Because this was her one chance—to stop Coreto’s coup before it could even start.
Chapter thirty-seven
Olivia
“Tell me the plan again,” she prompted Seraphina under her breath as they journeyed by horseback along the road north of Goldreach, winding through the once lush meadows and rolling hills of the midlands.
Straight into the unknown.
The world outside the capital was painted in varying shades of gray and brown rather than the splashes of autumn color she had expected. Dry grass. Cloudy sky. Even the scant leaves still left on the trees they passed looked dull and withered, as if the land had simply shifted from summer to winter, skipping autumn entirely.
How cheery.
Seraphina sighed and glanced her way sidelong, a hand stroking Alyx where the usuru lurked beneath the fur ruff of her cloak. Over the thud of their horses’ hooves striking the packed dirt of the road, her friend whispered, “We have been over this, Olivia. The others will accompany us until we get to the meeting place and then—”
“No, no, not all that nonsense,” Olivia hissed, fighting to keep her voice low. “Myplan.” She chased the words with another swig of cordial. The herb-laced wine burned down her throat all the way to her belly, cutting through at least some of the bitter cold nipping at her through her clothing.
But only some.
It had already soaked into her bones, that cold. Into her left leg. Her ruined muscles. Her knee. But she still sat tall on her horse all the same, refusing to let her Pain show. They had been riding since dawn, and it was only midday. They would be riding for hours more to reach the border of Coreto’s duchy.
More hours stuck in the saddle.
More hours spent pretending this wasn’t all a terrible idea.
With any luck, Coreto would simply kill them all once they arrived so she didn’t have to make the long ride back.
Seraphina pursed her lips, saying nothing.
Olivia rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the road. Sir Arkwright and Sir Tristan rode ahead of them, leading the charge straight into the grave. Two dozen guards in total surrounded her and the queen.
And the Umberlys who had refused to be left behind.
Their somber procession carried no banners—no identifying markings that might draw the unwanted attention of highwaymen and Arathian scouts that had slipped past their lines. But still, they were too large a party.
Large enough to make Coreto skittish if he spotted their full number before she and Seraphina peeled away from the main party for the false surrender.
Assuming he didn’t have an ambush waiting for them.
Assuming he didn’t have archers rain arrows down the moment they arrived.
Clenching her teeth, Olivia cut another look sidelong toward her friend and bit out, “Repeat the plan back to me. Please.”
Seraphina breathed out another sigh, misting the air before her. “If there is danger, I will retreat back to the ridge and let you handle it. If we are separated, I will”—her mouth worked—“strikemy assailant with my right fist, thereby breaking the glass jewel on the poison ring you gave me and administering to them a nonlethal dose of sleeping poison. And then retreat to the ridge.”
Olivia bobbed her head, nodding along with each point. “And you’ll have to not be wearing your gloves to do it. Don’t forget that. Now, what if there is more than one assailant?”
“Olivia.” Seraphina’s voice rang out loud. Sharp. Loud enough to draw the attention of ol’ Percy and Edith, who rode nearby, their expressions grim, as though they were part of a funeral procession.
Loud enough to draw the attention of Sir Dacre, who turned in his saddle to stare back at her. The sudden weight of his gaze charged the air in a way she immediately hated. He was alwayswatching her these days. Always waiting. No doubt hoping she had changed her mind since that night he confessed his feelings.
Well, she hadn’t.
She kept her attention on Seraphina, making a point to ignore the man completely.
The queen’s expression gentled, turning apologetic. “I am sorry. I know you are simply worried about me. But I ambeggingyou to please have a little faith and stop imagining all the worst things that could possibly happen. You are making me nervous.”
Olivia expelled a breath out of the corner of her mouth. This was Seraphina’s problem. Her friend always hoped for the best. Sometimes, she also planned for the worst.
