Five Dark Fates

by Kendare Blake

  She is so close. Her dark eyes glittering.

  Jules chuckles awkwardly.

  “Is this what passes for war-gifted flirting?” Emilia laughs, and Jules takes her hand. “All this talk of losing each other . . .”

  “I will not lose you,” Emilia says.

  “You don’t know that. Unless—” Jules steps back. “Do you mean to keep me out of the fighting? So surrounded by soldiers that I’m completely out of danger? I didn’t come this far to do that, Emilia. That’s not the kind of warrior queen you made.”

  “And it is not the kind of queen I want,” Emilia says. She pulls Jules close. Just as their lips touch, Jules shakes her head, and Emilia withdraws.

  “I’m sorry,” Jules says.

  “Are you afraid?”

  “No.”

  “Do you not feel it, then?”

  “No, I—I don’t know. And I know this sounds stupid. I know that Joseph is dead. I know he’s not coming back, and he wouldn’t mind. I know that we’re fighting soon, and we might not have much time. But I—I just don’t know.”

  Emilia drops her eyes, clearly disappointed.

  “Are you angry with me?”

  “For your loyal heart?” Emilia reaches out and tucks Jules’s hair behind her ear. “I would never be angry about that.”

  Arsinoe creeps into the camp in the middle of the night. The fires are low, but it is still impossible to miss. Even traveling in the dark, she could feel the tracks of the horses and wagons through the soles of her boots. The Legion Queen makes no secret of her intentions. Anyone following the progression of the camp smoke will know that the rebellion is marching on Indrid Down.

  “Queen Arsinoe.” One of the scouts bows when she sees her.

  “Bowing again, are we?” Arsinoe says. This near the battle, everyone has become superstitious. They search for blessings and bargain with their consciences. They beg the oracles for signs that they will survive, and that they fight for the right side. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to bark at you. Do you know where to find Billy Chatworth?”

  “Camped on the northern ridge.” She points. The camp is so large that she has to stop twice more and ask for further directions, but she finally finds him standing outside his tent beside a small cookfire.

  “Arsinoe.” He reaches her in three strides and takes her in his arms. “You took so long; I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry. It took longer than I thought to leave Braddock with Willa at the Black Cottage.”

  “He didn’t want to be left?”

  “She didn’t want to take him on.”

  “She’s not a naturalist,” Billy says, “so I guess I can’t blame her.”

  “Aye, she’s not. But she knows him. I left her with a sackful of smoked fish to keep him in line. He’ll likely wander off into the woods anyway when he sees that Caragh isn’t there.”

  Billy nods. He does not look the same without his smile and without the mainland sparkle in his eyes.

  “You’ve changed so much,” she says softly. “Since turning up on this island and telling Jules you had a deaf cat with two-colored eyes like hers.”

  He laughs. “My god. Did I really say that? How did you put up with me?”

  “With the patience of a queen,” she says, and they chuckle until something inside Billy’s tent shifts and starts to grumble.

  “Keep it down out there, will you! Some of us are trying to get some sleep before we commit outright treason.”

  Arsinoe blinks. “Who’s in your tent?”

  “Pietyr Renard.” Billy frowns. “I drew the short straw.”

  Arsinoe peers in through the slit in the tent flap and sees a sliver of him on his side, his arms crossed tensely over his chest.

  “I’m surprised they brought him at all,” Billy says. “He can’t be trusted.”

  “Trusted, no. But Katharine did try to kill him. She left him unconscious for months. I believe he’s afraid of her if I don’t believe anything else.”

  “Hmpf. He may be a poisoner, but his real power is in persuasion. Oh!” Billy raises his eyebrows. “I saved some food for you.” He wraps the handle of a pot in a cloth and turns the contents out onto a plate. She smells carrot and onion and meaty gravy.

  Of course he would know to keep a pot full of food for her. He knows her so well. But when she takes the plate, she finds that she is not hungry. Or at least not for food.

  “Are you saying we have to share a tent with an Arron all night long?” She takes his hand and rubs her thumb along the inside of his palm.

  “Would be rude to turn him out.” He pulls her close. “But I’m sure we can find some cozy place.”

  Neither needs convincing. They hurry away from the camp, huddled close together.

  “It’s so blasted dark,” he says. “Be careful. I think we passed a small lean-to not far back. Looked deserted, except for a few goats.”

  “A lean-to, a barn, a sturdy tree, for all I care,” she says, and Billy laughs.

  Somehow, they find their way to it and climb through the fence. They lay down a layer of fresh straw and a blanket, and Billy nudges away a few curious goats.

  “A shame that lean-tos don’t have doors,” he says, and she pulls him to her.

  “Come here and be quiet.”

  “Quiet?”

  “At least try not to startle the goats.”

  She hears him laugh. They cannot see each other in the dark, but their hands have had plenty of practice. It is not long before they both forget the goats and the chill in the night air and think of nothing but each other.

  Afterward, they lie together quietly.

  “I don’t want to go back,” she whispers.

  “Maybe we can keep the sun from rising for a day or two . . .”

  “Why not a month.”

  “A month of sleeping on the cold, hard ground. You really were raised by naturalists.” Billy wraps her tighter in his arms and nestles down into the blanket. “I’m glad that Renard had the use of the tent. I like being out here with you, away from everything.”

  “So do I.” She rests her head against his chest. “But poor Pietyr Renard. Knowing Emilia, she’s sure to have a use for him.”

  “I think she only wants him seen. To rattle Katharine and goad her into something foolish.”

  “It won’t work. Katharine may be many things, but foolish isn’t one of them.”

  Billy sighs. “I suppose I don’t envy Renard. Standing on opposite sides of a battlefield. I can’t imagine what it would be like if it were you. But then, it would never be you.”

  “It shouldn’t be any of us. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. All the people who are going to die, none of them would if their queens had done what we were meant to.”

  “You can’t think like that. It does have to be. Fennbirn is finished with the old way. Emilia might come off like a swindler, but she’s right. Every person we’ve passed on the march. Every soldier in the rebellion. They’re ready for something to change.”

  “I hope they mean it,” Arsinoe says. “Because after this, everything will.”

  His hand goes still on her skin. Their time is almost over.

  “During the battle, we won’t be together,” he says. “Jules will draw the queensguard attack—”

  “And I will go after Katharine.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asks. “Are you really going to kill her?”

  “I’m going to do what Mira asked me to,” Arsinoe replies, rubbing the scars in her palm. “I’m going to banish the dead queens. And then yes. I’m going to kill her.”

  She waits. She cannot see his expression in the dark.

  “After the battle is over, I’m not going to stay on Fennbirn,” Billy says.

  “Because of that?” She sits up.

  “No. It’s a war, Arsinoe. After it’s over, none of our hands will be clean. But . . . I have to go home. I have to take care of things there.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

/>   “You don’t belong there. They need you here. I just wish I belonged here, too.”

  “You do,” she says weakly. But she does not fight too hard. He is right, and she cannot shake the feeling that after the battle is over, none of the queens will remain, living or dead. “You know I tried really hard to not be what I am.”

  He pushes up on his elbow, and now she is glad he cannot see her face.

  “And you know that I loved you, don’t you, Junior? You know that I always will.”

  INDRID DOWN

  “The rebels are here.”

  Katharine turns. The message that Rho delivers is not unexpected.

  “What are the numbers?” Katharine asks, without much interest.

  “High,” Rho replies. “The initial estimates given by your spies were treasonously low.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” asks Genevieve. Only she, Rho, and Renata Hargrove have come to her rooms. The rest of the Black Council hides from Katharine’s summons. She is not surprised. They are cowards. And besides, she does not need them.

  For the last two days, Katharine has felt the Legion Queen approaching. She has felt it in the excited chatter of the dead queens in her blood, tasted it in their craving for her flesh between their teeth. Those twisted and corrupted dead queens, whose names have been forgotten.

  “We have more horses,” Renata says. “Trained soldiers with full armor and weapons made of steel instead of wood.”

  Rho opens her mouth to argue, but Katharine quiets her with a look. She knows full well that a disadvantage of numbers will not matter.

  “What of the people? Have many fled?”

  “Those who could afford it have fled inland—sought refuge in the west at Highgate.”

  Katharine nods. Those who could not remained and cowered, caught between the battle and the mist.

  “We have the provisions,” Genevieve says. “They will be safe as long as we can hold the city.”

  Katharine glares down at the sprawling rooftops. What did the people have to fear? The Legion Queen arrived to liberate them, or so she said. But Katharine will protect them anyway. She will protect them, these people who remain, even if they hold no faith with her. Even if they have turned away from their crown as if it were nothing, rather than the island’s entire history. Hundreds of battles fought and won. Illustrious queens of strength and honor, whose gifts turned the island into legend.

  “Queen Katharine,” Renata asks. “What should we do?”

  Katharine steps away from the window and sighs, hands folded over her skirt. “Do we intend for the Legion Queen to simply march through our streets? Muster the queensguard. Set barricades before the main thoroughfares and at the markets. Fortify the Volroy and arm the gatehouses. And as for me, I will meet them on the battlefield.”

  Renata and Genevieve wait, looking to Rho.

  “I would have a word with my commander. You two will see to this. And pass the message along to the rest of the council who could not be bothered to attend.”

  They leave quickly, and Rho closes the door.

  “They want to flee,” Rho says. “And Bree Westwood is nothing but furtive glances of late. She should be watched.”

  “Let her go. Let them all. If the rebellion breaches the walls of the Volroy, they will receive little mercy in the fever of conquest. They fear the mob of soldiers. They fear being torn to pieces. And they are right to.” Katharine looks to the west toward Greavesdrake, though she cannot see it through the walls, settled so proud and alone in the hills. For once, she is glad that Natalia is gone, so she does not have to imagine her there as the rebels come for the manor house with swords and torches.

  Rho goes to the table and pours herself a cup of wine. How odd it is, to have found such an ally in her. Katharine used to hate the very sight of Rho, her tight red braid, her jaw always set like it is carved from granite. But that hate was not truly hate. It was resentment, that such a woman stood against her rather than at her side. And now—now when she looks at Rho, all she feels is regret for what she must do.

  Rho goes to the window, to look down upon the inner ward as the queensguard begins to assemble.

  “It is hard to look into their eyes,” Katharine says. “Knowing that I must order them into battle to die. Is it me, after all, that they are fighting for? Do they believe, or do they simply have no choice?”

  “You will never know,” Rho replies. “That is what it is to be a commander. But you must look them in the eyes anyway.”

  Katharine steps up beside Rho. The priestess is so much taller than she is, so broad shouldered. She is the embodiment of the war gift.

  “What does it feel like,” Katharine asks, “when I give the dead queens to you?”

  Rho inhales.

  “It feels sacred. And it is an honor to fight against the Legion Queen. These rebels hide behind the support of Arsinoe, but they do not love the island or the Goddess. Not like we do. I am grateful for the allegiance of the dead queens. It is as if the Goddess has sent them to us as aid.”

  Katharine clenches her teeth. Not even Rho, one of the Goddess’s finest servants, understands her will. Not like her daughters do.

  “Then come closer, Rho.”

  The dead sisters slither through Katharine’s veins. They bolt for the surface so hard that it makes her grimace with the searing, stretching sensation of it. Katharine’s hand slips behind the back of the priestess’s head. She seals her lips over Rho’s mouth. Afterward, Rho kneels, gasping on the rug.

  Katharine watches as her veins darken. The dead queens she sent into Rho were more than ever before. They swell beneath her skin. They turn her eyes to black.

  “Ride out,” she says, and Rho gets to her feet. “Ride out for the Legion Queen. There is no better death. No larger battle than this one.”

  THE REBEL CAMP

  The call that the Queen Crowned’s army has begun to march ripples through the camp like a shudder. It does not matter that the rebels knew it was coming and that the soldiers have been standing ready since daybreak. It does not matter that they were the ones who marched across the entire island to pick this fight. Now it is real, and every woman and every man is afraid.

  Billy and Pietyr arm themselves together in the tense quiet of their tent. Arsinoe crept off to Jules just before dawn. Though she ate what was left of their dinner first, and Billy takes that as a good sign.

  “Something to eat before we go?” he asks, watching Pietyr struggle with his ill-fitting armor. They have not given him much: a set of leather greaves and shoulder armor, along with a sword and shield. “Though Arsinoe didn’t leave a lot.”

  Pietyr turns his nose up. “How can she swallow that untainted food? Just the scent of such blandness turns my stomach. She is no poisoner.” He fumbles with the straps and curses. “This armor is not worth the beast killed to make it!”

  Billy sighs and sets down the spoon of oatmeal and bit of cheese. He wants to point out that his armor is no better but glances at Pietyr’s shaking hands and goes to help him instead.

  “If I were fighting beside my Katharine, I would be in queensguard armor. Shining silver from helm to heel.”

  “Would you rather be there, then? Fighting with your Katharine?”

  Pietyr frowns as Billy tightens a buckle. “Of course I would. I would be by her side to the end, no matter the odds. But my Katharine no longer exists.”

  “But she does, doesn’t she? Or at least her body. Her face. Maybe you’ll change your mind when you see her and try to change sides.”

  “What is your point?” Pietyr asks, eyes narrowed.

  “Only that I’ll put a knife in you if you try.” He finishes with the shoulder guards and steps back. Then he slaps the front of Pietyr’s chest. “Or maybe I’m saying that you’re a brave man for fighting in spite of it.”

  Pietyr tugs on the armor, testing the fit. “You seem to be prattling on this morning. More so than usual. Are you afraid?”

  Billy shrugs. He ca
n feel every drop of blood racing inside his skin and every heartbeat that tries to keep up with it. He is afraid. And he knows that Pietyr is as well, no matter how he tries to mask it with disdain.

  “I suppose I am,” he says, and feels some of that fear drain away with the admission. “But not so much as I’m angry. Today I avenge my father’s murder and the murder of my friends. Today my strange time on Fennbirn comes to an end.”

  “You mean to go up against Rho Murtra,” says Pietyr. “You are a fool.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe she’ll be weighed down by all that fancy queensguard armor and I’ll land a lucky strike.”

  Pietyr says nothing. He shakes his head and picks up his sword, and Billy follows him out to the horses.

  When Arsinoe gets to Jules’s tent, she makes sure to loudly clear her throat and allow plenty of time before entering, in case she is walking into something private. But inside, Jules and Emilia are already awake, seated on the ground with Camden lying in between them. Across the camp, the morning has started to turn blue, showing the capital city to the south and the towers of the Volroy, which Arsinoe could feel staring down at her even through the blackness.

  “Thank the Goddess,” says Jules, and smiles. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

  “You know me.” Arsinoe ducks inside. “Always cut it close. Always make an entrance.”

  “So you’ve done it,” Emilia says. “You have her?” She peers around Arsinoe in the dim.

  “Even if I did, she wouldn’t be with me. Why does everyone always think I have everything in my pocket?” She frowns. “But I don’t. She wasn’t there. The cave was empty.”

  “But that was our best hope,” says Jules.

  “No it wasn’t.” Emilia gets to her feet. “It was desperation. A move made out of fear. But we never needed the help of a dead queen. We are not like Katharine.”

  She sounds certain. She sounds like a leader. Not for the first time, Arsinoe wonders how it is that they have gotten here, laying siege to Indrid Down. It was not so long ago that she and Mirabella were at Billy’s brick row house on the mainland or that she was in Wolf Spring, drinking ale at the Lion’s Head.