Three Dark Crowns (26 page)

J
ules is waiting for Arsinoe just beyond the half-collapsed tent. Arsinoe will not take a shoulder to lean on, but she accepts Jules's arm, and tugs the collar of her shirt over her face. It at least provides a small shield from the spit and fruit peelings as they navigate the crowds.

“Everyone stay back!” Jules shouts. “No one say a word!”

They do stay back, thanks to Camden. But they say and throw plenty.

“Just like being at home, eh?” Arsinoe says grimly.

Inside her tent at the Milone encampment, safe from prying eyes, Cait and Ellis tend to her. Luke and Joseph are there as well. Even Madrigal. When Ellis sets Arsinoe's shoulder, Luke weeps.

“Queen Mirabella is one for the rules,” Ellis says. “She will not even let priestesses harm a queen before her time.”

“Is that why she stopped them?” Jules asks. “Or does she just want to do it herself?”

“Whatever the reason, I think that the temple will find her harder to control than they thought,” says Ellis.

“Is Billy all right?” Arsinoe asks. “Has anyone heard?”

“He was safe when they escorted him toward Sand Harbor,” Joseph says. “I'm sure he's there now, preparing for the Disembarking.”

“The Disembarking,” Madrigal says. “We do not have long until sundown.”

“Be silent, Madrigal,” Jules says. “She does not have to worry about that.”

“No,” Arsinoe says. “I do. I'm here, and I won't have you getting into any more trouble on my account.”

“But—” Jules says.

“I would rather walk up those cliffs than be dragged by priestesses.”

Cait and Ellis look at each other solemnly.

“We had best finish preparing for the feast, then,” Cait says. “And dig our blacks out of mothballs.”

“I can help,” Luke says. He looks very handsome, and very smart, in his festival clothes. But Luke is always better dressed than the rest of Wolf Spring. “If I'm staying and eating, I ought to pull my weight.” He takes Arsinoe's hand and squeezes. “I am glad to see you back,” he says, and follows Cait and Ellis out of the tent.

Arsinoe sits down on the makeshift bed of pillows and blankets. She could sleep for days, even in a tent that smells like mold, with no furniture besides a wooden trunk and a table
with water in a cream-colored pitcher.

“I should wring your neck,” says Jules.

“Be nice to me. My neck was almost severed, not one hour ago.”

Jules pours Arsinoe a cup of water before sitting on the trunk.

“I need to tell you something,” Arsinoe says. “I need to tell you all.”

They gather close. Jules and Joseph. Madrigal. They listen as she tells them what Billy told her. About the Sacrificial Year, and the priestess's plot to assassinate her and Katharine.

“This can't be true,” Jules says when Arsinoe is finished.

“But it is. I saw it in old Luca's eyes.” Arsinoe sighs. “Luke should go. Someone should get him out. He would stand between me and a thousand priestesses' knives, and I don't want him to be hurt.”

“Wait,” Joseph says. “We can't give up now, after all this. There has to be some way . . . some way to stop them.”

“To outmaneuver the High Priestess at the Beltane Festival?” Arsinoe asks. “It isn't likely. You should . . . ,” she says, and pauses. “You should take Jules away, too, Joseph. For the same reason as Luke.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Jules says. Her eyes flash at Joseph like he intended to grab her right that instant.

“I don't want you to see it, Jules. I don't want any of you to see it.”

“Then we'll stop it,” says Madrigal.

They turn to look at her. She sounds very sure.

“You said that the temple is using the guise of the Sacrificial Year,” Madrigal says. “One strong queen and two weak ones.”

“Yes,” says Arsinoe.

“So we will make you strong. They cannot strike after the Quickening if the island does not see weakness. Their lie will not hold.”

Arsinoe looks at Jules and Joseph.

“That might work,” Arsinoe says wearily. “But there is no way to make me strong.”

“Wait,” Jules says. Her eyes are unfocused and faraway. Whatever it is that she is thinking, she is so distracted that she does not even respond when Camden tugs on her pant leg with very sharp claws.

“What if there was a way to make you
look
strong?” Her eyes snap back to Arsinoe's. “What if on stage tomorrow night, you call your familiar, and it arrives in the form of a great brown bear?”

Arsinoe inadvertently touches the cuts on her face. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw a great brown in the western woods,” Jules says. “What if I could get him to go to you? I could hold him on that stage.”

“That is too much, even for you. A great brown bear, in the midst of the crowds and clamor . . . You couldn't hold him. He'd tear me apart in front of everyone.” Arsinoe cocks her head. “Though I suppose I would prefer that he do it, rather than the priestesses.”

“Jules can do it,” Madrigal says. “But just to hold the bear on stage will not be enough. It must be made to obey you, or no one will believe. We will need to tie it to you, through your blood.”

Jules grabs her mother by the wrist. “No. No more.”

Madrigal jerks away and shakes the touch off dismissively. “Juillenne. There is no choice. And it will still be dangerous. It will not be a familiar-bond. You won't be able to communicate with it. It will be more like a pet.”

Arsinoe looks at Camden. She is no pet. She is an extension of Jules. But better a pet than a torn-out throat or losing her head and arms.

“What do we need?” Arsinoe asks.

“Its blood and yours.”

Jules inhales shakily. Joseph takes her by the elbow.

“This is too much,” he says. “Holding a bear is one thing, but taking his blood? There must be some other way.”

“There isn't.”

“It's too dangerous, Jules.”

“You've been gone a long time,” says Madrigal. “You don't know what she can do.”

Jules puts her hand over Joseph's.

“Trust me,” she says. “You always have before.”

Joseph clenches his jaw. It seems that every muscle in his body might burst from tension, but he manages to nod.

“What can I do to help?” he asks.

“Stay away,” says Jules.

“What?”

“I'm sorry but I mean it. This is the hardest thing I have ever asked of my gift. I can't be distracted. And I don't have much time. It will take a while, to move him from the woods. I will have to take him around the valley, where he won't be seen. Even if I sneak out tonight, after everyone is asleep, I may not make it in time. And if the Hunt drove him farther away . . .”

“It is the only chance we have,” Arsinoe says. “Jules, if you're willing, I would try.”

Jules glances at Madrigal. Then nods.

“I'll leave tonight.”

A
rsinoe is the last queen to take her place atop the cliffs for the Disembarking. By the time she makes her way through the meadow and up the path, the valley has emptied. Everyone has assembled on the beach, to stand beside tall, lit torches and await the ships.

Arsinoe adjusts the mask on her face. Even the lightest touch on her inflamed cuts hurts. But she must wear the mask. She wants to, after Ellis went to so much trouble. Besides, the painted red streaks will look fierce against the firelight. Though perhaps not as fierce as her actual wounds.

She steps up to the makeshift pavilion atop the cliffs, and looks down toward the people. They will see what they will see. Dressed in black pants, and a black shirt and vest, Arsinoe does not hide.

On the farthest pavilion from Arsinoe, Katharine stands, still as a statue, surrounded by Arrons. A strapless black gown
hugs the young queen tight, and black gems circle her throat. A live snake slithers around her wrist.

On the center platform, Mirabella's gown billows around her legs. She wears her hair loose, and it blows off her shoulders. She does not look at Arsinoe. She stares straight ahead. Mirabella stands as though she is
the
queen and there is no reason to look anywhere else.

The Arrons and Westwoods step away from their pavilions. Arsinoe panics and grabs for Jules.

“Wait,” she says. “What am I supposed to do?”

“The same thing you always do,” Jules says, and winks.

Arsinoe squeezes her hands. It ought to be Jules standing up there between the torches, beautiful, in the dress that Luke made. Back in the tent, Madrigal touched Jules's lips with copper and red, and braided her hair with ribbons of copper and dark green, to match the ribbon edging of the gown. If it were Jules on the platform, the island would see a beautiful naturalist with her mountain cat, and they would have no doubts.

Arsinoe glances down at the beach and her head spins.

“I'm afraid,” she whispers.

“You are not afraid of anything,” Jules says, before stepping back down the cliff path to wait with her family.

The drums start, and Arsinoe's stomach flutters. She is still weak from the boat, with a belly full of salt water.

She pushes her legs out and squares her shoulders. She will not fall or sicken. Or tumble down the cliffside to the delight of her sisters.

She looks again at Mirabella, beautiful and royal without effort, and at Katharine, who is lovely and wicked-looking as black glass. Compared to them, she is nothing. A traitor and a coward. Giftless, unnatural, and scarred. Compared to them, she is no queen at all.

In the bay, five mainland ships wait, anchored. As Arsinoe watches, each ship sends its launch; each launch carries a boy who hopes to become an island king. All are decorated and lit with torches. She wonders which one belongs to Billy. She hopes that his father was kind when he returned.

The drums quicken, and the crowd turns away from the queens to watch the launches approach. The crowd, all in black, must make an imposing sight to come ashore to, but only one suitor seems afraid: a tan, dark-haired boy with a red flower in his jacket. The others lean forward, smiling and eager.

Billy's launch lags behind as the others come ashore. The suitors are too far below for words or introductions. That will come later. The Disembarking is all ceremony. First looks and first blushes.

Arsinoe raises her chin as the first boy bows to Katharine. Katharine smiles and drops half a curtsy. When he bows to Mirabella, she nods. When he finally bows to Arsinoe, it is with surprise, as if he had not noticed that she was there. He stares at her mask for too long. He offers only a partial bow.

Arsinoe does not move. She stares them down to the last and lets the mask do its job. Until Billy comes ashore.

Her heart warms. He does not seem weak or injured.

Billy stands below the cliffs and looks up at her. He bows, deep and slow, and the crowd murmurs. Arsinoe holds her breath.

He bows only to her.

P
oisoners are allowed no poison in their Beltane feasts. Those are the rules, as decreed by the temple, so that any Beltane reveler may partake of the offerings. It seems very unfair to Natalia, when the elementals are free to blow wind through the valley, and the naturalists let their filthy familiars run wild.

On Natalia's plate, a headless, roasted bird shines up at her, completely devoid of toxin. She will not stoop to eating it. Yesterday, it was singing joyfully in the scrub bushes. What a waste.

She stands with a huff of disgust and then goes inside the tent. The flap moves behind her, and she turns to see Pietyr.

“They should let us do as we wish with our own feast,” he says, reading her mind. “It is not as if anyone is brave enough to try our food, anyway.”

She looks out into the night, the bonfires and milling people. He is right, of course. Not even those who have had too much to
drink will dare touch what the poisoners prepare. There is too much fear. Too little trust.

“The delegates may venture close enough to eat,” Natalia says. “And we do not want to be poisoning them. It would create a spectacle if they had convulsions on the rug.”

And they cannot afford to lose a one. There are fewer and fewer suitors every generation. On the mainland, the number of families who share the secret of the island has dwindled. One day, Fennbirn may be nothing more than a rumor, a legend to delight the mainland children.

Natalia sighs. She has seen a few of the suitors standing before Katharine's feast already. The first was the handsome boy with broad shoulders and golden-blond hair. He seemed to like the look of her very much, though they will still not be allowed to speak.

“I hope you have taught her to flirt from a distance,” Natalia says.

“She knows how to use her eyes,” Pietyr says. “And her movements. Do not worry.”

But he is worried. She can see it in the drag of his shoulders.

“It is unfortunate that the Chatworth boy proved loyal to Arsinoe,” Pietyr says.

“Is it? I am not so sure. I have been assured that he will fall into line.”

“It did not seem that way on the beach. Right now he is probably lingering outside of Arsinoe's feast, like a dog hoping for scraps.”

Natalia closes her eyes.

“Are you all right, Aunt? You seem tired.”

“I am fine.”

But she is tired. Katharine's Ascension Year is the second of her lifetime. It will probably be her last. It was all so much easier with Camille, when Natalia was still a girl and her mother was still alive to act as the head of the family.

Pietyr stares through the tent flap.

“The country fools dare one another to come close to our feast,” he says. “Such is our influence. It is hard to believe that it will all be over tomorrow. It is hard to believe that the priestesses have won.”

“Who says that they have?” Natalia asks, and Pietyr looks at her in surprise. “You say that I am tired, but why do you think that is? You asked me to find a way to save our Kat. All day long, I have been preparing food for a
Gave Noir
with no poison in it.”

“How?” Pietyr asks. “With priestesses overseeing everything?”

Natalia inclines her head. No poisoner is better at sleight of hand than she is.

“Natalia, they will test it.”

Natalia does not reply. He acts as though she has not been slipping poison into things unnoticed for most of her life.