Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(38)

“Only that they were . . . blade-women? But I don’t know exactly what that means.”

“It speaks to the bond between warriors. Margaret Beaulin was like a mother to me.”

“Where was . . . where was your father?”

“He was there, too.”

“He was there, too?” Jules exclaims. Then she clears her throat. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never heard of that.”

“I am not surprised. You naturalists are so conventional. You do not have the fire that we have.”

“You know, you only refer to me as a naturalist when it’s convenient for you,” says Jules, and narrows her eyes.

“Yes. And every time I insult them, it is your war gift that retaliates.” She sighs. “My father was here. Too. A blade-woman does not replace a husband, the father of your children. It is a different kind of bond.”

“Are there blade-men?”

“Yes. Though blade-husbands are rare. But you are missing the point, Jules. Mathilde did not tell you everything.”

“What else is there?”

“When Margaret left to serve the poisoners, it broke my mother’s heart. It was that heartbreak that allowed her to fall so ill. It was that heartbreak that killed her.” She spins her knives up into her hands. “And Margaret Beaulin did not even attend her burning. She did not even send a letter.”

“I’m sorry,” says Jules, and Emilia spits upon the floor. “Is that why you hate the poisoners so much? Because they stole her from you?”

“I don’t need that reason,” Emilia says. “And they did not ‘steal’ her. She chose to go.”

“I know. I just meant that I know something about being left behind. I learned plenty when Madrigal left me for the mainland.”

“We will leave soon,” Emilia says, slashing at the air. “To begin the call to arms. You cannot stay in Bastian City now that she is here. The Black Council may have ousted her, but she will still jump at the chance to change their minds, by delivering them their favorite fugitive.” She levels the tip of her knife at Jules’s chest and smiles slightly. “Besides, if I stay, I may end up gutting her in the street.”

“Soon,” Jules whispers. “How soon?”

“Tonight. It is time. Margaret’s arrival is another sign.”

“Maybe a sign you should stay and work things out with her.”

Emilia shakes her head. “The path is set. Our bards have already begun to sing your tale in towns and villages through the north.”

“My tale?”

“The tale of the strongest naturalist in generations, and the strongest warrior as well. The tale of the girl who bears the legion curse without madness, and who will unite the island under a new crown, and a new way of life. You already have soldiers, Jules Milone. Now they just need to see you, in the flesh.”

Soldiers. Warriors. A prophecy. Jules takes a deep breath as her palms begin to sweat. All of her blood seems to drop into her feet.

“Tonight just seems too fast.”

Emilia sighs. “Too fast,” she says, and Jules’s eyes snap to hers as the spears and arrows over Queen Emmeline’s statue begin to rattle. “When the traitor queens ran away, did they take all your courage with them?”

“I don’t lack for courage,” Jules growls. “But nor do I lack for brains. These stories you’re spinning build me up too high. Everyone we meet will be disappointed.”

“When I saw you at the Queens’ Duel I was not disappointed.”

“Reluctant people don’t make the best figureheads.”

“Reluctant.” Emilia advances and presses her forearm across Jules’s neck, forcing her back against the wall. “Reluctant but curious. You wonder about the truth of the prophecy. Even you want to know how far you can go, if pushed.”

“No, I don’t.” Jules pivots and shoves Emilia to the wall, so hard that she slides up, lifted clear off her feet. “It’s a nice story. Something new. The poisoners off the throne. But it’s only a story. A dream, and I’ve dreamed those kinds of dreams before. They don’t work out.”

Me on her council and you on her guard. She can hear Joseph’s words so clearly it is as if he is there to whisper them into her ear. She backs away from Emilia and is surprised to feel Emilia’s hand touch her cheek.

“Come with us, Jules Milone. Let us show you what we can do. And I promise you will start to believe again.”





THE VOLROY




Katharine sits at the head of a long oak table as her Volroy staff present her with samples of fabric. New curtains, they say, for the king-consort’s chamber.

“I like this brocade,” she says, and taps one with an abundance of gold thread. In truth, they have shown her so many that she can scarcely tell them apart. And she does not really care enough to choose. But nearly every room in the West Tower must be refurnished and freshened after being so long vacant, and redecorating seems to ease the servants’ minds.

She cranes her neck to look past them out the eastward-facing windows. It is a small opening, a mere stone cutout, but she can see the sky, and a bit of the sea in the distance. The vast, empty sea. Since the strange deaths of the sailors sent out to search for her sisters’ bodies, few have dared the waters. Only the bravest venture out from the port now and only on the clearest days. There are great profits being made by those few, but their sea-catch and cargo holds are not sufficient to meet the demands of the entire capital. Goods in transit have begun to clog the roads. And the price of fish is so high that Katharine has ordered that the Volroy purchase none of it. Let what comes ashore go to her people instead.