Thankfully, Daphne twists out of his grasp. She steps quickly away and then turns, thrusting out the poisoned wine.
Well, that’s not at all obvious. And to think the Arrons make it look so easy.
Branden hesitates. This was a foolish plan. He must suspect her, with her strange silence and trembling wrist. But then he sighs and takes the cup.
“A moment alone together,” he says. “Before the ceremonies and the crowds.” He raises the cup to his lips, and Daphne and Arsinoe hold their breath.
“But that will be our life, I suppose,” he says without drinking. “Or rather, your life that I am party to. No one has explained my duties as king, after all. Am I to oversee the servants? Manage certain accounts to the crown? Or is my only function to get you with child? Except that is not attributed to me either. Whatever grows in your belly is the fruit of your . . . Goddess.”
At the last word, something changes in his tone, and he looks at her and smiles.
He knows.
“Your first mistake was refusing to touch me,” he says. “All Illiann does when we are alone is paw at me like a whore.”
“Don’t call her that! Don’t you ever call her that,” Daphne growls as he reaches out and yanks the veil from her face. But Branden does not respond. He simply sniffs the cup.
“Whatever it is it cannot be detected by scent. Far better than anything you Centrans could have crafted. So you must have gotten it from one of these heathens.”
He steps closer.
“What would it have done? Made me choke? Made blood pour from my eyes and nose?”
Daphne, run.
“Why don’t we find out?”
Daphne shouts as he grips the back of her head and pushes the cup to her lips. She claws at him as the poison splashes against her neck and chin, and she and Arsinoe fight together in panic. It is a strange sensation, being so afraid of the poison. But in Daphne’s body, Arsinoe may become the first poisoner to know what it feels like to die by it.
Is this what causes the war, then? Between the island and Salkades? Was it the murder of the queen’s dear friend?
Arsinoe searches Branden’s eyes and sees pure glee. Glee and something worse. Something near lust. The sight of it adds shame to her fear. An odd mix of shame and rage, that he would enjoy doing this to Daphne so much.
Inside the dream, Arsinoe twists and screams like she did before, trying to break it. She does not want to know. She does not want to live it. The cup that grinds against Daphne’s teeth grinds against Arsinoe’s. Branden’s hands around Daphne’s throat make it impossible for Arsinoe to breathe.
“You will drink it,” he barks into her face. “You will drink it in the end!” His long fingers pry her lips apart, and he tips the poison to her mouth.
“Get away from her!” The shout came in tandem from Henry’s and Illiann’s throats. Startled, Branden lets go, and Daphne falls to her knees. She drags a pitcher down from the bedside table and splashes water against her face and neck, flushing out her mouth and spitting onto the floor.
“Get away from her,” Illiann orders as Henry draws his sword.
“Are you going to allow them to treat me this way, Illy? I am your chosen king.”
“King-consort,” she corrects. “And perhaps you are not.”
“Illiann,” he says, his voice soft, cajoling. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand all,” she says. “I am the queen.” She folds her hands atop her skirt. “Lord Redville. Please escort the Duke of Bevanne down to the cells.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You cannot imprison me! I am not one of your subjects. My father and my cousin the king will never allow it.”
“I care not what the king of Salkades thinks of what I do on my island. Lord Redville, take him.”
Daphne and Arsinoe watch silently as Henry points his sword at Branden’s chest.
“Don’t struggle. It’ll be better.”
“Very well.” Branden lowers his head and steps past Henry, but at the last moment, reaches for the iron beside the fire. He spins and swings it, landing a glancing blow across Henry’s jaw.
Henry!
Blood runs from a deep cut, and Henry falls to the floor as Branden raises the iron over his head.
“No!” Daphne and Illiann scream, their hands out as if to stop the attack.
Arsinoe feels something explode from the center of her. A flow of heat and a sense of elation.
One moment Branden was about to bludgeon Henry to death, and the next, the fire had set him ablaze.
Henry scrambles away as Branden falls screaming to roll across the rug. The fire goes out quickly, perhaps with Illiann’s help, but the damage is done.
“Send for a healer,” says Illiann, but Branden struggles to his feet, looking in horror at the burns across his arm and chest. He touches the black blisters on his face.
“Stay away from me, witch! Look what you’ve done! I’ll see you all dead for it. Fennbirn and Centra together will burn!”
Arsinoe startles awake with a deep intake of breath. She is herself again, lying on the stone floor of the deep, cold cave. The fire has burned down, but there is still light enough to see Billy and Braddock sleeping safely curled together.
She sits up and rubs her face, shaken from the dream, from the sensation of the poison running down her neck, and from the feel of Branden’s hands around it. She gets to her feet and rummages in Billy’s bag for another small piece of dry wood to add to the fire.
“Is that what you needed to say?” she whispers to the cave. “Is that why you brought me here? To confess?”
“To confess what?” Billy asks groggily, up on one elbow.
“It was her fault,” Arsinoe replies. “Daphne was the one who started the war between Fennbirn and Salkades.”
Something moves in the darkness at the rear of the cave, where it grows small and falls down into the heart of the mountain.
Billy scrambles back against Braddock, who wakes and lifts his head with a grunt.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Arsinoe says. Except that she does. She can see the shadow of the Blue Queen in her mind, scratching and dragging her way up the steep stone walls. She can see it so clearly that, when the ink-black arm slides around the rocks, she is not even surprised.
The shadow is just as hideous in the mountain as it was on the mainland. Elongated legs, thin bony fingers. The grotesque crown of silver and blue stones set atop her eyeless head.
“Is that her?” Billy asks breathlessly. “The Blue Queen?”
“No. It has never really been the Blue Queen.” She takes one step, all that she can manage on shaking legs. “It was your fault, wasn’t it, Daphne?”
The shadow slips forward. Arsinoe stands her ground as its jaws strain open, stretching the blackness apart like rotten skin.
“Yes,” the shadow says through softened lips, her words thick and spoken with a swollen tongue. “This was my doing. This and everything after. The war. The mist.” She looks down at herself. Long black fingers. A form that shifts like smoke. She reaches up to her face, and Arsinoe and Billy grimace as she pulls at the skin, tearing away strips of shadow to drop to the cave floor. She rakes down her arms, across her chest, until some semblance of Daphne shows through in a familiar inky eye and living skin.
“That night,” she goes on, her voice clearer and more the voice Arsinoe knows from the dreams, “I changed everything. I made a true enemy of the Duke of Bevanne and in so doing made an enemy of Salkades. And I discovered who I really was.”
“A lost queen,” Arsinoe says. “One of Illiann’s sisters.”
“Yes. I was one of those sisters drowned or exposed or smothered by the Midwife. The other elemental queen, given a name I will never know. But it didn’t matter. To Illiann and Henry, I was only Daphne.”
Daphne moves closer to the fire, picking off bits of shadow like scabs. “She kept my secret after we discovered it that night. She even helped me develop my gift. She wasn’t driven to kill me like the old stories say. Not any more than you were.