Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns, #4)(93)

He dives as Billy swings hard at his head.

‘Are you mad?’ Pietyr asks before he looks behind him and sees the fallen queensguard solider.

‘No, I’m not mad.’ Billy pulls his blade out. ‘Also, you’re welcome. Where are you sneaking off to in such a hurry?’

‘I am “sneaking off” somewhere I am less likely to die.’

‘Come on,’ Billy tilts his head. ‘Come back the other way.’

‘Do you see what’s happening the other way?’

‘You have to serve your purpose.’

‘And what are you going to do about it?’

To his astonishment, the mainlander comes forward, sword swinging. It is an unpolished display—bad form, a poor grip, with less chance of cutting him than had he used a butter knife—but Pietyr stumbles backward.

‘You idiot!’ Pietyr shouts, and then they crouch as an arrow strikes near their feet. They wait out the volley together, shields over their heads as arrows sink into the dirt like rainfall.

For all his talk of poisoner glory, Pietyr never imagined he would be in a fight like this. The sights and smells of the dying do not bother him. But the chaos—the panic and the disorder—it makes his breath come faster and sweat prickle the back of his neck.

‘Blast these random volleys! Give me an arrow guided by the war-gifted. At least they always hit their mark.’

‘You’d rather be hit?’

‘I would rather be hit clean than pinioned to the ground by an arm or a leg,’ he snarls, and feels a moment of empathy for the Deathstalker scorpions that he pins to his lapel.

Billy comes out from behind his shield. The wooden edge is stuck with an arrow. He breaks it off with his foot.

‘You say you’re slinking off for safety,’ he says, ‘but you’re heading in the direction of Arsinoe. Tell me why.’

Pietyr’s eyes narrow. Perhaps the mainlander is not so stupid after all. He is headed for Arsinoe. But not for the reason the boy thinks. Arsinoe is his best chance to get to Katharine. He does not know what will happen to her today. He only knows that he needs to be there when it does.

Billy misconstrues his narrowed eyes and rushes him again. Their shields bash, and Pietyr clenches his fist to stop its vibrating.

‘Are you not forgetting your sworn target?’ Pietyr asks. ‘In case you missed her, Rho Murtra is right over there.’ Across the battlefield, the rebel lines have already begun to flag as the shouts of the warrior captains are ignored and formations break and scatter. He is running out of time.

Pietyr’s small dagger is out of his sleeve and sunk into Billy’s side so fast, he even impresses himself. Billy’s mouth drops open to form a small surprised O.

‘I am sorry, Chatworth,’ he says as he lets go of the handle, leaving it stuck. ‘But I have to see her.’

He turns and dashes through the fighting, leaving the mainlander to fall to the ground. He hopes he will not take it personally. He does not see how he could when the blade was not even poisoned.

It is not hard to find Arsinoe. She stands out from the rest in her black clothes and silver armor, and the furious scars slashed across her face. She is on horseback in the middle of a group of soldiers who are apparently there to do all of the fighting for her. He cannot tell if they are trying to cut her a path through the queensguard or simply keep her safe, and Arsinoe does not seem to care. All of her focus is downfield on Katharine.

Across the field, the riders around Katharine push close. They form a steering wall and take her horse by the reins, pulling on his bit so that his neck must twist nearly to his shoulder. In moments, they have her, and turn back for the Volroy just in time to evade the mist, creeping across the battlefield from east to west.





INDRID DOWN




High Priestess Luca hears the cries of the battle when it begins. The stomping and clashing, constant as a hum. Through her high window in Indrid Down Temple, she catches glimpses of circling hawks and falcons: familiars fighting alongside their naturalists.

Outside her door, her guards have fled to linger on the lower floors and wait for news, or perhaps to abandon their post completely. She does not care. One way or the other, the battle will be decided. A queen will take the throne, or the dead queens will keep it. And Luca’s time within that conflict is over.

She pours herself a cup of tea, for it is still cold on this upper floor, and nearly spills it when the entire temple shakes to its foundation. An elemental is what comes immediately to mind. An earth-shaker. But not even Mirabella could have produced that kind of shock from the distance of the battlefield.

When she hears the hurried footsteps approaching, she turns, thinking it a guard coming with news. Instead, Bree and Elizabeth fly through her door.

‘Luca, are you all right?’ Bree asks. ‘What was that?’

‘You would know better than I would.’

‘Whatever it was, it nearly knocked me down the stairs.’ Elizabeth rushes to the High Priestess and throws her arms around her. Her plucky little woodpecker flies right into Luca’s hood.

‘He has returned,’ Luca says, and squirms as Pepper roots around the nape of her neck.

‘Pepper, get out of there!’ Elizabeth calls the bird back into her sleeve; he emerges a moment later atop her head. ‘Yes, he’s returned.’