Arsinoe gasps as Emilia shoves her into the wall, hard enough to take her breath away, and harder than Emilia could have done with only her hands in such close quarters. That was the war gift. Arsinoe shoves back and Emilia lets go.
“Do not ever say anything like that to me again,” Emilia says.
“Fine. Ow.”
Emilia holds a hand out to help her off the wall. “I am sorry. Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You are not the only one who loves her, you know.”
“I’ve known Jules for my entire memorable life. You’ve known her less than a year. How can you already love her so much?”
Emilia lowers her eyes. It is the first time Arsinoe has ever seen her blush, and blush furiously. “Because I love her in a different way. A way that doesn’t take so long.”
Arsinoe blinks at the warrior’s reddened cheeks. “Oh.”
“How long did it take you to realize what you felt for Billy? Not your whole life.”
“Billy,” Arsinoe says. “Oh!”
“You keep saying, ‘Oh.’”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She watches as Emilia’s cheeks gradually regain their normal deep shade. “Does . . . Jules know? Does she feel the same?”
“No, and I don’t know,” Emilia says, and flashes her most confident smile. “But she will, if we can make her well enough to consider it.” She steps close to Arsinoe and takes her by the arm. “Let me carry the tether. I won’t fail her. I promise.”
INDRID DOWN
Mirabella stands at a window in the king-consort’s apartment, fingers drumming against the sill as she looks over the city. Indrid Down is ugly in winter. Dark and gray and full of smoke. And it smells. Stale almost, as if it does not get enough wind off Bardon Harbor to clear it out. It is nothing like Rolanth, where the winds smell of evergreen and the thin ice that forms along railings and on the white stone is crisp and clear as crystal.
It is almost sunset. She is to face the mist tonight, in the dark, with Katharine and the Black Council watching from a safe distance at the top of the hill. The port at Bardon Harbor will be cleared of people. So no one but the Queen Crowned and her council would know whether Mirabella succeeded or failed.
That morning, she watched from that same window as a line of carriages brought the elementals Katharine had summoned from Rolanth. Her brave “volunteers” who have the gift of wind and weather. Katharine will launch them on the same barge as Mirabella. Challengers, she calls them, when they are truly more like sacrifices.
“Come,” says Bree from behind her. “It is nearly time. We should get you into your gown.”
“Why dress me at all? Only to push me out into the dark before nothing and no one?” She turns and lets Bree do what she will. But she holds her hand up at the corset. “For this, I will need to breathe.”
Bree nods. “A poisoner contraption, anyway,” she says as she tosses it back into the trunk. “Though it does do nice things for the breasts.”
Mirabella smiles despite her dark mood. At least Bree will be there. One friendly face upon the shore.
She raises her arms as Bree slips the simple black dress over her head. It is light and unadorned, no fancy embroidery or lace, and the cloak she layers on top of it is similarly plain. Nothing expensive, in case she is dragged to the bottom of the harbor in it.
Outside the door, the guards announce that the queen is coming, and Bree steps aside. Katharine sweeps into the room, followed by two servants carrying trays of tea.
“Good. You are nearly ready.” Katharine stands before her with her gloved hands clasped demurely at her waist. She gestures to the tea. “Something to settle your nerves?”
“No thank you.”
“A little something in the stomach can sometimes help. I have brought tarts. Made with dried fruit and preserves, which we must all get used to if you cannot banish the mist by the summer.”
“That is very kind of you.”
“I wanted you to have something worthy, in case it is the last thing you ever eat.” She smiles sweetly, and behind her, the lamps flare so hot that they char the surface of the glass. “Now, now.” Katharine wags a finger. Mirabella’s eyes narrow. There is something odd about the way she is using her hands. Only one of them moves. Like there is something wrong with the other. “Save your gift for the mist.”
“I am.” Mirabella smiles, equally sweetly. “That fire was from Bree.”
Bree clears her throat and leaves. “I did not expect to be tattled upon,” she whispers as she passes, and Mirabella chuckles.
“I would have rathered it be Elizabeth here with you,” Katharine says after Bree is gone. “I am fond of her little woodpecker. I brought a small loaf of nut bread for him.”
“That is very kind.”
“Do not sound so surprised. I am kind. When I can be.”
The tone of Katharine’s voice makes Mirabella wither. Youngest triplet or not, the crown has settled upon Katharine and made her more substantial, and cast Mirabella and Arsinoe off as ghosts.
“For what it is worth,” Katharine says, “I was reluctant to agree to Rho’s suggestion of other elementals.”
“It is worth nothing,” says Mirabella, “if they die.”
“Do not make it seem simple. Being the Queen Crowned is not as easy as right or wrong. What would you do if you were to face what I face? I have spoken to the priestesses since the Ascension, Mirabella. You have done your share of sacrificing.”
Mirabella’s stomach twists, remembering the priestess she buried beneath the rocks in practice for the Quickening.
“The elementals you summoned . . . are they willing at least?”
“Of course. They have been promised rich rewards simply for making the attempt.” Katharine reaches for a tart, again with the same hand. “To be honest, they are not even afraid. Not with you there.”
“And you resent me for that. That they think I am so strong. But who knows how strong I really am? You were there at Innisfuil; you saw how the mist tore through your soldiers and all of the people I could not save.”
Katharine nods. “Pressure,” she says thoughtfully. “True, there is always pressure. But just once, I would like to be given the benefit of belief rather than the expectation that I will fail. Perhaps we are worrying for nothing. Perhaps with you there, the mist will not even rise.”
“You do not really think that.”
“No,” Katharine says. “The mist has risen for every ship that tries to leave the port. But nor do I hope that you fail.” She rubs at the black band tattooed across her forehead, perhaps unconsciously, her other hand dangling near her waist. “They want me to kill you, you know. The Black Council. If the elementals are successful and we do not need you to fight the mist. Since no one really knows you are here, it will be an easy enough thing to hide. They say you are another queen, and it is the natural solution. But do not worry. Once again, the High Priestess saved you. ‘You cannot kill her,’ she said. ‘For even if you find elementals who are strong enough to face the mist, their gifts grow stronger with an elemental queen.’”