Three Dark Crowns (27 page)

“I
do not believe the brat returned,” says Rho, standing with Luca outside the High Priestess's tent, watching the last of the temple crates be moved.

“It is a curious thing,” Luca says. “Queen Arsinoe washing up on our beach was certainly not something I expected. But it was not her choice.”

“Her part in the story is not over yet, it seems,” says Rho. “Or perhaps the Goddess is as mindful of tradition as our Mirabella, and no queen leaves unless she is dispatched by her sister's hand.”

“What have you heard, Rho?” Luca asks, her eyes on the crates. “About today's debacle? What are the whispers?”

“The only whispers I have heard are about Arsinoe's return. When they mention Mirabella's storm they only talk about her rage. Nobody suspects why the storm was actually called.”

Rho steps away to bark at one of the priestesses for failing
to notice that the crate she is carrying has been damaged. She jerks it from her and cuffs her on the back of the head. The initiate, barely thirteen years old, runs away, crying.

“You did not need to do that,” says Luca. “It was in no danger of cracking.”

“It was for her own good. Had it broken open, she might have lost most of her hand.”

Rho grasps the crate and twists. The sides splinter apart. Packed inside are three dozen of the temple's serrated knives.

Luca takes one of the knives out of the crate. The long, slightly curved blade glows ominously in the light from the festival bonfires. She does not know how old it is, but the handle is well-worn and comfortable. It might have come from any number of temples before finding its way to Innisfuil. Perhaps it came from a naturalist place and was used primarily for cutting wheat. But no matter where its origin, there is little doubt it has tasted blood.

She turns the knife back and forth. As High Priestess, it has been years since she has carried one.

“You will have to lead them tomorrow,” Luca says. “In the silence after Mirabella's fire dance ends. Before I am to speak. Go over the top of the Arrons and get to Katharine. Do not take long. I want you to be at the fore when we take Arsinoe.”

“Yes. I will be there. The Milone girl with the mountain cat is the only one likely to give me any trouble. I will take the cat first, if it tries to stop us.”

Luca thumbs the blade of the knife and does not realize it
has cut through the pad of her finger until blood wells over the edges of her skin.

“They must all be this sharp,” she says. “So it is fast and they do not even feel it.”

T
he Milone feast is the most popular feast of the festival, and not only because of the roasted meat of Jules's fine stag. Almost despite herself, Arsinoe made an impression at the Disembarking. People crowd the grounds around the table and tents to get a closer look at her and her black painted mask. She was nothing like the other queens, standing on those cliffs. Now, they wonder if there is more to her than meets the eye. If there is something that they missed.

“There's the last one,” Joseph says through a mouthful of stew. He gestures with his head into the milling bodies, and Arsinoe sees a suitor, the one with golden-blond hair, staring at her from across the tables. She allows herself a grin, and a glance toward Billy, who watches protectively from nearby.

“That makes all of them,” says Luke.

Arsinoe had not expected to see any. So much attention is strange.

“If I knew how these mainlanders enjoyed indifference, I wouldn't have worried so much,” she says, and looks at Billy again. “I wish Junior didn't have to stay away. Someone go and fetch him. Let the temple wag their tongues.”

Jules laughs. “Look who is drunk on triumph,” she says. “No, Arsinoe. You have broken more than enough rules already.” She touches Joseph. “Joseph and I will go and keep him company.”

“Before he starts a fight with one of the other suitors in your name,” Joseph says, and grins.

Before they go, Jules nudges Arsinoe's shoulder. The night grows late. It will not be long before the fires burn lower and she will leave for the woods after the great brown bear.

Arsinoe looks Jules a long time in the eyes. Brave girl. Her gift is so strong, but a great brown bear may be stronger.

“I wish I didn't need you,” Arsinoe says. “Or I wish I could go with you.”

“I will be careful,” says Jules. “Don't worry.”

Billy is sullen when Jules and Joseph join him on the edge of the feast. He stands with arms crossed, watching the other suitor with open hostility.

“We brought you some of Ellis's stew,” Joseph says, and shoves a bowl into his hands. “Since you haven't ventured close enough to get any for yourself.”

“I didn't know how close I was allowed to get,” Billy says. “And after the way we were found, I thought it best to keep some distance.”

“But you didn't think it was a bad idea to bow only to her? Your father is going to have your head.”

“Believe me, I know. I don't know what I was thinking.” He sips the stew.

“It was a help to her,” says Jules. “Look at all these people. What you did had a hand in this. And what you did before. Trying to take her away.”

Billy lowers his head. “I'm sorry about that. Not telling you. I had to do it, knowing what these priestesses have planned. And here she is, back here, anyway. Damn it all.”

“It'll be all right. We have our own plan.”

“What is it?” Billy asks, and Jules whispers it into his ear. His face brightens at once. “Joseph always said you were a glorious thing. And that dress. You are ravishing in that dress.”

“Ravishing? That's a very fine word.”

“Perhaps, but it is the right one.”

Jules blushes and slides closer to Joseph to hide beneath his arm.

“Well,” Billy says, and sighs. “You don't need to keep me company. I intend to stay here all night until those priestesses escort me back to my launch.”

“Are you sure?” Joseph asks, but Jules tugs his arm. They wave good-bye and walk off through the crowds.

“What are we doing?” Joseph asks as she slips her hand into his.

“I thought it a good idea if we were seen,” she says. “So that
when I am not here tomorrow, anyone wondering will think that I am only off in a tent somewhere with you.”

The night is filled with bonfires and laughter. Slender girls pull boys into a dance with rosy, warm cheeks, and in Luke's gown, Jules feels as beautiful as any of them.

“I have never seen you like this,” Joseph says, and the way his eyes move over her body fills her with pleasure. “Luke will have to close down the bookshop and become a tailor.”

Jules laughs. The weight that she felt when Beltane began has lifted. Arsinoe has returned. And they will not stand by and let her be killed. They will take action, and the idea buoys her so completely that Camden leaps in a joyful circle, as if she were a kitten.

In the corner of her eye, a girl slides her fingers down a boy's bare chest. Many couples tonight will disappear into tents or to the soft ground beneath the trees.

“How did we get here?” Joseph asks.

Jules has navigated the fires in a slow circle, so that they are standing directly beside her tent.

She pulls Joseph inside. “I feel like I should apologize, for the time I've wasted,” she says.

“No,” Joseph says. “Don't ever apologize.”

She lights a lamp and closes the tent flap. Her tent is not very large, and her bed is nothing more than a thin roll of blankets. But it will have to do.

She steps close and slides her fingers under the collar of his shirt. His pulse races before she raises her lips to kiss his
throat. He smells of the spices used to prepare the feast. His arms wrap around her.

“I have missed you,” she says.

“Before the Hunt, you didn't want me,” he starts, but she shakes her head. Everything hurt before. Now, everything is different.

Jules draws his mouth down to hers and presses her body fiercely against him. She is bold tonight. Perhaps it is the gown or the energy of the fires.

They kiss hungrily, and Joseph's hands clutch Jules's back.

“I am so sorry,” he says.

She unbuttons his shirt. She moves his hands around to the fastenings of her dress.

“Jules, wait.”

“We have waited long enough.”

She backs up toward her makeshift bed, and they lower to their knees.

“I have to tell you,” he says, but Jules stops him with her lips and her tongue. She does not want to hear anything—about Mirabella. It is over. Done. Mirabella does not matter.

They lie down together, and Jules hands glide under Joseph's shirt. She would touch all of him tonight. Every inch of bare skin.

Joseph holds himself on top of her carefully. He kisses her shoulders and her neck. “I love you,” he says. “I love you, I love you.”

And then he squeezes his eyes closed, and his face crumples.
He slides off her and rolls onto his back.

“Joseph? What's the matter?”

“I'm sorry,” he says, and covers his eyes with his hand.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jules asks, and Joseph squeezes her tightly.

“Just let me hold you,” he says. “I just want to hold you.”

A
fter the feast ends, and the fires burn low, Katharine and Pietyr lie in her tent, side by side, Pietyr on his back and Katharine on her belly, listening to the last of the night's revel. The air smells of sparks and smoke, of different woods burning, and different meats cooking. Below those warm scents, there is evergreen needles, and salt air from over the cliffs.

“Do you believe Natalia?” Pietyr asks. “When she says that she will be able to alter the
Gave Noir
?”

Katharine drums her fingers atop his chest. “She has never given me any reason to doubt her.”

Pietyr does not reply. He was quiet during the feast. Katharine climbs on top of him to try to cheer him with kisses.

“What is wrong?” she asks. “You are not yourself. You are so tender.” She lifts his hand and drops it on her hip. “Where is your usual demanding touch?”

“Have I been such a brute?” Pietyr asks, and smiles. Then he closes his eyes. “Katharine,” he says. “Sweet, foolish, Katharine. I do not know what I am doing.”

He rolls onto his side and then grasps her chin. “Do you remember the way to the Breccia Domain?” he asks.

“Yes, I think so.”

“It is there,” he says, and points through the tent in the direction of the southern woods. “Through the trees behind the five-sided tent with white rope. Straight back from there until you reach the stones and the fissure. You have to cross the stream. Do you remember?”

“I remember, Pietyr. You lifted me over the water.”

“But I will not, tomorrow night. I will not be able to.”

“What do you mean?” Katharine asks.

“Listen to me, Kat,” Pietyr says. “Natalia thinks that she has this all in hand. But if she does not . . .”

“What?”

“I will not be there tomorrow night at the Quickening,” he says. “If it goes wrong, I could not bear to watch it.”

“You have no faith in me,” she says, hurt.

“It is not that. Katharine, you must promise me something. If anything goes wrong tomorrow night, I want you to run. Straight to me, at the Breccia Domain. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she says softly. “But Pietyr, why—”

“Anything, Kat. If anything goes wrong. Do not listen to anyone. Just go there. Do you promise?”

“I do, Pietyr. I promise.”