“I know there’s a chill in the air, but that still looks unseasonable.”
“Maybe I have a cough.” She tugs the scarf up over the tip of her nose. Curiosity has gotten the better of her; she cannot be left outside the city now. “Let’s go in and see what’s happening.”
Inside, they find a hive of activity. Mirabella and Arsinoe are careful to keep their hair and faces partially obscured, but there is little need. The constant flow of new arrivals means strangers are aplenty, and everyone is on the way to this place or that. No one looks at each other for very long.
“Should I go try to find out what’s happening?” Billy asks.
Mirabella takes him by the arm. “No. That will only draw attention to you. Just keep moving. And listening.”
They make their way through the wide main road. Only a few people seem to know Sunpool well enough to provide direction, and many of them are dressed in gray and yellow. Oracle colors. Mirabella carefully maneuvers them away from every gray or yellow cloak they see, until Arsinoe’s ears prick at the mention of Wolf Spring:
“They’re running grain stores up the coast. Should be here any day.”
“But no fighters?”
“A few have come on their own. Less than I’d expected. Maybe she’ll bring them with her when she arrives.”
Fighters. Grain stores. And everyone through the gates seems armed, or armed after a fashion, with clubs and shovels. Mirabella taps her on the shoulder and ducks into a tavern. Arsinoe pulls Billy in after her.
“We have stumbled into an army camp,” Mirabella whispers furiously as she leads them to the rear. “I am less and less certain of your Daphne bringing you here for a simple solitary quest!”
“It changes nothing. I’m still headed up that mountain as soon as I have the food and clothes to make it.” Thinking of food, her stomach growls. There are bowls of stew on many of the tables and cups of wine and ale. Loaves of golden, soft-looking bread.
“I’ll go and get us some,” Billy says, following her eyes. “We can eat standing up and then go back out and try to barter. Though I don’t know how much luck we’ll have.” He slides through the tables to the bar. There is nowhere to sit. Hardly anywhere to stand. And without Billy, Arsinoe and Mirabella huddle together, two black-haired girls in mainland clothes and no shadow large enough to hide in.
It seems forever until he returns, carrying bowls of stew and trying not to spill, one fat chunk of bread floating in each. They eat in silence, eyes on their food, Mirabella with her head bowed. Arsinoe sneaks bites in between lowering and raising the scarf that covers her nose.
They are nearly finished when people start to hurry past the tavern windows.
“What’s happening?” Arsinoe asks as the door flies open and the inside of the pub begins to rapidly empty.
Billy runs out of patience and grabs a man by the shoulder.
“Oi. What’s happening? Where’s everyone going?”
“She’s here. I think she’s here!” The fellow points to the street and runs after the crowd.
“She.” Mirabella and Arsinoe lock eyes. She. The queen? They set their bowls onto the nearest empty table and go to the window. So many have crowded around the tavern that seeing is impossible.
Frustrated, Arsinoe turns to the barkeep.
“Plenty of coin if you’ll permit us to your upstairs windows.” She nudges Billy, who gets it out of his pockets.
“As you like,” the barkeep replies. She chuckles a little as she wipes out a cup. “Though if it really is the Legion Queen, you’ll have plenty more chances to get a view.” She jerks her head over her shoulder, through to the kitchen. They hurry, running quickly past the near-empty pot of stew and up the flight of stairs to the woman’s private room.
“The Legion Queen,” Arsinoe mutters. “Who . . .” A thought flashes into her mind, but that is impossible. “It can’t be . . .”
Mirabella reaches the window first. It is not that high, but the view is substantially better than the one from below. The gate of the city is open, and the first riders are coming through.
“Riders only, no carriage. And no black. It cannot be an Arron caravan.”
Arsinoe presses her nose to the cold, dusty glass. There is no black at all. Not even the horses.
Then she sees the mountain cat, curled onto the rump of a large bay workhorse. Her dark tail-tip twitches, and she nervously swats with her good paw at anyone who gets too close.
“Good Goddess,” Arsinoe exclaims. “It is her. It’s Jules.”
“I know you want to see her. But getting to her without being recognized might be just too difficult.” Mirabella keeps a firm hand on Arsinoe’s sleeve as they follow Jules’s party through the city, alongside the most fervent of the crowd.
“It might be impossible, full stop,” Billy adds. “Seems she’s not just Jules now. She’s ‘the Legion Queen,’ whatever that is.”
“She’s still Jules. She’ll see me. She’ll know I’m here.”
But when they arrive at the castle, the gate comes down and leaves Arsinoe, and everyone else, outside.
“So I’ll wait.” She crosses her arms. “I’ll duck down in the bushes, and she’ll have to come out sometime. You two go back toward the shops and try to buy what we need. It won’t be long.”
Mirabella and Billy look at her doubtfully. So she shoves them out into the street.
But she was wrong about her wait being short. It seems an age before anyone comes back out of the castle. And when someone finally does, it is not Jules or Camden, like she hopes. Though it is still someone she recognizes: Emilia Vatros, the warrior girl who aided their escape from the capital.
“She was helpful once,” Arsinoe whispers, and takes her chance. She throws a pebble at the girl’s back. It hits her in the head. Not a great throw, from cold, aching fingers.
Emilia whirls. It takes her no time at all to discover the source of the pebble.
“Yes!” Arsinoe motions for her to come. “It’s me!” She motions again, and Emilia’s eyes slide right over her hidden in the shrubs before she turns around and walks away. So much for that. If only Camden would come out, with her superior hearing and far superior nose. At this rate, it will grow dark before she gets a real chance.
Emilia’s hand reaches out from behind her and covers her mouth. She drags Arsinoe back so fast that her feet scarcely touch the ground.
“What are you doing here?” She presses cold metal against Arsinoe’s scars. “I should cut your throat. Carve you up so that no one will recognize you!” For a moment, Arsinoe thinks she really will, but then Emilia shoves her forward onto the grass.
“What’s the matter with you?” Arsinoe flips over and scrambles up.
“Why have you returned?”
“None of your business. Right now, I’m here to see Jules.”
“See her?” Emilia spits upon the ground. “See her and complicate things. Contend for the crown that is meant to be hers.”
“I don’t want any crown.” Arsinoe holds up her hands. Angry as she is about Emilia’s greeting, she does not have Jules’s hot temper. She keeps her head. She knows what the war-gifted girl can do if given the excuse.
“Then why did you come back, poisoner?”
“I think that’s something I’ll tell her. And I’m not only a poisoner. I’m a naturalist. Like she is.”
The warrior’s eyes narrow. The last time they met, things had happened too quickly, and it had been too dark for Arsinoe to notice how severe Emilia is. The deep brown of her hair and eyebrows, the thick eyelashes. The tightness of the twin buns at the nape of her neck. All the weaponry at her belt and tucked into her tall boots. She does remember the fierce red lining of her cape and how it flashed like a new wound when they ran.
“If you interfere, it will not be easy for you.”
“I don’t know what’s going on here. And as long as Jules is safe, I don’t care. I have business of my own, on the mountain.”
Emilia purses her lips. “On the mountain? What sort of business?”