Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns #4) - Kendare Blake Page 0,43
surprises.”
“A fox,” Caragh whispers sadly. “His mother would have loved that.”
Matthew lets her have one last look at the baby. “We’d better go.”
“Take good care of that little man,” Billy says. “And my chicken.”
Matthew bounces Fenn in his arms and raises his small hand to wave. After a moment of hesitation, he cups Caragh’s cheek and kisses her, hard. Then he turns, and he and the baby board the boat.
Arsinoe calls farewell and nods to the other Sandrins. Jonah, the younger brother, smiles at her. But Joseph’s mother’s glare catches her off-guard. She had not realized that Joseph’s mother would hate her and blame her for all of this.
As the boat casts off and grows smaller in the harbor, Caragh follows it along the shore, and Arsinoe frowns.
“What’s the matter?” Luke asks.
“Nothing.”
Luke’s eyes narrow, and the rooster on his shoulder peers at her with a slightly open beak. “You can’t lie to me, Queen Arsinoe.”
Arsinoe smiles grudgingly. She does not know, quite, what is bothering her. It was something about the way Matthew looked beside Caragh just now. Something about the way he looked at her. “I guess it seems unfair. Madrigal is dead; I know that, but . . .”
Billy slips a hand up the back of her neck and squeezes.
“The Sandrin boys and the Milone girls,” Luke says, and Arsinoe wonders whether she really cannot lie to him. “They’re doomed from the moment they set eyes on each other.”
“Looking at it another way,” says Billy, “Sandrin hearts are true. Distractible, certainly, given the right mix of tragedy and low magic. But they always return to their first love.”
If Matthew and Caragh can overcome the barrier of grief, that will be true enough. But where will that leave Madrigal in Matthew’s memory? Where was Mirabella left in Joseph’s? Cast aside, and somehow that seemed an unworthy ending for them both.
Slowly, their small gathering breaks apart to return to the city. Arsinoe is about to follow Billy when Jules calls to her.
“Stay by the water with me for a while, will you?” she asks.
“Sure.” Arsinoe goes back, and they walk a few paces, side by side. And though Arsinoe yearned for this time alone, she finds she does not know what to say. “I’m glad I can finally look you in the eye again,” she blurts. “Without all the exploded blood vessels.”
“Aye.” Jules laughs. “Those really hurt.” She holds her hand up and studies the fingers. “Think my nails will ever grow back? Look at that one.” She pushes her middle finger into Arsinoe’s face. “Torn off all the way down.”
“Yeesh,” Arsinoe says, and dodges it. “I’ll make you some salve.”
Jules takes a deep breath. “I’m glad I was awake to see my baby brother again. Though seeing him off so soon wasn’t easy. I can’t believe Caragh actually cried.”
“Did you see Luke and Ellis? They’re going to need new handkerchiefs.”
They walk together, and as the silence stretches out, so does Arsinoe’s unease.
“Now that Caragh’s joined the rebellion, does that mean the Black Cottage has declared against the crown?” Arsinoe asks.
Jules shakes her head.
“No. Caragh says that no matter what happens, Willa won’t go against the crown. She won’t go against her Katharine.”
“Her Katharine. What about me? I’m the one she’s seen the most. And one of the two who aren’t deranged.” Arsinoe flinches when Jules’s face falls. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean deranged—”
“It’s all right.”
“Well . . . how are you feeling? Anything unusual?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Anger? Disorientation? Paranoia?”
“All three.” Jules picks up a small stone and throws it into the waves. “But I don’t think that counts as unusual, given the situation.”
“I suppose not.”
Jules takes a deep breath. “I have to shake it off soon. Emilia and the others . . . they’ll need me to fight.”
“So you mean to keep on. You mean to be the Legion Queen, then?”
Jules looks down, and a shadow crosses her features. “I mean to remove the Undead Queen from her throne. She put a knife to my mother’s throat, Arsinoe. And she kills her own people. After that . . .” She raises her head, and Camden rushes past, intent on the wet sand and the chill of the waves.
“And how do your gifts feel? Have you tested them, since the tether?”
“They’re both still with me,” Jules says, and makes a fist. “Still strong. You don’t like it, though, do you? You’d rather the war gift stayed bound. You want me to stay a naturalist.”