One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(56)

“Fresh is better,” Willa says, and taps her on the chin.

Jules watches silently as the two women talk. There is an easy fondness between them that is strange to see. Jules is glad that Caragh has not been lonely. She is glad to see her smile. But it is not how she imagined her over the last five years.

“Do you know nothing about the Ascension, then?” Jules asks. “Don’t you get any news?”

“Worcester brings us supplies every month,” says Willa. “In his little cart, pulled by his good shaggy pony. Sometimes he brings us news.”

“And sometimes he comes twice,” says Caragh. “When Willa is looking particularly fetching.” She chuckles, and Willa makes a face.

“What is that?” Jules asks. She points to the mortar and pestle.

“An ointment for Arsinoe.”

“And make it thicker than you did the last time.” Willa stretches her back. “I am going to get some sleep before the queen wakes. If she wakes. She lost a lot of blood, and she is weak. It was a very long ride for you, I gather.”

Jules went as fast as she could. Maybe she should have gone somewhere else. Somewhere closer.

Willa walks past and grasps her shoulder firmly.

“Do not worry too much. She was always the toughest of them, even when she was a girl.”

“You . . . remember her, then?”

“Of course I do. I remember all of them. Until they were six, they were mine.”

And then she leaves, and Jules and Caragh are alone.

Caragh studies Jules, her head cocked as she separates leaves from flowers and drops them into the bowl of the mortar.

“You have grown up so well, Jules. So pretty.”

“I have barely grown up at all,” Jules mumbles. “I’m shorter than everyone at home.”

“Tiny,” Caragh says, “but fierce.”

Camden’s ears flicker back and forth as if to agree. Camden has always taken compliments better than she has.

“I knew you were strong when you were a girl. But I never imagined a mountain cat.” She looks down. “How are Mum and Dad?”

“They’re fine. They miss you.” Jules holds her hand out to the hound, who comes to rest her chin on Jules’s knee. “They miss you, too, Juniper,” she says, and the dog pants happily. “Jake especially.”

“And how is Madrigal?”

Jules hesitates. How to tell Caragh about Madrigal and Matthew? About their baby? And should she tell her, when it is not her place, and when it will make no difference, with Caragh banished to the cottage?

“Madrigal is Madrigal. I’ve long since stopped waiting for her to be anything different.”

“That’s probably wise,” says Caragh. “But she does love you, Jules. She always has.”

Not like you did, Jules wants to say.

“I never thought I’d see you again, Aunt Caragh.”

Caragh grinds harder on the mixture of ointment. Her time at the cottage has put more muscle on her arms, and more thickness to her waist. Her brown-gold hair is long and unstyled. She is still beautiful. Jules has always thought Caragh was just as beautiful as Madrigal, only in a different way.

“They’re bound to let me out of here someday,” Caragh says. “And replace me with some good priestess. Someone like Willa. Not long after the new queen is crowned, I should think.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because this punishment was an Arron grudge against the Milones. And the next queen won’t be an Arron queen. Willa seems certain of it, and having raised the young girls, she must know.”

“She must,” says Jules darkly. “Though maybe she’s not so certain now.”





THE WESTERN SEA





The journey from Wolf Spring to Rolanth by sea is fast. Faster than traveling by wagon by several days. That morning, Mirabella watched priestesses release birds from the deck, back to Rolanth to announce the return of the queen.

She wonders whether word of Arsinoe’s death will beat them there. Whether she will return to candles in the windows and her people dressed for mourning in crimson and black. She hopes so. Then she will not have to be the one to tell them.

When the ship passed around Cape Horn, many lights were visible from the shore. But Cape Horn is much farther south than Rolanth.

Mirabella stares at the dark, wood walls of her cabin. She has not been much use on this journey, letting other elementals guide the ship. She has lacked the will, since Arsinoe’s death. They do not need her, anyway, with so many able to control the winds. And Sara is strong enough with water to handle the currents by herself.

Someone knocks.

“Yes?”

The door opens, and Billy pokes his head inside. She has not seen much of him since leaving port. The one time she approached his quarters, she heard him weeping through the door, and turned away.

“Care for some company?”

“Please.” She gestures for him to come inside and sit.

“My room is too quiet,” he says. “I miss Harriet and her clucking.”

Mirabella sets aside the book she had been paging through. She ought to sit properly, swing her legs off her bed and move their visit to a table. It is improper for her to recline, with Billy seated beside her feet. But what does she care? They are not strangers. And she does not have the energy to worry about impropriety anyhow.