After a pause, Taillefer circled back to the task at hand. “So, the plan currently is to find this man and his black wolf, hope he’s out of sleeping darts and holds off on commanding the wolf to attack just long enough that we can state our case and get you to your love?”
“Precisely. I will find Luca, warn him, and then fight by his side. The rest of the continent’s concerns can come later.”
“While I am not denying that is romantic and undoubtedly noble, I still do not understand what we are warning Lucaabout.The Warlord obviously knows of his existence—the bodies at the Cardenas Scar are proof of the Warlord’s attempt to control the opposition just as the pro-Otxoa rebels overtaking the inn are proof that change is in the air. Movement is happening. If it’s obvious to us, it’s likely obvious to the resistance, if they’re worth their salt.”
Amarande chewed the inside of her mouth as he continued.
“The point is, Luca is facing the regime, not the person. In the scheme of things, this knowledge does not matter.” The mocking lilt to his tone slipped away, his next question sincere. “What are you not sharing, Princess? Something tells me you know far more than you let on.”
Amarande picked her way around a bend, stacked with the terra-cotta pottery Taillefer had promised—the rubble must be up ahead. The princess swallowed, hoping to stave off his insistence long enough for the distraction and immediate problem of the blocked tunnel. She couldn’t tell him about her mother’s past. That was just too much—he could use that knowledge against her, gain Geneva’s favor—
“Princess,” Taillefer prodded. “I don’t know what else I can—”
A hissing rattle stopped Amarande dead in her tracks. “Is that—”
In answer, the distinct body of a Quemado Scorpion scuttled out of the pile of rocks that clogged the tunnel. An arm wrapped around her midsection, hauling her back and away. Amarande shoved at Taillefer’s grip. “It’s just one.”
But then, from within the nooks and crannies between rocks ranging in size from a melon to a pebble, came more rattling. The scorpion’s warning signal before spitting or stinging—or both.
“Five… ten… no, twenty,” Taillefer counted. “We must retreat.”
Again, he grabbed hold of her, this time at her wrist. Amarande shook him off hard enough that she ended up scooting forward in the dirt. The frontmost scorpion’s stinger engaged. The princess swallowed, her heart pounding as she glanced between the creatures, fanning out across the width of the tunnel, and the blockage.
“No.” They were still pointing toward the dragon’s spine and the plateau where she knew the man with the black wolf would be. “We can draw them out, use our flame, kill them—”
“What?” He nearly screeched at her strategy. “Are you insane? One sting and nothing can help you. Back. Up.”
“We can make it.”
“I know these creatures. We cannot.” Amarande remembered what Luca had told her about Taillefer’s workshop in the Bellringe. Brimming not only with potions like the fire swamp, but also full of specimens of all kinds. Stuffed. Jarred. Live.
Which gave her an idea. “The fire swamp. Use that!”
“No. It’ll just enrage them further.”
The scorpions advanced, seemingly working together, forming a line. Taillefer yanked Amarande’s arm hard enough to test the socket. “Not the time for stubbornness, come on!”
Struggling against the torque of his grip might have flung her straight into the charging, deadly scorpions, and so for once Amarande did as she was told.
She ran.
CHAPTER31
QUEENInés stood on the dock in the Port of Basilica, surveying all she’d gained in a single night’s effort.
The sea was clean and crisp, the brine and spray permeating air thick with the swoop and call of gulls. The beaches gave way to dark rocks and mountains behind and beyond—hinting of the ore used to smelt the steel that kept Basilica’s coffers ripe and ready.
Atop one of those mountains—she would either learn the name or change it—was the Aragonesti, her newest home. It was all glittering onyx, a starry night in the middle of the day. The perfect contrast to the pristine white walls of the Bellringe. Her castle homes were polar opposites in both looks and location. Miragua, the seat of Myrcell, was the same shade as the sand beyond it. Perhaps it would be a summer home.
But that was a premature thought. Restful balconies in the salt air must wait until she reached her final goal—calling every last inch of this continent hers.
At her back, the royal ships were packed with remaining vials of poison, members of her new court, and, of course, thousands of soldiers, sworn to the new queen of the joined kingdoms of Pyrenee, Basilica, and Myrcell. There had been no time to sew new uniforms, but that did not bother Inés. There were only two sides—hers and the wrong one—and if these men and women didn’t fight for her they would die.
Ardenia would weed out the skittish ones for her while she marched to victory at the Itspi—the baby king wetting his pants along the way. She might offer to marry him, if he was the malleable sort. Maybe.
But she was done with needing a man to help her achieve her goals. And the baby king did not rule in Ardenia. The true power behind the throne belonged to a woman, the Queen Mother, as Geneva now styled herself.
No, control over the continent of the Sand and Sky was down to its two remaining queens. And it would be a battle, indeed.
