Caragh. She was not at all what he expected after hearing Joseph’s and Jules’s fond remembrances of her. In his mind, she was a nurturer, kind and comforting, a woman who would give up her freedom for the love of a child even when the child was not hers. But the woman he met was hard and decisive. Perhaps the Black Cottage had changed her. Or perhaps there were more sides to a woman than he had ever understood.
The knock at the door surprises him. It is the Volroy messenger, but he did not see him ride up. The young boy hands Billy’s father a sealed letter and bows before leaving.
“What does it say?” Billy asks as his father reads. He knew Arsinoe would not have to stay in the cells long. Perhaps they have already been released.
William stuffs the letter into his jacket pocket. His face betrays no feeling, no interest one way or the other. It almost never does, and that has kept Billy off-balance for most of his life.
“The crowning is tomorrow,” his father says.
“What crowning?”
“The queen’s,” William says impatiently. “Queen Katharine. Your future bride.”
Billy blinks. He cannot comprehend this news. Not his future bride. Never his future bride.
“But what of Arsinoe? What of Mirabella?”
William shrugs.
“According to the letter, the Wolf Spring girl has probably been executed already. The other one will survive until after the crowning—and after your wedding—to be executed publicly.”
“You have to stop it,” Billy says. His father raises his eyes, and Billy backs up a step. “Make a deal with the Arrons. Keep Arsinoe and Mirabella alive in secret. I know that you can. I know that you’ve been working with them since before this started!”
“Stay calm. You knew what would happen.”
“It’s different now.”
“It is. We’ve won.”
His father turns away. Billy can practically see him forget that his son is there, as visions of expansion roll through his head. Plans for their new stream of assets. Exclusive trade with the island for the next generation. And the backing of the poisoners to silence any competitor who does not like it.
“You’ve done well,” his father murmurs distractedly. “I’m proud of you, son.”
“And I have long wanted that,” Billy whispers. “But why are you proud, Father, when I have done nothing but try to undermine you? I fell in love with the wrong queen. And I wouldn’t poison Mirabella, so you had to poison her yourself. I hadn’t figured that part out, to be honest. I didn’t until Luca said that Katharine hadn’t done it by touch. Then I remembered you lingering by our table that night.”
“It didn’t kill her. And it kept the alliance. It made you a king.”
“If I accept.”
His father stares.
“And I will accept,” Billy goes on. “As long as you go to the Arrons now and stop Arsinoe’s execution.”
“Let her go. She’s as good as dead. She probably is already.”
“It won’t hurt to try.”
“Billy,” William says firmly. “You’ll do as I say.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“I won’t!” Billy shouts, and his father draws his hand back as if to strike him. But he stops short when Billy does not flinch. Billy has never noticed before, that his father is not as large as he once was. That as the years passed, Billy has actually grown to be the taller.
William looks down in disgust and searches his coat for a cigar.
“You won’t throw away everything for one girl,” he mutters.
“You’re wrong, Father,” Billy says, right before he turns and walks out the door.
THE QUEEN CROWNED
THE CROWNING
Katharine stands on the wooden block, studying her reflection in the mirror as Natalia straightens the skirt of her gown.
“Some naturalist sympathizer has freed the bear,” Natalia says. “We are searching the city but have not yet found him.”
“Let him go,” says Katharine. The bear does not matter anymore. All that matters now is the black satin against her skin. And the guests gathering in the inner chamber of the Volroy.
“When you dressed me last year for my birthday, did you think that we would ever be here? Moments before my crowning?”
“Of course I did, Kat,” Natalia says. But Katharine knows the truth. She has surprised them all.
Natalia helps her down from the block, and Katharine twirls once. The gown is simple but elegant. She wears no jewels, and her hair is loose and similarly unadorned. She looks strangely innocent. Almost like the girl she used to be.
“You are beautiful, Queen Katharine.” Natalia slides Katharine’s hair back over her shoulder. “I wonder that Pietyr is not here to see this. It seems a shame.”
Katharine frowns. “Oh well,” she says. “I will not miss one guest amongst so many.” And she refuses to think of Pietyr on a day like today. Soon she will be crowned. Then she will murder her sister Arsinoe, for real this time, with no escaping. And then she will be married.
She adjusts the fingers of her simple black gloves and smiles.
“So you are not disappointed?” Natalia asks. “That all of this must be done in such haste?”
“Not at all,” replies Katharine. “I only care that it is done.”
Katharine’s crowning is small by crowning standards. The public is not allowed to attend. Only the Black Council, and the temple priestesses, and members of the Arron family. It is a solemn affair with no joy on the faces of the priestesses. No joy on the faces of the Arrons either. Only nervousness. At her ceremonial crowning during next spring’s Beltane Festival, they will do better.
High Priestess Luca presides over the affair, straight-backed and imposing in her formal robes, especially for someone so old. She begins by reading the Council and the temple’s joint decree: Katharine would be crowned and Arsinoe and Mirabella executed by her. The decree does not mention her sisters by name. After today, they will never be mentioned by name again.
The air inside the chamber is cool and stale as Katharine kneels before the High Priestess. Luca will set the crown upon Katharine’s head herself, symbolically uniting the Council and the temple once more.
Katharine tries not to smirk. It cannot be easy for the proud woman to admit that she was wrong.
As Luca bends her head to pray, Katharine glances at her guests. Nicolas, with his secret smile. William Chatworth, the father of the suitor Natalia says she must choose. Genevieve, with steely, violet eyes. And Natalia herself.
The prayers end, and the attending priestesses rise. They offer Katharine water from a silver pitcher. They say it was collected from the River Cro, which runs down from the peak of Mount Horn. Though if it is, she does not know how they managed to get it there so quickly. Perhaps they always keep a pitcher on hand. But no matter. She drinks and it runs down her chin, ice cold, and Katharine is surprised to see that it is Cora, the head priestess of Indrid Down Temple, who holds the pitcher.
“Rise, Queen Katharine,” Luca says, and opens her palms. “Daughter of the Goddess. Daughter of the island.” Her hands have been anointed with scented oil, and a little blood. At a normal crowning, the blood would have been taken from the stag killed during the Hunt. Katharine wonders whose blood it is now. She would have offered to cut the throat of Arsinoe’s bear had someone not turned it loose.
Except for Luca’s few words, the crowning is largely silent. They do not ask her for vows or oaths. A queen is made of the island as the island is made of her. They have no right and no need to ask her to swear.
The High Priestess reaches for the wooden tattoo tool, simply carved, its tip a short bundle of needles.
The tattooed crown has not been done for generations. It was Natalia’s idea. Perhaps a bad one, Katharine thinks, as she watches Luca’s hands shake. She will be lucky if her crown does not zig and zag across her forehead.
“Do not worry,” Luca whispers as if read
ing Katharine’s mind. “I still put bracelets on many of my own priestesses.” She places the tool to Katharine’s brow.
The first strike is a shock. And there is no time to recover before the next, and the next, a seemingly never-ending sequence of pain as Luca taps the needles and black ink into Katharine’s skin just below her hairline.
It takes a long time. A lot of time and pain, but it is a crown that will not fade and cannot be taken from her head to give to another.
“Rise, Katharine,” Luca says. “The Queen Crowned of Fennbirn Island.”
Katharine stands, and the assembled guests clap until she holds up her hand.
“I would choose my consort,” she says.
“As you will,” Luca replies. “Whom do you choose?”
“I choose . . . ,” Katharine looks at William Chatworth. He seems to her a piggish man and too smug and confident when his son has not even bothered to be present. Natalia must be mad to recommend him. But Natalia is not the queen.
“I choose the suitor Nicolas Martel.”
THE VOLROY CELLS
Arsinoe has been banging her head against the stone wall for what seems like hours. But there is no way to tell for sure. The only way to gauge the passage of time is by the guard changes.
“Are you feeling any better?” she asks Mirabella.
Mirabella draws her leg up beneath her torn black skirt and braces her heel on the edge of the wooden bench.
“I feel almost well, actually. Whatever I was poisoned with, it seems to have run its course. It seems it was not meant to kill me.”
“Of course not,” Arsinoe says. “She was meant to kill you.” She sighs and leans back. Flicks her hand toward the wooden door. “Can you burn us a way out of here, then?”
“No. The wood is too thick. I would have to call fire so hot it would burn you up with it. If the smoke did not kill us first.”
Arsinoe glances at her sister. Mirabella has sloughed her light overlaid jacket to sit in a corseted bodice with wide black straps. It must be true what they say, and elementals do not feel the drafts or the damp.
“Why did they put you in a skirt?” Arsinoe asks. “Didn’t they know they were dressing you for a duel?”
“I am wearing boots,” Mirabella replies. “And no slip or petticoat.” She rolls her head toward Arsinoe and smiles tiredly. “Appearances, appearances.”
Arsinoe chuckles.
“At least when we’re dead, there’ll be no more of that.”
“You think we are to die, then?” Mirabella asks, and Arsinoe cocks her eyebrow. She has to remind herself that her sister was not raised like she was. Mirabella was treated as the queen. Death must seem impossible.
Arsinoe sighs. “I don’t think they’ll let me out to cause any more trouble. But you have the High Priestess. And the Westwoods. They’re shrewd; maybe they can barter you for me. Though I don’t like to think about what they’ll do to Jules and Joseph.”
“They will not do anything,” Mirabella says, and the air in the cell begins to crackle. Arsinoe stares down at her arm in wonder as the hairs rise and stand on end.
“Do you promise?” Arsinoe asks. “If you get out of here, do you promise to take care of them?”
“Of course I will.”
Arsinoe stands and stretches her back.
“Good. Because it’s my fault, you know. Joseph being banished five years ago. Jules being poisoned after Beltane. Even Cam getting mauled by that sick, old bear.”
“They do not see it like that.”
“Of course they don’t. They’re too good.”
Footsteps sound in the corridor. It could be Billy, coming back to tell her that they will be released, free to kill another day. Even to be locked together in the tower would be preferable to this.
But the footsteps are too light and accompanied by too many other footsteps. And there is too much rustling.
Katharine’s face appears at the barred opening of the wooden door.
“Sisters,” Katharine says. Her pretty, dark-lashed eyes flicker between Arsinoe and Mirabella, who stands up quickly and brushes dust and straw from her dress.
Arsinoe waits for Katharine to say more. But she just stands before their cell, smiling. Like she is waiting for something. Mirabella gasps.
“What?” Arsinoe asks.
“Her forehead,” Mirabella whispers. “Look at her forehead.”
Arsinoe squints and peers through the bars. A thin, black line has been etched across Katharine’s brow, just below her hairline.
“I wanted to show you,” Katharine says brightly. “So there would be no confusion. So that no one could tell you lies. I wanted you to see my crown for yourselves.”
Arsinoe swallows. “Is that what that is?” she asks. “I thought you must’ve rolled across a piece of coal.”
Katharine laughs. “Joke all you want. But it is done. And I owe it to you, in part. Thanks to your grand pronouncements of mercy for each other, the Council and the temple felt they had no choice. Your refusal to kill made them finally see that I am the only true queen born of this cycle.”
Arsinoe scoffs. She should probably be afraid, but instead she is irritated. Almost angry. Poor Mirabella looks as though she might be sick, seeing that crown painted on Katharine’s forehead.
“The only true queen,” Arsinoe spits. “The only killer.”
“But she was not always,” Mirabella says. “You were not always, Katharine. You were sweet once. We used to—”
“Do not try to make me guilty,” Katharine interrupts. “It had to be one of us. That is the way the game is played. That is what we are.”
“Have it your way, then,” says Arsinoe. “Take us out of this cell and back to the arena. See which of us walks out.”
Katharine clucks her tongue. “I am afraid not, Sister. You both had plenty of chances.”
“Have you come only to gloat?” Mirabella asks. “Where is the High Priestess? Or Sara Westwood? Where are the Milones, for Arsinoe? We would see them if this will truly come to pass.”
“Yes,” Arsinoe says, and waves her hand. “Let them come and tell us this news. You should go, Queen Katharine. And if you return”—Arsinoe rises onto her tiptoes to look farther down on her smaller sister—“bring a box to stand on.”
Such darkness comes into Katharine’s eyes that Arsinoe sinks back onto flat feet. Again she thinks that there is something not right about Katharine. Something off. And she does not know why, but she is certain that the Arrons do not know what it is.
“Open the door,” Katharine orders. Keys jangle and the door opens, and the new queen steps inside.
“You misunderstand,” she says, and Arsinoe and Mirabella step back as guards spill into the cell. They herd Mirabella to the wall and grab Arsinoe’s arms and hold her fast. “I have not come to tell you news! I have come to deliver your fate.”
“What are you talking about?” Arsinoe jerks in the guards’ grip.
“On the island, only queens kill queens,” Katharine says sweetly. “That will not change just because two are traitors to their birthright. You, Arsinoe, are a queen. So you may not be executed by any other than one of your own.” She reaches into her sleeve and draws out a stoppered glass vial of amber liquid. “Guards, restrain Queen Mirabella.”
Mirabella bares her teeth. Every torch lining the corridor of the prison flares nearly to the ceiling.
“Tell her to be still,” Katharine says to Arsinoe. “Unless you want me to return later with the heads of the legion-cursed girl and her mountain cat.”
The torch flames lower, and the heat vanishes as Mirabella ceases to struggle.
“Fighting will not change this,” Katharine continues. “But the fates of your friends have not yet been decided.”
“You mean to poison us,” Arsinoe says calmly.
“Yes. But only you, for now. Queen Mirabella will be executed tomorrow morning in the square.” Katharine smiles meanly. “For that is what the High Priestess wishes.”
“No,” Mirabella cries. “You are lying!”
Katharine may not be lying, but she is certainly cruel. Arsinoe glances through the open door, and into the hall. Jules and Joseph cannot have been taken that far. There are only so many floors of cells to take them to. Still, there are plenty of guards. Strong, armed guards. She can only hope that Mirabella is even stronger. They will not get another chance.
“Come now, let us get on with this,” Katharine says. “I am still to be married this evening.”
“Don’t fight,” Arsinoe says to Mirabella. “For Jules’s and Joseph’s sakes.”
“No! Arsinoe, no!” Mirabella protests, but the guards back her up against the wall.
Arsinoe stares at the poison in Katharine’s hand. She forces her eyes to widen. She takes a deep breath and another. Faster and faster. It is not hard to seem frightened. She is frightened. Just not of what is inside of the vial.
Katharine removes the stopper and Arsinoe pretends to lose her nerve, twisting, trying to pull free, her heels digging into the straw-lined floor. The look in Katharine’s eyes is wickedly mirthful, and Arsinoe is tempted to forgo her plan. It would almost be worth it just to see Katharine’s face when she drinks the poison and does not die.
“Lower her onto her back,” Katharine orders.
Arsinoe kicks and screeches. She presses her lips together when Katharine bends over to pour the poison in, so that Katharine must force her mouth open, squeezing her cheeks with gloved fingers.
The poison is oily. Bitter-tasting. It smells sharply of vegetation. It runs into her mouth and down her throat, so much of it that she nearly chokes and coughs it up onto her face, making the guards reel backward. She hears Mirabella screaming on the other side of the cell, and feels the floor tremble as a great crack of lightning strikes the fortress above.
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