One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(99)

“It’ll be all right,” she says.

“I hope so. You queens do have a way of working things out. All right, Joseph. Don’t dawdle. You weigh more than your slender frame would suggest.” He takes Joseph off their hands and aids him as he limps down the dock.

“Are you ready, Jules?” Arsinoe asks. But Jules turns back to Madrigal, and to Emilia and the warriors.

“I’m right behind you,” she says.

Jules watches her friends creep along the docks. In the thick morning mist, they look like magic, like fairies, stealing in and out of view.

“You won’t really go, will you, Jules?” Madrigal asks. Her hand is on her belly; she is always so worried about her unborn baby. Jules reaches out and touches her mother’s stomach.

“Try to make peace with Aunt Caragh. She’s your sister. And a midwife now. She can help you with this.”

“Peace. There may be no peace, but I will have this baby at the Black Cottage, if you will go there with me,” Madrigal says, but Jules does not reply. It will be better if she leaves. Better for Wolf Spring. Without her, the Black Council might decide to leave well enough alone. Goddess knows, they will have enough to deal with, after this debacle of an Ascension.

“You should stay with us,” Emilia says fiercely. “Let the queens and the mainlanders go.”

“I am her guardian.” Jules’s eyes follow Arsinoe through the harbor. “And I will remain her guardian. Until the end.”

“This is where it ends,” says Emilia. “Though not for you. I sense a great destiny for you, Juillenne Milone.” She offers her hand, steady as stone. The warriors came to her aid for no other reason than she was one of theirs. They would take her, and even Camden. And Jules would very much like to see the halls of Bastian City.

“Looking after her will be a great destiny.”

On the docks, Arsinoe leads Mirabella by the hand. The affection between them is easy and natural, and it makes Jules’s chest ache. Her place beside Arsinoe is less now that Mirabella is there. She does not need Jules like she used to.

“I can’t let her go alone,” Jules says. “There are still battles to fight.” She turns to face the warriors and her mother. “And I can’t let Joseph go either.”

Emilia’s eyes flash. But she holds her tongue, and Jules and Camden step off the barge. It rocks as their weight leaves it.

“When your battle is over,” Emilia says, “we will be here. Until then, be well. Take care of your queen.” She smiles down at Camden in the moonlight. “And your cat.”

Emilia pushes off, and the barge slides quietly through the water, returning to rejoin the rest of the warriors. Madrigal paces along the edge, but there is no danger of her jumping. She presses a kiss to her palm and raises it in a wave. Perhaps she is crying, but if she is, through the fog, Jules cannot see it.

Mirabella waits nervously as Billy and Arsinoe loose their ship from its moorings. There is a sadness in her and an uneasiness, but underneath she hums with excitement. Preparing to face the open waves, and the mists, and the Goddess who would see them dead; it is like Luca told her that day. It is clear, and she is right where she belongs.

“Are you sure it’s not too big for you?” Joseph asks doubtfully. She has Joseph’s arm slung across her shoulders.

“They have not crafted a ship that is too big for me.”

Footfalls and paw steps sound across the dock, and Jules slides in under Joseph’s other arm. “Let me help,” she says, and she and Mirabella take him across the gangplank. They ease him down beside the portside rail on the main deck.

“Can you secure him?” Mirabella asks.

“Can you break us through the mist?” Jules asks back, and begins to lash him down with ropes. Mirabella pushes the wind, and the current, and the boat rocks forward. Jules nearly loses her footing and looks up at her sourly. But then she smiles.

Billy and Arsinoe ready the sails, and Mirabella goes to the foredeck. She looks back at the shore, at the island. Even had she won the crown and ruled, she would have left the island eventually. But she never thought it would be like this. A fugitive queen and without even saying good-bye to her dearest Bree and Elizabeth.

“Are you ready?” Arsinoe asks, a bit breathless from tugging ropes. Billy is at the helm, to help her steer. But he will not need to help much.

“The people we leave behind,” says Mirabella. “They will take care of one another?”

“I hope so,” Arsinoe replies. “I think so.”

Mirabella turns to face the gray morning sea.

“Then yes. I am ready.”





THE VOLROY





High in the West Tower, Katharine and Pietyr await news of the escaped queens. The High Priestess is there as well, and the Black Council, not to mention a gaggle of priestesses and Sara Westwood. They would have admitted Cait or Madrigal Milone too, had either of them bothered to come to the city for the duel.

“Where is your king-consort?” High Priestess Luca asks, and Genevieve’s eyes dart around wildly. Pietyr is going to have to glue her eyes shut to keep from giving them away.

“At Greavesdrake, High Priestess,” Katharine replies. “Resting.”

They are surprisingly sedate, this group. Waiting calmly and with something that looks like patience. But it is not truly patience. It is shock. Their fugitive queens have broken out of their cells, and every person in the room feels the space where Natalia Arron should be.