“Will you tell me more about the Midsummer Festival?” Nicolas asks. He and Pietyr ride up on either side of her, so close that Half Moon snorts at the lack of space. “I understand there are to be feasting and lights.”
“Lanterns burned into the harbor,” Pietyr interjects. “And ample opportunity for poisoning. Wolf Spring is notorious for drunkards; there will be confusion and movement. And Arsinoe will not dare use the bear in the midst of so many of her people.” He glares across the saddle at Nicolas, and Katharine has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
“The bear does not frighten me,” she says. “I have brought something special for him.”
At that, Nicolas smiles. Katharine has brought long, sharp pikes, perfect for skewering through the hide of a bear. He looked over them with great approval before they departed from Greavesdrake.
“Tell me more about the queens, then, whom you will face. A naturalist and an elemental. Is it always so? I had heard of other queens. Oracle queens and war queens.”
“There has not been an oracle queen for ages,” says Katharine. “Not since one went mad on the throne and ordered the execution of several of the families on her Council. She said they were plotting against her. Or rather, that they would plot against her in the future. She said that she foresaw it. Now when a queen is born with the sight gift, we drown them.”
She expects him to pale; instead he nods.
“Madness in a ruler is not to be borne. But what of the war gift? Why is there no war queen?”
“No one knows why the war gift has weakened. The drowned queens explain why the oracle city of Sunpool has nearly emptied but Bastian remains. The war gifted remain. Yet there has not been a queen born with the war gift in generations.”
“A shame,” says Nicolas. “Though you, sweet Katharine, are warlike enough for me.”
He grins. Such a suitor she has attracted. He is refined and charming, but he craves blood. He says she is too bold to poison from a plate. That she is too skilled with knives and arrows to let that skill go to waste. When he said so, she nearly kissed him. She nearly pushed him to the ground. Natalia wants her to take Billy Chatworth as her king-consort to preserve the alliance between their families. But when the suitors engage in The Hunt of the Stags, a sacred hunt open only to them, Billy Chatworth will not stand a chance. Nicolas will hunt him as he hunts the stag. And then Katharine will be free to choose him.
Calls from the lead guard make their way down the line.
“We are nearly there,” says Pietyr. “It is just around the next bend.”
“Then let us ride to the front.” Katharine puts her heels to Half Moon’s sides before Pietyr can protest, and Nicolas laughs as he races along behind her. As she crests the gradual curve that leads into Wolf Spring, salty sea air rises like a wall and rushes against her chest.
They do not slow until they reach the outskirts of the town. As expected, it is not much to look at. Buildings of graying wood and signs bearing faded paint. But the people on the streets and in the shop windows stop what they are doing to stare, their gazes slightly hostile and very wary. When the rest of the coaches arrive, most seem relieved to be able to look away.
“You do not even know where we are riding to!” Pietyr says angrily when he catches up.
“Truly, Renard,” Nicolas says. “There is the town and there is the sea. How were we supposed to get lost?”
Katharine chuckles. It is true. She does not know why it was necessary to have Cousin Lucian and giftless Renata Hargrove leave a week in advance to select their lodging. In a city this size, there could not have been more than four or five choices.
“Where are we staying, Pietyr?” she asks.
“The Wolverton Inn,” he replies. “The lead coach knows the way, if only you will follow it.”
Katharine sighs.
“Very well.” She slows Half Moon so the rest of their party may catch up, and adjusts the weight of the poisoned knives affixed to her hip. She lifts her chin as they ride through the streets, past the salt-hardened, hateful people. It is not much of a welcome. But she and her knives will have such a lovely time here.
WOLF SPRING
As the queens’ arrivals ripple through the town like a current, Wolf Spring comes alive. Workers pound wood and planks as they erect new viewing platforms to overlook the harbor. The Wolverton Inn and the Bay Street Hotel ready accommodations for their guests. Shopkeepers stay open a few hours later and find chores to do outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the undead poisoner or Mirabella the legendary elemental. According to Ellis—who has been their eyes and ears in town since the other queens arrived—even Luke stayed out late sweeping the walk in front of the bookshop. Though he did take Arsinoe’s crowning gown out of the window first.
“We should have refused this,” Jules says.
“We couldn’t,” Arsinoe replies.
Katharine and the Arrons have already made themselves at home in their rooms at the Wolverton Inn, no doubt driving poor Mrs. Casteel and her young Miles half out of their minds with crazy, poisoner demands. And to the west, the temple hill swarms with Rolanth priestesses as they attempt to make the modest quarters of rounded stone fit to house Queen Mirabella.
“It’s monstrous. Setting us up this way,” Arsinoe says. “Like pieces on a game board. If it’s the Goddess, then she is cruel. And if it’s the Council and the temple, then we’re fools for dancing to their tune.”
“Maybe so,” Jules says. “But like you said, we couldn’t refuse.”
“Why can’t we just stay here? I want to live our lives here, the way we always have.”
From the corner of her eye, Arsinoe sees Jules clench her fists, and glances nervously at the trees to see if they will shake.
“What about our happy ending?” Jules asks. “Isn’t that worth fighting for?” But when Arsinoe does not answer, she snaps, “Stop being such a child! If you win, you get to live, and that’s better than nothing!”
Arsinoe flinches.
“I wasn’t going to hit you,” Jules says. “Not any harder than usual. Not because of this curse.”
“I’m sorry, Jules. You just startled me is all.”
“Sure,” Jules says, unconvinced. “Sure.”
“Is it getting worse?” Arsinoe asks. But they do not even know what worse is. The war gift growing stronger? Jules’s temper? Jules going mad?
“I’m fine.” Jules takes a long, slow breath. “I wish it had gone better with you and Madrigal at the tree.”
They have helped Madrigal nurse the burns. With Cait’s good salve, they will hardly scar. But she refuses to say what she saw in the flames, about her child.
“I guess we’ll have the advantages we have,” Arsinoe says.
“Why aren’t you afraid? Why won’t you fight for yourself?”
“Of course I’m afraid! But I can only do what I can do, Jules.”
For a long time, Jules is silent, and Arsinoe thinks it is over. But then Camden snarls, and the logs from the woodpile begin to shift and tremble.