Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(36)

“Don’t look at me,” says Jules. “I already told you what I thought of your prophecy. And where you can stuff it.” She tosses a few roasted nuts into her mouth and chews hard.

Again, Emilia and Mathilde trade glances, and Mathilde slides her hand gently across the table. “Jules. I understand your reluctance. But there will be no hiding from this. No escape. It will be easier on you and everyone if you choose to embrace it.”

The seer looks so confident. The expression in her eyes is soft and imploring, as if she thinks Jules is simple and if only they talk slower she will understand. As if she does not understand full well the scope of their ridiculous plan. Raising a rebellion in her name. The name of the legion-cursed naturalist. She feels her temper rise into her throat and hates it, that war-gifted aspect of herself.

“Come now, Jules,” says Emilia. “Haven’t I always been a friend to you? Did I not help you save the traitor queens from the Volroy?”

“Don’t call them that.”

“Have I not hidden you and fed you all these weeks?”

“So is that it, then?” Jules asks. “I owe you? Well, perhaps I do, but I can think of a more reasonable payment than leading an army.” She chooses her next words with care. “You cannot usurp the throne from the rightful line of queens.”

“A failing line,” Emilia says, and points a finger into Jules’s face. “A weakening line. What did they give to us this time? Two defectors and a lesser poisoner. No real queen.”

Jules cannot really argue with that. Even when Arsinoe had determined to fight for the crown, she only wanted to survive. She never wanted to rule. “Weakening or not,” Jules says, “the queens are all the island has ever known.”

“And does that make it right?” asks Mathilde.

“Why not show them something new?” Emilia gestures to the ceiling, to the sky. “You can be a part of that, Jules. You can lead us to it.”

“Lead us to what?” Jules chuckles. Emilia’s passion, if not exactly infectious, is certainly something to watch.

“An island where voices outside the capital are heard. A council comprised of people from Sunpool and Wolf Spring, from Highgate. From everywhere. The Legion Queen will not be another queen like the triplet queens. She will be different. She will be a protector for us all.”

“She’s an idea,” Jules says. “And you want me to be her face.”

“I want you to realize that you are her.”

“You want me to rule.”

“No.” Both Emilia and Mathilde shake their heads. “We want you to lead. We want you to fight. And then we want you to be a part of Fennbirn’s future.”

Fennbirn’s future without the triplet queens. It is hard to imagine, even though Jules bears no love for Katharine or the poisoners. “Katharine has been crowned,” she whispers. “The island won’t go against that, no matter how unpopular she is.”

“Let us prove you wrong,” says Mathilde. “Let us show you. Come with us to the villages and towns. Speak to the people.”

Jules shakes her head.

“Or consider this,” Emilia says casually. “With Katharine gone and the poisoners out of power, you will no longer be a fugitive. You and your cat could go back to Wolf Spring.”

Jules looks at her as hope leaps into her chest. “Back to Wolf Spring?” She could go home. Home to Grandma Cait and Ellis. To Luke and even Madrigal. And Aunt Caragh . . . with the poisoners who banished her deposed, Aunt Caragh would go free as well.

“Even if I could go back, I would still be shunned for the curse,” she whispers, but the temptation in her voice is plain.

“Not by your family. You might catch a stone or two to the side of the head, but you would not be carted off in chains. And eventually, they would come around. They would see that you are still you, and there is no curse at all.”

The corner of Jules’s mouth curls upward. The thought of going home again is a sweet dream indeed.

“They’ll never follow me. No one will ever really fight beside someone with a legion curse.”

Emilia makes a fist and shakes it, as though the crown is as good as won. “You let us take care of that.”

In the rear of the Bronze Whistle, the door that leads to the alleyway opens and closes. The trio falls quiet listening to the footsteps, waiting to see whether they will turn up toward the manor house and leave them in peace. But as the footfalls enter the final corridor, they hear the kitchen boy exclaim, “Mistress Beaulin! We weren’t expecting you!”

“Mistress Beaulin,” Mathilde whispers. “Margaret Beaulin? From the Black Council?”

Emilia glances at Jules, then jerks her head hard toward the bar. Mathilde grabs Jules and drags her quickly behind it, crouched low and out of sight. She presses her finger to her lips as the footsteps pause in the doorway.

Margaret Beaulin. What could she be doing there, Jules wonders. What could she want?

Despite Mathilde’s firm grip on her arm, Jules leans out to the edge of the bar and peers around.

Margaret stands in the doorway in black and silver like the queensguard, her clothes still dusty from the road. A tall woman, she occupies nearly the whole frame. Emilia has remained seated, even kicked her chair back to rest her leg against the table. But her fingers brush the long knives she always keeps strapped to her sides.