Quintana of Charyn by Melina Marchetta Read Free Book Online Page A

Rafuel. Rothen is … a dreamer.’
    ‘Is he a physician?’
    A faint smile appeared on Simeon’s face. ‘No. He’s an artist.’ He pointed to the walls and then the roof above them.
    Froi looked at him, dumbfounded. ‘Those were done in our time? They look as though the ancients drew them.’
    ‘My grandson’s work replicating the ancients’ manuscripts is humbling. I can only take responsibility for providing the seed that created his mother.’
    Simeon emptied the broad beans into the water.
    ‘But we’re not here to talk about Rothen and the lads in the valley. We’re here to talk about the two people born last in this kingdom.’
    Simeon lowered his voice. ‘Or more importantly, the King and the cursebreaker they may have created.’
    Simeon’s knowledge of events may have had little to do with Arjuro. So Froi waited. Trevanion always said that silence from one party always resulted in information from another.
    ‘Apart from the Oracle’s godshouse, the one here in Sebastabol was the largest and the most political of all in Charyn,’ Simeon said. ‘It sits on a cliff overlooking the vast Ocean of Skuldenore and has not been used since we heard of theattack on the godshouse and Oracle in the capital. For centuries the godshouses of Charyn have sent their most brilliant scholars to the Citavita. Those men and women chronicled our lives, studying the stars and designing the structures that have kept us in awe. The godshouse produced physicians and alchemists and nurtured genius. Always guided by an Oracle sent by the gods.’
    ‘But the Oracle wasn’t sent by the gods,’ Froi said bluntly. ‘She was taken from a goatherd’s family in the Turlan Mountains.’
    Simeon looked away. ‘Regardless of how she was found, lad, she was still sent to us by the gods.’
    ‘But why lie to the people about her origins?’
    ‘Because people aren’t interested in the truth, Dafar. They’re interested in what keeps them safe. They’re interested in being looked after. They’re interested in a tale being spun. Do you know the story they tell now in Charyn about the Lumateran Priestking? That he sang his song, and from across the land his people heard his voice and followed him home to Lumatere after ten wretched years. A better story than the truth. That he was found wallowing in a death camp with no hope.’
    ‘He is a mighty man,’ Froi said, catching his breath at the thought of the Priestking. ‘Don’t you forget that.’
    ‘But mighty men have moments of great despair that common people do not want to know about.’
    Simeon’s eyes were full of regret.
    ‘The Provincari, the Priests and the Palace are rivals, and in the new Charyn it is best that we do away with that rivalry. So we’re going to chronicle a different tale. The people of Charyn won’t enjoy the real one. The one Arjuro told me, anyway.’
    Froi and Quintana were the real story. So were Gargarin, Lirah and Arjuro.
    ‘And what story is that?’ Froi asked, trying hard to obey Arjuro’s command to behave.
    ‘The story of the lastborn lad who was left on our doorstep eighteen-and-a-half years ago. Of the Priests of Trist, who decided to keep the babe safe by taking him to Sarnak. Charyn is not going to enjoy the story of their failure. That the Priests of Trist lost the lastborn; lost him for all those years, and that he was brought up on the filthy streets of the Sarnak capital. They’re going to hate the part about the King raping the Oracle and that she gave birth to the Princess. So we’re going to have to make up a story everyone will love, Dafar. One befitting a king.’
    Froi felt the tears stinging at his eyes.
    ‘Tell me that story, then,’ he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
    ‘Oh, it’s a beautiful one,’ Simeon said. ‘In which the King’s daughter found love with the heir to the throne, Tariq of Lascow, despite having Lirah, the Serker whore, as a mother. Where he planned her rescue from the