Froi of the Exiles by Melina Marchetta Page A

man’s words were a reminder to Gargarin of where he came from.
    ‘May I present to you, Olivier, lastborn of Sebastabol. Olivier, Bestiano of Nebia, the King’s First Advisor.’
    Froi held out a hand. But Bestiano’s attention was already drawn back to Gargarin. Lastborns seemed insignificant to the King’s Advisor.
    ‘The King wept when I told him the news, Gargarin. That the brilliant one who left us too soon is back in our midst.’
    ‘When one hears there is a price on their head, they tend to feel quite uninvited,’ Gargarin said politely.
    Bestiano made a scoffing sound. ‘You exaggerate.’
    Gargarin held up the scrolls. ‘I come bearing gifts. Perhaps my way of buying forgiveness for my long absence.’
    ‘Only you would consider words on parchment a gift,’ Bestiano said smoothly. ‘Eighteen years is a long time. You may have to offer him your firstborn if you truly want his forgiveness. Or your brother.’
    Froi watched Gargarin stumble, saw the flicker of emotion on his face.
    ‘Then it’s true that he has returned to these parts?’ Gargarin asked flatly. They entered the barbican and, up above, Froi saw at least ten soldiers standing beside the murder holes just as Rafuel had described. On the ground, four soldiers approached and searched them thoroughly. Froi noticed they were more careful with Gargarin. They studied his staff and patted his entire body.
    ‘I could bend over if you prefer,’ Gargarin said, his voice cool, staring at one of the men. ‘Perhaps you weren’t thorough enough.’
    Froi was beginning to feel better about Gargarin. The man seemed to dislike everyone, not just him.
    Bestiano led them into a bustling courtyard, past the barracks where soldiers trained with practice swords. Two men carrying large vats pushed past them and disappeared into a doorway to their left. Froi imagined it must lead to the cellar, according to the sketches Rafuel had shown him in Lumatere. There was bellowing from kitchen staff – between the cook and one of the serving girls by the sounds of things – and when Froi wasn’t competing with servants for space, or tripping over the young man sweeping the courtyard grounds and the not-so-young page handing Bestiano a message, he found himself surrounded by livestock.
    ‘Your brother took up residence in the Oracle’s godshouse a year ago and refuses to meet with the King,’ Bestiano said, watching Gargarin closely. ‘It is the King’s greatest desire that there is peace between the palace and the godshouse after all this time. It’s what the people of the Citavita want.’
    ‘What’s stopping you or the King from entering the godshouse and dragging my brother out? It’s not as though you haven’t done it before.’
    It was a taunt and despite Froi’s short hostile history with Gargarin, he was intrigued.
    ‘Let’s just say that the King has become a superstitious man and our only surviving Priestling is not to be touched. The King is frightened of consequences from the gods.’
    Gargarin’ s laugh was humourless. ‘From what I know of the gods, they seem quite considerate and only send one curse to a kingdom at a time.’
    Bestiano forced another smile. ‘From what I know of your brother, no one can irritate the gods more.’
    Despite the politeness, the tension between the two men was strong. Froi would have liked nothing more than to see where it would take them, but his attention was drawn towards a figure standing half-concealed at the entrance of the first tower to their left. Her tangled hair was so long it seemed to weigh her down, forcing her to raise her head when peering.
    Bestiano shushed her away with an irritated hand, before turning back to Froi and Gargarin. ‘It’s best that you go to your chamber before dinner.’
    The King’s First Advisor walked away and they followed a guard into the first tower where the girl had disappeared. Froi saw her again, looking down from the stairwell, but each time they climbed