One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(25)

“It will be fine. It will. But you can’t tell Jules. Not until I’m ready. She will be happy, eventually. Jules loves babies.”

“She’s not going to raise it for you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Arsinoe says, and Madrigal draws back as though slapped. It was a cruel thing to say. But it was not without cause. She looks at Madrigal’s sash, where the charm hides.

“You should throw that away before it’s too late. It is less a charm than a curse.”

The bear is staring at the chickens when Arsinoe comes out. When he sees her, he rolls his head back and flaps his lower lip, and Camden tucks her tail and flattens her ears.

“Do not do that,” says Jules, and touches her head. “He’s a friend now.”

“Camden, Camden,” Arsinoe scolds. “You won’t forgive my bear for being a bear, but you forgive everyone else? I’ve seen the way you nuzzle Joseph, you furry little pushover.”

Jules laughs and rubs the cat’s back.

They walk together to the orchard: two girls, a bear, and a cougar. Arsinoe’s stomach is tight as a fist. The mask on her face is a comfort and so is the poisoned blade in her vest, but she would still like to crawl into a hole and hide until morning.

“Are they there yet?” Arsinoe asks.

“Yes.”

“How do they seem?”

“Rather like buffoons,” Jules replies honestly. “But remember that you thought the same of Billy when he first arrived.”

“Aye, but what are the chances of me being wrong twice?” She kicks at pebbles in the road, and Braddock swats at them like it is a game. It is hard to imagine that he is the same bear who tore apart those people on the Quickening beach. But he is, and someday she will see those claws again, tearing someone open.

“How are you, Jules? Are you all right?”

“I’m not going mad, if that’s what you mean,” Jules says.

“That’s not what I mean. It’s just . . .”

“I’m fine. I don’t feel strange. Or sick. Nothing’s different.”

“Well,” Arsinoe reasons, “that’s not exactly true.”

Jules has started to push her war gift. Arsinoe knows she has. Jules has been spending too much time off by herself for it to mean anything else.

“Will you show me?”

“I don’t like it,” Jules says.

“Please? I can understand having a gift that is a mystery to everyone around me. Sometimes I wonder what a poisoner I would be if I’d had the Arrons at my back. You must wonder what you might have been like if you had been sent to the warriors in Bastian City.”

“I would only ever be a naturalist,” Jules mutters. But she takes a deep breath and tenses her jaw, raising her arm toward the nearby trees. As Arsinoe watches, the branches of a maple begin to shake, as if from rowdy squirrels. Then the shaking stops.

“That was you?” Arsinoe asks.

“I’m working on breaking off branches. Save us time cutting wood for winter,” Jules replies bitterly.

“Well, that will come in handy.”

“They say the war gifted can’t float things anymore. That the mind-mover part of the gift is gone.”

“I guess they were wrong. The gifts grow strong all across the island. Before you know it, we’ll be seeing great oracles again, and nothing will ever be a surprise.” Arsinoe squints. “I wonder what it all means.”

“Maybe that a great queen is coming,” says Jules. “Maybe you.”





ROLANTH





The day after the banquet, Joseph comes to Mirabella at Westwood House. Bree lets him into the drawing room in secret.

“You earned an audience with her,” Bree says. “Saving her like you did. But if you try something on behalf of the naturalist queen, I will skin you and your handsome suitor friend and send your bodies back on a barge.”

“Uh, thank you,” Joseph says, and Bree bows to Mirabella and leaves.

“On a barge?” he asks when they are alone.

“A river barge, most likely.” Mirabella’s smile is tight lipped. Nervous. This meeting is not like before. Joseph is well-dressed and composed, and the day is bright.

“Then at least our bodies would enjoy some fine scenery on the way back to our families,” he says, and she laughs.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“In this house? Or in Rolanth?”

“Both.”

When he does not reply, she steps farther into the room, toward the windows.

“Did you come to tell me to stay away from Arsinoe? To spare her?”

“But that would be a wasted trip, wouldn’t it?”

“Then why?” Mirabella holds her hands out to her sides. “This is not what I imagined when I imagined seeing you again. It is not the way we left things that night on the beach, when you saved me from her bear and all I could think of was being parted from you. Has it been so long, since Beltane?”

“No,” he says softly. “It hasn’t.”

“When I saw you with William Chatworth—with Billy—I wanted to run to you. I lay awake last night, thinking you might find a way to come. I waited.” She looks at him and he looks away. “But I suppose you were with him. Not so far from my room, but with many locked doors and watchful Westwoods in between.”