Five Dark Fates

by Kendare Blake

  “Do you know them?”

  She looks down, and the guards jerk the prisoners’ heads up and to the right so that Mirabella can better see their faces.

  “I do not.”

  “How is that possible? You were in the rebel city for weeks.”

  “I was. But the rebels were many and varied. New war-gifted arrived from Bastian City every day.”

  Katharine studies her quietly. Then she exhales and reclines again upon her throne. “They will have to be questioned.”

  Mirabella swallows. Everyone on the island knows what is meant when a poisoner says that someone must be “questioned.”

  “Genevieve will do it; she is the best.” Katharine waves her wrist. “Start right away.”

  “No.” Mirabella squares her shoulders. “They were here to free me.”

  “Free you? And why would you need to be freed?”

  “It was a misguided attempt. They thought—I was being kept here against my will.”

  “Did you not leave a note?” Genevieve asks sarcastically.

  Mirabella ignores her. “They would have disrupted the parade and used the distraction to facilitate my escape. I told them not to do it. That is why I seemed nervous before the parade began.”

  “Because you thought they would help you escape,” Katharine says softly.

  “Because I feared they would try to make me. That is why I asked you to take hold of my horse’s rein.”

  Luca sighs. “Why did you not say something?”

  “I hoped I would not have to.”

  “But there were rebels in the city. And you knew.”

  “Yes,” says Mirabella. “And Billy Chatworth is my friend. I make no secret of that.” Finally, given the excuse, she looks at Billy again. But his expression is unreadable.

  “How did you communicate with them?” Katharine asks, and Mirabella looks back at her. “You said you told them not to. How did they get word to you? How did you respond?”

  “By bird,” Mirabella lies. She cocks her head at Genevieve. “I trust you will not ‘question’ every sparrow that makes her nest upon the Volroy.”

  Genevieve narrows her eyes, and they wait. Katharine has gone still. Such stillness does not seem as dangerous to Mirabella as it once did, when all she knew of her youngest sister was that she was a snake and likely to strike. But there are no easy answers for what to do with the rebels. Or with Billy.

  “The secret of these prisoners has been kept already for a night and a day. But we cannot keep it for much longer.”

  “All of Indrid Down should know about their capture,” says Genevieve. “It will be the most festive month on record. A parade and a public execution.”

  “Or perhaps they should not know,” suggests Luca. “It may make the people uneasy, that rebels were so near. We do not want to shake their confidence in the crown right after we have bolstered it.”

  “I think you should let them go,” Mirabella says.

  Genevieve throws up her hands. “Of course you would.”

  “I think you should not be the queen that people fear.” She raises her eyes and looks into Katharine’s. “You are the Queen Crowned of Fennbirn Island. The rebels are nothing. Not even led by a true queen. Show them how little they mean. Send the war-gifted back, with a warning never to return.”

  “And what of him?” Katharine asks, nodding with her chin toward Billy.

  Mirabella swallows. That question is only a test.

  “Billy Chatworth, the former suitor, should not be released. He is leverage. I know Arsinoe. She will do nothing against you as long as you have him.”

  “Mira,” Billy says. She looks at him but does not waver. “What are you doing?”

  Katharine waits for what feels like an age before speaking.

  “I am glad to hear you say that, Mirabella. Because it is true; I could never let the suitor go.” She nods to the guards at the back of the room. “Release the war-gifted. Take them to the road toward Prynn. Give them mounts and set them free.”

  INDRID DOWN

  Genevieve goes with Rho to oversee the release of the war-gifted at the ruins of the old city wall. She rides behind them in the dark as Rho rides before, their way lit by fewer and fewer streetlamps.

  Let them go, Mirabella said, and Katharine did, as if Mirabella had enchanted her. As if she were the Queen Crowned instead.

  “This is far enough.” Rho halts the prisoners and moves her horse out of the way. It will be just that easy. They will return to the rebellion alive and well, free to fight another day.

  “Wait.” Genevieve draws long strips of fabric from the pocket of her coat. “I would have them return gagged. We do not need them raising the alarm for any possible counterattack.”

  Rho arches her brow but says nothing as Genevieve stuffs the cloth between the warriors’ teeth and ties each tight behind their heads. Through it all, they barely acknowledge that they are being touched, their swollen and blackened eyes trained on the road ahead. After she is finished, she nods, and they nudge their horses with their heels. They ride away at a trot, straight down the road they were brought to, relying on their horses’ eyes to take them through the night.

  “They will turn off the road as soon as we can no longer see them,” says Rho. “Lose themselves in the woods.”

  “Do you think there is a support party waiting for them outside the city?”

  “I do. Though not in great enough a number to mount any sort of ‘counterattack,’” Rho snorts.

  “I hope they are not too far away.”

  Rho turns in the saddle, and her eyes fill with understanding. “What was on those gags?” she asks.

  “Just a little something,” says Genevieve, “to rectify the queen’s mistake.”

  At the makeshift camp outside the city, nestled in a clearing in the trees, Jules puts on a show of trying to sleep in the hopes that Arsinoe will follow her lead. So far it has not worked. Arsinoe sits at the edge of the camp, where she has been for hours, no doubt staring down the hill at the road, though it is far too dark to see anyone coming. If Jules strains, she can hear her whispering. Come back. Come back now.

  But Billy and the others have not returned, and the thought that they never will sits heavy as a stone in Jules’s gut. Below, to the east, the capital lies quiet: no strange sounds and no hint of upset. Nothing out of the ordinary after the celebratory noise of the parade had subsided. She wants to go to Arsinoe and sit up with her, but instead she stays on her side next to Emilia, getting rest in case they have to fight, or run. She has not mentioned the solid weight in her stomach. Emilia would only tell her that it is what being a queen feels like.

  Jules snakes a hand out to ruffle Camden’s shoulder fur. The cat is not sleeping either; her head is up, gaze fixed on the spot where Arsinoe must be.

  Jules sighs and adjusts her position on the cold ground. The leather bedroll does not do much against the bumpy, uneven snow.

  “Just go,” Emilia says groggily.

  “What?”

  “Just go to her. But leave me the cougar at least if you refuse to keep me warm.”

  Jules smiles in the dark and squeezes Emilia’s shoulder. After she leaves the small tent, she hears Camden circling and circling inside before thudding down and making Emilia grunt.

  “That you, Jules?” Arsinoe asks as Jules makes her way through the snow.

  “Of course it is. Nobody else likes you well enough to stay up with you.” She sits down to share the pile of sticks that Arsinoe is using as a chair. “Anything?”

  “I thought I saw something . . . a while ago. But nothing on the road below.”

  “They might not take the road below. They might leave from another direction, double back. They might pop out of the trees from anywhere.” She speaks lightly, trying to comfort her friend. She has warriors posted in all directions; they will know when Billy and the others return long before they can “pop out of the trees.” But so far, none of the lookouts has made a sound.
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  “What if they don’t come back tonight?”

  “If they’re not back by dawn, we’ll go in after them.”

  “Who will?”

  “You and me.”

  Arsinoe snorts. “Emilia won’t like that.” She snorts again and goes back to watching the road. “Emilia doesn’t like much.”

  “She likes me,” Jules teases.

  “Aye. She definitely likes you.” She shifts her weight around on the sticks. “Do you . . . ?” she asks after a moment.

  “Do I what?”

  “Nothing.”

  Nothing, indeed. But Jules knows what she wants to ask. It is the same thing that Emilia wants to ask. And it is another question that Jules is not ready to answer.

  “I think Joseph would like her,” Arsinoe ventures finally. “If that helps.”

  “Why would that help?”

  “I don’t know!” Arsinoe shrugs away. “I’m just saying.”

  Jules pulls her back. “I know what you’re saying.” Thoughts of Joseph still hurt. Maybe they always will, though the pain is less sharp, and it no longer keeps her from smiling. When she first arrived in Bastian City, she thought there would never be space in her for anything like that again. But there will be someday. She just does not know whether that space will be filled by Emilia or by someone new.

  Before either of them can say anything more, Jules feels a tug from Camden and looks back. Emilia is up and out of the tent, and Camden is trotting toward them. The small camp is suddenly lit by a flicker of a match and then illuminated by the light of a small lantern.

  “What is it?” Arsinoe asks, and scrambles up.

  “Horses,” says Emilia. “Coming this way from the south.”

  Arsinoe dashes off through the southern tree line before Jules can even reach for her.

  “Arsinoe!” Jules hisses, and plunges in after, the light of the lantern following as Emilia and the warriors come quietly along. Mathilde catches up and falls in beside Jules, graceful as a ghost. When they hear the hoofbeats coming up the hill, Jules cannot help but hear the memory of Mathilde’s vision. They will return. But not all.

  “Where are the rest of you?” Arsinoe asks as the two horses come to a stop. “Where is he?”

  Two. Only two. And neither of them Billy.

  “Get them down,” Emilia orders. “Free their hands. Remove the gags.”

  “What happened?” Jules asks.

  “We were found out.” Bea speaks through split and swollen lips. Even in the dark, Jules can see that her arm is a ruin of burns, and the smell of the blackened flesh lingers. Emilia offers her a skin of water, but she shakes her head. “They came for us at the stable, the night before the parade. Queensguard and the priestess who leads the Undead Queen’s army.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Dead. Killed in the stable. Except for the two of us and Billy.”

  Arsinoe nearly collapses, and Jules steadies her. “Bea, where is he?”

  “They have him.” Her eyes flicker regretfully toward Arsinoe. “They are torturing him.”

  “I’ll kill her!” Arsinoe shouts, and Emilia glances at her, irritated by the volume.

  “How did you get away?”

  “We didn’t. She let us go.”

  “Queen Katharine?” Jules asks. “She let you go?”

  “Yes. Queen Katharine. She let us—” Bea lurches forward and vomits. In the light of the lantern, Jules can see the snow, slicked red.

  Emilia and the other warriors descend as both of the survivors drop to the ground, spitting blood.

  “Poisoner!” Emilia calls to Arsinoe, but she is already there, holding Bea’s head still to pull back her eyelids and open her mouth.

  “Did she give you anything?” Arsinoe asks. “Did you eat anything or drink?”

  “No.” Bea’s eyes roll to her friend as the girl stops breathing. “The gags. It was the gags.”

  “No,” Jules echoes as Bea falls silent. It happened so fast. They had returned. They were speaking.

  “Get them onto the horses.” Emilia stands, and her voice is harsh. “Get the Legion Queen out of here.”

  “We’re not leaving,” Arsinoe exclaims. “We can’t leave without him!” She starts to back away, and Jules jumps for her and wraps her tight in her arms. “Let me go! They’re torturing him!”

  “Hush, Arsinoe.” Arsinoe struggles hard, but despite being smaller, Jules has always been the stronger. With Arsinoe’s arms pinned, it is easy enough to hold her fast. Harder is hanging on through the sound of her shouts. Hearing the miserable terror in her voice.

  “If you make me leave him, I’ll never forgive you, Jules! I’ll come right back the moment you let go, the moment you sleep—”

  She stops talking when Emilia takes her face between her hands.

  “You and Jules will return to Sunpool,” Emilia says, and draws her short-bladed sword. “You will go. And we will follow after.”

  “Where are you going?” Jules asks. “What are you up to?”

  “I am going . . . to get one of theirs.” Emilia bares her teeth in the lamplight. The look in her eyes leaves no room for argument.

  With a nod, Jules loads Arsinoe onto the back of the black gelding. She climbs up behind her and rides away, back to Sunpool in defeat.

  THE VOLROY

  After the prisoners are released, Katharine leaves the Black Council in the throne room to continue their revelry and torture of the former suitor, and slips away to her rooms. Once there, she sits before a table full of food brought by the servants, who assumed she would be ravenous after the long day. But the soft, rich bread spread with oleander butter and the yew-smoked fish go untouched. Alone, she takes a deep breath and listens as she lets it out. There will be no visitors tonight; Bree and Elizabeth, who are sometimes kind, do not really approve of her treatment of the boy. And Mirabella—if Mirabella were to visit her, it would be to blow the door open and burn her up in a ball of fire.

  Give her to us, the dead queens whisper. In her skin, we could defeat the mist.

  “The mist,” Katharine murmurs. Even now she feels it, as if its eye is always upon her even through the thick walls of the Volroy.

  With Mirabella, the dead queens could hold the mist in check forever. Perhaps they could even banish it for good and return the island to the world. An end to isolation.

  An end to safety, Natalia would say.

  Katharine makes a fist as the dead poisoners writhe in her stomach, their blackened tongues urging her toward the bowl of soft pennyroyal cheese.

  She knows that Genevieve would have her act upon the information she uncovered, the journal pages written by the Blue Queen’s king-consort. Queen Illiann’s killing created the mist. Mirabella’s could destroy it. Except the more that Katharine thinks upon those pages, the more she doubts them. Illiann was in the company of this secret, long-lost sister for years. The very suitor she wed was at that sister’s recommendation. They had seemed to be . . . friends. Family amongst queens. Unthinkable, yet it had happened between Mirabella and Arsinoe. And despite her caution, it was happening between Mirabella and Katharine.

  Katharine frowns. Maybe no one murdered Queen Illiann at all. If she is anything like Mirabella, she more likely sacrificed herself and jumped.

  Give her to us. Weaken her. Give her to us.

  “Weaken her. Shall I throw her into the Breccia Domain, as was done to me? No. I will not.”

  Inside her skin, the dead queens are displeased, and she feels the shadow spread up her neck like a moving bruise. The skin of her wounded wrist and hand softens, as though it has suddenly shifted its course from healing to rot.

  “You cannot have her,” Katharine says, and hears their hiss deep in her ears. “I have other plans for her.”

  Other plans?

  “Yes. I need her for more than just the mist. And I need her to remain . . . untainted.”

  Inside they roil, their dead coils shifting like sea serpents beneath the waves.
Katharine inhales sharply. It is not pleasant to share her skin with them. To have them in her blood. It is even less pleasant when they are angry.

  “You are mine,” she whispers gently, though she wishes nothing more than to have them gone forever. “And with me you will stay. But I will let you out to play.”

  Mirabella waits until the castle is asleep before sneaking into the throne room to see Billy. She brings a bowl of warm water and clean cloths to wash his wounds. She thinks she is prepared, but when she finds him, on his knees and tied to the arm of the throne, his head hanging and his whole face dark with blood, she knows she was wrong.

  “I am no healer,” she says, voice shaking. “But I will do my best.”

  She sets her lamp on the floor and dips an end of a cloth into the warm water, and starts to sponge his face.

  “Mirabella.” He jerks away. His eyes are cold. “You left us.”

  “Billy . . . you must know . . . how much I did not want to.”

  “But you did. And you broke her heart. I’d hate you for that already, even if you hadn’t also broken part of mine.”

  Mirabella goes on sponging his wounds, though the words cut. She takes special care around his bonds, not only because the poison on them has raised blisters as delicate as bubbles in honey, but because if she touches them, she will be blistered as well. And then Katharine will know for certain that she has been there.

  “So many times I have thought of Arsinoe. And of you. How I wished you were safe. How I wished we were not apart.”

  “Then why did you go?” He grimaces when he moves. He has been in the contorted position for so long. She slips her arms beneath his chest and helps him to lift his weight, to get his legs into a more comfortable position. “Ah. That’s better.” He leans back, rests his head against the edge of the throne. “So why did you go?”

  “Billy . . . I was no use there. No use to Arsinoe or anyone, hidden away by Emilia and Mathilde.”

  “You were of use to me. And as for Arsinoe, you can’t pretend that you don’t know how much she needs you.”

  “I miss my sister very much.” Mirabella presses her lips together. “But I had another sister. Here.”