I liked her already.
“Likely, you’ll live to reassess that, mortal princess,” Grosbeak said in a threatening voice.
“I rarely find the need to reassess,” Tigraine said. “And yet, this true bride has finally done what I did not have the fortitude to try, and what I secretly hoped one of us would do.”
“Kill her husband?” Margaretta asked wide-eyed.
But Tigraine was shaking her head. “She’s waking us, isn’t she? You’re clearly a princess of Pensmoore, Princess …?”
“Margaretta?” Margaretta squeaked and then added a hurried, “Yes!”
“You’re going to help her end this nonsense?” Tigraine pressed, her eyes locked on mine.
I nodded.
“Oh, yes!” Margaretta enthused.
“Who better to finish this than his wives? It’s always women who have to clean up the messes, is it not?” Tigraine said, hopping down from her plinth. “Tell me, bride of Lord Riverbarrow …”
“Izolda,” Grosbeak said. “Her name is Izolda Savataz of Pensmoore, though she also goes as the ‘Mad Princess’.”
Tigraine nodded gravely. “Tell me, Mad Princess. What would you have me do?”
“I want you to help me unlock the door to death.”
She nodded grimly. “A worthy goal. I will ride with you.”
“Great,” Grosbeak said, rolling his eyes, “Now, let’s repeat this nonsense another fourteen times, shall we?”
We woke the wives, one by one, explaining the need to keep the garnets in their mouths. We started with Coriannian, the bride who had first intimidated me with her majestic demeanor and powerful figure. She turned out to be incredibly meek, following Margaretta around like a very large lost puppy.
Ki’e’iren was the last — the bride with the snow-white hair and the thick golden belt. She watched me with suspicious eyes and she was not the only one who threw constant worried glances at Bluebeard where he was drooped on my shoulder.
“Is he really dead?” she asked me, eventually.
“Mostly,” I said. “His spirit lingers.”
“There is a wound in his side that is crusted and ugly,” she said calmly. “He did not have that when last I saw him.”
“He received that for me,” I said with bright cheeks.
“What else did he receive for you?” she asked. “Has he lost his ability to restore us to our rightful places as he promised?”
“I … don’t know,” I said and her lips thinned in censure. “But we will restore him and then he can fulfill all his promises.”
“What promises has he made you?” she asked me. “Are you to be restored to your time and land?”
I swallowed, but I was saved from answering by the cackling of Grosbeak.
“You may well ask what promises she has received, for he has poured promises into her ear as an advisor pours honeyed wine for a king. He has strewn her path with promises as a maiden throws flowers before the bride. He has laid them like cobbles and woven them like reeds, built them up like stones in a wall and —”
“I rather think that is enough,” I said grimly. “We hear your words, revenant.”
But as if Grosbeak’s words had provoked a memory in him, Bluebeard mumbled into my neck, “As long as rivers run and moon shines.”
With a gasp, the brides drew back.
“Yes, it’s somewhat unsettling to watch the dead speak,” I told them grimly. “But he is not so dead that we cannot restore him. So, work with me. Join my cause. And then you will receive all he promised you.”
