Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns #4) - Kendare Blake Page 0,48

on horseback beside the queen and clad in silver armor.”

“Her lightning could lay low whole fields of us,” Emilia says, glaring at Arsinoe. “And you thought she would never turn.”

“She hasn’t,” Arsinoe snaps. “She won’t.”

“There is more,” says Josephine. “An opportunity will arise to reclaim Mirabella. If you take that opportunity, she will not be at that battle. This is what the bones say.”

The bones. It does not sound like much to go on, to Arsinoe’s ears, but the only words that matter are “reclaim Mirabella.”

“When? When can we go get her?”

The oracle called Gilbert takes a deep breath. He walks to an empty scrying bowl and grasps the bottle resting against its base, uncorking it with a twist. Then he pours the deep red liquid into the shallow marble basin. Arsinoe swallows. She would rather he used water. The wine looks too much like blood.

Once the bottle is empty, the wine stills, faster than is natural, and the seer breaks the surface with the tip of his finger, moving in one circular swirl. His gift is strong. For a moment, Arsinoe swears she can see Mirabella’s face and flowing hair, and the glint of a silver breastplate.

“The Undead Queen means to hold a public parade through the capital,” Gilbert says. “To formally announce the allegiance between the two sisters. It will take place in six days.”

“Six days,” Jules repeats. “Not much time.”

“The entire route will be heavily guarded,” says Mathilde. “She will have archers in the windows of every building and cavalry on the streets.”

Emilia puts her hands on her hips. “We cannot hope to escape with her. Not without an entire army chasing us back to Sunpool.”

“Perhaps we could lose them,” Jules suggests. “We could lay traps outside the city. Ambushes to slow them down as we make our way to cover.”

“A good suggestion. But ‘we’ are not doing anything. No matter what we decide, you will stay back. Out of danger.”

“A fight is the only thing I’m good for. You can’t hold me from it.”

The oracle Josephine clears her throat. “That is not all. We have seen that, if you take this opportunity, then Mirabella will not be part of the battle at the Volroy.”

“And?” Jules prods.

“But neither will you be.”

Arsinoe looks at Jules in shock. “What does that mean?”

“Speak, oracle!” Emilia advances on her angrily, but Mathilde steps in between them.

“If there were more to say, then she would have said it,” she says quietly.

Jules puts a hand on Emilia’s arm, and the warrior stands down. Jules nods to the seers. “Thank you. I need to speak to my friends. I would appreciate it if you said nothing of this until we have decided.”

They return to Jules’s private quarters, and Arsinoe, Emilia, Cait, and Mathilde accompany Jules inside to gather around the hearth. Billy, Luke, and even Caragh, she asked to wait outside.

“Friends,” Emilia teases. “You are a queen now. You must say ‘advisers.’ Or ‘counselors.’ Or ‘generals.’”

“If I’m a queen,” says Jules, “can’t I say whatever I want?”

She stands at her table and pours a cup of wine, but stares into it for a long time instead of drinking.

“You’re nervous,” Arsinoe says, and runs Camden’s tail through her hand. “I can tell because the cat won’t sit. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I wish visions were clearer.”

“We all wish that,” Mathilde says, and smiles.

Jules sets down her cup and studies the table as if looking at a map. Her fingertip traces imaginary routes between Sunpool and Indrid Down, so quickly and precisely that Arsinoe has to check to make sure a map has not actually been carved into the surface.

“I don’t know how to do it, Arsinoe. I know you want me to save her—”

“Who says she wants to be saved?” Emilia asks. “Nothing is more complicated than rescuing someone who has no wish to be rescued. Though we will know precisely where she is.” Emilia’s hand drifts to the dagger at her belt. “Even if we can’t get her out, it would be possible to slip in and—”

“If you say one more word,” Arsinoe growls, “I am going to get my bear.”

“I do not say it to be cruel. Or even because I want her dead, despite the fact that she is a faithless, troublemaking traitor.”

Arsinoe’s fists clench, but Emilia’s voice is light and in jest. Almost gentle.

“But you know her, Arsinoe. You know how strong she is. And that she is too strong.” She sighs. “And beyond that. You know what the