“If you can secure that kind of loyalty, you would be an Arron queen indeed. Very well. We will wait and see.” She turns to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to the Volroy. To be your eyes and ears.” She pauses at the door and looks at Pietyr one more time. “You have lost Natalia, and Pietyr is asleep. You have few people left whom you trust, and few who remain to give you advice. But I will give you a caution now, so that later I will not feel that I failed in my duty. Do not be quick to trust Mirabella. No matter how she might help or what she might say.” She steps out into the hall. “A queen should never trust a queen.”
SUNPOOL
In the tavern off the square, Arsinoe and Billy sit at a table by the windows and watch Jules. She has been well now for nearly a week, and still she is mobbed wherever she goes. Cait, Ellis, or Caragh are always in her shadow. And Camden has not strayed more than a few feet since the two left the castle keep together.
“It’s so good to see them without ropes and chains,” Arsinoe says. She laughs when one of the rebels gets too close and Camden swats him with her good paw.
“Always something for the Legion Queen to do,” Billy muses. “Somewhere to be seen, someone she must speak to. And you’re getting annoyed by it, aren’t you? You haven’t had enough time with her.”
Arsinoe does not bother denying it. Not to Billy, who seems to be able to read her mind. “My days of having Jules all to myself are over. All of those simpler times are over.”
A frown flickers across Billy’s face, and he hides it behind a mouthful of fried fish. “At least she’s well.”
“Or seems to be.”
“Do you have doubts about the spell?” He watches Jules carefully through the glass. “She doesn’t seem at all volatile.”
No, she does not. She seems like she has since the tether woke her up. A little deflated. A little ashamed. And underneath that, a little angry.
“All the more suspicious, then,” says Arsinoe. “Jules was always a little volatile.”
The tavern keeper arrives with fresh mugs of ale, and grimaces at the scabbed cuts on Arsinoe’s hand and forearm. The look on his face says he would throw her out if she were not the exiled queen.
“Don’t pay any attention,” Billy says as Arsinoe tugs her sleeves lower. “They don’t know that it’s those cuts that gave them their Legion Queen back. If they did, they’d be asking to kiss them.”
“Then I guess I’m glad they don’t,” she says, and Billy pulls her hand close and kisses it anyway.
In the square, the crowd begins to jostle and murmur like spooked sheep. Before Arsinoe can spot the source of their unease, Billy’s eyes bug nearly out of his head.
“She’s got Braddock!”
Arsinoe jumps to her feet and races out of the tavern. The great brown bear is up on two legs, his large lips extended in a low roar, just outside the gate. And just inside of it is Emilia, dangling a strip of meat to try to entice him inside. “Emilia, you idiot!” Arsinoe gets to them as fast as she can, sharp elbows making an easy path through the people. “What are you doing?”
She holds her hands out to Braddock and he comes back onto all fours. His big dark eyes are frightened until Jules arrives with Caragh, and use their naturalist gifts to calm him.
“I was bringing him to you,” Emilia explains. “For what is a bear queen without a bear?”
“A bear queen who leaves her bear in the wild outside the city, where he belongs!”
“But he must be seen occasionally,” Emilia says. “And I wanted to test my new bit of naturalist gift.”
Jules shakes her head, but it is not a true admonishment. To Arsinoe’s horror, Jules seems merely amused. “Why would you think you’re suddenly a naturalist?”
“The spell. Arsinoe said it might . . .” She trails off and shrugs. “And it must be true. For the bear is here, and I am alive.”
“You could have chosen a better way to test it,” Arsinoe says, her arm slung protectively around Braddock’s large head. “I’m taking him back out to the woods.” Inside the walls, there are too many people. And even outside has become dangerous, with the soldiers’ training grounds spilling into the dunes and hills. So many noisy swords clashing and stray arrows shot by rebels who have never held a bow before.
“I’ll come with you,” says Billy.
“And so will I,” says Caragh.
They walk together back through the gate, past the open mouths of those gathered. Perhaps Emilia was right, and seeing the bear will make them look upon Arsinoe more fondly. Arsinoe purses her lips. What need does she have to garner favor with the rebellion?
When they reach the trees, Billy digs in his pockets for a little strip of dried meat and offers it to Braddock as one last treat.
“Though I’ll miss him,” Arsinoe says, “I have to ask you to take him back to the Black Cottage.” She turns to Caragh. “When do you think you’ll return?”
To her surprise, Caragh lifts her chin. “I don’t intend to return. And I am not going to Wolf Spring.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to remain here, with the rebellion. So is Luke. And my parents. And many of the people who came with them.” She exhales. “But not Matthew. I am sending Matthew and the baby home. If Sunpool falls, it’ll be safer there. And though she won’t say it, I think it would be better for Jules if he wasn’t here. He looks too much like Joseph would have looked.”
“You should go back with them,” says Arsinoe. “Help them to hide. Matthew might be safe from Katharine, but the Legion Queen’s little brother?”
“You think she would target a baby?” Billy asks, aghast.
“I think she would target anyone if there were an advantage to be gained. She’s at war. I can’t even blame her.”
“They’re departing this afternoon,” Caragh says. “Sailing back to Wolf Spring with the rest of the Sandrins. Come to the beach with us and say goodbye to them.”
That afternoon, when the sun starts to tilt, Arsinoe makes her way across the cold, stiff sand to join the others at the water’s edge. Aside from the Milones, Billy and Luke have come, as well as Mathilde, who feels her link to the baby as she was at the Black Cottage the night he was born.
Poor little Fenn. Bundled in blanket upon blanket against the chilly sea wind and passed from person to person like a jug of ale around the fire. When he comes to Arsinoe, she holds him out in front of her to look into his eyes.
“Jules’s little brother,” she says. It is such a strange thing to say—a brother in a family full of sisters. So small and his mother already gone.
“Pull him close,” Matthew says, and laughs. “Give him a kiss.”
Arsinoe makes a fondly disgusted face. “I think he’s covered in enough kisses already.” But before she gives him back, she whispers to him to take care. Beside her, Caragh’s stoic eyes are wet, though she hides her tears well. Her brown hound sits beside Matthew miserably, pressed against his side.
“Joseph was his uncle,” Billy says as he prods the baby in the tummy. “And I was foster brother to Joseph. So does that mean I can claim him as my foster nephew?”
“No need to carry on with the ‘foster’ bit,” Matthew replies. “And you’re always welcome at the Sandrin house.”
“Give him to me,” Mathilde says, and holds out her arms. The baby reaches for her and gurgles. “I was near when your light came into the world, and I will always sense when it is near.”
“Strange folk, oracles,” Luke comments.
“Says the man with the rooster on his shoulder,” Billy notes. “And speaking of chickens, Luke, how is my Harriet?”
“She’s overfed, and a distraction to Hank,” he replies, and his rooster clucks sheepishly.
Billy pokes at the baby in Mathilde’s arms.
“Will he be a naturalist, do you think? Is that how it goes? Even if one of the parents is giftless?”
“I charm fish,” Matthew objects, reaching
for his son.
“You charm everyone in equal measure,” Billy assures him. “But really, is that how it works?”
Cait studies the baby with a stern expression. “Every Milone born has the naturalist gift. That is how it works. And his gift is sure to be a strong one.”
“Cursebreaker,” Mathilde says suddenly. Then she blinks. “Forgive me. I do not know why I said that.”
Cait and Ellis trade a glance. “It’s all right,” Ellis says. “We know why.”
“Why?” asks Billy.
“For as many generations as can be recalled, Milone women have been born in twos. Two girls: one who goes on to have two girls of her own and the other who goes on to have none. Leave it to my Madrigal to go changing the rules.”
Billy offers the baby a finger to grab, but it seems the excitement has finally been too much. Fenn is fast asleep. “A little naturalist. I wonder if he’ll bring home another cougar one day. The house has to feel rather empty without one.”
“No,” Cait says, and for once her face cracks into a smile. “He will have a good familiar but not one like Camden. More likely a dog or a bird. We would be happy with a hawk, perhaps.”
“He will have a fox,” Mathilde declares, loudly enough to snap the baby’s eyes back open. “A red fox. With a bright white chest and a dark tail.” She swallows and shakes her head a little before wiping at her eyes.
“Well,” says Matthew, grinning. “So much for surprises.”
“A fox,” Caragh whispers sadly. “His mother would have loved that.”
Matthew lets her have one last look at the baby. “We’d better go.”
“Take good care of that little man,” Billy says. “And my chicken.”
Matthew bounces Fenn in his arms and raises his small hand to wave. After a moment of hesitation, he cups Caragh’s cheek and kisses her, hard. Then he turns, and he and the baby board the boat.
Arsinoe calls farewell and nods to the other Sandrins. Jonah, the younger brother, smiles at her. But Joseph’s mother’s glare catches her off-guard. She had not realized that Joseph’s mother would hate her and blame her for all of this.
As the boat casts off and grows smaller in the harbor, Caragh follows it along the shore, and Arsinoe frowns.
“What’s the matter?” Luke asks.
“Nothing.”
Luke’s eyes narrow, and the rooster on his shoulder peers at her with a slightly open beak. “You can’t lie to me, Queen Arsinoe.”
Arsinoe smiles grudgingly. She does not know, quite, what is bothering her. It was something about the way Matthew looked beside Caragh just now. Something about the way he looked at her. “I guess it seems unfair. Madrigal is dead; I know that, but . . .”
Billy slips a hand up the back of her neck and squeezes.
“The Sandrin boys and the Milone girls,” Luke says, and Arsinoe wonders whether she really cannot lie to him. “They’re doomed from the moment they set eyes on each other.”
“Looking at it another way,” says Billy, “Sandrin hearts are true. Distractible, certainly, given the right mix of tragedy and low magic. But they always return to their first love.”
If Matthew and Caragh can overcome the barrier of grief, that will be true enough. But where will that leave Madrigal in Matthew’s memory? Where was Mirabella left in Joseph’s? Cast aside, and somehow that seemed an unworthy ending for them both.
Slowly, their small gathering breaks apart to return to the city. Arsinoe is about to follow Billy when Jules calls to her.
“Stay by the water with me for a while, will you?” she asks.
“Sure.” Arsinoe goes back, and they walk a few paces, side by side. And though Arsinoe yearned for this time alone, she finds she does not know what to say. “I’m glad I can finally look you in the eye again,” she blurts. “Without all the exploded blood vessels.”
“Aye.” Jules laughs. “Those really hurt.” She holds her hand up and studies the fingers. “Think my nails will ever grow back? Look at that one.” She pushes her middle finger into Arsinoe’s face. “Torn off all the way down.”
“Yeesh,” Arsinoe says, and dodges it. “I’ll make you some salve.”
Jules takes a deep breath. “I’m glad I was awake to see my baby brother again. Though seeing him off so soon wasn’t easy. I can’t believe Caragh actually cried.”
“Did you see Luke and Ellis? They’re going to need new handkerchiefs.”
They walk together, and as the silence stretches out, so does Arsinoe’s unease.
“Now that Caragh’s joined the rebellion, does that mean the Black Cottage has declared against the crown?” Arsinoe asks.
Jules shakes her head.
“No. Caragh says that no matter what happens, Willa won’t go against the crown. She won’t go against her Katharine.”
“Her Katharine. What about me? I’m the one she’s seen the most. And one of the two who aren’t deranged.” Arsinoe flinches when Jules’s face falls. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean deranged—”
“It’s all right.”
“Well . . . how are you feeling? Anything unusual?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Anger? Disorientation? Paranoia?”
“All three.” Jules picks up a small stone and throws it into the waves. “But I don’t think that counts as unusual, given the situation.”
“I suppose not.”
Jules takes a deep breath. “I have to shake it off soon. Emilia and the others . . . they’ll need me to fight.”
“So you mean to keep on. You mean to be the Legion Queen, then?”
Jules looks down, and a shadow crosses her features. “I mean to remove the Undead Queen from her throne. She put a knife to my mother’s throat, Arsinoe. And she kills her own people. After that . . .” She raises her head, and Camden rushes past, intent on the wet sand and the chill of the waves.
“And how do your gifts feel? Have you tested them, since the tether?”
“They’re both still with me,” Jules says, and makes a fist. “Still strong. You don’t like it, though, do you? You’d rather the war gift stayed bound. You want me to stay a naturalist.”
Arsinoe shrugs. “You’d rather I’d been a naturalist. And you don’t really like me working with poisons. Nobody likes change, Jules.” She sighs. “And after all this, maybe you really are the island’s champion.”
“The island’s champion. Or its doom. I’ve heard it both ways.”
She means it as half a joke, but Arsinoe does not laugh. “Which do you think it is?”
“I think I should have been drowned as a baby. Or left in the woods. I think my family murdered an oracle because they didn’t have the stomach to do what they should have.”
Arsinoe swallows. That poor, murdered oracle hangs over them like a cloud. She cannot believe that it was Cait and Ellis who did it. Cait, who taught her how to build a fence. Ellis, who sang to them. She cannot believe that Caragh stood by as it happened.
“I would’ve done the same thing,” Arsinoe says. “I’d do it now if anyone tried to hurt you.”
“Even if I deserved it?”
Jules looks out, sending her naturalist gift into the sea. A dark shape crests in the waves, visible even through the shaded blue of the water.
“What is that?” Arsinoe asks just as the shark’s dorsal fin slices up. It throws itself onto the beach, tail thrashing, until it lies gasping upon the sand. It is beautiful, with shining, black eyes and a bright white belly, and terrible to see dying, its mouth open as if in a mix of confusion and regret. When Camden leaps upon its back and begins tearing into it with her teeth and claws, shredding the slick, gray skin, Arsinoe wants to clap her hands and shoo her off. But Camden is no tabby. Ears back and teeth red with shark’s blood, she would only snarl and dig her claws in deeper.
Jules pulls a knife from her belt and walks to the edge of the surf. With one fast motion, she stabs forward through the back of the head, and the shark goes stil
l. “It’s good meat,” she says, and lays her hand on the creature gently. “Boil down the bones for broth. Even the fins are good eating. We need all of it that we can get.”
It is true enough. And Arsinoe has seen Jules use her gift to hunt before. It is part of what the naturalist gift is meant for. But somehow this time it seems like war.
“I still am a naturalist, Arsinoe. And I’m still your guardian. Part of me will always be doing this for you. To kill Katharine. To make sure you’re safe. But you’re right. I’m not the same. And by the time this is over, none of us ever will be again.”
When Arsinoe and Jules return to the city together, they are immediately approached by a messenger with word that they are to meet Emilia at the rear of the castle’s west stable.
“She likes to give orders, doesn’t she?” Arsinoe grumbles as they hurry to comply.
They find the stable predictably deserted, except for the horses who reside in the stalls. As she and Jules walk down the corridor, the horses sense Jules’s gift and stick their heads out to say hello. It would be comical were the mood not so cautious and the corridor not so eerily quiet. As they near the end, Jules reaches out to pat the nose of her own horse, the tall black gelding she stole from Katharine. She must be relieved, Arsinoe thinks, to know that she did not accidentally kill him during the battle at Innisfuil.
“Emilia?” Jules calls. “Are you here?”
“I am here.” Emilia steps out from the last stall.
“Well, you could have said something sooner,” Arsinoe mutters. “What’s going on?”
“We have a visitor.”
Arsinoe shifts her weight nervously as the cloaked figure steps out. Whoever it is, they are tall, and hulking with armor. At a nod from Emilia, they lower their hood, and Arsinoe gasps.
“Margaret Beaulin! What is she doing here? What are you—”
Jules puts an arm across Arsinoe’s chest.
“She’s come to pledge the whole of Bastian City and its warriors to our cause.” Emilia hands Jules a rolled paper, which Jules unrolls and Arsinoe reads over her shoulder. It is a treaty. A written treaty outlining the allegiance between Sunpool, the rebellion, and Bastian City. It carries the signatures of all the great houses of war.
Five Dark Fates Page 11