Page 70 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

When Aleissande had asked her if she was willing to speak to the Royal Army, Josie had imagined something more…clandestine.

“Are you sure about this?” Josie asked as she frowned at the tavern. It was late enough that the dark helped conceal them from wandering eyes, and with the strange chill that had descended during the nights, Josie’s cloak didn’t draw any suspicious glances.

“I have guards at all entrances,” Aleissande murmured from beside her. Josie couldn’t see them, but that didn’t mean a thing. The street was nearly pitch black, the only light coming from the flickering firelight in the tavern windows.

Josie had always preferred the livelier establishments in the heart of Old Town, where the crowds were thick and the music was loud.

She’d never been able to see the appeal of the dilapidated watering hole the Royal Army gravitated to, but perhaps that was because the one time she’d deigned to go years ago, they’d made it clear she wasn’t welcome, princess or no.

It was soldiers only.

“They didn’t take kindly to the last time I was here,” Josie informed Aleissande as she stared at the driftwood door. Even from a distance, she could see the gouges on it from the rowdier evenings.

“You weren’t one of them then.”

Josie peered up at Aleissande from beneath her hood. “You realize they may give my whereabouts to the Bellare.”

“They won’t know you’re staying in the Maraciana.”

“And if they decide to take care of me themselves?”

Aleissande’s eyes flashed, her voice going cold. “Then I will kill them where they stand before they can lay a finger on you.”

A shiver worked its way down Josie’s spine, something tingling deep in her stomach. She grinned at the general, her brows flicking toward her hair. “That’s assuming I don’t kill them first.”

The twitch of Aleissande’s full lips was an intoxicating sight, but Josie forced her attention back to the tavern. She rolled her wrists, as if it would be enough to dispel the nervous energy inside of her. “Let’s get this over with.”

The noise inside the tavern was deafening.

Josie shouldered her way through the dense crowd, her nose scrunching at the thick stench of ale that permeated throughout the space.

She could feel Aleissande at her back, but she kept her head ducked as she pushed her way to the bar.

Aleissande slotted into place beside her, her sharp whistle garnering the attention of the barkeep.

“How much to silence this lot?” Aleissande asked.

If the man recognized Aleissande, he didn’t make it known. He merely jerked his chin to where a fiddler stood on the far side of the room.

“You’ll have better luck bribing him,” he called over the noise.

Josie rolled her eyes. “Honestly,” she grumbled as she heaved herself up onto the bar. It was almost like Aleissande had never brought a crowded tavern to a standstill before.

“Oi!” Josie yelled as she stood on the sticky mahogany surface and tugged her hood down. The fiddler’s song screeched to a halt as he fumbled his bow, the boisterous chatter dying out as the soldiers recognized her presence.

Aleissande snorted as she leaned back against the bar, her arms folding across her chest. “That’s one way to do it.”

“You did say we’re pressed for time,” Josie shot back airily. The tavern drew quiet, and Josie’s pulse quickened under the sharp attention.

“You’re alive,” one of the soldiers finally remarked. His hand was curled around a mug of ale, and there was a thin sheen of sweat layered over his tawny skin that spoke to a night of imbibing.

“No thanks to you,” Josie answered. Aleissande cleared her throat pointedly, but Josie ignored her as she held the soldier’s gaze. “Where were you when the Bellare stormed the palace?”

The man’s grip on the mug tightened. “I do not answer to you.”

“I am Josephine Heureux, Princess of Trahir,” Josie replied icily. “You do answer to me.”

She scanned the room, frowning as she took in the warriors scattered throughout.

She had planned to use reason to speak to them, to appeal to their greater sense.

She had planned to be gentle, and calm, and tempered.

But anger stirred in her blood, her face heating with it as she shook her head in disgust.

“You took an oath to serve my brother. To serve this kingdom . And yet you sit here idly while a rebel lounges on his throne. A rebel who would rather watch the citizens of this country die than do what is necessary for them to survive.” Her nails dug into the skin of her palm.

“You do not deserve the honor of the uniforms on your backs.”

“King Aidon is a Visya,” another soldier called from the far corner, her voice laced with apprehension. “You cannot deny it.”

“And I will not. It’s true, Aidon is an Incend.”

“The gods forbid a Visya from sitting on the throne,” the woman said.

Josie laughed. “Where are those gods now, I wonder? Do you see them defending you from the Decachiré?” Josie shook her head. “No. The only person who has done that is the king that you rebuke.”

A king they did not deserve.

“You fear the gods’ retribution, and yet your inaction here will write all of our death sentences,” Josie continued.

“The Decachiré has returned. Kakos is stronger than anyone believed. If it is devotion to the gods that is guiding you, then that devotion should lead you to do whatever it is in your power to stop the Southern Kingdom from advancing their crusade against the gods.”

She took in the soldiers once more, pausing on their individual faces.

“You’ve seen the protests in Old Town. You know the Bellare, with their extremes, will ruin this kingdom.

Already, they’ve threatened cutting off trade with Tala.

” A lie of a sort, but a necessary one. “Who then will provide you with weapons? How do they expect us to defend ourselves when Kakos comes? Because believe me, they will come.”

A tense murmur rippled through the crowd as the soldiers looked at one another, and hope, dangerous hope, stirred in Josie as she watched them consider her words. She glanced at Aleissande from the corner of her eye, and that hope only grew as she saw the general’s lips lift into a subtle smile.

“If it’s not the vow to my brother you’ll honor, then honor the one you made to the people of Trahir,” Josie said to the room. “They need our protection. They deserve our protection.”

She swallowed hard, unable to keep the weight of her emotions from her voice. “I will not speak for my brother. He can make his case to you when he returns. What I ask is that you help me retake the palace so that he has the opportunity to do so.”

“And will he?” a warrior up front asked. “Return?”

“Yes,” Josie vowed. She knew it as certainly as she knew the way the sky faded to a pale blue at the first kiss of dusk, the same pale blue she saw reflected in Aleissande’s eyes.

“Aidon would never leave his people behind,” Josie said. She took a deep breath, her skin tingling with anticipation. And then, she made her request.

“Will you help me ready his throne for when he returns?”

For one agonizing moment, no one moved. Josie held her breath, her heart hammering in her chest as she let the silence stretch.

Then, a chair scraped against the wood floor.

The first soldier stood.

“I will,” he vowed as he set his ale down with a thunk.

Another soldier across the tavern stood. “I will,” she echoed.

“I will.” The promise came steadily, one by one, until the entire room was standing, their vow spoken into the quiet of the tavern.

Air rushed from Josie’s parted lips, relief sweeping over her so fast, she was almost dizzy with it. She glanced down to find Aleissande grinning up at her, pride gleaming in her eyes.

“Well done, Princess,” she said privately, just for her. Then the general turned to the troops, her voice hardening as she barked her first command.

“Listen carefully. We’re about to create one hells of a diversion.”