When Perri arrived at Lord August’s farm one morning while they were fixing the fence, Froi knew it was time.
“Can we borrow him, Augie?” Perri asked.
“For how long?” Lord August said, not looking up from his task.
Perri didn’t respond.
“Last time you rode by to ‘borrow’ him, we didn’t see him for nine months and he returned with a body full of scars and an awful Charynite accent,” Lord August complained, glancing at Froi. “When do you get to be ours for always?” he asked, his voice low.
“Do I have to be here to belong to you?” Froi asked. “Can’t I belong to you wherever I am?”
In the kitchen making honey brew with the village women, Lady Abian had the good sense not to ask too many questions.
“Is August blustering out there?” she asked quietly.
“A bit,” Froi murmured. “A gentle early-winter bluster, I’d call it.”
She pressed a kiss to his cheek and he went to speak, but she held up a hand.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
At the palace stable, Perri insisted on Froi taking Beast as Trevanion fitted him with his weapons.
“Your — Gargarin never wrote back,” Finnikin said, standing beside Isaboe and Sir Topher.
“After the letter Finnikin wrote promising to share ideas with Charyn about reservoirs and waterwheels and anything else we’ve been able to translate from the chronicles Celie stole— I mean, borrowed from Belegonia,” Isaboe said.
Froi was confused. “Gargarin loves talk of reservoirs and waterwheels.”
Sir Topher handed him a satchel of documents. “Tell him we don’t beg, and if he chooses not to respond to our attempts of peace, we won’t offer again.”
Finnikin nodded. “First time. Last time.”
Froi placed the satchel in the saddlebag.
“You travel through the Osterian border. It’s quicker from here than if you travel from the mountain through the valley,” Perri said.
Too many abrupt instructions.
“You tell them that under no circumstances will the queen travel to Charyn, so not to make that part of their terms,” Finnikin said.
“Anything else?” Froi asked, mounting Beast.
“Yes, you can at least look upset about leaving,” Isaboe said.
Froi rolled his eyes.
“Did he just roll his eyes at me?” she asked the others.
“I’ll be back in two weeks!” Froi said.
“Yes, I think you said that last time we sent you off to meet with Gargarin of Abroi and he cast a spell on you,” she said.
Froi held out a hand to her, and she looked away.
“I don’t shake hands. I’m not a Charynite.”
He sighed and dismounted, embracing her.
“Trust me when I say that Gargarin of Abroi’s spell has well and truly worn off.”