Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(88)

Jules stills and buries her hand in her cougar’s fur. “Ambush,” she says after a moment. “If we will lose in a battle and we can’t trust the trade, an ambush is the only way to save my mother.” She looks to Emilia. “How many warriors have come from Bastian City?”

“Only a few dozen. The rest are entrenched, waiting for word.”

“That’s more than enough.”

“More than enough against the queen’s force?” Mathilde asks. “She is bound to bring at least a thousand.”

“We’re not going to fight them. We’re going to divert and strike them.”

Emilia shakes her head. “What diversion would be strong enough? It will not work.”

“It will work!” Jules points to Mirabella and then to Arsinoe. “If we use them!”

Mirabella’s eyes widen, and the woodpecker flies to her shoulder as Jules stalks toward her.

“She can call weather and lightning. Spook the horses, blow them over. She can burn them up, and in the chaos the warriors can strike. We will grab my mother and be gone before they know which way to chase us.”

“No,” says Emilia. “The people will hear of it. They will know the traitor queens have returned.”

“So let them,” Jules says. “Let them see that the queens stand with me. Let them see that they stand behind me. They’ll see us united against Katharine and more will join us.”

Emilia nods, grudgingly. “You think more like a warrior every day.”

Jules turns from Mirabella, who has risen to her feet, to Arsinoe, and Arsinoe looks between Jules and her sister.

This is not why they came back. But how can she turn Jules away when she needs them so badly?

“Please? Please, Arsinoe? Mirabella? Delay your trip to the mountain until we return. Until my mother is safe.” She grasps Arsinoe by the shoulders and squeezes.

“All right, Jules,” Arsinoe says. “We’ll go with you.”

That night, the room that Arsinoe shares with Mirabella and Billy is quiet as the three of them prepare for bed.

“Mirabella, did you get something to eat?” Arsinoe asks to break through the quiet.

“Some cheese and bread.”

“Did you need something more? I can see if there’s any stew—”

“No.”

Arsinoe stares at her sister as Mirabella folds back the blankets on her makeshift cot. Her shoulders are straight and stiff, her movements brusque.

“Mira, are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry with you?” Mirabella asks, and finally turns. “You have only promised our involvement in a war.”

“You don’t want to fight? You won’t help?”

“Of course I will help. You volunteered me.” And then she goes back to her blankets, slapping down the flat pillow with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Arsinoe stammers. “I thought it’s what you would want to do. I thought it was the right thing.”

“I thought the right thing was going to the mountain,” Billy says, sliding out of his jacket. “I thought we weren’t going to get involved.”

“You’re mad at me, too?”

“You spoke for all of us, Arsinoe,” Mirabella says. “You decided, without discussion.”

“Billy, you don’t have to go,” Arsinoe starts, and instantly realizes it is the wrong thing to say. She has never seen him look at her like that. Like she has hurt him and does not understand him at all.

“I can tell Jules that you’ve changed your minds,” she whispers.

“We’re going.” Billy sits down on his blankets to remove his shoes and stacks them loudly beside the wall. “We just aren’t speaking to you until it’s over.”

“Fine.” Arsinoe shrugs. “Then I’ll leave you alone. I’ll go sleep with Jules.”

“Good,” Mirabella says as she gets into bed. “Go and discuss your battle plans.”





INDRID DOWN




Rho has assembled the soldiers in the inner ward of the Volroy grounds so that Katharine may survey them before riding out. Every one appears focused, straight backed, and clean of dress. The spears and shields held at rest are perfectly aligned. The only irregularities are the horses moving within the mounted cavalry: a swish of a tail or a stomping foot. They are, for all appearances, a true army.

“Kat? Are you ready?”

She turns and finds Pietyr, looking so handsome in a queensguard commander’s uniform that she would like to delay the march for a few minutes and tear him right out of it.

“Nearly,” she says. “I have sent one of my maids back into my room for something.”

“Genevieve is still pouting about being left behind,” Pietyr mutters. “Expect to hear about it before we depart.” He leans down and kisses the curve of her neck. “What is your maid fetching you?”

“A keepsake,” Katharine says, and smiles as the maid appears, carrying a small black lacquered box that usually sits beside Sweetheart’s cage. When the maid reaches them, Katharine opens it and takes out the only thing she keeps inside: Arsinoe’s mask.

“I stripped it from her after I shot her during the Queens’ Hunt.” She runs her fingers down the cheek, so smooth and cold to the touch and painted so fiercely with red slashes. “Do you think it will fit?”