Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(83)

“Very well. I will speak with her immediately.”

Bree finds Elizabeth in the kitchens, helping a few of the servants to prepare the evening’s meal, using a clever attachment on her left-side stump to chop vegetables. As soon as she sees Bree, her ruddy face lights up. She quickly excuses herself, detaching the blade and wiping her hand on a cloth.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Did the Black Council disband early?”

“Come with me.” Bree leads Elizabeth down the corridor until they step outside, skirting the side of the castle and the drains for kitchen and rain runoff. “The queen did not feel like attending the council today. Her mind is on the rebellion in the north. Where is Pepper?”

Elizabeth stills and they listen. Soon, they hear him loudly drilling into some unlucky nearby tree.

“I love that sound.”

“Really?”

“It soothes me. You’ve no idea how often I would like to drill my nose into a tree in winter, especially here in the bleak, closed-off capital.”

“Elizabeth,” Bree begins, and looks up into the branches. “Can you use Pepper to send letters?”

“I suppose so. I’ve never tried. I send him to fetch things for me sometimes: tools or even wild ingredients for one recipe or another.”

“How far can he go?”

“He’s a very good flier.”

“I mean, how far can he go and still . . . hear you?”

“Far, I would imagine.” Elizabeth’s brow knits, finally realizing this is not an idle line of questioning. “If our bond was breakable, I think it would’ve broken when I sent him away to take the bracelets. It must’ve been stretched taut. But he came back when I called.”

“The queen wants him to find the rebel camp. She wants him to find Jules Milone and deliver a message to her. Can he do that?”

“He doesn’t know Jules Milone.”

“But could he find the camp?”

“It would . . .” Elizabeth pauses, her eyes on the trees. Perhaps sensing that he is being discussed, Pepper has come closer and clings to the trunk directly in front of them, his tufted head cocked.

“Would it be dangerous?” Bree asks. “Would the rebels be likely to hurt him?”

“You know as well as I do that it would depend on who he found.”

“Could you send another bird, then?”

Elizabeth shakes her head. “My gift is not that strong. I have only used it with Pepper. I am out of practice.” She looks so sad and frightened that Bree takes her by the shoulders.

“You do not have to do this. I can simply tell the queen that it is impossible.”

“Do you want me to do it?”

“I do not want a war.” Bree exhales. “And I think . . . I think that Katharine is sincere in her offer to trade Jules Milone for her mother. Whether or not she will really spare her life afterward is anyone’s guess.”

Elizabeth holds out her arms and the woodpecker hops off his tree and swoops into them. He is a watchful, silent bird, very good at hiding. Perhaps he will be all right.

“Tell the queen to write her message. I’ll tie it close against his leg.” She strokes his back, and he pecks her robes affectionately. “Then I’ll feed him a good meal and send him off.”

When Pietyr descends into the cells beneath the Volroy, the guards there barely acknowledge him. They are not the best of the queen’s army, but they do not need to be. So few prisoners rank high enough to warrant being tossed down below. Only murderers. Traitorous queens. Rebels. Or a rebel’s mother.

Pietyr stops outside the bars of Madrigal Milone’s cell. She is unbound and seated on the bench beside the wall. Her crow perches on her knee, eating from the palm of her hand what he assumes is the last of Madrigal’s meager breakfast.

“Hello, Mistress Milone.”

“Hello, Master Arron. You ought to do something about the food here. It’s upsetting the stomach of my bird, and she’s quite hardy.”

Pietyr smiles. “I will see what I can do.”

“And what can I do for you? You can’t be here on account of my pretty face, dragged here like I was with a sack over my head.” She touches the ends of her hair hanging limply down her arms in strings.

Pietyr steps as close to the bars as he dares. He listens for any passing guards and hears none.

“I came to ask you about low magic.”

Madrigal rolls her eyes.

“I told you, there’s no way to kill me without unbinding the legion curse.”

“I think you are lying. I do not think you are the kind of person who would weave the kind of spell where the only way out is through your death.”

“I didn’t say it was the only way,” she says, and laughs. A pretty sound in the dark space. “I could work my own unbinding whenever I like. Perhaps I will when you let me out of here, just so your Katharine can really see what she’s up against!”

Pietyr crosses his arms. Something about Madrigal Milone is immediately unlikable. Perhaps it is the recklessness in her lovely eyes. Or perhaps it is the fear in them. He wants to turn around and leave her to rot, and he would, if he had any other choice.

“I need something from you, Madrigal Milone. And if you are wise enough to give it to me, I will give you something in return.”