Free Quintana of Charyn by Melina Marchetta

Charyn.’
    ‘How can you say that?’ another called out from his bedroll. ‘He’s a killer of kings.’
    ‘But strange that the moment the King was killed, there’s news of an heir to be born,’ the bearded man continued. ‘Perhapsthe answer all along was to rid ourselves of the King. Bestiano could be the hero of this kingdom.’
    Count to ten, Froi. Count to ten.
    ‘They say Bestiano is the father of the future king,’ a woman called out.
    The bearded man made a sound of approval. ‘If he’s smart, he’ll take the poor mite out of that mad-bitch Quintana’s hands the moment it’s born.’
    Froi flew across the space, landing heavily on the man, pounding his fists wherever he could land them. He felt arms drag him away, their fingers pressing deep into his wounds and he pulled free.
    ‘You dare talk about the Princess in such a way,’ he raged. ‘I challenge you to speak those words when the future king grows to be a man. I dare you to say them about his mother to his face!’
    The bearded man cowered away. ‘Who are you with your fancy talk?’
    ‘Someone who knew them,’ Froi said. ‘Knew the heir Tariq of Lascow. Knew that he sacrificed his life to keep Quintana of Charyn safe. I defy you to dishonour his memory by claiming Bestiano a better man.’
    The words felt like rough parchment in Froi’s mouth, but there was silence all around.
    ‘They breed good men in Lascow,’ the husband from the Citavita said. His wife stared at Froi. ‘Tariq of Lascow would have made a just king if he had lived,’ she said.
    Later, the wife held out a dry strip of meat to Froi and he ate it, shamed that whether she had given it to him or not, it would have somehow ended up in his belly. She looked at him closely, confused. ‘You remind me of someone. I don’t know who,’ she said quietly. She reached over and he flinched, but her hand touched his face gently.
    When she was asleep, Froi felt her husband’s eyes on him. ‘She doesn’t usually take to your kind,’ the man said.
    ‘My kind?’ Froi said coolly. Who wasn’t it safe to be now? A Lumateran assassin? A Serker lad? A defender of the Princess?
    ‘A young one,’ the man said. ‘My wife … she usually turns away. She bled on the day of weeping. It was close to being born, our child was. She bled it and has spent the last eighteen years turning her eyes away from lastborns or the young.’
    The man looked down at his wife, but then back at Froi. Then he smiled. ‘It’s not your face. It’s something else. It’s in your spirit. I feel it as well.’
    Froi relaxed for the first time since he left Arjuro, and lay down on the straw. Although he had been taught not to take chances, he had a sense that the couple beside him were not a threat.
    ‘How many inns are on the river border across this stretch heading towards Osteria?’ he asked the man softly in the darkness.
    ‘Three. One is closed for the winter, though. You’ll be lucky to get a bed. But I would not head that way, lad.’
    ‘I’ve no intention of returning to the Citavita,’ Froi said.
    ‘It’s not the Citavita you need to fear,’ the man said. ‘There’s talk that the Osterians have allowed the Belegonians to camp across the river. If they decide to cross, there’ll be nothing left of us. It’s why we’re heading towards Alonso. Don’t head south, lad. Come north with us.’
    Froi sighed. Oh, to head north to Alonso. It would be so easy to follow these people. He was closer to Lumatere than he had been for the past five months and all night his dreams beckoned him home.
    But in the morning the reality hadn’t changed. Quintana was still somewhere out there, and he needed to find Gargarin andLirah. The three of them had a better chance of finding her if they joined forces.
    When Froi walked his horse out of the stable, south to everyone else’s north, he felt the wife stare at him.
    ‘Are you gods’ blessed?’ she asked.
    He shook his head, not meeting her