‘I think the proof was there,’ Froi said with honesty.
‘I knew how much he wanted Arjuro free,’ she said bitterly. ‘I knew how much he wanted to take me away from the palace. I thought he sold his soul for it all.’
They reached the camp. Gargarin limped towards them.
‘Even with his body straight I can’t imagine him standing out,’ Froi said quietly. ‘Why love him and not a man with more command?’
She stroked the horse’s mane.
‘Don’t ever underestimate him. He’s the most powerful man you’ll ever know.’
Froi approached Quintana where she was sitting up with her hands wrapped around her knees.
‘You’re going to have to ride with me now that we’re a day away from Paladozza,’ he said. ‘If we have to bolt for our lives, I’m the only one who can protect you.’
She nodded and then her eyes met Froi’s. His heart missed a beat. He felt a grief so deep. And a desire so fierce. Up until this moment, he had not known who the true Quintana was. Who they had lost when Arjuro sang his song for Regina of Turla. But now the relief in seeing her cold savage eyes made him feel guilty beyond reckoning.
He helped Quintana mount first and then he settled himself behind her, his arms cautious around her waist. He could tell her belly had grown and he settled his hand flat against it, heard the bloodcurdling snarl in an instant. But Froi refused to remove his hands.
‘I pledged that I would never do anything to hurt him,’ he said. ‘Or you.’
It was some time before her body relaxed against his.
‘Does it hurt to have him growing inside?’ he asked quietly.
She shook her head and he could see the nape of her neck.
He traced a finger along the lettering there, but she shrugged him away with a growl. He remembered what the soothsayer had said about the little savage born to the palace. Without the indignant Reginita calming her, Quintana could not control her fury.
‘Tell me more about this,’ he said, his thumb gently caressing the mark. If he was going to protect her, he needed to know everything that made her who she was.
‘My father had the female lastborns branded,’ she said. ‘His men went from province to province, village to village.’
‘Why?’
‘He said to protect them, but we … I feared for them. Have you seen Lirah’s branding? In Serker, one was branded with the name of those who owned them.’
He wanted to ask her so much more, but couldn’t find the words without sounding like an idiot.
‘Where did you go?’ he asked, his voice husky. He saw her stiffen again. ‘Where did you go when the Reginita was the one who presented herself? Where did she go when you did?’
‘We went nowhere,’ she said. ‘We would never have left each other alone. If I left her alone she’d say strange things. If she left me alone I’d do bad things. So we made a pact. To always be with each other.’
‘What bad things would you do?’ he asked.
She didn’t respond.
‘Did you kill the King or did she?’
Still nothing. He wanted her to acknowledge that it was she who had bed him the night they gave themselves to each other. That his broken spirit and hers had created rather than destroyed something for the first time in their wretched lives.
But there was no more talk from her that day.
They saw Paladozza from a distance and in the early evening light it seemed a magical place of strangely shaped stones and flickering lanterns. Froi glanced at Gargarin and Arjuro, who were sharing the same mount. It was the first time the brothers were returning together to the home that had brought hope into their lives as children.
As was the case with the Citavita and Jidia, there was little beauty outside the province, but a promise of so much from afar. Unlike Jidia, Paladozza had no wall to guard it and stranger still, no army except for a small troupe of soldiers and bodyguards who protected the Provincaro and his family and kept order amongst the people.
‘De Lancey’s great-grandfather wrote that there was something about a stone wall that invited invasion,’ Gargarin said, ‘and something about an army that threatened war to its neighbours.’
‘De Lancey’s great grandfather was an idiot,’ Froi said bluntly.
‘The thing about Paladozza is that it has too much to offer. Art, music, enjoyment of life. Why would the palace want to ruin that by invasion when they are guaranteed a portion of the revenue?’ Arjuro said.
‘You ask such a question at a time like this?’ Froi said, with disbelief. ‘Do you honestly think Bestiano and the army of Nebia are talking each other out of invading Paladozza because they love art and music. Wouldn’t they invade Paladozza instead and enjoy what it has to offer by force?’
‘You don’t know the people of Paladozza,’ Gargarin said. ‘They would never cooperate with an invader.’
‘So we just ride in?’ Froi asked. ‘No papers. No explanation?’
‘None at all.’
Froi stared into the distance, shaking his head with resignation.
‘I suppose before the five days of the unspeakable, Lumatere was such a place. Anyone could come and go to enjoy what it had to offer.’
Arjuro spluttered. ‘I can’t believe you’re comparing Lumatere with Paladozza.’
Froi counted to ten. Arjuro was truly beginning to irritate him.
‘I take great offence at your insult to my kingdom,’ Froi said, trying to keep his tone even.
‘It’s not your kingdom, you little Serker shit from Abroi! Charyn is.’
‘Sagra,’ he muttered under his breath. Quintana twisted around on the horse, her face so close.
‘You’re easy to rile, Lumateran,’ she said.
And there it was. He was no longer referred to as the assassin, so Lumateran would have to do. And he realised that despite the fact that he wanted to toss Arjuro from his mount, and give a sermon on all things wondrous about Lumatere; despite his wish to attempt a mock raid on Paladozza to prove how stupid they truly were; despite wanting to lecture them on the appreciation Isaboe and Finnikin had for all things artistic, what Froi wanted to do above all else was kiss Quintana.
‘Little Serker shit, we’re speaking to you,’ Arjuro called out.
‘Sagra!’
Quintana turned again and he saw the ghost of a smile on her face as he counted to ten, his mouth clenched with fury.
‘I resent that you persist in labelling him a Serker shit and not a shit from Abroi,’ Lirah said coolly.
‘Thought you didn’t care about Serker, Lirah,’ Arjuro mocked.
She shot him a malicious smile.
‘You know what I think, Arjuro?’ she said. ‘I think you have suddenly come to life because De Lancey is beyond those poplar trees and you will always be a panting boy when it comes to Paladozza’s handsome Provincaro.’
Arjuro was furiously silent after that.
Gargarin did what Gargarin did best and sighed. ‘I’m begging you all to allow me at least one night’s rest in Paladozza before De Lancey has us forcibly removed.’
Froi fell in love. He didn’t want to. Not with a Charyn city. But he did because people didn’t stand around in Paladozza and stare suspiciously, they sat around and spoke to each other and laughed. Because at the entrance to the city, they had a town square called the vicinata where the people of Paladozza would take a stroll at night or watch performances or set up market stalls where merchants sold sweet tea and pastries and let Froi and Quintana taste at least five before handing over a coin. Because it was the first time he saw Lirah animated with a stranger as she spoke to an artist about his paintings. Because Gargarin and Arjuro had their heads together over books in a stand. Because for once in Froi’s life everything felt in place.
Similar to the Citavita, the road that ran alongside the entrance to the city was steep, but not as narrow. Unlike the Citavita, the stalls that lined the road were not selling goods for survival, but trinkets and beautifully crafted daggers and swords and fabrics full of colour. When they reached the top where the Provincaro’s residence was built, there was a small piazza where soft-furred hounds were for sale. Close by, a fountain belched out water with great force.