the prisoners and moves her horse out of the way. It will be just that easy. They will return to the rebellion alive and well, free to fight another day.
“Wait.” Genevieve draws long strips of fabric from the pocket of her coat. “I would have them return gagged. We do not need them raising the alarm for any possible counterattack.”
Rho arches her brow but says nothing as Genevieve stuffs the cloth between the warriors’ teeth and ties each tight behind their heads. Through it all, they barely acknowledge that they are being touched, their swollen and blackened eyes trained on the road ahead. After she is finished, she nods, and they nudge their horses with their heels. They ride away at a trot, straight down the road they were brought to, relying on their horses’ eyes to take them through the night.
“They will turn off the road as soon as we can no longer see them,” says Rho. “Lose themselves in the woods.”
“Do you think there is a support party waiting for them outside the city?”
“I do. Though not in great enough a number to mount any sort of ‘counterattack,’” Rho snorts.
“I hope they are not too far away.”
Rho turns in the saddle, and her eyes fill with understanding. “What was on those gags?” she asks.
“Just a little something,” says Genevieve, “to rectify the queen’s mistake.”
At the makeshift camp outside the city, nestled in a clearing in the trees, Jules puts on a show of trying to sleep in the hopes that Arsinoe will follow her lead. So far it has not worked. Arsinoe sits at the edge of the camp, where she has been for hours, no doubt staring down the hill at the road, though it is far too dark to see anyone coming. If Jules strains, she can hear her whispering. Come back. Come back now.
But Billy and the others have not returned, and the thought that they never will sits heavy as a stone in Jules’s gut. Below, to the east, the capital lies quiet: no strange sounds and no hint of upset. Nothing out of the ordinary after the celebratory noise of the parade had subsided. She wants to go to Arsinoe and sit up with her, but instead she stays on her side next to Emilia, getting rest in case they have to fight, or run. She has not mentioned the solid weight in her stomach. Emilia would only tell her that it is what being a queen feels like.
Jules snakes a hand out to ruffle Camden’s shoulder fur. The cat is not sleeping either; her head is up, gaze fixed on the spot where Arsinoe must be.
Jules sighs and adjusts her position on the cold ground. The leather bedroll does not do much against the bumpy, uneven snow.
“Just go,” Emilia says groggily.
“What?”
“Just go to her. But leave me the cougar at least if you refuse to keep me warm.”
Jules smiles in the dark and squeezes Emilia’s shoulder. After she leaves the small tent, she hears Camden circling and circling inside before thudding down and making Emilia grunt.
“That you, Jules?” Arsinoe asks as Jules makes her way through the snow.
“Of course it is. Nobody else likes you well enough to stay up with you.” She sits down to share the pile of sticks that Arsinoe is using as a chair. “Anything?”
“I thought I saw something . . . a while ago. But nothing on the road below.”
“They might not take the road below. They might leave from another direction, double back. They might pop out of the trees from anywhere.” She speaks lightly, trying to comfort her friend. She has warriors posted in all directions; they will know when Billy and the others return long before they can “pop out of the trees.” But so far, none of the lookouts has made a sound.
“What if they don’t come back tonight?”
“If they’re not back by dawn, we’ll go in after them.”
“Who will?”
“You and me.”
Arsinoe snorts. “Emilia won’t like that.” She snorts again and goes back to watching the road. “Emilia doesn’t like much.”
“She likes me,” Jules teases.
“Aye. She definitely likes you.” She shifts her weight around on the sticks. “Do you . . . ?” she asks after a moment.
“Do I what?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing, indeed. But Jules knows what she wants to ask. It is the same thing that Emilia wants to ask. And it is another question that Jules is not ready to answer.
“I think Joseph would like her,” Arsinoe ventures finally. “If that helps.”
“Why would