One Dark Throne

by Kendare Blake

  “You’re alive,” he whispers, his smile a flash in the shadowy hall. “I should wring your neck.”

  “Good luck reaching far enough in here to do it,” she says, and he laughs. “I’m sorry. I wanted to find a way to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He slides his hand through to touch her face.

  “I think I’ve gotten us into a mess.”

  “As usual. But we’ll get out of it. Everything will be all right. Now that you’re alive.”

  “I’m still sorry that you thought I wasn’t.”

  “I’m sorry I agreed to marry your sister,” he says, and nods to Mirabella over Arsinoe’s shoulder. “How are you, Mira? Holding steady?”

  “Just fine,” Mirabella says, and Arsinoe blushes. All her words to Billy have been overheard. But what does it matter? She cannot hold back, and Mirabella is apparently thrilled, leaning toward them with her knees tucked up like a child hearing a bedtime story.

  “Billy,” Arsinoe whispers, her voice so low that even he can hardly hear, “Jules’s aunt Caragh and Madrigal are in the city. Look for them at the stables across from the Highbern or in the southern forest by the riverbank. They’ll be waiting for us, with Braddock. Get word to Cait and Ellis. They have to come to help Jules and Joseph, if nothing else.”

  “I will,” he promises. He hurries away, and Arsinoe wants to scream. She grabs the bars, teeth clenched so she cannot beg him to stay. But Billy stops and comes back.

  “I love you,” he says suddenly. “I should have told you. Maybe I never knew. But I do. And you love me, too. Say it.”

  For a moment, Arsinoe just blinks. Then she laughs.

  “Mainlander. You can’t make me say it.”

  “Then say it when I get you out of here. Promise.”

  “I promise.” Her eyes flicker toward the ceiling. “What’s happening up there, in the Council chamber?”

  Billy’s eyes flicker toward the ceiling as well.

  “No news yet. Maybe that’s a good thing.” He lingers. “I don’t want to leave you here. Neither of you.”

  “I know. But you have to, for now. Find out what you can about Jules and Joseph,” Arsinoe says. “Don’t leave them without help.”

  “I won’t.” He slips his fingers through the bars to touch her cheek again. “You will be out before the end of the day.”

  Natalia stands carefully still in the Council chamber, waiting for the High Priestess to arrive. Carefully still so as not to resemble a confused and stupid bird, like Sara Westwood.

  “Queen Mirabella should be placed in a secured room in the East Tower,” Sara says. Her voice is shrill, and it is not the first time she has suggested the move. “She does not belong in the cells!”

  “The queens are safe and well-guarded,” Lucian Marlowe replies. “The sooner we sit down calmly, the sooner a resolution may be made.” He looks to Natalia for help, and she stares him down. What a fool to try to reason with a Westwood. He ought to grab Sara and shove her through the door.

  And where is Luca? High Priestess Luca, who takes forever to get anywhere and uses her old legs as an excuse. But everyone knows she is fast and smooth as a snake when she wishes to be.

  It seems another age passes before they hear the swishing of Luca’s robes, and she arrives flanked by the red-headed giantess.

  “Finally,” Genevieve whispers as she ushers the priestesses into the chamber. “All are here, and the queens in their cells.” She somehow manages to sound as if they have gotten their way. As if any of this has gone their way.

  Natalia is the last to be seated, and she does so with grace, though everyone in this room she would gleefully throw out a window.

  “This is unthinkable,” Antonin says, staring down at his hands. “So many in the arena heard their words today. As if there were not enough whispers about these queens already.”

  “Whispers?” Margaret Beaulin interjects. “The whispers have risen to a roar. And long before this. The whispers started over little undead Katharine. They are not proper queens, the people say. There is something wrong with them.”

  “Do not speak this way about the queens,” Sara Westwood hisses. “They are sacred!”

  “Enough words.” Cousin Lucian rubs his temples with long fingers. “The only thing that matters is what we do. And whatever is done must be done publicly. Katharine must execute them herself. With no interference seen from us.”

  “Executed? That has not been decided! Queen Mirabella has committed no crime. She was not part of this naturalist stunt!”

  “It does not matter,” snarls Genevieve. “You heard her. She refuses to kill Arsinoe. And a queen who refuses to kill has committed treason.”

  “Against who?”

  “Against the island!”

  Sara looks to the High Priestess for help. But Luca looks only at Natalia and Natalia back at her, as if they are the only ones who matter. Because they are.

  “I would speak to the High Priestess alone,” Natalia says.

  Apprehension flutters through the Council. It passes back and forth between her relatives in furtive glances until Genevieve is forced to speak.

  “Sister. This decision is for us all.”

  “Indeed. And after Luca and I have finished talking, you will all agree with what we decide. Now go.”

  Genevieve closes her mouth. She shoves herself away from the table and voices her displeasure by loudly ruffling her skirt. She leaves, and the others follow her out.

  “Council members,” Luca says before they close the doors, “do remember to quiet your voices in the halls. The guards and servants still have ears.”

  Renata Hargrove scowls, and the heavy black doors thump shut.

  “How is it possible that Genevieve and I share the same blood?” Natalia asks, and sighs heavily. “Shall I call for tea?”

  “No. But I would not mind a glass of that.” Luca peers over Natalia’s shoulder into the corner of the room where there is a small stock of liquor. “Unless it is all poisoned?”

  Natalia walks to it and pours two glasses.

  “Not with Renata and Margaret on the Council.” She hands a glass to Luca, and they sit together at the long, oiled wood table of the chamber. Side by side, they look at the relief sculpture that wraps around the room in black-and-white marble, scenes depicting all of the island’s gifts, joined together as one.

  “You know that crowning Mirabella has become impossible,” Natalia says quietly.

  “Not impossible,” Luca says, but her eyes fall to her glass. “We will give them until Beltane, as is their right. And if they still will not, then we will put them in the tower.”

  Natalia drains her drink. When she returns from refilling it, she brings back the decanter.

  “You know that will not be allowed. Not when there is one willing queen.”

  “Yes,” says Luca. “Your undead girl. How happy you must be.”

  The old woman’s eyes bore into her. What steel there is in this High Priestess. But not even steel can guard against the love for a queen.

  “I know you do not want Mirabella to die. I know she is more to you than the temple’s ambition.” Natalia sets her glass down and stares into it. “We both know to what lengths we have gone to ensure that Katharine and Mirabella survived.”

  “All of our plans,” Luca whispers. “All of our preparations. All failed.”

  “These queens are uncontrollable. Unpredictable. They have taken the choice out of our hands, perhaps without even knowing they were doing it.” She watches Luca drink. The High Priestess knows all this. She is no fool. “This is not the way that I would have Katharine take the crown.”

  Luca’s response is quick. “But you do mean for her to take it.”

  “Genevieve was right when she called their actions treason,” says Natalia. “And Antonin was right when he said the people will doubt us, no matter the outcome. So I would have your voice again in this chamber. And someone of your choosing pla
ced on Katharine’s new Council. If the crown is to weather this storm, it will need the backing of the temple.”

  “You are bribing me,” Luca says. “For Mirabella’s life!”

  “Not a bribe. Never a bribe. None of us has won here, Luca. If we do not come together, we will lose what is left.”

  She sits very still and lets Luca study her. Lets her try to discern whether she is honest or plotting. In the end, the High Priestess will accept. Natalia only extended the offer as a courtesy anyway. Mirabella will die, whether Luca agrees to benefit from it or not.

  Finally, Luca nods.

  “We should not let Arsinoe’s execution be in front of the people,” she says. “She has caused too much trouble already. Who knows what else she might try if given the chance.”

  “I agree,” says Natalia. “Though I also agree with the Council, that Katharine must execute at least one of them in the square.”

  Luca’s face goes slack thinking of how it will be, to preside over Mirabella’s execution.

  “The people were robbed of a duel,” Natalia presses. “And what they saw instead was not the image we would leave them with.”

  “It will not be easy for Sara and the Westwoods to accept this.”

  “I know,” Natalia replies. “But you can convince them.”

  Natalia pours into Luca’s cup and pushes it toward her. Luca takes up the cup and drains it. When she sets it down, her hand shakes.

  “Three seats on the Council,” she says. “Three seats, of my choosing.”

  “Done.” Natalia strikes her hand against the tabletop.

  Poor old Luca. Her eyes wobble with doubt, as though that was too easy. As though she should have asked for more in exchange for her queen.

  “Order the executions,” the High Priestess murmurs. “And in the morning Katharine shall be crowned. I will do it myself.”

  Natalia exhales. It could have gone worse. The infighting, the roundtable discussions dragging into the night. Sara Westwood wailing.

  “It is a relief,” she says, gentler now, “to have a High Priestess of your fortitude.”

  “Oh,” Luca replies. “Natalia, do shut up.”

  INDRID DOWN

  Madrigal and Jules’s aunt Caragh were not at the stables opposite the Highbern Hotel. He should have known that they would not be, after passing Braddock’s empty cage in the Volroy courtyard. But Billy started his search there anyway, hoping, knowing how much harder it would be to find them in the woods.

  The southern woods, Arsinoe said. By the riverbank. He asks a nut vendor which way to go and makes his way there, alternately creeping through the trees and then being noisy so they might find him instead. He wanders for most of the afternoon. Until he is sweaty and tired.

  “I can’t stay out here in the dark,” he says to himself, and punches his way through a shrub.

  Braddock greets him by standing up on his hind legs, and Billy screams.

  “Shush! Shush!” Madrigal hisses. She slaps his shoulder as his heart pounds, and the bear lowers to sniff at his pockets. “What’s the matter with you? And what’s taken so long? Where is Jules?”

  “I couldn’t get in to see Jules,” he says quickly. “I have a message from Arsinoe.” He tells them of the duel and the queens locked in the Volroy cells. Their faces fill with terror.

  “I don’t know what’s happened with Jules and Joseph after they were locked away,” he says. “But I think they’re safe. For now.”

  Madrigal begins to pace.

  “They will never let her go. They will never let my Jules go, now that they have her. Now that they know about her legion curse. They’ll put her to death!”

  The woman who must be Jules’s aunt Caragh looks up toward the sunset and the fading light. She looks a little like Madrigal, he supposes, around the eyes and the shape of her face. But the rest is all Grandma Cait. The same hardness and the same firm lines. He feels like he is looking at a photo of Cait from twenty years ago.

  “I need to return to the city,” Madrigal says. “To see what’s happening.”

  “Stay,” says Caragh. “I don’t want to have to search the capital for you, too.” She puts a hand on Braddock’s back as he snuffles Billy’s clothes. It is sad to see the bear so diminished. The days in the cage have lessened him. The poisoners’ arrows have lessened him. Fear is not a lesson that most great browns ever learn.

  “I’m sorry, boy,” Billy says. “I didn’t bring you anything.”

  “It’s not that.” Caragh pats the bear fondly. “He’s looking for Arsinoe. He knows you’ve been near her. He may not be her familiar, but whatever low magic she used to bind him is strong.” She looks at Madrigal and at her crow. “We must get word to our parents. Send Aria.”

  “We have to do more than that,” Madrigal protests.

  “We will.”

  “Well, what?” But Madrigal takes up her bird and whispers to her before tossing her into the air.

  “I’ll speak with my father,” says Billy. “He can press his friends here to release Joseph and Jules. And Luca and the temple will have Arsinoe and Mirabella released by nightfall, surely.”

  “Funny,” Madrigal says without stopping her movement. “You never struck me as an idiot. We are in Indrid Down now, Billy. Where the poisoners rule. And if you think they aren’t going to take this opportunity to get rid of Arsinoe and the legion-cursed naturalist, you’re fooling yourself.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “No. She’s right,” Caragh says, and Madrigal blinks. “We need backing here. Natalia Arron will try to get away with something if she can.”

  “Even if we ride straight through,” says Madrigal, “switch for fresh horses. Nobody in Wolf Spring will make it back in time. Not even if Matthew takes them on the Whistler.”

  “I’m not thinking of Wolf Spring. I’m thinking of Bastian City. The warriors we saw in the stands today. They may still be here. We may be able to find them before they leave the capital.”

  “Why would they help us?” Billy asks.

  “Because of Jules,” Madrigal exclaims excitedly. “She is not only one of ours. She is one of theirs.”

  “I still say it’s unnecessary,” Billy says. “My father has clout here. Friends within the Westwoods and the Arrons. He won’t leave Joseph to rot. I’m going to wait with him at the Highbern for news. He’ll get it sorted. You’ll see.”

  “And when he doesn’t,” says Caragh, “you come back to help. We’ll be here with the warriors in red-lined cloaks.”

  THE VOLROY CELLS

  Jules presses her cheek against the bars of the small cold cell. A nice change from pressing her cheek against the hard, stone walls. She does not know exactly where inside the Volroy they are, but they are down deep. Much deeper than Arsinoe and Mirabella. The trip they took to get here was full of stairs. And full of thrown elbows.

  Camden rests her big heavy head on Jules’s leg. Jules scratches her ears. They have only slept a little, with no sense of how much time has passed. They have moved past tired to restless and back again.

  “How is Cam doing?” Joseph asks from his cell one down from hers.

  “She’s nervous,” Jules replies. “We should have been dragged back up before the Council by now.”

  “Maybe they mean to forget about us.” Joseph’s voice is deliberately light. “And keep us down here forever.”

  A hot ball rises in Jules’s throat. Let them try. Cait would never allow it. Nor would Joseph’s mother. And between the two families they could cause more than enough loud trouble to rattle the Arrons.

  “Joseph,” Jules whispers. “I’m sorry I got you into all this.”

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Except for maybe in that cell with you.”

  Jules smiles softly. Their one afternoon together in Joseph’s bed feels like years ago, and it makes her sad, as if the memory belongs to another time, before the Queens’ Hunt and Arsinoe almost dying, before everything went so horribly wron
g.

  “I’m sorry I left you that day, after we . . . after the Queens’ Hunt. I’m sorry I disappeared to the Black Cottage.”

  “You had to. You had to save Arsinoe. I’d have told you to do it if you hadn’t done it yourself.”

  “I know. But I was thinking of you, Joseph.”

  “It’s all right. Arsinoe comes first.” He chuckles. “I stopped being jealous about that when we were eight.”

  “You were jealous for two years?”

  “Just about. I guess it took that long for me to love her, too. And because . . . you have always been the most important person to me. Everybody has that, I think. And for me, it will always be you.” He sighs. “At least for these last forty-eight hours.”

  “Don’t say that,” she says fiercely. “We will get out of here. That day in your bedroom . . . It won’t be our only day.”

  “Best day of my life,” he whispers, and she hears him shift in his cell. “Jules?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If something does go wrong . . . if we can’t save Arsinoe . . . I want you to come away with me. Off Fennbirn. I could make a life for us out there, someplace we won’t see her ghost every time we look outside.”

  Jules swallows. If she cannot save Arsinoe, she will see her ghost every day. No matter where she is.

  “Arsinoe will find a way out of this. She always does.”

  “I know,” says Joseph. “But if she doesn’t . . . if she can’t . . . will you go with me?”

  Jules looks down at Camden, who blinks up at her with hopeful, yellow-green eyes.

  “Yes, Joseph. I’ll go with you.”

  THE HIGHBERN HOTEL

  Billy waits with his father at the Highbern, staring out the window with his arms crossed over his chest. They have been waiting for so long he could burst. He wants to pace, but his father would only give him that disappointed look. So instead he stares at the Volroy, thinking about Arsinoe trapped inside. Hoping she is giving the guards a hard time.

  Perhaps Jules’s aunt Caragh was right and he should have stayed with them and helped them mobilize the warriors. It has been too long with no word from the Council, and as outsiders, he and his father will be among the last to receive news. The sky outside has darkened to gray. The woods in the distance are visible only as a blurry smudge. Caragh will not have waited this long. Their plan will have already begun, and he will be left out of it.