Katharine cocks her head. “Should I not be asking you that?”
“You are the Goddess on earth, Queen Katharine. I am only her voice to the people.”
At her words, the dead queens twist through Katharine’s insides, spreading the ash-gray of corpses through her body until she can practically taste it.
“I have never felt the Goddess,” says Katharine. “She turned her back on me so I have acted in kind. Is that why the mist rises? Because a queen sits the throne who will not kneel?”
“The Goddess does not demand your loyalty. She does not need it any more than she needs our understanding.”
“Curse the Blue Queen,” Katharine mutters under her breath. “If not for the mist, the people would not be so desperate. What went so right for her that she was able to perform such a feat?”
“It was not what went right,” Luca says, “but what went wrong. Queen Illiann created the mist to protect the island from an invasion. A spurned suitor who returned to wage a war. Have you never studied the murals of the queens in our temples? A queen can do great things when she must.”
Katharine sighs and turns to Pietyr, who nods. She will ride north, then, and make the trade. If the cursed naturalist will agree to it.
SUNPOOL
Arsinoe, Mirabella, and Billy navigate the sloping, mossy cliffs of the coastline, trying to reach high ground. Arsinoe, in her hurry, slips and knocks her knee against exposed rock. But she is not the one in the lead: Mirabella has nearly crested the hill. She has pulled her hair free of its pins, and Arsinoe suspects that she has called a little of the wind that whips through it. She has never seen anyone look so triumphant, even in a muddy, blue, salt water–stained mainlander dress.
“I thought she said it would take some time for her gift to return,” says Billy breathlessly. “But she could move the water the moment we arrived.”
“Well, you know Mira. Always the pessimist.”
Mirabella’s current made their swim to shore so easy that they each have energy to spare for the walk. And after they reached land, she conjured a blazing fire so they would be warm and dry while they did it.
“Do you know where we are?” Billy asks, and adjusts his pack on his shoulder.
Arsinoe looks inland, upward. The behemoth of Mount Horn sits to the east. Not terribly far.
“We’re west of the mountains. Away from Wolf Spring. Away from Rolanth. A whole island between us and our baby sister.” It is probably the best place for Daphne to bring them. Secluded and secret, where they will not likely be seen.
“And we have to climb that?” He nods to the peak. “Not all the way, I hope.”
“I hope not either.”
She hurries ahead to where Mirabella has stopped at the top of the hill.
“Look,” Mirabella says. “Is that what I think it is?”
Across the rolling hills lies the white-walled city of Sunpool. The oracles’ city.
“Why would the mist bring us here?” Mirabella asks. “I do not like the idea of being so close to so many seers.”
“Nor do I,” Arsinoe says distractedly. “But I have always wanted to see Sunpool.” And this is a very fine view of it: the sprawling, white castle and the built-up wall, white buildings nestled so tightly together that the whole of it looks like a cluster of sea-bleached coral. They say when the sunset strikes, the city appears to burn. Though there is no evidence of that on a day as cold and gray as this.
Billy catches up and peers at it.
“What did that used to be?”
“Sunpool. The city of oracles,” Mirabella replies.
“And it used to be grand,” Arsinoe adds. “Before the gift weakened and the numbers dwindled. Before the people started to fear the sight as near a curse.” In reality, the once proud, white walls are crumbling, chunks of stone rolled away to wear down to roundness and be covered with moss. The central castle, though still sprawling, is covered in vine and the dirt of centuries. But it is still easy to see what it was.
“The seers are weak and few,” says Arsinoe. “I think we’re safe enough, even close as we are. Probably the perfect place to buy supplies and a hot meal. A forgotten city for a secret quest.”
Billy reaches for coin in his pocket. He takes his pack off his shoulder and considers the goods inside.
“Maybe I should go alone and get what we need. You two are still a little too recognizable, even in those colorful clothes.”
“Agreed,” says Arsinoe as Mirabella reluctantly drapes a gray scarf over her hair.
They walk toward the city, stopping at the crest of every hill to make sure to avoid main roads. Arsinoe and Mirabella fall into easy chatter, so that Billy has to tug on their arms when he notices something odd.
“Didn’t you say this place was nearly deserted?”
“Not many live here anymore, that’s true.”
“Well, that doesn’t look deserted to me.” He points to Sunpool, and Arsinoe and Mirabella shield their hands from imagined brightness, as if that were responsible for what they see.
Hundreds of people crowd the streets. Disorganized, harried-looking people, pushing handcarts and carrying packs of supplies.
“Is it a . . . marketplace?” Arsinoe asks.
Mirabella points to the east.
“Look. On the roads. More are coming.” It is not a steady stream, but it seems an uncommon number for a city not known to have a large share of visitors. As they watch, someone releases a messenger bird from one of the castle’s uppermost windows.
“That bird is flying awfully fast,” says Arsinoe. “And awfully straight. What is a naturalist doing in Sunpool?” She tugs Billy around and rummages through his pack for another scarf, this one to wrap around her scarred face and mouth.
He looks at her doubtfully.
“I know there’s a chill in the air, but that still looks unseasonable.”
“Maybe I have a cough.” She tugs the scarf up over the tip of her nose. Curiosity has gotten the better of her; she cannot be left outside the city now. “Let’s go in and see what’s happening.”
Inside, they find a hive of activity. Mirabella and Arsinoe are careful to keep their hair and faces partially obscured, but there is little need. The constant flow of new arrivals means strangers are aplenty, and everyone is on the way to this place or that. No one looks at each other for very long.
“Should I go try to find out what’s happening?” Billy asks.
Mirabella takes him by the arm. “No. That will only draw attention to you. Just keep moving. And listening.”
They make their way through the wide main road. Only a few people seem to know Sunpool well enough to provide direction, and many of them are dressed in gray and yellow. Oracle colors. Mirabella carefully maneuvers them away from every gray or yellow cloak they see, until Arsinoe’s ears prick at the mention of Wolf Spring:
“They’re running grain stores up the coast. Should be here any day.”
“But no fighters?”
“A few have come on their own. Less than I’d expected. Maybe she’ll bring them with her when she arrives.”
Fighters. Grain stores. And everyone through the gates seems armed, or armed after a fashion, with clubs and shovels. Mirabella taps her on the shoulder and ducks into a tavern. Arsinoe pulls Billy in after her.
“We have stumbled into an army camp,” Mirabella whispers furiously as she leads them to the rear. “I am less and less certain of your Daphne bringing you here for a simple solitary quest!”
“It changes nothing. I’m still headed up that mountain as soon as I have the food and clothes to make it.” Thinking of food, her stomach growls. There are bowls of stew on many of the tables and cups of wine and ale. Loaves of golden, soft-looking bread.
“I’ll go and get us some,” Billy says, following her eyes. “We can eat standing up and then go back out and try to barter. Though I don’t know how much luck we’ll have.” He slides through the tables to the bar. There is nowhere to sit. Hardly
anywhere to stand. And without Billy, Arsinoe and Mirabella huddle together, two black-haired girls in mainland clothes and no shadow large enough to hide in.
It seems forever until he returns, carrying bowls of stew and trying not to spill, one fat chunk of bread floating in each. They eat in silence, eyes on their food, Mirabella with her head bowed. Arsinoe sneaks bites in between lowering and raising the scarf that covers her nose.
They are nearly finished when people start to hurry past the tavern windows.
“What’s happening?” Arsinoe asks as the door flies open and the inside of the pub begins to rapidly empty.
Billy runs out of patience and grabs a man by the shoulder.
“Oi. What’s happening? Where’s everyone going?”
“She’s here. I think she’s here!” The fellow points to the street and runs after the crowd.
“She.” Mirabella and Arsinoe lock eyes. She. The queen? They set their bowls onto the nearest empty table and go to the window. So many have crowded around the tavern that seeing is impossible.
Frustrated, Arsinoe turns to the barkeep.
“Plenty of coin if you’ll permit us to your upstairs windows.” She nudges Billy, who gets it out of his pockets.
“As you like,” the barkeep replies. She chuckles a little as she wipes out a cup. “Though if it really is the Legion Queen, you’ll have plenty more chances to get a view.” She jerks her head over her shoulder, through to the kitchen. They hurry, running quickly past the near-empty pot of stew and up the flight of stairs to the woman’s private room.
“The Legion Queen,” Arsinoe mutters. “Who . . .” A thought flashes into her mind, but that is impossible. “It can’t be . . .”
Mirabella reaches the window first. It is not that high, but the view is substantially better than the one from below. The gate of the city is open, and the first riders are coming through.
“Riders only, no carriage. And no black. It cannot be an Arron caravan.”
Arsinoe presses her nose to the cold, dusty glass. There is no black at all. Not even the horses.
Then she sees the mountain cat, curled onto the rump of a large bay workhorse. Her dark tail-tip twitches, and she nervously swats with her good paw at anyone who gets too close.
“Good Goddess,” Arsinoe exclaims. “It is her. It’s Jules.”
“I know you want to see her. But getting to her without being recognized might be just too difficult.” Mirabella keeps a firm hand on Arsinoe’s sleeve as they follow Jules’s party through the city, alongside the most fervent of the crowd.
“It might be impossible, full stop,” Billy adds. “Seems she’s not just Jules now. She’s ‘the Legion Queen,’ whatever that is.”
“She’s still Jules. She’ll see me. She’ll know I’m here.”
But when they arrive at the castle, the gate comes down and leaves Arsinoe, and everyone else, outside.
“So I’ll wait.” She crosses her arms. “I’ll duck down in the bushes, and she’ll have to come out sometime. You two go back toward the shops and try to buy what we need. It won’t be long.”
Mirabella and Billy look at her doubtfully. So she shoves them out into the street.
But she was wrong about her wait being short. It seems an age before anyone comes back out of the castle. And when someone finally does, it is not Jules or Camden, like she hopes. Though it is still someone she recognizes: Emilia Vatros, the warrior girl who aided their escape from the capital.
“She was helpful once,” Arsinoe whispers, and takes her chance. She throws a pebble at the girl’s back. It hits her in the head. Not a great throw, from cold, aching fingers.
Emilia whirls. It takes her no time at all to discover the source of the pebble.
“Yes!” Arsinoe motions for her to come. “It’s me!” She motions again, and Emilia’s eyes slide right over her hidden in the shrubs before she turns around and walks away. So much for that. If only Camden would come out, with her superior hearing and far superior nose. At this rate, it will grow dark before she gets a real chance.
Emilia’s hand reaches out from behind her and covers her mouth. She drags Arsinoe back so fast that her feet scarcely touch the ground.
“What are you doing here?” She presses cold metal against Arsinoe’s scars. “I should cut your throat. Carve you up so that no one will recognize you!” For a moment, Arsinoe thinks she really will, but then Emilia shoves her forward onto the grass.
“What’s the matter with you?” Arsinoe flips over and scrambles up.
“Why have you returned?”
“None of your business. Right now, I’m here to see Jules.”
“See her?” Emilia spits upon the ground. “See her and complicate things. Contend for the crown that is meant to be hers.”
“I don’t want any crown.” Arsinoe holds up her hands. Angry as she is about Emilia’s greeting, she does not have Jules’s hot temper. She keeps her head. She knows what the war-gifted girl can do if given the excuse.
“Then why did you come back, poisoner?”
“I think that’s something I’ll tell her. And I’m not only a poisoner. I’m a naturalist. Like she is.”
The warrior’s eyes narrow. The last time they met, things had happened too quickly, and it had been too dark for Arsinoe to notice how severe Emilia is. The deep brown of her hair and eyebrows, the thick eyelashes. The tightness of the twin buns at the nape of her neck. All the weaponry at her belt and tucked into her tall boots. She does remember the fierce red lining of her cape and how it flashed like a new wound when they ran.
“If you interfere, it will not be easy for you.”
“I don’t know what’s going on here. And as long as Jules is safe, I don’t care. I have business of my own, on the mountain.”
Emilia purses her lips. “On the mountain? What sort of business?”
“The secret sort. The queens’ sort.”
“Queens? So the elemental is here as well.” Her eyes flicker to the bushes, the trees, the corners of the castle walls. “And you just happened to find your way to Sunpool and the Legion Queen.”
“When we got to Sunpool, it was the first I’d heard of the Legion Queen.”
“And what about the mist?”
“The mist?” Arsinoe asks, confused. “It let us pass. It brought us here.” She shrugs as Emilia studies her.
“Wait.”
The warrior goes back through the shrubs, and a moment later, returns with a burlap sack.
“Put this over your head. Don’t ask questions.”
Minutes later, Arsinoe is shoved, stumbling, through the unfamiliar castle. She has no idea where she is after the first three turns, and the sack over her head reeks of mildew. But finally, they stop, and Emilia knocks on a door.
“Jules. Someone to see you.”
“Who?”
Once inside, Emilia can hardly get the burlap off before Camden has her paws on Arsinoe’s chest.
“Oof!” Arsinoe groans as the cat rubs her whiskers against her cheeks. “It’s nice to see you, too, you big stinky cat.”
“Arsinoe!”
Jules flies against them both, so excited that for a moment Arsinoe cannot tell whether it is only the cougar who is licking her.
They draw back but hold each other at the elbows. Jules peers around her, at Emilia, who is positively scowling.
“Emilia, look! Where did you find her?” She beams into Arsinoe’s face. “Where did you come from?”
“The same place you left me.”
They smile, and the silence stretches out. There is too much to say. Finally, Jules looks past her, searching for someone.
“Emilia, is Mathilde still with the Lermonts?”
“Yes.”
“Who are the Lermonts?” Arsinoe asks.
“The Lermont family of oracles,” says Jules. “They’re really all who remain, as far as old oracle families go. Our friend Mathilde is a relation of theirs.” Her face falls. “She’s with them now, in mour
ning. We learned when we arrived—Katharine has poisoned their matriarch.”
“Why would she do that?” Arsinoe asks, and Jules swallows.
Emilia steps between them and takes Arsinoe’s arm. “There is much to explain. On both sides. Where is the elemental?”
“Mirabella and Billy are in the marketplace.”
“I will go and have them brought up.” Emilia leaves, only turning to glare once more at Arsinoe before she closes the door behind her.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Jules says.
“I can’t believe it either.” Arsinoe touches the ends of Jules’s hair, just below her chin. Shorter even than Arsinoe’s own now. “You cut your hair.” Her brow knits. “Jules, what are you doing here? Why are they calling you the Legion Queen?”
Jules goes to the window. The room they are in is sparsely furnished. Only a rug and a trunk and a table and chairs. A makeshift bed.
“Have you been through Sunpool? Seen what’s happening?”
“Yes.” Arsinoe goes to stand beside her. “Looks like someone’s raising an army. I guess that’s you?”
Jules raises her eyebrows. “Seems to be.”
Arsinoe exhales. “This has to be a long story.”
“Full of bards and prophecy and even a birth.”
“I suppose you’d better tell me all of it.”
They sit down together, and Arsinoe listens as Jules recounts what her life has been since she left them that day. The mourning and hiding and longing for home. The prophecy and her war gift. The rebellion.
“I knew you would get into trouble without me,” she says when Jules is finished, and Jules snorts. Outside the window, the sounds of the army assembling in the city are plain. “And now you’re going to war.”
“There’s no choice anymore now that she has Madrigal.”
“But are you ready? Madrigal wouldn’t want you to sacrifice yourself.” Arsinoe sighs. “What am I saying? Of course she would.”
“Whether she would or not, there’s Fenn to think about. He’s going to need his mother.”
“And you would fight a war for this?” Arsinoe asks.
“That’s not the only reason.” Jules stands and her bad leg drags just enough for Arsinoe to notice. The mark of the poison. “We went from town to town. Village to village. You should have seen their faces, Arsinoe. The hope. The belief, in me. They want Katharine gone and the poisoners out of power. After what she’s done and the fear of the mist, I want that, too.”
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