Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns, #4)(48)

Getting out of the castle is easier than getting in, and Arsinoe makes her way back through the city and into the hills, to Jules and Emilia, without any trouble. She slips off the road and into the sparse cover of winter trees and brush to the clearing where they wait.

‘Arsinoe!’ Jules and Camden stand, slipping out from underneath their fur blanket beside Emilia’s small fire. ‘Thank the Goddess.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised. I told you I knew what I was doing.’

‘Did you see her?’ Emilia glances at her from beneath her brow. She kneels beside the fire, skinning a rabbit to roast. ‘Will she be ready?’

‘Well?’ Jules asks when Arsinoe does not reply.

‘I don’t know.’

Emilia tips her head back and throws her knife down to sink in the snow. ‘What do you mean you don’t know? Did you speak to her or not?’

‘She’s up to something.’

Jules and the warrior trade a frown. They have come a long way and risked much. For what?

‘So she won’t come,’ Jules says quietly.

‘I don’t know.’ Arsinoe clenches her fists and presses them against the sides of her head. The rush of sneaking into the castle, of being so near both of her sisters, has begun to wear off and leave her shaky. ‘I was right there, Jules. So close I could have reached out and cut her throat. That’s why I should have come. To end Katharine. To put an end to all of this.’

‘That is the poisoner in you,’ Emilia says. She takes up her knife again and stands, wiping the blade on her trousers. ‘The assassin. We will have need of your skills yet, in the coming battle. But do not be too hard on yourself. Though you were born a queen—born to be a killer—Jules is right: you are not one.’

Arsinoe looks at her, surprised. She nudges Jules. ‘Are you telling everyone now?’

‘So what do we do?’ Emilia asks them both.

‘Burn the black smoke,’ Jules says. ‘Call Billy and the others back. We’ll leave Mirabella here, to do what she will.’ She turns to Arsinoe. ‘I hope you’re right, and she really is up to something.’

After leaving Arsinoe outside the Volroy, Billy successfully joined the six warriors from the rebellion. Using the oracles’ visions as a guide, they secured lodging at a livery stable not far from the parade route and prepared to wait out the night.

As night falls, Billy sits with his shoulder against the east window of the hayloft. Three of the warriors are in the loft with him, and three more are below in the stables with the horses. Outside, the city is quieting, and torches and gaslights illuminate the streets. The small torches outside of the livery they sleep in cast a circle across the cobblestones and part of the fenced-in pen where a dozen horses doze or lazily munch hay. The flag hanging over the door is white and bears the face of a fox in gold and black paint.

‘Here.’ One of the warriors hands him a steaming mug. She is called Bea, and is one of Emilia’s most trusted fighters. To Billy she seems not fierce at all. She even looks a little like his sister, Jane, with soft cheeks and a small mouth. But he has no doubt she would not hesitate to put a knife right through his eye.

‘Thank you.’ He takes it and sniffs. Tea. No wine or ale. They must all be clearheaded for tomorrow, when they will turn loose the horses and set fire to the stable. They will rain down flaming arrows into the lead queensguard and scatter them. They will cause chaos.

He hopes Arsinoe is all right. He can tell by the looks the warriors give him that they see him as a burden. A boy to babysit. But he could not let Arsinoe attempt this alone. He had to be close in case something went wrong.

He hears footfalls in the straw behind him and looks over his shoulder. The warriors have gathered at the west window and whisper to each other. Bea nods and hurries back to his side.

‘What?’ he asks when she hauls him up by the arm. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Black smoke. It has been called off. Get your things. Hurry.’

‘What do you mean it’s been called off?’ He looks about the floor of the hayloft. He has no things, except for a borrowed blanket and the cup of hot tea. But he supposes those should not be left and reaches for them. When he bends, he catches a glimpse out the window.

‘Bea. Wait. Is that normal?’ The horses in the adjacent pens are riled. They stomp and mill about.

Bea bends down beside him, just in time to see the flash of silver. ‘Queensguard armor. They know we are here.’

‘How?’ Seeing the soldier, Billy freezes with fear. He reaches for the hilt of his sword. A sword. Ridiculous. He has never had cause to use one before. All his life he has settled his rows with words and fists.

‘They are inside,’ says Bea. She shoves him to the window. ‘The roof. Go.’

‘What?’ he asks as he slings a leg over the sill. There is nothing to hold on to and the ledge is not a ledge but a slim bit of timbering. He looks down. He may be all right if he falls, as long as he aims for a pile of straw.

The door of the hayloft is kicked in and a lit lamp heaved through the opening. The flames catch instantly, lighting up the space and showing warriors arming themselves. Bea pulls a crossbow from her shoulder as a barrage of bolts follows the lamp. The warrior near the window manages to deflect many, until one sinks into her gut. The hit makes her gift falter, and she is taken down by the next volley, so many bolts stuck into her that she looks like a pincushion.