Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns #4) - Kendare Blake Page 0,45
says. “But you did not have all. Now you do.”
“Now we do.” Jules’s eyes narrow. “And we should trust this? Trust you?”
“That is up to you. It is why I came myself, rather than sending a messenger. I knew Emilia would not believe me unless she could look me in the eye.”
“And you believe her?” Jules asks.
Emilia glances sidelong at Margaret, and the hairs on the back of Arsinoe’s neck begin to prickle. She has never seen Emilia look unsure or vulnerable. Now she appears to be both.
“Margaret Beaulin has been a bootlicker to the poisoners for a long time,” Emilia says. “But perhaps she is not anymore. If we can trust this, it would be useful. One of the war-gifted is worth twenty regular rebel soldiers.”
“Regular rebel soldiers,” Arsinoe says. “What about the elemental fighters with their lightning and fire? What about the naturalists with fierce dogs and cavalry?”
“With Bastian City, we can lay siege to Indrid Down,” Emilia goes on. “Our forces can cut their access to the harbor from the north—”
“And mine can cut off their path to the river, from the south and east.” Margaret nods. “And if somehow the Undead Queen should rout us, all forces can fall back to Bastian and make a stand behind the city walls, which have stood longer than even the Volroy.”
“But only if we trust you,” says Jules.
“Would it be easier to believe me if I demanded a seat on your new Black Council in return?” Margaret raises her eyebrows. “I considered it.”
“If that isn’t your demand, then why?” Jules asks.
“For Emilia,” Margaret replies. “Because I failed her and I owe her a debt. And because I failed her mother,” she adds quietly. “Whom I loved.”
Arsinoe glances between Emilia and Margaret, each in pain merely by being in the other’s presence. Whatever happened between them was not kind.
“Bastian City is proud, but you can’t deny it’s a city in decline,” Jules says, and rolls up the treaty. “How well fortified is it presently?”
“Very well fortified.”
“Then send us a supply of weapons. Spears, crossbow bolts, swords, and shields. Whatever you can spare. Send us that, and we will consider you allies.”
THE VOLROY
In the Black Council chamber, Katharine sits at the head of the long table of dark wood. She is restless and troubled, and her patience for another meeting of arguments is stretched thin. The High Priestess had the gall to suggest that Mirabella be allowed to sit in on the council meetings, but the notion was quickly silenced. And even had the opposition been less vocal, Katharine would have forbidden it herself.
The dead queens, in their eagerness for Mirabella, have forced Katharine to remain distant from her sister. Every time they see her, they rush to Katharine’s surface with such force that her head spins. And soon, they will find a way to take what they desire.
Unless Katharine finds a way to distract them.
“Has there been any word about Jules Milone?” Katharine asks.
“The Legion Queen has not been seen since the battle at Innisfuil,” says Genevieve. “Though her forces still rally to Sunpool. And it seems we have lost Wolf Spring.”
“To lose something,” says Cousin Lucian, “we must first have had it.”
“Had them or not,” Genevieve says mildly, “we hoped they would remain out of play. The island over knows that the naturalists do not take sides. That they have involved themselves in the conflict may seem to some like a tipping point.”
Katharine looks to Rho Murtra, her Commander of Queensguard. “Has the entirety of Wolf Spring emptied? Or only those tied to the Milones?”
“Our spies say the group was large,” Rho replies. “But it was by no means the whole city. Genevieve is, as usual, overstating the situation.”
“And what word of Arsinoe?”
“What last we heard, she did not believe that Mirabella had defected. She ordered search parties into the hills and along the cliffs, as if Mirabella had simply fallen out of a window.”
Around the table, the Black Council snickers.
“Stop that,” Katharine snaps. “Before my sister hears you and sets you on fire.” She glances at Bree, who winks.
“Arsinoe’s denial is good evidence that Mirabella can be trusted.” High Priestess Luca sets her hand on the table, her expression serene.
“I do not like it.”
Everyone on the Black Council turns to Rho. She is the last person expected to speak against anything the High Priestess says.
“What do you mean,” Luca asks, “you do not like it? What do you not like?”