Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(46)

As soon as they get inside their room, someone knocks at the door: the boys delivering the empty tubs.

“Water will take some time,” says the first boy. “Most folks don’t want two.”

“Thank you,” says Emilia, and closes the door behind him. “I didn’t want two either,” she says, turning toward Jules. “But there’s a bug’s arse of a chance of me sharing a tub with a mountain cat.”

“Why not just have Camden go last?” Mathilde asks.

“The tub would be cold by then.” Jules takes off her pack and stretches her shoulders. The hot bath will be welcome. The travel has been hard on her poison-damaged legs. Some nights they have throbbed so bad she has felt like screaming, but still she pushed on, not wanting to admit she should stop. She always said that Arsinoe had a stubborn streak a river wide, but really, her own might have been even wider.

“Do you believe what she said?” Jules asks as she sits down on the soft bed. “Do you think Katharine really murdered some little boy?”

“Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t,” replies Emilia. “It will make it easier to bring this village to our cause, in any case.”

Mathilde unbraids her golden hair and runs her fingers through it to rid it of twigs and leaf bits. “A queen who kills her own people. One would think she was trying to lose her head.”

“Eh,” Emilia says, a dismissive sound. “For once, I will not be too hard on her. There was a mob. The boy charged at her with a raised weapon. He had it coming.”

“Had it coming?” Jules asks, and Emilia tips the knife she has been playing with lazily toward her chest.

“You don’t threaten the life of a queen and live to tell the tale.” She flips the knife, catches it. “Taking the life of a queen . . . now that is another matter.”

By the time they descend the stairs and head into the main room for supper, most of the tables are full. It seems to please Emilia and Mathilde: they can hold their meeting right in the inn. No need to try and gather people scattered through the village. But Jules would like to walk straight back up the stairs.

They sit down at a table near the wall, their arrival attracting a few curious glances. The girl from before sets down three cups of ale.

“Stew tonight and some oat bread. If you want more ale than what’s in these cups, it’ll cost you more coin.”

“What’s in the stew?” Jules asks.

“Meat,” the girl replies, and goes to fetch it.

Jules looks around the inn. Nearly everyone in town must have come to the inn for supper, and it makes her wonder whether Emilia and Mathilde had somehow sent word of their coming. But if they had, no one seems particularly interested in them past the first glance. So maybe the meat stew is just very good.

“Do you really think we should start here?” Jules asks. “We’re still not that far from the capital.”

“We’re far enough.” Emilia swallows half her cup of ale. “Sounds like they’ve got their hands full with a murderous queen. We probably could have walked closer to the border and saved ourselves some time.”

“But look at these people. They’re farmers. Tanners. Many too old to fight.”

“That is what rebel soldiers look like.” Emilia’s dark eyes sparkle. “What? You have something better to do? Exile? Fugitive?” She grins and pushes Jules’s mug toward her. “Drink more and think less, Legion Queen.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” Emilia wrinkles her nose at Mathilde. “That is the one that people seem to have liked the most, isn’t it?”

Jules snorts. Who would like such a title? It is as bad as being called “Undead,” or perhaps even worse. “You will never convince them that way.”

“They have lived under the poisoners, too. They won’t need much convincing.”

Emilia drains her mug and calls loudly for more ale. Her exuberant hand gestures and overall loudness have begun to attract more attention. And as the villagers look toward Emilia, their gazes linger on Jules with something above mere curiosity. As if they sense something that makes her worth staring at.

“Ridiculous,” Jules mutters, too quietly for even her tablemates to hear. But she would be lying if she said she was not curious too. Every time a stranger looks at her with something like hope, something like hope sparks inside her, and nearly tricks her into breathing again. Nearly, but not quite.

Hope is for fools, she wants to tell them. Not long ago I hoped for everything, and look what has become of me, and those I loved.

“This is never going to work,” Jules says.

“Of course it will,” says Emilia. “You have not seen how Mathilde can mesmerize with her voice. She’ll hold these people in the palm of her hand.”

“It is why I became a bard,” Mathilde says, and smiles.

Emilia prods Jules in the shoulder. “You do not want it to work.”

“Of course I do. I want to be able to go home. I want Arsinoe to be able to come back and visit us.”

Emilia’s voice sinks low. “Do not speak of that.”

“Why not?”

“If she returns she will want the crown.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

“Yes, she would. It is in her triplet blood. And we are not rising to put the traitor queens back on the throne. We are rising for ourselves. For Fennbirn.”