One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(53)

“Some of the Arron party went back into the woods with a large litter and a wagon,” she says. “Ropes. Lanterns.”

“For what?” Mirabella asks.

“A victory rug, I am thinking. They were after the body of Arsinoe’s bear.”

“How terrible.” Elizabeth shrinks at the thought. “To defile a familiar that way. A queen’s familiar!”

“Katharine is wicked,” Mirabella whispers. “I am so sorry, Arsinoe, that I did not take care of her a long time ago.”





THE SEAWATCH MOUNTAINS





The horse has finally begun to drag his hooves. Jules pats his froth-covered neck.

“Good, brave boy,” she says. She pushed him hard, only easing the pace when they came to the rocky paths in the foothills of the mountains.

In her arms, Arsinoe begins to cough. Her whole body convulses and stiffens like a plank, threatening to tip all the way off the saddle.

“Arsinoe, be still!”

Jules stops the horse and dismounts, her legs aching so badly that they barely work. She curses the poisoners under her breath, but truthfully the pain might be just from so many hours in the saddle.

“Camden, help me.”

She eases Arsinoe down, and Camden slides underneath her, helping to soften the landing. She purrs and licks worriedly at the queen’s clammy cheek.

Arsinoe shouts when the crossbow bolt sticking out of her back bends against the earth, and Jules quickly rolls her onto her side.

In the pale light of the moon and stars, Arsinoe looks dead already.

“I hear a stream nearby,” Jules says with forced cheer. “Though weak as I am now, I couldn’t convince a fish to splash me in the face, let alone convince one to let us eat it.”

“No fish,” Arsinoe murmurs. “Water.”

Jules leads the horse toward the sound of the stream and she and Camden bend with him to drink. In the horse’s saddlebags, she finds a silver flask and dumps out whatever poison Katharine had stored inside, tipping it into the rushing current to dissipate. She rinses it three times and fills it with cold, clear water.

“Here.” Jules kneels and tugs Arsinoe’s head into her lap, pressing the flask to her lips. Arsinoe can only manage a mouthful before she starts to cough again, and when she is through, dark blood is dotted across her chin.

“You shouldn’t have done this, Jules. You’ll get into trouble.”

“Since when have we cared about trouble?” Jules studies Arsinoe’s scarred face fondly and traces the lines of the cuts with her thumb.

“She took . . . my mask.”

“I’ll get it back,” Jules promises. “I’ll get it back, and her head besides.”

“No.” Arsinoe starts to cough again. More blood coats her chin. “Not your job. Let . . . Mirabella . . .”

“You shouldn’t have had to try to run,” Jules says. “You shouldn’t have been on your own. I’m so sorry! I am never there when you need me.”

“You’re always there.”

“Not today. I was with Joseph and we fell asleep! I was supposed to be with you and I was with him! Asleep!”

Arsinoe grins.

“Finally.”

Jules wipes her face. “He is not more important than you! He’s faithless. Untrustworthy. Not worth this!”

“Well, who is?” Arsinoe quips. “But he is better than you think. It was my fault, Jules. What happened between him and Mirabella.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I did a spell. It went wrong. It was early on, before I knew what low magic could do. But I never wanted it to hurt you.” She coughs again, her fingers hooked like claws. When she quiets, a sheen of sweat coats her forehead.

“I can’t breathe,” she says. “Jules. I can’t breathe.” Her eyes slip shut.

“Arsinoe?” Jules leans over her and shakes her gently. “Arsinoe, no!”

Panicked, she looks into the trees for someone, anyone to shout to. Camden pads close. She nuzzles Arsinoe’s face, and the queen’s head falls loosely away.

“Let’s go. Camden, let’s go!”

Jules heaves Arsinoe’s body up and calls for the horse to kneel. They are so tired. But Arsinoe is dying. So they have to ride.





THE INN OF THE CROOKED TAIL CAT





The poisoners only make it as far as Highgate before they stop to celebrate. Under the direction of Genevieve and Cousin Lucian from the Council, they take over the entirety of the first inn that they find: the Inn of the Crooked Tail Cat. Despite its dubious name, the inn is clean and well-kept, the kitchen stocked with enough fine pots and knives to prepare an impromptu poisoner’s feast. All afternoon and into the evening, Queen Katharine’s party toasts her and listens to the story of the hunt told over and over again.

They even drag the bear inside, tied down in the back of a wagon. Poisoned and unconscious.

“What will happen to him now?” Nicolas asks, looking at the bear. “What happens to a familiar after its naturalist is dead?”

Katharine leans back in her chair and studies the great brown with a cocked head. It is still large and intimidating, even strapped into a wagon with its tongue out between its teeth. There is something so satisfying about seeing it at her mercy, its shining brown coat cut through and bleeding from blades and arrows coated with her poisons.