No matter how hard they tried, Froi and the lads were unable to lose De Lancey’s guards that night. The three had to settle for drinking in the ale house under close watch.
“I can’t believe that if I take a woman tonight, my guard will probably stand at the foot of the bed and give instruction,” Grijio said, forlorn. “I need to get out of Paladozza.”
Olivier laughed. “And there are those who would die to live here. Our lad,” Olivier explained to Froi, “is frightened that the princess will be the only girl he’ll ever have lain with.”
“We didn’t actually lie with each other,” Grijio said. “She made me leave the moment it was over, and believe me, it was over in the blink of an eye. She was very particular about not sharing her bed. Wasn’t she, Froi?”
Froi looked from one to the other. “What impression have I given either of you that I want to hear or discuss anything about the princess and last borns and consorts?” he said, anger lacing his words. He was fighting with all his might not to think of Quintana and that idiot Feliciano.
Olivier called for another round of drinks, and the subject of Quintana was finished with. But after a pint or two, Olivier leaned forward and ushered them toward him.
“I don’t trust the Avanosh lot. Why would the provincaro of Sebastabol not have sent that note through me?”
“The seal was there. My father saw it,” Grijio said.
“I still don’t trust them.”
Froi studied the last born. “What are you thinking, Olivier?”
Olivier looked over their shoulders to where Froi knew De Lancey’s guards were standing watch.
“We do what you and I and Satch and Tariq set out to do in the Citavita, Grij,” Olivier said. “We save Quintana.” His eyes caught Froi’s, and he winked. “We give her a chance to unleash herself onto the world.”
Froi stared at him.
“When?”
“This is going too fast, lads,” Grijio said.
“Not fast enough,” Olivier responded. “Yesterday they met. Today betrothed. Tomorrow she’ll be gone and we will not be able to protect her.
“Maybe Avanosh is the safest place for her,” Grijio said, regret in his voice.
Froi would never believe that to be true.
“Maybe,” Olivier said. “But maybe they’re under orders from Sorel and one day we will be part of that heinous kingdom of prison mines and slavery.”
Froi was on his feet. He could hardly breathe at the thought of his son and Quintana in Sorel with no one to protect them. Olivier grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him back down.
“You can take Quintana through one of the caves that lead up to the central hills,” Olivier whispered. “I can lead you, Froi. I know the way.”
“Then I’ll come too,” Grijio said.
“No, you need to stay here, Grij,” Olivier insisted. “To give them false leads. They need to think we’ve traveled south or east.”
“Just say …” Grijio began, looking at Froi cautiously.
“Just say what?” Froi demanded.
“Just say Quintana may not believe she needs saving?” Grijio said. “I saw her with Feliciano today, and she seemed charmed, alarmingly so.”
Froi had noticed too. Quintana was a tamer person in the presence of the Avanosh lot.
Olivier sat up straight, and suddenly a grin appeared on his face.
“We’ll speak of this again later,” he said. “The women are approaching.”
A moment later, Froi felt a hand run through his hair and then he saw a pretty face and lips painted red.
“This one is mine,” she said, pulling him to his feet. He looked into her eyes, warm and laughing eyes, but not those he wanted to be looking into. Not the face. Not the body with the round belly and strange scars. Not Quintana.
“I’m bonded to two women,” he blurted out because it was the ale speaking and Froi was coming to realize that he was very stupid under the influence of ale.
“Well, aren’t we the intriguing one?” she whispered in his ear.
Back in Quintana’s room, he saw the empty bed for the second night in a row. He stared at it a moment, fury clenching his hands. He locked her door, wanting to throw away the key, to stop himself from tearing through De Lancey’s compound and finding that idiot from Avanosh. He didn’t want to count to ten and remember his bond. He wanted to feel the anger, and with every image that came to his head, Froi’s rage grew and grew.
Later he heard the doorknob rattle, and he grabbed his dagger and leaped to his feet. But whoever it was knocked, and he opened the door to see Quintana standing in the hallway, dressed in her nightgown, trying to peer over his shoulder. He stepped in front to block her way.
“What are you looking for?” he asked coldly.
“Who are you hiding back there?” she asked, trying to push past him until he felt the pounding of her heart against his own chest and the sound of her breathing against his ear.
“What makes you think I’m hiding anyone?”
And when he saw her mouth curl into a snarl, his blood began to beat into a frenzy of excitement and he matched her heartbeat, breath by breath. She stepped to his side, trying to get into the room, and he blocked her again and again and again until she clenched her fists and pounded his shoulder.
“Did you bring a woman back here?”
“Did you share his bed?”
Suddenly Olivier and Grijio and Lirah and Tippideaux appeared in the hallway.
“Answer me,” she shouted.
“Answer me!”
“You’re drunk!”
“Did you let him touch you?”
Quintana cried with fury. “You dare to accuse me of such a thing when you come back to my room with the smell of a woman on your stinking body.”
“Did you let him swive you?”
She threw herself at him, and it took both Olivier and Grijio to hold her back.
Froi snarled and clenched his fist.
“Do it. Do it!” she cried until Lirah came between them, grabbing both their hands.
“Enough,” Lirah said calmly, and she held them both to her. Quintana was sobbing, “I don’t understand this, Lirah. I don’t understand,” and Froi wanted to sob the same words.
“Because matters of the heart are not there to be understood, brave girl,” Lirah said as Tippideaux led them away, fussing like a mother hen.
The lads stared toward where the women disappeared and then exchanged looks.
“I must say I found that … quite exciting,” Olivier said.
Grijio nodded. “Feel my pulse.”
Later, Froi lay in his cot on the ground, hating her. Hating. First opportunity he got, he wasn’t going to take her through the cave with Olivier. He was going to go on his own and travel back to Lumatere and he was going to ask for a Flatland girl’s hand in marriage and live on a pocket of land for the rest of his life and never leave Lumatere again. No. A River girl. He’d marry a River girl because they were wilder, but still not savage one moment and ice-cold and vicious the next.
He heard a sound at his door and sat up, and he saw her there in the shadows, holding a candle and staring down at him.
“I took no woman,” he said, forgetting every vow he had just made never to speak to her again. “Allowed no woman to touch me.”
“The guard said the women were like flies on you all.”
“But I was thinking of another and I couldn’t bear their touch.”
And he saw it in her eyes. Still. The belief that there could be someone other than herself. You, he wanted to shout. You. No one but you. Stupid, stupid girl.
And when she didn’t leave his door, Froi pulled back the blankets and shuffled over to the wall. He held out a hand, and he saw in her expression that she wrestled with the savage inside of her, but Froi’s hand stayed outstretched. She would never trust easily. Never. But he would make it his bond to ensure that one day she would trust him without hesitation.
And then she was lying there beside him.
“My feet were cold in their part of the compound,” she muttered.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” he said, warming them against his and tucking the blanket over her body.
“I heard the Avanosh aunt say, ‘She should grow her hair to hide that pointy chin and pointy nose.’ ”
“If I see that pointy chin and nose hidden, I’ll have to hurt someone.”
“You’re supposed to say I don’t have a pointy chin or pointy nose,” she said, somewhat dryly.
“But you do,” he said. “And you also have pointy eyes,” he added as he kissed both lids, “and a pointy mouth,” he teased, pressing his lips against hers, “and a pointy tongue.” His body covered hers as he held her face in his hands and captured her mouth, the silk warmness of her tongue matching his, stroke by stroke. Then he felt the sharp nip of her teeth as his mouth dared to leave hers, traveling toward her throat, fleetingly tracing the scars from the noose. “And a pointy, pointy heart,” he murmured, feeling the powerful beat that her enemies had tried to crush from the moment she was born. One hand cupped her breast as his other hand lifted the folds of her nightdress and drew her closer.
“Does the queen of Lumatere have all those things?” she asked quietly.
Froi didn’t want to talk about the queen of Lumatere. He didn’t want to talk about anything. His need for Quintana was fierce. It had been a long time since that last night in the palace. He fumbled at the drawstring of his trousers, loosening them, then taking her hand and pressing it against him. Still, she stared with a question in her eyes. Froi knew she wanted more from him and although he ached for her, he fought hard to control his desire. Counted to ten in every language he knew. Counted to ten again. And again. Until his breathing was less ragged and his hand linked with hers. Finally he sighed and placed his arm around her, drawing her close.
“The queen of Lumatere complains constantly of her nose. ‘Too big,’ she says. Finnikin just shrugs and says, ‘What would I do with a queen who has a little nose?’ ”
Quintana laughed, and she leaned her head against his chest. “He’s supposed to say she doesn’t have a big nose.”
“I know, but Finnikin was brought up by men. If it wasn’t the Guard for the first ten years, it was Sir Topher for the next nine. He knows very little about women.”
“So what do you say when the queen of Lumatere comments about her nose?”
He flicked a finger at her nose. “I tell her I’ve seen much bigger.”
“You are a smart man, Dafar of Abroi.”
He shuddered with pleasure to hear his name spoken by her.
“Froi?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t trust the Avanosh party,” she whispered. She moved closer to his ear. “I’ve allowed them to believe that all is civil between us, but I think they are planning something wicked. There’s too much whispering, and Feliciano doesn’t seem to have control. His uncle does. He reminds me of Bestiano.”
She shuddered, and Froi held her closer.
“Don’t let them take away our little king, Froi. Not the Avanosh people or Bestiano. I’m begging you, Froi.”
That she had to speak the words broke something inside of him.
“I will protect you,” he whispered. “I will never let anything happen to you or our child.”
And he would come to realize sooner rather than later that it was the greatest lie he had ever spoken aloud.