“Do not fear the bear,” says Genevieve.
“I am not afraid of it.” Katharine smiles. “I have a plan.”
THE FESTIVAL OF MIDSUMMER
“She is making a mistake.”
“Even so, Jules, it’s her mistake to make. You can’t push her.” Jules and Joseph are in his upstairs bedroom, studying the movements of Wolf Spring through his window using a long black-and-gold spyglass given to him by Billy’s father.
“Since when have I done anything but push her?” Jules mutters. “Arsinoe has always been mine to protect. I’ve known that since the moment I set eyes on her when we were children.”
She looks through the spyglass. The streets are bustling, filled with people, and the festival is still hours away.
“They’ll blanket us from all sides,” she says. “Box us in.”
“At least we know the streets and the hiding places. We have the advantage.”
“This is a trap,” Jules says. “I don’t think our advantages are going to matter.”
Joseph looks down.
“I’ve never heard you talk like this.”
“Then you haven’t been listening.” She closes her eyes. “I’m sorry. That’s unfair. It’s just that we are surrounded by poisoners and elementals and no one seems as afraid as they should be.”
“I’m afraid,” he says, and takes her hand. “I’m afraid for Arsinoe, and I’m afraid for you, Jules. I know you’ll say you don’t need protecting. But I don’t trust Madrigal. I think she might unbind you without your knowing. Maybe she already has.”
Jules squeezes his fingers. Poor Joseph. There are circles under his eyes, and he seems thinner. She had not noticed.
“My mother is trouble, but not that kind of trouble.” She raises the spyglass back to her eye. “And everybody needs protecting sometimes.”
In the market, there are so many white-robed priestesses that it looks like a raid. They are no doubt inspecting the food, though she does not know why. Mirabella will have brought her own. Any poison will have to be slipped into it by hand.
“The poisoners will strike at the feast. We can be sure of that. Arsinoe can’t eat or touch a thing . . . and she can’t be touched by strangers, in case their skin is poisoned. Then they’ll wonder why she doesn’t die. . . . Keeping the secret is nearly as bad as worrying about the poison!” She curses and slams the spyglass shut between her hands.
“Where is Arsinoe now?”
“Getting dressed. It’ll take longer than usual. Midsummer is the one day out of the year that she lets Madrigal braid a flower into her hair.”
Joseph chuckles.
“I should get back. But I’m so tired.” She rubs her temples. “I’m so tired, Joseph.”
“Jules, this is not only your responsibility.”
“Cait will be busy helping with the ceremony. Ellis will help manage Braddock against the crowds. Madrigal is never any use.”
“Don’t forget about Luke,” says Joseph. “And me. And Arsinoe herself. She’s not helpless. And only one queen here really poses a threat.”
“A poisoned knife is still a knife,” Jules says. “It can still kill.” She lets loose a shaky breath, and Camden comes to the edge of Joseph’s bed to nuzzle against her knee.
“You need to rest,” he says. “It could be a long night.”
“I can’t.” She shakes her head and turns as if to get up. “What’s happening in the square?”
Joseph takes her arms and holds her fast.
“You can see it well enough from here. See? All the tables filling with paper lanterns ready to be released into the harbor. Just like any other year.”
But it is not any other year. The blue sky above town is plumed with smoke as every kitchen prepares for the feast. And at the inn and on the west hill of the temple, two other queens are waiting, searching for the chance to kill Arsinoe.
“I said once that it was like you had never come back,” Jules says. “That I wished you hadn’t. I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t do this without you.”
Joseph reaches out and pushes her hair off her cheek.
“I will always come home to you, Jules.” He wraps his arms around her, and Jules holds on tight.
She presses closer, but the tighter she holds him, the more she feels him slipping away. Joseph does not belong here anymore. And she does not know where she belongs.
“Kiss me, Joseph,” she says, but she is the one who leans in and pulls him close.
Her arms slide to his back, and she pulls at his shirt until it comes off. He tugs her shirt down off her shoulders, and they laugh when her hands get stuck.
“I love you,” Jules says. She allows herself one moment where that is all that matters. Just Joseph, and his hands on her shoulders. Just the touch of his fingers in her hair. She lies back on the bed and draws him down.
“I love you, Jules. I’ll love you for as long as I live.”
Arsinoe tugs on the edge of her vest. She has worn the same one a hundred times before, but today it feels all wrong, bunchy and ill-fitted. The mask on her face will not sit right either, no matter how she ties and re-ties the ribbon around the back of her head.
It must be the braid. It hangs down the side of her head, itchy with oat stalk and flower petals. They braid something similar into her hair every Midsummer, even if she cuts her hair so short that the braid sticks out like a stiff, tiny arm. But it has never bothered her before. The day is wrong, not the braid.
She finds Madrigal seated in the yard, in the shade with Matthew resting beside her.
“Have you seen Jules?” she asks.
“I haven’t,” Madrigal replies. “I thought she’d be here by now. We can’t hold the processional forever.” Her shoulders droop, showing the bandage covering the burn that stretches across her collar and down her arm. She should be playfully putting her wreath of white snowdrops and grapevine atop Matthew’s head. Instead, she sits, looking pale and thin everywhere but in the belly.
Matthew reaches out and pulls Arsinoe to him. His Sandrin smile is firmly affixed, charming and handsome enough to make her blush. So Madrigal must not have told him what she saw in the flames either.
“That’s a pretty wreath,” he says.
Arsinoe swings the temple wreath around her finger.
“I’ve had prettier.” She thinks of the one Billy gave to her. She had to give it to Cait when the temple priestesses arrived with the wreath of the naturalist queen, which is more bouquet than wreath, really. So many sprays of purple and yellow wildflowers that the paper lantern will have to be squeezed into the center.
Back at the house, the side door slams, and Cait walks toward them with Eva perched on her shoulder.
“It’s time.”
“Already?” Arsinoe asks. “Won’t we wait for Jules?”
“We can’t wait any longer. As the hosts, we’re expected to be first. Jules knows. I’m sure she’ll meet us there.”
Arsinoe exhales and calls Braddock as Madrigal and Cait step into their places ahead of her, with Matthew to the rear. Ellis walks up and squeezes her shoulder.
“Stop,” she says, and smiles at him shakily. “It feels like you’re saying good-bye.”