One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(61)

“Everyone does,” says Jules. “Or at least no one has come looking.”

“I am going out for more yarrow.” Willa trudges around the bed and heads for the door. “And now that she is awake, there are vegetables that need picking. I have not forgotten what it took to feed her when she was a child. I can only imagine what she will eat now. Come, Caragh.”

Caragh nods. But before she goes, she touches Arsinoe’s scarred cheek.

“I’m sorry you took an arrow to the back,” she says. “But I’m still glad to see you.”

She smiles, closed lipped and almost grim as she rolls up her sleeves. Nothing about Caragh is free and easy like her sister, Madrigal. But there is more in a single gesture than a dozen of Madrigal’s embraces.

“The way she looks at me,” Arsinoe says when she and Jules are alone, “it’s like she doesn’t see any scars at all.”

“She hasn’t changed,” Jules says. “Not in that way, anyhow.”

“In what way, then?”

Jules leans her head back.

“It’s just strange to see her here. So calm. Like she’s at home. I know, she is at home, but—”

“I know what you mean,” says Arsinoe. “I want her home again, too.”

Jules grasps the tip of Camden’s tail and rubs the fur until Camden swats at her. “Tell me what happened. I only remember being shot in the back. And then you, pulling me into the saddle.”

“I used the war gift,” Jules replies. “I pushed Katharine right through the air. She must’ve rolled three times.”

“Wish I could’ve seen that.”

“I don’t know how I did it. The curse is bound. The war gift isn’t that strong. I just . . . did it. Because I had to.”

“Could you do it again?” Arsinoe asks.

“Not for all the cakes in Luke’s oven.”

Arsinoe almost asks how Jules feels. If the curse is taking its toll on her mind. But she does not. Jules is fine. Safe. The question would only add to her worry.

“Jules.” Arsinoe squints one eye. “When I was drifting in and out . . . did I confess to you that I used low magic on you and Joseph?”

“You did.”

“Did I tell you how sorry I am? How I didn’t know what my low magic could do?”

“You did. And it doesn’t matter. We’ll never really know whether it was your magic, or Mirabella’s beauty, or Joseph being half-dead and easily aroused.”

Arsinoe chuckles.

“Besides. I’ve forgiven him.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.” Jules says, and nods.

Camden’s ears prick.

“What is it?” Arsinoe asks. They listen. Hoofbeats, from the direction of the mountains. Jules springs for the window. If it is riders from the Black Council, there is no time to run.

Arsinoe throws back her quilt and winces as she dangles her leg over the side of the bed.

Jules turns and frowns.

“Arsinoe, you dolt! Stay in bed!”

“Dolt? What a thing to say when I’ve almost died.”

But Jules is no longer listening. Her eyes widen, her knuckles white as she grips onto the curtains.

“Stay there,” she says, and bolts for the door. “It’s Joseph!”

“Joseph? Camden, stay and help me!”

But the cat scrambles off the bed and dashes after Jules, as excited to see him as she is.

“Stupid, love-sick cat,” Arsinoe grumbles. She uses the bedside table to brace and reaches for the arm of the chair. Somehow she manages to get to the window and holds fast to the sash.

Just past the cottage steps, Jules and Joseph have their arms wrapped around each other. His reins are still looped over his elbow, so Jules probably dragged him bodily off his horse. Madrigal is there too, sitting very upright, staring directly at Caragh.

Arsinoe turns and limps out of the room, sliding against the wall as she goes down the hallway. When she gets to the door, Joseph is so buried in Jules that at first he does not even see her. But when he does, he shouts.

“Arsinoe!”

“Arsinoe.” Madrigal’s mouth hangs open, and Arsinoe nods to her before Joseph gently scoops her into his arms, squeezing a bit too tightly.

“Careful,” she says. “I really was shot by a crossbow.”

He kisses her cheek and turns to Jules.

“You did it, Jules. You saved her.”

“Yes, she is alive.” Willa steps up onto the porch, carrying two plucked chickens. “And so popular. You are all welcome at our table tonight. But tomorrow you go. Contrary to its size, the Black Cottage was not intended to house guests.”





GREAVESDRAKE MANOR





Genevieve lies stretched across the silk brocade chaise in Natalia’s study, eating figs glazed in sugar and cantarella. Ever since Midsummer, it is as though she is on a great holiday, humming and buying lavish gowns and dresses from her favorite shops in the capital. She is acting as if killing Arsinoe has won them the crown, and it is beginning to get on Natalia’s nerves.

“Why are you not at the Volroy, sister?” Natalia asks.

“I am not needed today,” Genevieve replies. “They are discussing a request from Rolanth for funds to restore the Vaulted Theatre.”