One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(52)

“Arsinoe? Can you hear me?”

There is no response. Jules grits her teeth as the horse hops the last few steps onto the opposite bank, jostling Arsinoe in the saddle. Arsinoe has not spoken since they fled from Katharine. She has not even moaned. But Jules will keep going. She will keep running as long as she feels warmth in Arsinoe’s body.

“Please, Arsinoe. Don’t be dead.”

The bolt sticks out from Arsinoe’s back and presses against Jules’s leg whenever the horse moves. Something has to be done about it. Every time it shifts it does more damage. She lifts Arsinoe’s shoulder gently to look.

“Don’t touch it,” Arsinoe gasps, and Jules is so startled she almost screams. “Don’t touch the bolt. You don’t know what she used on it.”

Jules leans down and covers Arsinoe’s head with kisses. She is alive. She is even feisty.

“So I’ll wrap my hand first,” Jules says, grinning over tears of relief. “It has to come out.”

“No.” Arsinoe grimaces, her teeth white in the moonlight. “Just let it stay.”

Jules slides her arm around Arsinoe’s neck. She is no healer, and no one will help an injured queen now that the Ascension has started. She can only think of one place and one person. But the journey seems so far.

“It’s all right, Jules,” Arsinoe whispers.

She looks down at Arsinoe’s pale face. She is weak, but the bleeding has slowed.

Camden slides off the back of the horse, and they pick up their pace again, heading ever farther north.





WOLF SPRING TEMPLE





“Mira, take some warm cider.” Elizabeth puts a cup into her hands, but Mirabella barely looks at it. “Even at Midsummer, the nights grow so cool here beside the sea.”

“Is that from the barrels outside? She cannot have that, you little fool!” One of the Rolanth priestesses grabs the cup so roughly that cider sloshes over the edge. “That has not been inspected.”

“Do not call her a little fool,” Bree says, seething. “And if the queen cannot have that cider, then go and warm her some that she can have.”

The priestess scowls, but she leaves to do as she is told. After she turns her back, Bree mimes a kicking motion into her backside. She turns to Elizabeth.

“You should leave this order if they treat you this way.”

“I’m an initiate, Bree. We exist to be kicked around.”

“You are one of the queen’s best friends.”

“The Goddess doesn’t give preferential treatment. Neither do her priestesses.”

Bree blows a stray lock of hair away from her face and mutters under her breath. Mirabella thinks she catches the word “malarkey.”

Elizabeth and Bree have not left her side since the Queens’ Hunt. They steady her as the rest of their party flutters about like worried birds, confused and ineffectual, running into one another. Luca is at the Milone house with the members of the Black Council, discussing punishments for Jules. She assaulted one queen, and absconded with the body of another. But her most grievous offense lies with what she is: legion cursed.

Mirabella closes her eyes. Poor Jules. Poor Joseph. There should be no punishment. There should be commendation. Honor. She did what Mirabella was too afraid to do. Mirabella could have tossed Katharine just as easily with a gust of wind. She could have felled her and her horse together with a bolt of lightning.

The door of the temple opens and the High Priestess walks inside. Sara steps up to greet her and takes her by the hands.

“Luca,” she says. “Have they found Queen Arsinoe’s body?”

“No, and they are not likely to,” Luca replies. “The Milone girl knows these forests, and now that night has fallen, there is little chance of picking up her trail before morning. By then, she will be too far ahead of us.”

“What is the punishment?” Mirabella calls out, and the room quiets. It is obvious from her tone that she does not think there should be one.

“There is no punishment for taking the body, Mira,” Luca says gently. “The Council is satisfied well enough with a dead queen. And they do not wish to anger the people of Wolf Spring by executing one of their favorite daughters.” She raises her eyebrows and cocks her head. “I was frankly impressed. Surprised but impressed. However, there is still the question of the legion curse. When Juillienne Milone returns, she will need to go to the capital for questioning.”

“‘Favorite daughters,’” a Rolanth priestess scoffs. “Wolf Spring will turn her out on her ear, now that they know she is legion cursed. They may execute her themselves.” Murmurs of agreement ripple through the room. The priestesses from Rolanth and Wolf Spring glare, one side daring the other to say any different.

“Luca, you know that is a lie,” Mirabella says. “They will not question her. They will lock her up and put her to death as soon as the crown is decided.”

“That may be,” says Luca. “Goddess knows, it is dangerous for one so strong to bear the curse. If she were to go mad . . . but it is their decision.” She looks at Mirabella calmly. “Unless you are queen. Then it would be up to your Council.”

Mirabella could save Jules. Of course. She must save her, for Arsinoe’s sake.

The door opens again, and Rho stalks inside.