‘Smart girl, my love,’ Lirah said.
‘I tried to tell the street lords in the Citavita that day of the hanging. But no one would believe me. Except for Tariq and the people of Lascow. It was his idea that we wed. He said it would protect my son’s right to the throne even more.’
She looked up at Gargarin. ‘I’m the Queen of Charyn, Sir. A powerless Queen except for what I carry in my belly. In less than seven months time I’ll give birth to the little King. Tariq said you, Sir, are to be my son’s First Advisor. Until then, he’s mine to protect and whatever part I took in cursing Charyn at my birth will not compare to what I’ll do if anyone attempts to destroy me before then.’
She directed those words at Froi with venomous certainty.
He couldn’t think and he needed to count because Froi’s bond to Lumatere was that he’d destroy anything that was a threat to his kingdom. She was a threat. The child she carried was a threat. His child. His seed.
In an instant, he shoved the others aside and was there before her, dagger in hand.
‘Use it!’ he hissed, grabbing her hand and closing it around the handle of the dagger. He pressed the blade against his throat. ‘If I’m a threat, use it the way I taught you.’
‘Froi?’ Gargarin barked. Lirah and Arjuro tried to drag him away, but he shoved free of them, a wild animal.
‘Do it,’ he whispered hoarsely, his face close to Quintana’s. ‘Do it if you fear me!’
She bared her teeth, pressing the blade against his throat, a flicker of victory in her eyes.
‘Froi! Enough,’ Lirah cried. ’She’ll do it. You know she will.’
Both Froi and Quintana pressed harder until he felt the skin tear, the blood trickle. ‘Do it!’
At that moment, she looked so destroyed that Froi wanted to put her out of her misery and slice his own throat. He had done this to her.
She broke, dropped the dagger and pushed him with all her might but Froi held her as she struggled against him, a wild cat in his arms, her hoarse screams muffled against him. He kept his arms trapped around her, his mouth to her ear.
‘You will not fear me,’ he said, speaking his bond to her. It was the only bond that would count from now on. ‘If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to kill, you kill.’
And then the fight left Quintana and Froi carried her to his bedroll near the fire where they wrapped her in blankets, all of them, with hands that trembled with truth.
The last will make the first.
Froi lay against her and Quintana’s body heaved with fatigue and fear and a desperate need to protect what lay inside of her. She was Hamlyn’s wife Arna, a she-wolf who wanted to protect her babe. His arms were a band around her as she faced away from him, but after a while he heard the evenness of her breathing and prayed she slept. Instead, she reached behind and took his hand, holding it up to the dwindling light of the fire, playing with his fingers. On the wall he saw the shape of a rabbit and he pressed his chin against her shoulder as they watched their fingers dance across the contours of the cave.
And for hours and hours she slept, but no one else could. After so many years of living in a barren kingdom, they could hardly comprehend what this news would bring. Every sound seemed a threat to Quintana. A threat to Charyn.
‘Everything changes,’ Gargarin said quietly. ‘Everything.’
And when she woke more than a day later, the crazed stare of sleeplessness removed from her eyes, Froi watched her. Waited to see who they would be facing. But the eyes weren’t cold and they weren’t savage, so he sighed with relief.
‘You call me Froi. Not assassin. Do you hear?’
She nodded.
‘You may call me Quintana.’
Chapter 29
The province of Jidia was situated above a deep underground spring with waters said to be warmed by the breath of the sun god thousands of years ago. The spring drew those from all corners of Charyn for the cures it promised and the cleansing it provided. The province also boasted the most amount of rainfall with fields rich and fertile. Protected by a high stone wall, it had thwarted most attempts by the palace over the centuries to become the kingdom’s capital.
‘Arjuro spent a year here studying the water’s healing power,’ Gargarin said as they approached the two guards at the province gates.
It was always Gargarin who spoke of Arjuro’s gifts as a physician and healer, while Arjuro made rude sounds.
‘No interest to me these days,’ the Priestling muttered.
‘Then why did you grow your herbs and plants on the godshouse roof?’ Lirah asked, tartly.
‘And save the seedlings?’ Froi added, remembering their last days in the Citavita when they had retrieved plant roots and seeds that Arjuro later hid in a cavern at the base of the godshouse.
Arjuro muttered some more. These past days of travel through the caves, Froi had begun to notice that Arjuro’s hands shook at times. Some days he was so bad-tempered it was unbearable. Gargarin usually bore the brunt of his anger and made things worse by being oblivious to Arjuro’s moods. Froi knew the Priestling craved the brew that had been a companion to him all these years. He had seen how vicious a man could become without it.
Their plan for Jidia was simple. Too simple, in Froi’s eyes. Gargarin would ask for an audience with the Provincara Orlanda and request province protection on the Queen’s behalf. Despite its simplicity, Froi did not protest. They were all looking forward to sleeping in proper cots and filling their bellies with whatever the province had to offer.
‘The Provincara’s kitchen speciality is a lamb stew that is second to none,’ Gargarin said.
‘And if she refuses to see us?’ Lirah asked.
‘The Provincara will see us for certain, Lirah,’ Quintana said. ‘She fawned all over Sir Gargarin in the palace.’
‘She fawned all over Bestiano equally and most probably succeeded in finding a place in his bed that night, so caution is required,’ Gargarin said in his usual practical tone.
‘Fawned?’ Arjuro asked.
‘Like this, Brother Arjuro,’ Quintana said, pressing her chest against him. Through her perfect mimicry, she reminded Froi exactly of the Provincara. She was back to being the Princess Indignant. A relief after days with the cold Quintana who, despite their truce, couldn’t resist a snarl or two any time he came near. He had refused to sleep anywhere but by her side, dagger in his hand at all times. Most nights he wanted to reach out and touch her, wanted to speak the words that no one had dared to speak. That what grew inside of her belonged to him. He had no idea what that meant. All he knew was that he would kill to protect Quintana and she would kill to protect the child.
At the gates, two guards asked for their papers.
‘We’ve come from the Citavita. Not much time to collect things like that,’ Gargarin said. ‘We’ll be waiting at the godshouse baths. Could you send a message to the Provincara to find us there? Tell her it’s Gargarin of Abroi who asks.’
The guard shook his head. ‘The Provincara is a busy woman,’ he said, dismissively. ‘And you don’t enter without papers.’
The second guard approached and whispered into the first man’s ear. Both looked at Quintana, who stared back at them. Froi stiffened, stepped beside her. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if Quintana began to make savage mewing sounds when the guard or any other stepped too close. Both guards studied Froi and he unclenched the fist at his side. Gargarin’s instruction had been to keep out of trouble’s way and not draw attention. The second guard continued to stare, but then he nodded.
‘The godshouse baths,’ the man acknowledged. ‘The Provincara will send for you there.’
At first Froi thought Gargarin had made a mistake and led them into the Provincara’s compound and not a godshouse. He had never seen a more opulent place of worship. His experience had been Arjuro’s home or the Priestking’s cottage. But here in Jidia, the godshouse was almost the size of a Flatland village. Outside there were gardens, olive groves, and an amphitheatre that could easily seat thousands. Inside there were steam rooms and baths and chambers with private altars where wealthy Jidians would make sacrifices to the Goddess of the elements. In Lumatere sacrifices to the Goddess were never of animal flesh and blood, but here in Charyn, flames and animal flesh were the perfect beacon for the gods. It was why they burnt their dead and refused to bury them in the ground. So the gods could follow the light and song to take a spirit home.