Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns, #4)(90)

‘That is Rho.’

Arsinoe reaches down and strokes the neck of her horse with a shaking hand. ‘Are you a good horse?’ she asks. He seems a good one, tall and long-legged, with bright eyes and a smart face. His coat is a deep brown from head to tail, except for two white socks on his forelegs. That was why she chose him. The socks reminded her of Billy and his many, many pairs back on the mainland.

She runs her hand down his withers and traces the lines of his armor. It seems there is too much vulnerable flesh exposed. Too much exposed on all of them. She looks to her left, across the hills to where Jules and Emilia wait for the charge. She wishes she were there. But she has one task and one task only and that is to reach Katharine.

Still, she is not alone. Mathilde is with her and Gilbert Lermont, and the troops behind them are vast. Hopefully vast enough to batter a hole right through the opposing queensguard when they charge. Arsinoe will hold back to see where Katharine goes.

‘We’ll have to be fast,’ Arsinoe whispers to the horse. ‘And I’ll try my best not to get you killed if you will do the same. You probably have no idea what I’m saying. But all those years of naturalist training have to amount to something.’

There is a jostling in the soldiers near her, and Billy appears, riding through with none other than Pietyr Renard on the back of his saddle. The sight is enough to make her laugh, even now.

‘Shouldn’t you be on the far-left flank?’ Arsinoe asks.

‘We’re on our way there. I just . . .’ He smiles a little, and her chest tightens. It is surreal seeing him in armor with a sword and crossbow. ‘Well, Renard wanted one last chance to appeal to leadership.’

‘I should have a horse at least,’ Pietyr grumbles. ‘And a helmet.’

‘A horse so you can run to the enemy?’ Mathilde asks. ‘And there will be no helmet either. For you are no good to us if Katharine cannot see your pale hair. Every soldier in the queensguard must know you for an Arron. They must see you in the colors of the Legion Queen.’

‘We will see.’ Pietyr prods Billy in the shoulder. ‘Take me to the commander.’

Billy looks at Arsinoe regretfully. ‘My last day on Fennbirn and I spend it in service to this git.’

She smiles. She wants to reach for him. To hold him right there so they will be at each other’s sides.

‘I’ll see you after.’

‘Are you all right?’ Mathilde asks after Billy and Pietyr have ridden away.

Arsinoe nods. The oracle does not seem frightened or even nervous. Her bright streak of white hair is braided and wrapped around the golden bun on the back of her head, and she wears a clean yellow cape around her shoulders. Between that and her shining white mare, it is almost like she is trying to make herself a target.

‘What have you seen?’ Arsinoe asks, and looks beyond her to Gilbert Lermont, in a yellow cape of his own. ‘Gilbert? What have you been able to scry?’

‘When I scry, the wine blooms cloudy,’ Gilbert replies.

‘It is the same with me,’ says Mathilde. ‘The smoke is just smoke.’

When Arsinoe closes her eyes in frustration, Gilbert frowns. ‘You have let the sight gift languish for hundreds of years, and when you decide you have need of it, you expect it to return at a snap of your fingers.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Arsinoe says. ‘That’s not what I meant. It just seems like all of the gifts have strengthened around this generation of queens. Not only the gift of the dominant sister or the victor. Do you think that’s an omen? A sign for the Legion Queen? Or for Katharine, and her many gifts from the dead?’

‘That is the problem with omens,’ says Gilbert. ‘They can often be taken for both sides.’

Arsinoe clenches her jaw. She can feel Mirabella there so strongly she would not be surprised to turn her head and find her seated behind her on the saddle. Mirabella, their great protector. She had tried to avoid this to the last. Her final words to Arsinoe, written on that parchment, were words of peace. And she had died for it.

‘Are you truly ready?’ Mathilde asks.

‘I am.’

‘One more time in the old ways, then. One last time of queens killing queens.’ She looks across the battlefield, and her expression of serene calm fades. ‘What is that?’

Arsinoe turns in the saddle just as the enormous rider emerges from the ranks of the queensguard. Waves of blackness radiate from their armor as if it is very, very cold. Waves of blackness like floating ink.

‘Oh, Goddess,’ she whispers, realizing who it is and what has been done to her. Billy cannot face Rho Murtra. Not like that. Perhaps no one can.

She wants to warn him, but there is no time. The moment the rider reaches the front lines, she roars and sounds the charge. Every horse and rebel soldier around Arsinoe and Mathilde flinch as the queensguard cascades toward them.

‘The rider!’ Mathilde shouts over the sudden noise. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Rho Murtra!’ Arsinoe shouts back. ‘Or at least it used to be.’

On the battlefield, Rho leaves a trail of writhing rebels behind her like a spreading carpet. The length of her sword cuts through them so easily, it is hard to believe they have any bones inside their flesh. Darkness erupts from her mouth and eyes to dive down rebel throats. Not even Katharine wants to think about what is happening before it bursts back out and the soldiers fall.