Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(94)

Mirabella chooses her words with care. Jules Milone is as feisty as Arsinoe, only feisty of a different sort. Less impulsive but more easily offended.

“All prophecy is . . . ambiguous.”

“Ambiguous. Murky. ‘May be a queen again.’” She snorts. “‘May be.’ Can’t they ever say anything for certain?” She pauses to listen for the sound of anyone returning. “It must really stick in your craw. Them referring to me as a queen. Even a queen in title only.”

Mirabella swallows. To be a Fennbirn queen was to be of the line. A queen in the blood. That was what she had always been told, and taught by the temple.

“It bothers me, too, to be honest,” says Jules, reading her silence. “Feels like the High Priestess is going to come and knock me on the back of the head.”

She turns toward some unheard sound, unheard to Mirabella at least, as the mountain cat’s ears perk up as well. Soon enough, though, the footsteps are plain. Six of their party, returning through the trees with Emilia and Mathilde in the lead.

“Well?” Jules asks.

“She has made camp on the eastern edge of the valley, butted up to the cliffs and spilled out onto the beach,” Emilia says. “Scouts are positioned up high, to the north and south as far as the cliffs allow. But we saw no sign of anyone in the western woods. Nor past the west edge of the valley. It is almost like she truly intends to trade. Pity for her.”

The warriors behind Emilia smile. They are armed with swords, throwing knives, and crossbows. Three carry longbows larger than any Mirabella has ever seen. She does not need to ask to know that the others have remained in the woods, ready and waiting to strike.

“There is no perfect place to ambush,” Emilia goes on. “We will have to draw her out of the clearing somehow and into the trees. You will have to play the bait, Jules.”

“I can do that.”

“I know. And I will do it with you.”

“Did you see my mother in the camp?”

“Only the tent where she’s being kept,” Emilia replies. “And Mathilde thought she heard the croaking of a crow.”

“Aria.” Jules glances at Mirabella and explains. “Her familiar.”

“What about me?” Mirabella asks.

“We have found a place for you to the south. Up a tree, if you can manage.”

“I have been up trees before.”

Emilia cocks her eyebrow. “There will be no quick escape from there if something goes wrong.”

“I will not need one.”

“Then go. One hour to take positions before we send a bird to the poisoner to let her know we are here.”

Mirabella looks at Jules. Despite the band of warriors and the strong mountain cat by her side, Jules is afraid. Legion cursed or not, she is outnumbered, and Katharine is a true queen. A fierce queen, to hear the tales told now, who might no longer freeze at the sight of Jules like she did in the arena the day of the duel.

Seeing Mirabella’s look, Jules puts on a brave smile. “It’ll be all right. Go with Mathilde.”

“Take care, Jules. Arsinoe will have my head if I let any harm befall you or Camden.”

“It won’t come to that. We ambush the trade and run, like we planned. You be careful yourself. Arsinoe’ll have my head, too, if you don’t return with us.”

Mirabella nods and goes with Mathilde into the trees. The seer is fast of foot and so silent that she makes Mirabella feel like a herd of goats, snapping twigs and crunching leaves as she moves. Finally, they reach the tree. It is a good tree for climbing, with broad, well-spaced branches.

“If you brace in the second fork, you will have the best view,” says Mathilde.

Mirabella grasps the lowest branch. “This is too far. I won’t be able to see properly.”

“Emilia wants you to stay hidden. So stay hidden if you can. She thinks the warriors are quick enough and stealthy enough to save Jules’s mother without your help.”

Mirabella arches her brow.

“For what it is worth,” Mathilde says, “I don’t agree. I have scented the wind today, and it reeks of blood.”

“So,” Mirabella sputters, “what do I do?”

“Be ready.” The seer turns and disappears between the trunks. Mirabella sniffs the air, detects nothing in it but crisp, cold snow.

“Oracles,” she mutters, and climbs into the tree.





MOUNT HORN




Braddock finds Arsinoe and Billy at the foot of the mountain. He emerges from behind the scrub brush with an exuberant roar and frightens Billy so badly that he falls backward onto the grass.

“Braddock,” he squeaks. “Is it him? It is him, isn’t it?” But there is no time to wonder as the bear promptly steps over him and lumbers to Arsinoe to press his nose happily into her scabby palm.

“Braddock!” She wraps her arms around his neck and strokes the fur between his ears. “You found us! And a good thing, too. I was starting to feel faint.” She had painted trees with her blood every mile or so since they departed from Sunpool.

“Does he remember me as well?” Billy asks, brushing himself off.

“He didn’t eat you. I think that’s a good sign.”

Cautiously, Billy approaches and lays a hand on the bear’s rump. A trembling hand. Braddock he may be, but he is still a great brown bear and large as a horse.