“The way she looks at me,” Arsinoe says when she and Jules are alone, “it’s like she doesn’t see any scars at all.”
“She hasn’t changed,” Jules says. “Not in that way, anyhow.”
“In what way, then?”
Jules leans her head back.
“It’s just strange to see her here. So calm. Like she’s at home. I know, she is at home, but—”
“I know what you mean,” says Arsinoe. “I want her home again, too.”
Jules grasps the tip of Camden’s tail and rubs the fur until Camden swats at her. “Tell me what happened. I only remember being shot in the back. And then you, pulling me into the saddle.”
“I used the war gift,” Jules replies. “I pushed Katharine right through the air. She must’ve rolled three times.”
“Wish I could’ve seen that.”
“I don’t know how I did it. The curse is bound. The war gift isn’t that strong. I just . . . did it. Because I had to.”
“Could you do it again?” Arsinoe asks.
“Not for all the cakes in Luke’s oven.”
Arsinoe almost asks how Jules feels. If the curse is taking its toll on her mind. But she does not. Jules is fine. Safe. The question would only add to her worry.
“Jules.” Arsinoe squints one eye. “When I was drifting in and out . . . did I confess to you that I used low magic on you and Joseph?”
“You did.”
“Did I tell you how sorry I am? How I didn’t know what my low magic could do?”
“You did. And it doesn’t matter. We’ll never really know whether it was your magic, or Mirabella’s beauty, or Joseph being half-dead and easily aroused.”
Arsinoe chuckles.
“Besides. I’ve forgiven him.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.” Jules says, and nods.
Camden’s ears prick.
“What is it?” Arsinoe asks. They listen. Hoofbeats, from the direction of the mountains. Jules springs for the window. If it is riders from the Black Council, there is no time to run.
Arsinoe throws back her quilt and winces as she dangles her leg over the side of the bed.
Jules turns and frowns.
“Arsinoe, you dolt! Stay in bed!”
“Dolt? What a thing to say when I’ve almost died.”
But Jules is no longer listening. Her eyes widen, her knuckles white as she grips onto the curtains.
“Stay there,” she says, and bolts for the door. “It’s Joseph!”
“Joseph? Camden, stay and help me!”
But the cat scrambles off the bed and dashes after Jules, as excited to see him as she is.
“Stupid, love-sick cat,” Arsinoe grumbles. She uses the bedside table to brace and reaches for the arm of the chair. Somehow she manages to get to the window and holds fast to the sash.
Just past the cottage steps, Jules and Joseph have their arms wrapped around each other. His reins are still looped over his elbow, so Jules probably dragged him bodily off his horse. Madrigal is there too, sitting very upright, staring directly at Caragh.
Arsinoe turns and limps out of the room, sliding against the wall as she goes down the hallway. When she gets to the door, Joseph is so buried in Jules that at first he does not even see her. But when he does, he shouts.
“Arsinoe!”
“Arsinoe.” Madrigal’s mouth hangs open, and Arsinoe nods to her before Joseph gently scoops her into his arms, squeezing a bit too tightly.
“Careful,” she says. “I really was shot by a crossbow.”
He kisses her cheek and turns to Jules.
“You did it, Jules. You saved her.”
“Yes, she is alive.” Willa steps up onto the porch, carrying two plucked chickens. “And so popular. You are all welcome at our table tonight. But tomorrow you go. Contrary to its size, the Black Cottage was not intended to house guests.”
GREAVESDRAKE MANOR
Genevieve lies stretched across the silk brocade chaise in Natalia’s study, eating figs glazed in sugar and cantarella. Ever since Midsummer, it is as though she is on a great holiday, humming and buying lavish gowns and dresses from her favorite shops in the capital. She is acting as if killing Arsinoe has won them the crown, and it is beginning to get on Natalia’s nerves.
“Why are you not at the Volroy, sister?” Natalia asks.
“I am not needed today,” Genevieve replies. “They are discussing a request from Rolanth for funds to restore the Vaulted Theatre.”
“You should be there to advise.”
“They already know what I would advise. Our eyes in Rolanth say they are overextended in renovating the central district. They will bankrupt themselves and ask the crown to bail them out.” She eats another fig and licks poison from her fingers. “Only Lucian Marlowe will argue their side. Saying that the crown’s coffers are for all queens, not just ours. Can you imagine?”
Natalia stares past Genevieve through the windows that overlook the drive. Katharine is somewhere out there, riding the bridle paths with her suitor and Pietyr. She alone deserves a moment to celebrate. Not the Council. They must keep working in preparation for the journey to Rolanth at the Reaping Moon.
“If I were to die,” Natalia says suddenly, “you would be the head of the family.”
Genevieve puts down her figs.
“Sister? Are you unwell?”
“I am fine.” Natalia walks to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Katharine on horseback. She has gifted her a flashy new stallion, all black, with long, lean legs and a smooth stride. He will not replace Half Moon, but she hopes that they will get along.
“Then what are you thinking of?”
Genevieve rises to a seated position and sets her sticky plate to one side.
“I suppose I am thinking of our mother,” Natalia replies. “And what she would say if she were alive to see us now.”
“Mother,” Genevieve says, and shudders.
Yes. Mother was terrifying. She held the Council, and Queen Camille, in a clenched fist. When she controlled the Arrons, the whole island feared them. The only thing the Arrons had to fear was her.
Natalia, though she has tried, has never been her mother’s match. And Genevieve is even less so. Genevieve inherited all their mother’s cruelty but none of her initiative, and so she is cutthroat but unreliable. She never knows where to strike.
“And what would mother say?” Genevieve wonders aloud.
Natalia crosses her arms.
“She would certainly say that we are horrible breeders. No children for me and none for you. Only a boy for Christophe.”
“But Antonin has two girls and will have more.”
Genevieve says nothing of children for herself. She has never shown much romantic inclination, and of the lovers she has had, those that lasted the longest were women. As for Natalia, the Goddess sent her Katharine, and she is more than enough.
She smiles, watching Katharine and Pietyr ride side by side out of the trees. The new stallion rises up on his hind legs when Katharine tries to slow him. She looks so delicate on his massive back, but soon she has him prancing docilely in a circle.
Natalia sighs.