am here.”
“No.” Katharine slides out of her chair, her movements fast as a striking snake. She grasps Mirabella by the wrist and hauls her up with surprising strength.
“Where are you taking me?” Mirabella asks as Katharine pulls her through one room and then another, until she flings the shutters wide and pushes Mirabella flush to the open-air window so her hair is blown back by the bite of wind off Bardon Harbor.
“Look,” Katharine says as she holds her fast, and Mirabella stares out across the water rippling with moonlight. Not far past the northern outcropping of cliffs, not nearly out far enough, lies the mist, thick and constant as a wall. The sight of it makes Mirabella’s stomach drop into her shoes.
“The mist,” she breathes.
“Yes,” says Katharine. “It comes and goes as it pleases. But I saw you fight it back in the valley that day. And I know you fought your way through it to escape after the Queens’ Duel. The Legion Queen’s rebellion is a problem. But a problem that I can solve.” She shoves Mirabella forward again. “But that. That is why you are here.” She lets go, and Mirabella grasps the edge of the window, hands trembling.
“My Black Council is assembling below. Make yourself ready. You are to go before them.”
“Go before them to do what?”
“To plead your cause. To convince them that you are worth keeping alive.”
Within minutes, Mirabella finds herself standing in the Black Council chamber. She was placed at the end of the long table, and her hands are clasped before her like a prisoner brought up from the cells to hear her sentence read. Even the faces of those she would call allies—Luca, Bree, to some extent Rho Murtra—are unreadable as stone.
At the head of the table, Katharine crosses her arms. “I do not need to ask where the lines are drawn.” She gestures to the High Priestess, Rho Murtra, and Bree. “You three will be for allowing Mirabella to stay. You others”—she waves a hand to indicate the rest—“will be against her. The only question is who of those against her are willing to see if she can help.”
“Help,” Lucian Arron scoffs. “What was this bargain that brought her to us in the first place? It was not disclosed to us, and though it seems that they know”—he points to Luca, Rho, and Bree—“we cannot wring it out of them.”
“Oh, what does it matter?” Bree interjects. “Once the people know that Mirabella has joined with the crown it will only strengthen the queen’s position.” She looks to Katharine. “When will you make the announcement? Indrid Down should see you both, side by side.”
“They should not see her,” Antonin Arron hisses. “She should have been dropped by a poisoned arrow the moment she set foot in the city.”
The lamps in the room flare, but not from Mirabella, and she casts a look of warning at Bree. Her fire has always gotten the better of her.
“No,” says Katharine. “I invited my sister here under a banner of peace. And I will keep my word so long as she meets her end of the bargain.”
“What bargain?” Lucian Arron asks again. He and the other Arrons are becoming more and more frustrated. Mirabella would find their wild-eyed expressions amusing were they not currently deciding whether or not to let her live.
“You were not at the battle, Lucian. You did not see her at Innisfuil fighting back the mist. She is the only weapon that we have against it, and until we find a better one, give me real reasons why I should not keep her close. Real reasons,” Katharine adds when Antonin opens his mouth.
“On top of her . . . skill with the mist,” Luca says slowly, “her presence assures us the allegiance of Rolanth in our growing civil war. Indrid Down and Prynn cannot stand alone against everyone else.” She looks at Mirabella and nods, and Mirabella shifts her weight. It will be difficult to be so near Luca again. Difficult to keep her guard up when all she wants is to forget that Luca sided with the Arrons and ordered her execution.
Antonin and Lucian Arron look at each other. They seem miserable. Old. Exhausted. “It goes against tradition,” Antonin says.
“That is not enough of a reason,” says Katharine.
“And are we just supposed to take her at her word?” Genevieve asks. “That she is to be trusted?”
Katharine’s eyes flicker to Mirabella’s as Genevieve goes on.
“And you, my queen, have seen her fight the