross the stream. The order was that if any Charynite other than Phaedra crossed the stream, the Monts would see it as an attack on Lumatere.
‘Rafuel?’ Tesadora whispered.
The prisoner’s silence made Lucian uncomfortable. He could see by the expression on Rafuel’s face that he recognised no one amongst the newcomers.
There were twelve men in total. They dismounted and, in the eerie silence that followed, Lucian watched them shove through the camp dwellers.
‘They’re searching for someone,’ Lucian whispered.
Rafuel shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t recognise them, but they’re certainly not palace riders, so we have nothing to fear.’
‘Then who could they be?’ Lucian asked.
Rafuel shrugged. ‘The Priests have spies in places that I don’t even know. We had one or two inside Lumatere for the first year.’
‘What?’
‘Rest assured,’ Rafuel said, ‘the hidden Priests of Charyn and the army they have built for Tariq will never be a threat to you.’ But his voice had lost its humour. It was laced with fear. Rafuel’s eyes fixed on the horsemen as they began to surround his men.
‘Oh gods,’ Rafuel said, his voice anguished.
‘What?’ Lucian asked.
‘They’re here for my lads.’
Aldron motioned them to silence. They watched as the leader of the horsemen paced the path before the camp dwellers, the sword in his hand pointed back at Rafuel’s men.
‘We’re searching for a man named Rafuel of Sebastabol,’ he called out. ‘The leader of the seven traitors who planned the murder of our king.’
Rafuel was muttering under his breath. Praying. From where Lucian lay, he could see that Rafuel’s men were doing the same while the camp dwellers stared at the seven men, confused. Rafuel’s lads had only made themselves known these last weeks. Tesadora had said there was talk amongst them all that a Charynite had taken a dagger to Japhra, but the camp dwellers had no idea who and they especially never suspected he belonged to the quiet seven, who were all scholars and kept to themselves.
‘I repeat, we’re searching for Rafuel of Sebastabol.’ The voice of the horseman was coarse and ugly and its threat chilled Lucian to the bone.
The man’s hand suddenly snaked out into the crowd and grabbed Kasabian by the neck, shoving him down to his knees, standing behind him with a sword across his throat. Cora cried out.
‘Stay back, Cora. Stay back,’ Kasabian instructed his sister.
Lucian elbowed Aldron, staring at him helplessly. Aldron shook his head bitterly. ’This is not our fight, Lucian,’ he whispered.
‘They’re going to kill an innocent man,’ Lucian said.
‘This is not our fight, I say.’
Rafuel suddenly stumbled to his feet.
‘I’m Rafuel of Sebastabol.’
Yet it wasn’t Rafuel’s voice that rang out, but one from across the stream. Both Aldron and Lucian dragged Rafuel down before he could be seen.