when it’s so unexpected.”
Billy cannot manage words. He just stares at her with his mouth open.
“We knew there were going to be risks,” she says.
“You never told me there was no secret way in. You shouldn’t do this. We should smuggle you in through the servant’s entrances or the kitchen.”
“That’s a whole lot of interaction in a city full of unfriendly traitors.”
“I thought we were the traitors.”
Arsinoe frowns. “Anyone who sides with Katharine is a traitor to their own conscience. Now I’m going in. Kiss me for luck.”
Billy hesitates, but in the end, he does as he is bid and does it well, pulling her close, his fingers cradling the back of her neck.
“Arsinoe, are you ever going to listen to me?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“When?”
“When you’re right. Look, I’m the one who ought to be afraid for you! All I need to do is slip in, tell Mirabella what to do, and slip out.” Billy’s part in the plan is much more dangerous. He is to hide with the warriors along the parade route and provide a distraction so Mirabella can escape.
“Be safe,” he says, and she leaves him in the shadowy alley.
She crosses the last few streets to the Volroy grounds, her breath fast, white puffs in the chill air. With every step she takes, her knees want to lock up and turn around. There are no good memories here. She shivers as she passes the spot where Katharine kept Braddock caged prior to the Queens’ Duel.
But Mirabella needs her. She is there, somewhere, in who-knows-how-much danger inside the hulking, black stone monster of the towers. And Arsinoe will not leave her.
“Not even if you got yourself into this mess,” she whispers as she rounds the path toward the entry gate.
Ahead, people have gathered to see the queen. From the looks of them, they are mostly merchants, with bolts of fabric beneath their arms: black and many shades of blue. When she gets closer, she sees they are not actually raw bolts of fabric but completed banners and flags. At the front, a woman stands holding something large and draped in black cloth. She has an air of nervous pride. Whatever she holds, it must be important.
Arsinoe walks alongside the waiting carriages, blending in with the apprentices. Too soon she finds herself blocked in, in the middle of the waiting group, with queensguard soldiers making inspections. The soldiers begin to bark instructions, and the crowd around her jostles itself into a line.
She does her best to look like she has been here before. But when she stands up on tiptoe and sees the queensguard searching and questioning every person, her heart jumps into her throat.
“When did they start doing this?” she hears a man ask irritably.
“Ever since the Legion Queen rose in the north,” someone replies.
Arsinoe wants to turn tail and walk out of there on fast legs until she can dive behind a shrub to panic properly. But if she does that, she will never have the nerve to try again. And she will probably be caught.
She thinks quickly and worms her way through the line, ignoring every cry of “Hey!” and “Where do you think you’re going?” until she manages to get directly in front of the woman holding the item draped in cloth. Now that she is closer, she can make out the faint outline of the item’s shape. It looks to be armor. Custom armor.
The line moves fast. The last few ahead of her answer questions with downcast eyes and hold their arms out to be searched.
“Surrender all personal weaponry,” one of the soldiers calls down the line. “It will be returned to you as you leave.”
Arsinoe reaches for her belt and unbuckles the leather sheath that holds her small sharp dagger.
“Next, step up.”
She goes forward and turns over the knife, trying to keep her fingers from lingering. She has had that dagger for a long time. It survived the Ascension. It went with her to the mainland and back again. Now it is lost.
She holds out her arms, and a soldier runs her hands over them, flattening her sleeves and patting every inch of her vest before turning her attention to Arsinoe’s trouser-clad legs.
“What business do you have here at the Volroy?”
“Consultation,” Arsinoe answers quickly. The soldier’s brow furrows, and she starts to really look at Arsinoe’s face. Arsinoe turns her scarred cheek slightly away. “I’m an associate of one of the other merchants. I lost her in the line. She’s already come through.” None of