Madrigal smiles a pretty, crooked smile.
“Maybe it is, or maybe I am. None of you know for sure. You exalted Arrons have had no cause to use low magic. And you, High Priestess . . . I know you would never touch it.”
“She is only trying to scare us,” says Bree.
“Is it working?” Madrigal asks. “Are you willing to chance it? I have been using low magic all my life. I know its ways as well as its ways can be known.”
Katharine grits her teeth. She is not sure yet. For now, let the woman remain locked up in the dark cells. Quietly, she turns on her heel and leads the others back above ground.
“Well,” she says. “You are my advisers, so what do you advise?”
Bree crosses her arms and speaks hesitantly. “We should learn what we can about the low magic binding. Send for experts, if any will come forward.”
“None will,” says Katharine. “And if they do, none will know more than the Milone woman knows herself. High Priestess, what do you think?”
Luca takes a deep breath. “Rho has been assessing the queensguard. There are near five thousand trained soldiers in and around the capital, and another thousand standing at Prynn. More are waiting to be called up and trained. You have what you need to crush a rebellion, even one supported by a lesser number of war gifted and oracles. But that is not what I think you should do.”
“Am I to wait, then? For spring and the naturalist to march on the capital?”
“You have her mother,” Luca says. “I think you should arrange a trade. Without Jules Milone, the rebellion will fold.”
Katharine stares at the High Priestess as she considers. She would avoid a battle if she could. Even though the dead queens clamor for it. To stand directly in the midst of it with blood on her arms. In her teeth.
“I could not execute her. That would only entrench the rebels further. I would have to hold Jules Milone here, under charge of treason, and then offer a sentence of mercy.” Her eyes narrow. “Would she truly trade the rebellion for her mother?”
“It is worth a try. And I know Cait Milone. If you hand down a sentence of mercy, she will accept it, and Wolf Spring will take its cue from her. What does the Goddess say? Do you feel her hand in this?”
Katharine cocks her head. “Should I not be asking you that?”
“You are the Goddess on earth, Queen Katharine. I am only her voice to the people.”
At her words, the dead queens twist through Katharine’s insides, spreading the ash-gray of corpses through her body until she can practically taste it.
“I have never felt the Goddess,” says Katharine. “She turned her back on me so I have acted in kind. Is that why the mist rises? Because a queen sits the throne who will not kneel?”
“The Goddess does not demand your loyalty. She does not need it any more than she needs our understanding.”
“Curse the Blue Queen,” Katharine mutters under her breath. “If not for the mist, the people would not be so desperate. What went so right for her that she was able to perform such a feat?”
“It was not what went right,” Luca says, “but what went wrong. Queen Illiann created the mist to protect the island from an invasion. A spurned suitor who returned to wage a war. Have you never studied the murals of the queens in our temples? A queen can do great things when she must.”
Katharine sighs and turns to Pietyr, who nods. She will ride north, then, and make the trade. If the cursed naturalist will agree to it.
SUNPOOL
Arsinoe, Mirabella, and Billy navigate the sloping, mossy cliffs of the coastline, trying to reach high ground. Arsinoe, in her hurry, slips and knocks her knee against exposed rock. But she is not the one in the lead: Mirabella has nearly crested the hill. She has pulled her hair free of its pins, and Arsinoe suspects that she has called a little of the wind that whips through it. She has never seen anyone look so triumphant, even in a muddy, blue, salt water–stained mainlander dress.
“I thought she said it would take some time for her gift to return,” says Billy breathlessly. “But she could move the water the moment we arrived.”
“Well, you know Mira. Always the pessimist.”
Mirabella’s current made their swim to shore so easy that they each have energy to spare for the walk. And after they reached land, she conjured a blazing fire so they would be warm and dry while they did it.
“Do you know where we are?” Billy asks, and adjusts his pack on his shoulder.
Arsinoe looks inland, upward. The behemoth of Mount Horn sits to the east. Not terribly far.
“We’re west of the mountains. Away from Wolf Spring. Away from Rolanth. A whole island between us and our baby sister.” It is probably the best place for Daphne to bring them. Secluded and secret, where they will not likely be seen.
“And we have to climb that?” He nods to the peak. “Not all the way, I hope.”
“I hope not either.”
She hurries ahead to where Mirabella has stopped at the top of the hill.
“Look,” Mirabella says. “Is that what I think it is?”
Across the rolling hills lies the white-walled city of Sunpool. The oracles’ city.
“Why would the mist bring us here?” Mirabella asks. “I do not like the idea of being so close to so many seers.”
“Nor do I,” Arsinoe says distractedly. “But I have always wanted to see Sunpool.” And this is a very fine view of it: the sprawling, white castle and the built-up wall, white buildings nestled so tightly together that the whole of it looks like a cluster of sea-bleached coral. They say when the sunset strikes, the city appears to burn. Though there is no evidence of that on a day as cold and gray as this.
Billy catches up and peers at it.
“What did that used to be?”
“Sunpool. The city of oracles,” Mirabella replies.
“And it used to be grand,” Arsinoe adds. “Before the gift weakened and the numbers dwindled. Before the people started to fear the sight as near a curse.” In reality, the once proud, white walls are crumbling, chunks of stone rolled away to wear down to roundness and be covered with moss. The central castle, though still sprawling, is covered in vine and the dirt of centuries. But it is still easy to see what it was.
“The seers are weak and few,” says Arsinoe. “I think we’re safe enough, even close as we are. Probably the perfect place to buy supplies and a hot meal. A forgotten city for a secret quest.”
Billy reaches for coin in his pocket. He takes his pack off his shoulder and considers the goods inside.
“Maybe I should go alone and get what we need. You two are still a little too recognizable, even in those colorful clothes.”
“Agreed,” says Arsinoe as Mirabella reluctantly drapes a gray scarf over her hair.
They walk toward the city, stopping at the crest of every hill to make sure to avoid main roads. Arsinoe and Mirabella fall into easy chatter, so that Billy has to tug on their arms when he notices something odd.
“Didn’t you say this place was nearly deserted?”
“Not many live here anymore, that’s true.”
“Well, that doesn’t look deserted to me.” He points to Sunpool, and Arsinoe and Mirabella shield their hands from imagined brightness, as if that were responsible for what they see.
Hundreds of people crowd the streets. Disorganized, harried-looking people, pushing handcarts and carrying packs of supplies.
“Is it a . . . marketplace?” Arsinoe asks.
Mirabella points to the east.
“Look. On the roads. More are coming.” It is not a steady stream, but it seems an uncommon number for a city not known to have a large share of visitors. As they watch, someone releases a messenger bird from one of the castle’s uppermost windows.
“That bird is flying awfully fast,” says Arsinoe. “And awfully straight. What is a naturalist doing in Sunpool?” She tugs Billy around and rummages through his pack for another scarf, this one to wrap around her scarred face and mouth.
He looks at her doubtfully.