One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(71)

“You should still study it,” Jules mutters.

“Give it here, then,” he says, and holds his hand out. But she will not relinquish the map. “That’s what I thought.”

“Is that the war gift?” Arsinoe asks him quietly. “The strategy? The preparation?”

Joseph shrugs. And in the saddle, Jules frowns. No one knows. There is so much about the war gift that none of them understands.

Arsinoe shoves her hood down and tosses her short hair.

“I miss the breeze off the cove,” she says.

“Put your hood back up,” says Caragh, riding behind on her stout chestnut mountain mare.

“Let her keep it down,” Madrigal objects. She takes down her own and leans her head back to catch the wind. “We haven’t seen anyone since we left the cottage. These roads are practically deserted; you said so yourself.”

“It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be cautious.”

“You never should have come, anyway. You’ll get us into trouble if we’re caught with you away from the Black Cottage.”

“Madrigal,” says Caragh mildly, “we are traveling with a presumed dead queen and a legion-cursed fugitive. If we’re caught, my being away from the cottage will be the least of our offenses.”

Madrigal scowls. She twists in the saddle, back toward Jules.

“How much farther until we reach Indrid Down?”

“Tomorrow. Afternoon, maybe. Or just before nightfall.”

“Good,” Arsinoe says. “I want to go and see Braddock.”

Jules lowers the map. The notice of the duel was not the only news that Worcester brought with him. He also told tales of Katharine’s victorious return to the capital, and the parade of the vanquished naturalist’s bear familiar.

“I know that you do,” Jules says. “But we can’t risk it. When everyone is distracted by the duel, Caragh and Madrigal will sneak in and free him. Then you can see him afterward.”

“But I left him for dead,” says Arsinoe. “I need to explain to him why I just left him there, for her to put in a cage.”

From the ground, Camden stands and puts her paws up onto Arsinoe’s knee before jumping into the saddle to provide heavy cougar comfort.

“Thanks, Cam,” Arsinoe says around the cat’s licks. “But you’re angering the mule.”

Camden yawns, unbothered by the mule’s grunting and ineffectual bucks, occasionally whapping the mule in the face with her tail.

“Camden, be nice to that mule,” Jules says, and then looks at Arsinoe. “Braddock is a good bear. He’ll forgive you.”

Arsinoe quiets, and lets Jules concentrate on the map. It is she who will have the most to do when they arrive in the capital. It will be up to her to use her war gift, to sabotage Katharine’s poisoned weapons and guide them safely off course. It makes Arsinoe’s stomach tighten just to think of it.

Joseph sees the look on her face. He rides close and nudges her with his knee.

“It’ll be fine,” he says.





BARDON HARBOR





A shining, mainland boat is docked in a private Arron slip on the northern shore of Bardon Harbor. Inside, Natalia lies in William Chatworth’s arms, the soft rocking of the water threatening to lull her to sleep.

“I’m surprised,” he says, and puffs cigar smoke. “I didn’t think you would be able to sneak away for so long. Not with the ball tonight.”

“For so long.” Natalia chuckles, watching the smoke swirl patterns in the air. It was not really so long. But it was pleasant. They have not been together for months, and she is surprised to find she has missed it. Missed him, in a way.

Chatworth tugs his arm from beneath her head and stubs out his cigar.

“Do you have it, then?” he asks.

“Of course I do. It is the main reason I came.”

She hands him a small bottle, and he holds it gingerly between two fingers.

“Stop being afraid of it,” she says. “You could drink it all and it would not kill you. Nor will it hurt if it gets on your hands.”

She sits up in the small bed and reaches for her clothes: a servant’s uniform that she changed into on the carriage ride from Greavesdrake.

“If it’s so weak,” he wonders, “why bother?”

“Insurance. I would take the wind out of that elemental. My Katharine wants the chance to humiliate her. So she shall have it.” Natalia stands and fastens the last of her buttons. Chatworth remains on the bed, languorous and confident. Perhaps overconfident, and it occurs to her that, aside from having bluster and money, he has never shown any particular skill.

“If you are caught . . . ,” she says, and pauses. “Do not get caught.”

“Don’t worry. Everyone in that camp trusts my son. And Sara Westwood has come to trust me.”

“Has she? Then she is an even bigger fool than I thought.”

“Don’t be jealous,” he says, but he means the opposite. He is such a vain and beautiful man. She wonders whether that son of his will grow to be just as vain, just as arrogant. Whether he will be difficult to manage when he is Katharine’s king-consort.

“Come back to bed.”

“There is no time.”