“Thank you for coming with me,” Jules says.
“Don’t thank me,” Arsinoe replies. “Thank Mirabella, and Billy. Me, you never even had to ask.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Jules says, and Arsinoe feels Camden’s tail wrap affectionately around her ankle.
“I always knew I’d see you.” Arsinoe sips from a cup of warmed watered wine. “Somehow, I knew.”
Jules smiles and takes up her own cup. They knock them together and drink awhile, watching the fire.
“So what do you think you’ll find up the mountain?”
“I’ve no idea. I’m just going to learn what I can.” She glances at Jules from the corner of her eye. “You’re not afraid, about tomorrow? Or worried, about any of this?”
“The only thing I’m afraid of,” Jules says, “the only thing I regret, is that I can’t do this alone. That others have to risk themselves with me.”
Arsinoe sighs. “More has changed than just your hair,” she jokes, and Jules laughs and punches her.
“This quest you’re going on,” Jules says, “it isn’t dangerous, is it?”
“Oh, don’t start that again. You’re the Legion Queen now. It’s not your job to look out for me, not that it ever was. But I sure did appreciate it.”
She sets her plate on the floor for Camden to lick and heaves up out of the chair.
“Where are you going?” Jules asks.
“Big day tomorrow. Don’t you think we ought to get some sleep?”
“I suppose so. Though someday I’d like to hear more. About what it’s like on the mainland.”
Arsinoe smiles. “Someday I’ll tell you.”
That night, Arsinoe dreams a Blue Queen dream for the first time since deciding to return to the island. But is not like the other dreams.
This dream is of the mist. And of the bodies inside it. Torn apart. Choked. Rotting. This dream is a blanket of white closing in around her friends, around Jules and Camden, and Billy and Mirabella, blotting out the island and carving up everything it touches.
It ends with the shadow queen crouched on her chest, her long cold fingers pressed against Arsinoe’s head. She does not speak. She still cannot. But Arsinoe knows what she means.
INNISFUIL VALLEY
The queen’s army sets up camp on the eastern side of the valley, spreading tents and horses and soldiers like black ants across the snow-dusted field and all the way through the cliffs to the frozen beach. Antonin and Rho send scouts up the cliffside. Nothing that moves through the valley will escape their attention, and no crafty rebel force can creep up on them from behind.
“There has never been a war like this,” Pietyr says, staring out at the soldiers, some of whom seem no more than girls still in their freckles. “A rebel against a queen. It has been a long time since we have seen war of any kind. So who knows what to expect?”
“This is not a war, Pietyr,” says Katharine. “This is a trade. It will not come to fighting.”
“You seem very certain.” He brushes his knuckles across her cheekbone. “Are you all right here, Kat? So close to the Breccia Domain?”
Her mouth crooks. “I wondered about that. That deep, dark place.” Her eyes flicker toward the southern woods. “I can feel it opening and closing like a mouth. And they feel it, too.” His hand slides into hers. He feels the cold of her even through the gloves. “Part of them is still down there, Pietyr. Part of them always will be.”
“Do you want to go to it?”
“Never. I will never return to it again. I could never be sure . . . whether I would be able to stand or if I would dive straight down inside.”
She sighs, and he feels her press close, his wicked little Kat whom he cannot get enough of.
“Come,” she says, her breath hot in his ear. “Close the tent flap and lie with me awhile. No one will notice we are gone. No one will interrupt us once they hear the sounds that I am making.”
“I cannot, my pet.” He steps out of her reaching embrace, though he would much rather fall into it. He must be careful, so close to carrying out his plans. With Katharine wrapped around him, he forgets how to think, and the last time they were together, he devoured her so desperately, he was sure he had given away his fears. “Rho will bellow if I do not help with the soldiers.”
He takes her gloved hand and turns it over to kiss the bare skin of her wrist, to feel her pulse against his lips. She says she is fine so near the Breccia, but she is not. With the source of them close by, they have changed her; he can feel their influence turning her sharp, like she was during the Ascension when they sought the crown. The closer they marched to Innisfuil, the more she barked at the soldiers. The more poison she ate at meals. The more she hunted with her horse and crossbow. He saw her shoot down a hawk in flight with perfect war-gift aim. He watched her skin a rabbit like removing a glove, and lick the blood from her fingers.
He backs out of the tent, leaving Katharine to rest or pout, and turns and runs directly into the High Priestess.
“Luca! Forgive me.”
“It is all right. I am nothing if not sturdy. Is the queen inside?”
“Yes,” he says, and steps out of the way. But Luca seems to change her mind.
“Walk with me a moment, will you, Pietyr?”
As she leads him through the encampment she pauses every few steps to lay a blessing on the head of this person or that, soldiers who touch her robes as they pass or simply drop to one knee.
“What is wrong, Master Arron? You have seen these blessings before.”
“Of course. They just . . . remind me of who you are. I suppose in our close quarters on the Black Council, you have become less the High Priestess and more Luca to me.”
“I have lost my mystique.” Luca laughs. “Well. In the capital, none of these soldiers would do more than step out of my way. But all regain their faith in the face of a coming battle.”
“Queen Katharine is still sure it will not be a fight.”
“And I hope she is correct.”
“But you do not think she is.”
Luca bites her lower lip and tilts her head thoughtfully. “I think this rebellion has come too far to end without a battle.” She folds her hands. “Did you ever discover a solution for the problem we discussed? The problem of spiritual possession?”
“It was not a problem. Only a curiosity.”
“Ah.”
They pass by the priestess’s tent and come upon Bree and Elizabeth. Bree nods when she sees him, but when she looks upon Luca, her lips press together in a firm line.
“Is that—?” Pietyr asks, and points to a small black-and-white woodpecker climbing about on Elizabeth’s robes.
“It is!” Elizabeth scoops him up and shows him to Pietyr happily. “He rejoined us this morning, flew into my chest so hard he nearly pierced my heart!”
“He seems very . . . proud of himself.”
The bird, once again in Elizabeth’s lap, crawls up and down her legs excitedly and makes small chirping sounds.
“He has been like this since he returned,” says Bree. “We have fed and watered him, but he will not be calm. Perhaps he is proud.”
“No. He’s trying to tell me something.” Elizabeth reaches down to stroke his back, and he pecks her hard between the fingers. “Ouch! And he’s getting very upset that I’m not understanding what it is.”
Pietyr glances at Luca, who has fallen silent, watching the bird. “Well, I am sure you will figure it out.”
SUNPOOL
Just after dawn, Jules and Arsinoe stand together near the city gate, the stone of the square stretched out before them. The edges are crowded with what appears to be the entire rebellion, risen early to see their leader off.
“Seems like I should be more tired,” Jules says. “We hardly got a wink of sleep.”
“Nor me,” says Arsinoe as Camden yawns. Soon enough, Emilia and Mathilde will arrive with the small band of warriors and Mirabella and Billy, who have gone to the stable with them.
Jules lets go of a shaky exhale and looks Arsinoe up and down. Arsinoe tugs at her cloak and the coat underneath.