One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(76)

Pietyr tries to steady his rapid breath.

“What did you do to her? What did you do to my Katharine?”

At the mention of her name, the air warms. Katharine was one of them. One of the fallen. There are centuries of sisters here, ready to listen to her woes and cradle her with skeletal hands.

But that was a lie. Whatever help they gave was not for her. It was for them, and they have twisted through Katharine like ivy.

“Who are you?” he shouts, but he already knows, and so the queens who dwell in the Breccia do not bother to tell him. What remains of them is uglier than bones and gray, withered skin. It is crushed hopes. The air reeks of their bitterness.

Pietyr scrambles back up the rope. He has to get back to Katharine.

“It is my fault,” he says, and drops the lamp to use both hands to climb. As the light flashes through the dark, it flashes past an upturned face. It is just for an instant but it makes him scream, and the image of its empty eyes lingers in the dark. Pietyr climbs as fast as he can. It is not until he feels the bones brush against his ankle that he realizes that Katharine is a queen, and though she was able to survive the Breccia, he, in fact, may not.





INDRID DOWN





The great round arena of Indrid Down sits on the outskirts of the city, at the center of a large open field, easy to be spotted in. But it was simple enough for Jules and Arsinoe to sneak into it and meet Caragh and Madrigal after dark, creeping along the southern side, full of scaffolds and building materials.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” Arsinoe wonders, out of breath.

“Shush,” says Jules, and stares out into the night for any sign of movement.

“Don’t be so worried,” says Madrigal, and both Jules and Arsinoe jump. “The guards are few and posted up high. Or patrolling below in the staging rooms. Come,” she says. “I’ll take you to Caragh.”

They pass beneath the scaffolding, and Arsinoe stares up in wonder. The arena is enormous, a grand spectacle even though several sections have fallen into disrepair. Part of the northern wall has crumbled away entirely, and the age of the structure is visible in cracks and weather-worn edges.

“Where’s Aunt Caragh?” Jules asks.

“Below the extra seating, near one of the entrances to the competition ground. It will be a good place.”

Jules senses something and stops short, causing Arsinoe to run into her back just as Camden collides with their fronts, purring and butting her head into their faces.

“Blegh,” Arsinoe says, plucking fur from her mouth. “I thought she was stashed at the stable.”

“Try telling her that,” Caragh says. She stands leaning against a beam, arms crossed loosely. “Better to sneak her in under cover of dark, anyway. Tomorrow we’d have had to bring her in a cart, hide her under a pile of something.”

Arsinoe looks over their hiding place and grasps one of the supports beneath the hastily repaired section overhead.

“Why here?” she asks. “The visibility would be better from the western side.”

“That is exactly why here,” Jules says. “No one will want to sneak in and watch from underneath the worst seats in the house.”

Arsinoe pushes against the beam. Tomorrow the arena will fill to capacity. People will pack in on top of one another.

“I hope they don’t fall through.”

“I hope Jules can do what she says.” Madrigal looks out at the arena ground and sighs. “We never should have bound you. If you’d had all these years to develop your skill, this would be easy.”

Arsinoe says nothing, but she sees the way Caragh purses her lips. The binding on the legion curse may have been the only thing that kept Jules sane. It may be the only thing keeping her sane now.

“If you don’t think you can,” says Arsinoe, “or if you don’t want to, we can find another way.”

“No,” says Jules. “I can do it. I can guide Katharine’s poisoned weapons off course long enough for Mirabella to kill her. This was my idea, the way least likely to get you caught. We can’t change plans now.”

Arsinoe’s stomach flutters with nerves. There is no time to change plans, anyway. The night is late. So late it is nearly dawn. Jules has not used her war gift much, but it has been there when it mattered most. And besides, Mirabella is so strong. The duel will be over with one lightning bolt.





THE HIGHBERN HOTEL





Mirabella eases out of her ball gown and shivers.

“Is there a chill?” she asks.

“Here, Mira.” Elizabeth drags the coverlet from the bed and uses her good arm to wrap Mirabella up tight. “Is that better?”

“Yes.” But in truth, the blanket feels like it came from a snowbank rather than a down-stuffed bed. And it hurts, like pinpricks against her skin. She takes a breath, and that hurts too.

“You are so pale.” Elizabeth presses her hand to Mirabella’s cheeks and Mirabella gasps. A freshly tattooed black bracelet encircles Elizabeth’s wrist. Bree sees it as well and takes hold of Elizabeth’s arms. They have even tattooed her left, just above the end of the stump. She has taken the oaths and become a full priestess.

“You were supposed to tell us,” Bree says. “We would have been there.”