Quintana of Charyn by Melina Marchetta Page A

Compared to all the battles or deaths or sieges Lucian had ever witnessed, this was different. He swore later that the air changed, that there were spirits at play. That the Charyn gods and the Goddess herself were damning Lucian for the blade he held. Damning them all. And then suddenly Isaboe stepped away, letting go of Quintana of Charyn and pulling free of Phaedra.
    ‘Get out of my valley,’ Isaboe said. ‘Before I change my mind and slice you in half as your father’s assassin did my mother!’
    Lucian lowered his sword and stumbled back. Withouthesitation, Phaedra gripped the girl’s hand and they ran for their lives, disappearing through the trees.
    For moments all he heard was the sound of their own ragged breaths, but Lucian knew it wasn’t over yet. Phaedra was alive. He had held a sword to her throat while she knelt, begging for another’s mercy, her hands drenched with blood. He thought that the difference between he and Isaboe was that his love for a Charynite had sometimes made him forget. And he despised himself for it. He had forgotten the way Balthazar had died. His cousins. His aunt. His king and his father.
    ‘You’re to return home to the cloister in the forest,’ Isaboe ordered Tesadora. ‘I forbid you to come here again. I’ll deal with you in my own time.’
    Tesadora gave a humourless laugh.
    ‘You forbid,’ she mocked. ‘You’ll deal with me? I’m not yours to deal with, little girl. You’re mistaking me for someone else.’
    ‘Tesadora,’ Lucian warned as she walked away.
    ‘If you return to this valley, Tesadora, you face the consequences,’ Isaboe said.
    ‘I stay where I’m needed,’ Tesadora said.
    ‘She’ll stay with the Monts,’ Lucian said.
    ‘I stay here!’ Tesadora shouted, turning to face them all, eyes blazing.
    Isaboe walked to her. She stood before Tesadora, shaking.
    ‘Is it the filthy Charynite inside of you that draws you to these people?’ she asked, and Lucian knew there was no turning back from those words.
    ‘Oh, beloved,’ Tesadora said, both rage and sadness in her voice. ‘Don’t force me to choose.’
    ‘Choose?’ Isaboe said. ‘Between her and me? You’d choose her?’
    Tesadora leant forward and cupped the Queen’s face in both her hands.
    ‘Blood sings to blood,’ Tesadora said. ‘And yours doesn’t carry a tune.’
    Isaboe stumbled back as if she had been struck, and then Tesadora was gone and Lucian could only stare at his cousin. He wished Finnikin were here, because only he could tear that look from her eyes. Lucian had seen him do it. Walk into a room when the images in her head were too powerful to bear. Finnikin would take her in his arms and whisper the words and she’d choke out a cry, but she’d breathe.
    Lucian reached out to comfort her, but she stepped away. Being Evanjalin had trained her for years and years not to cry. It’s how she differed from the rest of the Monts. But he could see she was still broken inside.
    ‘Let’s go,’ he said quietly. ‘I need to get you home to
Yata
.’

 
     
     
    ‘ F roi, put down the dagger!’
    ‘Finn first. Then we talk.’
    Later, Froi thought it would have looked strange to someone who stumbled across them in that clearing. Finnikin with an arm around Gargarin’s neck and a dagger to his throat. Froi with a blade to Finnikin’s back. Trevanion with his sword against the side of Froi’s neck, ready to strike the moment he moved. Froi was dizzy from the confusion and the rage and the despair of it.
    ‘Froi, put the dagger down!’ Perri ordered.
    Froi chanced a look and saw Gargarin’s feet struggling to keep his body upright. Whether it was from pain or helplessness, it stirred Froi’s fury even more.
    ‘Let him go,’ Lirah cried, struggling in Perri’s grip.
    Perri was strong enough to hold Lirah as he stepped forward and pressed the tip of his sword against Froi’s temple.
    ‘Put it down, Froi. You know I’ll do it,’ Perri threatened softly. ‘You know