Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns #4) - Kendare Blake Page 0,84
Arsinoe can say another word, she and Jules put heels to their mounts and race out of the clearing with Camden running behind.
THE VOLROY
Bree and Elizabeth sit with her as Mirabella writes her letter to Arsinoe. Normally, she would be glad of their company. But today she craves quiet. She must get her words just right. And the way Bree and Elizabeth watch her . . . it has begun to make her uncomfortable.
“Stop staring at my belly, Bree. There are no triplets in there yet. Perhaps not ever.”
Bree smiles guiltily, and Elizabeth blushes from chin to eyebrows. But they still both look like they want to come and press their hands against her stomach.
It was not Mirabella who told them this secret plan. It was Katharine. Perhaps to further sway Mirabella’s decision. To show her she would not be alone. Or perhaps without the dead queens to put their hands over her mouth, Katharine was simply a girl who was eager to confide in her newfound friends.
“Forgive us,” Bree says after a moment. “It is just that we are excited.”
“It may never happen. The Goddess may never choose to send the triplets to me, a queen who is not crowned. Besides, it could be twenty years before we know or begin to doubt. Twenty years is a long time to foster excitement.”
“She will send them,” says Elizabeth. “She must. And then the Goddess will have what she has always wanted anyway: triplets from her favorite.”
Mirabella’s mouth twists wryly and goes back to writing. “And the Goddess always gets what she wants,” she murmurs.
“Queen Katharine has been in a good mood of late,” Bree says, peering over Mirabella’s shoulder at the letter. “But I still cannot believe she agreed to an alliance with Arsinoe.”
“She agreed, because she trusts me. And because she knows that I can bring them together.”
“But can you be so sure?” Elizabeth asks. “There is so much hatred between them.”
“No more than there was between Katharine and me when I first arrived.” Mirabella sees them look at each other; they are not so sure. “Katharine knows that we need Arsinoe. We need her low magic.”
Elizabeth’s face constricts. The priestess does not approve, and Mirabella wishes she could tell her everything, about the dead queens and what Arsinoe can do. But those secrets are not hers to tell.
“I will understand, Elizabeth, if you do not wish to send Pepper with this letter.”
Across the room, stuck to the rough stone of the fireplace, the woodpecker cocks his small tufted head. Then he flies to Mirabella and sits on her shoulder.
“Pepper is always happy to serve his queen.” Elizabeth smiles. “Though he would appreciate an extra worm and seed cake upon his return.”
“A worm and seed cake. I will see what I can do.” Mirabella reads through what she has written. Then she reads it again. She does not know why she is so afraid to send it. With a deep breath, she rolls it up and seals it, and little Pepper sticks out his leg to receive the message.
“Fly fast, you good bird,” she whispers, and the woodpecker flits to Elizabeth and then out Mirabella’s open window, on his way to Sunpool.
SUNPOOL
Arsinoe is in the apothecary, restocking shelves, when Pietyr Renard finds her.
“Where’s your guard?” she asks, watching him wander the shop, touching this jar and then that, sometimes impressed, sometimes disdainful.
“Outside.”
She looks through the window. One warrior, armed with a sword, stands before the entrance.
“One guard. This really is a shoddy rebellion.”
“You are not wrong,” Pietyr says. “When your Legion Queen and her commander race off alone, without advice of counsel or any preparation. The war gift. It is so impulsive.”
“They care about each other, if that’s what you want to consider impulsive,” Arsinoe snaps defensively, even though had he been anyone but Pietyr Renard, she would have agreed. “And they’ll be back soon. So don’t get any ideas.”
“Soon. If they return at all.” He pulls a jar of hemlock off a shelf, removes the cap and inhales deeply. Then he replaces the cap, and Arsinoe watches the jar disappear down his sleeve as if it never was.
“Aren’t you usually supposed to wait until no one is looking?”
“I thought you might indulge me. You know, poisoner to poisoner?”
Arsinoe narrows her eyes. He has his color back, whatever color an Arron can be said to have. And he is as handsome as ever in his haughty, deceptive, murderous way.
“The guard outside,” he says, and nods to her, “she thinks