“Wait for what?” Nicolas asks. He follows her and kisses her shoulder. Gentler now. She closes her eyes.
In the morning, it will be over. She will execute Mirabella, and the hum in her blood will quiet. The dead queens of the Breccia Domain satisfied. But even as she leans into her king-consort’s arms, she feels the dead queens picking at her, surging through her. They make her strong and never leave her alone.
Pietyr, I should never have sent you away, she thinks as she flinches from wetness left on her neck by Nicolas’s kisses.
Nicolas stops. He pulls her up, holds her chin so she must look him in the eye.
“Are you thinking of him?” he asks.
“No,” she lies.
“Good.” He picks her up and carries her to the bed. “Because he is not here.”
THE VOLROY
Arsinoe’s blood pounds in her ears as they head up and up the Volroy steps. She feels safer now that Jules is there, even though she is still in the lead. Part of her thought that when they freed Jules and Joseph, Jules would take over the escape. But they will get out either way.
They reach the next floor, and Arsinoe presses flat to the wall. This is the last gate. She remembers the ornate iron brazier in the center of the room from when they were being dragged down to the cells. She leans forward by a fraction and quickly leans back. There are so many guards. No less than ten. A few are seated around the rectangular table. Others lean against the walls. Three stand directly beside the passageway through the gate. All are armed with clubs and knives. Two carry crossbows.
Arsinoe turns and holds up ten fingers. Jules nods. Joseph’s and Mirabella’s faces pale. But there is no way out but through.
Arsinoe takes a deep breath. She hopes that everyone knows what to do. And that they are able to do it.
She barrels into the room and runs headlong into the nearest guard, dropping her shoulder into his chest so hard that she hears a crack. That must be good, because he folds up and hits the floor without throwing so much as a punch.
“The scarred queen! The queens!” The guard by the gate shouts. Chairs tip over as the guards at the table rise. They hesitate to raise weapons against queens. Especially one who seems able to come back from the dead.
Jules darts out from the shadow of the corridor and levels one of them holding a crossbow. Camden, snarling, quickly pins the other, and Joseph rips the weapon from his hands.
“Quiet! No one move!” Arsinoe commands, hands out. “Get to the middle of the floor. Lie on your bellies!”
A guard wearing a black captain’s sash shakes her head.
“We can’t let you out of here, my queen,” she says.
“You can, and you will,” says Arsinoe.
But the captain’s hand goes to her short-bladed sword. She draws it and spins away from Arsinoe, aiming for Joseph. It is a fool’s move. Jules’s war gift stops the sword from ever coming down, and Joseph reflexively fires the crossbow. The bolt sinks deep into the captain’s chest.
The sight of their captain spitting red sends the rest into a frenzy. Arsinoe is immediately shoved and has to duck fast to avoid the swing of a black-lacquered club. The sound of it ringing off the stones makes her dizzy. That could have been her head, split wide open. Ducked low, she grabs for the knife at the guard’s belt and sinks it into his leg, then into his shoulder as he falls.
Someone else’s club catches her in the back. Her vision swims bright and dark, and she collapses onto the floor.
There is so much noise. So much struggle. Someone steps on her hand and crushes it. Mirabella is screaming.
“Jules?” Arsinoe groans. “Where is Jules?”
Bones pop, and the guard who hit Arsinoe falls dead to the ground. Someone reaches underneath her and pulls her up.
“I’ve got you, Arsinoe,” Jules says. “I’ve got you.”
Arsinoe turns to look at her, and her eyes widen.
“Jules, look out!”
But before the knife can swing down, the attacking guard bursts into flames. Mirabella’s face is furious, her fire so hot that the guard only shrieks for a moment. She lowers the fire as the stench of burned flesh spreads heavily through the air. Jules coughs amid the smoke and fires a crossbow bolt into the dying body, to put him out of his misery.
“I had to,” Mirabella says. “I—” Camden, who must have been guarding her, wrinkles her muzzle and slinks away to curl behind Jules’s legs.
Arsinoe looks around. It happened so quickly. Every guard is dead or unconscious. The room is full of sick-smelling smoke. Joseph is on one knee, panting from the exertion of the fight.
“Let’s get out of here,” Arsinoe mutters.
Joseph stands, his right side dark with blood.
“Joseph!”
Jules slips out from beneath Arsinoe’s arm and goes to him, pressing hard against the wound.
“Here.” Mirabella tears more strips from her skirt to bind it.
“I’m fine,” he says. “It’s just a cut. It’s not even that deep.”
Jules lifts his shirt. She and Mirabella wrap him up tight, using so much of the skirt that Mirabella’s legs are visible over the tops of her boots.
“I’m all right, Jules.” Joseph touches her face. His hand trembles.
“I know,” she replies. “You’ll be perfectly fine, as soon as we get out of here.” She puts his arm over her shoulders and nods to Arsinoe.
“Right,” Arsinoe says. But she swallows hard, looking at him. There will be plenty more guards to get through when they make it upstairs and into the Volroy proper.
She grabs a torch off the wall and takes up one of the fallen guard’s clubs.
“Mirabella, stay behind me,” says Jules. “You don’t need to be out front to use your gift, do you?”
Mirabella shakes her head.
As quickly as they can, they move through the last gate and creep up the stairs to the ground level. Near the top, Arsinoe sets down the torch before the light can give them away.
There are bound to be many guards here. Probably priestesses too. It will take all of them and the Goddess besides to get clear of the Volroy, and even then, they will probably be instantly stopped in the courtyard.
They turn the corner, ready to fight. But there is no one there. Only faintly burning candles in the sconces on the walls. And then they see the bodies.
Bodies of guards are littered across the ground. Arms and legs stick out from beneath tables and from behind half-closed doors.
“What happened here?” Joseph asks, and Jules crouches as a dozen cloaked figures run into view with weapons drawn.
The wind quickens through the windows as Mirabella gathers her elements. “Wait, wait!”
The cloaked leader pushes back his hood, and Arsinoe drops her club.
“Billy!” she cries, and runs into his arms.
“Arsinoe!”
He lifts her off the ground. He squeezes so tight that she can barely breathe and kisses her hair and the scars upon her face.
“Are you all right?” he asks. “I was terrified we would be too late.”
“I’m fine,” Arsinoe says, beaming. “But who is ‘we’?”