Quintana of Charyn Read Online Free PDF Page B

breaking the neck of an animal and made the most gods-awful sound. ‘I’m going to show Father.’
    ‘Yes, Father will be overjoyed to hear all about this when he returns,’ Beatriss murmured, catching Lucian’s eye.
    ‘We caught three,’ Vestie exclaimed. ‘We caught them together.’
    ‘You did not,’ Lucian mocked, desperate to know more about their savage neighbour.
    ‘I did, too,’ she said indignantly. ‘Can I play with her again?’
    ‘No, my love,’ Beatriss said. ‘We’re going home to Fenton in a few days. You’ve given us quite a scare.’
    ‘I told her about Millie and how I left her behind in my bed.’
    Lucian was confused. ‘Millie?’
    ‘Her doll,’ Beatriss said. ‘I’ll go get her.’ She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s brow. ‘Don’t do this to Mama again, Vestie. You scared me today.’
    When Beatriss left the room, Vestie turned to Tesadora.
    ‘Why can’t I take her home with us, Tesadora?’
    ‘We know nothing about her, minx,’ Tesadora said, picking her up and swinging her around. ‘We don’t even know her name.’
    ‘I think I do,’ Vestie said, indignant. ‘She’s just like Isaboe, you know. Just like her.’
    ‘She’s nothing like Isaboe,’ Lucian said.
    Tesadora looked up at him. ‘How about you calm down the lads … and Vestie can tell me everything she knows about her new friend in the valley?’

 
     
     
    I come close to our cave with hands drenched in hare’s blood. If they feast on fresh game for the first time in weeks, perhaps things may change and their hearts will be open. But the women are speaking, they’re fighting, they’re weeping, Froi. Their stone-hearted claws scratch at me whole. Though their voices are hushed, they scream with such hate. I hear them speak words, ‘We’ll kill in her sleep.’ The little King kicks, a beat of great fear, and he begs me to run from these wretches of malice. The Mont’s wife, she sees me, her face speaks of shame, and the hares in my hand are hurled in my fury.
    And I run and I run, and I think of the girl child, the one they call Visti, and the trust in her eyes. I think of her voice, so much like Regina, my sister beloved who’s left me behind. But Froi, have you joined her at the lake of the half-dead? I fear that you have and she’s not sent you back. The last time I saw you, eight arrows were piercing. You couldn’t have lived; the gods aren’t that kind.
    And I hide in the thistles that tear at my skin, but finally I see her, the white-headed Serker. She knows I am out here, butpretends she’s not looking. I know she is looking and pretend it’s a game. And finally I’m closer and I grip at her strange hair, the white of its strands a shroud around my fist. And my blood beats a dance because I’ve found it a kindred. So I vow to return and my smile aches my face. I know her: Tesadora. Will she love me regardless?
    She knows me, she knows me, but does not turn away.
    Phaedra of Alonso was running. Stumbling over an upturned stone once, twice. Praying with all her being for a glimpse of their strange princess. Up in the distance the whistle of the wind sang to her from the mountain. From Lucian’s mountain. It beckoned and taunted and she wanted to run towards it. To be enveloped in its coat of fleece and to hear its safe sounds.
    And then she saw Quintana of Charyn and she stopped, almost crumbling from relief and fatigue and fear. It left room for anger, and Phaedra didn’t realise until that moment how much she disliked the Princess Abomination for what she had brought into their lives.
    ‘Your Highness,’ she said quietly, fearful that Donashe and his men would travel downstream and cross their path. Despite the distance from both the camp and the road to her father’s province, there was always a chance that someone would stray and discover their secret. From what Rafuel had told them, the one time he had managed to slip away since their ‘deaths’, the Monts were no longer