Free Quintana of Charyn by Melina Marchetta Page B

she could walk the sleep. He cursed himself for his weakness because what he felt for her then paled in comparison to how he felt now. Despite the fury at her speaking another man’s name that carved at his insides, Finnikin had never desired his wife as much as he did this moment.
    Suddenly Trevanion held up a hand and they slowed their horses. Finnikin watched his father dismount. The smell of horse shit was overwhelming. Whoever had stopped at this place had not travelled alone.
    ‘A small army has been here, it seems,’ Trevanion said.
    ‘Could the Belegonians have already crossed?’ Perri asked.
    Trevanion shook his head. ‘No. The Belegonians are on foot. This group has horses.’
    ‘The barracks are close by,’ Finnikin said.
    ‘This was a rest stop for someone travelling a distance.’ Trevanion looked up at them. ‘At least twenty. Pity whoever it is they’re after.’
    They tethered the horses and set up camp in a clearing some distance from the inn. Quietly Finnikin changed his clothing. Trevanion and Perri would wait here, concealed, until Finnikinreturned with the man, but Finnikin would have to look the part convincingly. The Belegonians wore their clothing more fitted, and bolder in colours.
    ‘Cover up, Finn,’ his father said and Finnikin pulled the cap over his head, covering every strand of his berry-coloured hair. If anything would give him away, it would always be its colour. He had to be careful. He had to steady his hand so Gargarin of Abroi would not see it shaking.
    ‘When the time comes, you don’t have –’ his father began to say.
    ‘It’s my duty,’ Finnikin interrupted. ‘What these people did to Isaboe’s family will haunt her for the rest of her life.’
    He walked the trail to the inn. Charyn afternoons were eaten by an early darkness, lit with a strange moonless hue. Closer, he heard the voices and knew that soon enough he’d reach the isolated inn. This is where he would kill a man tonight. He’d lead Gargarin of Abroi back to this very place and slit his throat. And regardless of everything, he’d do it for her.
    There were the usual stares as he walked in. But with the threat of Belegonia invading, the inn was frequented by travellers rather than soldiers. So the stares were not for long. And then Finnikin saw a man with a walking stick enter alongside a woman of great beauty. Every man in the room stared.
    ‘Mercy,’ Finnikin muttered. There was never any talk that Gargarin of Abroi would have a companion. The moment they were seated, Finnikin joined them, his eyes meeting the man’s cold stare. Cold, but handsome. Gargarin of Abroi’s hair was coal-black, which contrasted alarmingly with his pale skin and dark-blue eyes. There was silence and Finnikin felt studied by both of them. For all her beauty, there was little warmth in the woman. But in their fine pelt cloaks, the two looked regal.Apart from Trevanion and Beatriss, a more striking couple he had never seen.
    ‘You’re a far way from home,’ the man said in Charyn.
    That I am, Finnikin wanted to say. He nodded.
    ‘I don’t trust him,’ the woman said to her companion.
    The Charynite held up a hand to wave over the servant. When the lad arrived, Gargarin of Abroi turned to his woman.
    ‘I’ll order us food,’ he said quietly. Gently. He looked up at the lad. ‘What have you got?’
    ‘Leftovers.’
    ‘Always a favourite,’ Gargarin said dryly. Finnikin watched him reach a hand over to touch the women’s gaunt cheek. ‘I’m begging you to eat, Lirah.’
    ‘I can’t stomach food. I told you.’
    ‘If he sees you like this, he’ll blame me.’
    The woman wrapped her arms around her body miserably. ‘Shouldn’t have let them go,’ she said quietly.
    It was as though Finnikin didn’t exist and although he tried his hardest, he couldn’t keep his eyes off them both. Before him was love and contempt and yearning and it filled the air.
    Then the food came, yet there was still no