Three Dark Crowns (13 page)

K
atharine and Pietyr sit with Natalia around a table picked clean of food. Lunch was a loin of pork from a poisoned hog, the sauce made from butter and milk from a cow that had been grazed on henbane. Stout oat bread to sop it up. There was also a soufflé of jack-o'-lantern mushrooms. Natalia does not care to eat untainted food, but everything she served contained poisons to which Katharine has acquired a near immunity.

Natalia calls for more wine. Her dining room is pleasantly warm. Fire crackles in the fireplace and thick red curtains hold in the heat.

“How was Half Moon's gait today?” Natalia asks. “One of the grooms worried he was swelling on his right rear pastern.”

“His gait was fine,” Katharine replies. “And there was no heat in the leg.”

Half Moon is her favorite black gelding, named for the white crescent on his forehead. Had he showed any signs of lameness, Katharine would never have taken him out. Beneath the table, she moves her knee against Pietyr's.

“Did you notice anything, Pietyr?” she asks.

“Not at all. He seemed perfectly sound.”

He clears his throat and moves his knee away from hers, as if he fears that Natalia can sense their contact. When they are in her presence, he is always careful to maintain distance, even though Natalia knows what they do. Even though he is there at Natalia's insistence.

“I have some exciting news,” Natalia says. “A delegation has arrived early from the mainland. And the suitor wishes to meet with Katharine.”

Katharine sits up straighter and glances at Pietyr.

“He is not the only one to meet, mind you,” Natalia continues. “But he is a promising start. We have had dealings with his family for a number of years. They fostered Joseph Sandrin during his banishment.”

“I will look upon him kindly, then,” Katharine says.

“No more kindly than you would look upon any other,” says Natalia, even though she means exactly the opposite. “His name is William Chatworth Jr. I do not know when we will be able to arrange a meeting. He is in Wolf Spring at present, having audiences with Arsinoe, the poor boy. But when we do, will you be ready?”

“I will be.”

“I believe you,” says Natalia. “You have looked much better these past weeks. Stronger.”

It is true. Since Pietyr has come, Katharine has changed. Genevieve would still say that she is thin and too petite. After so many years of poisoning, it is unlikely that she will ever fully recover, or regain, the growth she has lost. But her hair and her complexion and the way she moves have all improved.

“I have a present for you,” Natalia says. Her butler, Edmund, enters holding a glass enclosure. Inside, a small red-and-yellow-and-black coral snake stretches toward the top.

“Look who I found sunning herself in a window,” Natalia says.

“Sweetheart?” Katharine exclaims. She pushes her chair back nearly hard enough to knock it over and runs to Edmund to reach inside. The snake recoils slightly and then wraps herself around her wrist.

“I thought I killed her,” she whispers.

“Not quite,” Natalia says. “But I am sure she would like to return to her familiar cage and the warmth of her lamp. And I need to speak to Pietyr alone.”

“Yes, Natalia.” Katharine smiles once at each of them and then leaves, nearly skipping.

“One small gift turns her back into a child,” Natalia says.

“Katharine loves that snake,” says Pietyr. “I would have thought it dead.”

“It is dead. It was found limp and cold in the corner of the
kitchen three days after the
Gave Noir.”

“Then what is that?” Pietyr asks.

Natalia shrugs. “She will not know the difference. This one is trained the same as the first one.”

She motions again for Edmund, who brings a silver tray and two glasses of her favorite tainted brandy.

“You are making progress,” Natalia says.

“Some. She still only thinks to dress in a way that covers a rash or a jutting rib. And when she is frightened, she still scurries like a rat.”

“Come, Pietyr. We have not treated her so poorly.”

“Perhaps not you. But Genevieve is a monster.”

“My sister is only as severe as I allow. And Katharine's poison training is not your concern.”

“Not even if it makes my task harder?”

He blows blond hair out of his eyes and slumps in his chair. Natalia smiles behind her brandy. He does remind her so much of herself. One day, he might even rise to become the head of the family, if no suitable daughter comes of age.

“Tell me,” she says. “Is she ready to meet this delegate?”

“I suppose. He should not be hard to impress, in any case, coming from Wolf Spring. Everyone knows that Arsinoe has a face like oatmeal.”

“She may have,” Natalia says. “But Mirabella does not. To hear the Westwoods tell it, she is more beautiful than the night sky.”

“And just as withdrawn and cold,” says Pietyr. “Katharine,
at least, has a sense of fun. And she is sweet. You have not beaten that out of her.”

There is something in Pietyr's tone that Natalia does not like. He sounds too protective. Almost possessive, and that will not do.

“How far have you gone?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Teach her all the tricks you like, but you cannot go too far, Pietyr. Mainlanders are strange. They will want her to go into her marriage a maid.”

Natalia watches him carefully, to see if he will wriggle. He seems disappointed—frustrated, perhaps—but not afraid. He has still not dared to take that step.

“Are you sure they would not value her skill in the bedroom instead?” he asks. Then he shrugs. “I suppose if they do, I can teach her that after they are wed.”

He finishes the last of his brandy in one large swallow and sets the snifter on the table. He would like to be allowed to go, to follow after Katharine and dress and undress her like a doll.

“It is probably for the best, Nephew,” says Natalia. “If you were to bed her, I fear she would fall in love with you. She seems nearly in love with you already, and that is not what we intend.”

Pietyr pushes his empty glass back and forth between his fingers.

“Is it,” she says, more sternly.

“Do not worry, Aunt Natalia,” he says. “Only a king-consort is fool enough to fall in love with a queen.”

Katharine has still not put the snake away when Pietyr comes into her rooms. She has missed her so, she cannot bear to part with her, and sits at her vanity mirror with Sweetheart coiled around her hand, her nose practically pressed to the snake's poisonous head.

“Katharine,” he says. “Put her away. Let her rest.”

Katharine does as she is told, standing up to lower the snake gently into the warm cage. She leaves the top of it open to reach inside to stroke the snake's scales.

“I cannot believe she survived,” Katharine says. “Natalia must have had all the servants searching.”

“She must have,” says Pietyr.

“So.” She removes her hands from the cage and folds them onto her lap. “I am really to meet my first suitor?”

“Yes.”

She and Pietyr stand close together without touching and without looking each other in the eyes. Pietyr runs his fingers along the back of her brocade-covered chair and worries at a loosening thread.

“Are you sure I cannot poison my sisters first?”

Pietyr smiles. “I am sure. This must be done, Kat.”

He looks through the scant space between her curtains, out at the overcast sky and all the shadows in the courtyard. The small lake they rode beside that morning lies like a slate-gray puddle to the southeast. Soon, it will be bright blue, and the courtyard
will be green and sprouting daffodils. Already the weather has turned warmer. The dawn brings more fog than frost.

“Mirabella will be hard to overcome,” Pietyr says. “She is tall and strong and beautiful. In Rolanth, there are already songs about her hair.”

“Songs about her hair?” Katharine asks, and snorts aloud. She ought to care about this. But in truth, she would not mind if all the suitors preferred Mirabella. None of them will kiss the way Pietyr kisses. He holds her with such desperate wanting that she cannot even catch her breath.

“Do you think the suitors will kiss like you do, Pietyr?” she asks, just to see his lower lip stick out.

“Of course not. They are mainland boys. All fumbling and drool. It will be difficult for you to pretend to enjoy it.”

“They cannot all be bad,” she says. “I am sure to find one who I like.”

Pietyr arches his brow. His fingers dig into the back of the chair but relax when he sees her expression.

“Are you teasing me, Kat?”

“Yes.” She laughs. “I am teasing you. Is that not what you have taught me to do? To counteract my sister's regal formality with smiles and a beating heart?”

She touches his chest, and he grasps her hand.

“You are too good at it,” he whispers, and pulls her up against his chest.

“You will have to laugh at their jokes,” he says, “even when they are not funny.”

“Yes, Pietyr.”

“And get them to talk about themselves. Make them remember you. You must be the jewel, Kat. The one who stands out from the others.” He releases her hand a little reluctantly. “No matter what you do, they will still want to try all three. Even plain-faced Arsinoe. And Mirabella . . .” He breathes deeply through his nose. “Whatever gown she wears to the Quickening, you can be sure they will be dying to tear it off her.”

Katharine frowns. “I suppose she will be presented as the prize.”

“And what a prize,” Pietyr sighs, and Katharine thumps him in the chest. He laughs.

“Now, I am teasing.” He pulls her closer. “I would not touch that elemental if she got down on her knees and begged. She pretends to be crowned already. But she is not. You are our queen, Kat. Do not forget it.”

“I will never,” she says. “We will do good for the island, Pietyr, when I am crowned and you are the head of the Black Council.”

“The head?” he asks, eyes sparkling. “I think Natalia would have something to say about that.”

“Of course, Natalia will remain in her position as long as she wishes,” Katharine amends. “But not even she can stay there forever.”

Behind them, the coral snake climbs the side of the cage. Its scaled head slips above the opened hatch and pauses there, tasting the air with its tongue. Unaware, Katharine lets her arm drop back to rest on the top of the table. The snake does not like
the movement. It curves back to strike.

“Katharine!”

Pietyr's arm darts forward. The snake's fangs catch him in the wrist. He holds the reptile gently until it releases, even though he ought to break its neck. Katharine will not be safe around it, and no harm can be allowed to come to her so close to the Quickening.

“Oh,” Katharine says. “I am so sorry, Pietyr! She must still be out of sorts.”

“Yes.” He puts the snake back into the cage, making sure to close the lid tightly this time. “But you should use caution with her from now on. Retrain her. Even a few weeks on her own may have been enough to turn her wild.”

Twin drops of blood dot Pietyr's arm. The wound is not bad. As strong an Arron as he is, the venom will only cause a little redness.

“I have salve that will help,” Katharine says, and goes into the other room to fetch it.

Pietyr eyes the snake ruefully as he holds his wrist. Reacting was the right thing to do. Katharine would have been sick with the venom for days, even after receiving treatment. But he did so without thinking. And he had been afraid that Katharine would be hurt. Truly afraid.

“Only a king-consort is fool enough to love a queen,” he says quietly.

A
rsinoe and Billy walk side by side through the winter market. Since their introduction and their afternoon at Dogwood Pond, it has proved difficult for Arsinoe to get away from him, but in the market, Arsinoe does not mind. Jules is often with Joseph, and without her there, Arsinoe feels exposed in crowded places. In bustling parts of town, like the market, wicked glances sting like bees. Any in the crowd could grow brave enough to reach around and slit her throat.

“Arsinoe?” Billy asks. “What's the matter?”

She studies the surly winter faces of fishmongers she has known since she came to Wolf Spring. A good number of them consider her weakness a disgrace and would see her dead.

“Nothing,” she says.

Billy sighs. “I am not in the mood for the market today,” he says. “Let's buy something to eat and walk up into the orchards.
It's not too cold for that.”

On the way, they stop at Madge's shellfish stand so that Billy can pay for two fried stuffed clams. He barely fumbles with the coins this time. He is learning.

They eat quickly as they walk, to keep them from getting cold. Madge stuffs her clams with chunks of crab and buttered bread crumbs. When she feels particularly generous, she dices in some nice, fat bacon.

As they walk past the docks, toward the road that heads up over the hill and into the apple orchards, Billy stares down at his clamshell, turning it over in his hands.

“Staring at it won't make it grow a new one,” Arsinoe says. “You should have bought three.”

He grins and draws his arm back to throw the shell into the cove as far as he can. Arsinoe throws hers as well.

“Mine went farther,” she says.

“It did not.”

Arsinoe smiles. Actually, she could not tell.

“What happened to your hand?” Billy asks.

Arsinoe tugs her jacket sleeve down to cover the scabbing from the new rune she cut into her palm.

“I cut it on the chicken coop,” she says.

“Oh.”

He does not believe her. She should have made up something else. No chicken coop could leave behind such an intricate design. And she has still not told Jules what she and Madrigal are doing.

“Junior,” she says, looking closer at the docks. “Where is your boat?”

The slip where it has bobbed since Joseph's return is empty, and the entire cove looks darker because of it.

“My father's returned home,” he says. “It is easy enough to come and go. A short sail to the mist and through it. My God, I feel mad just saying that aloud. Madder, knowing that it's true.”

“Easy to come and go,” Arsinoe mutters. Easy for anyone but her, anyway.

“But listen, when he returns . . .”

“What?”

“He intends for me to meet your sisters. We're to travel to Indrid Down and the Arrons. And Queen Katharine.”

Of course. He wants his son to wear the crown. He has no particular loyalty to the naturalists, no matter how fond he became of Joseph during his banishment.

“You never call me ‘Queen Arsinoe' anymore,” she notes.

“Do you want me to?”

She shakes her head. To be called a queen feels like a nickname. Like something that only Luke calls her. They walk up the road and then wave to Maddie Pace when she rumbles past in her oxcart. Arsinoe does not need to look to know that Maddie has twisted around in her seat to stare at them. The whole of the town is interested in their courting.

“I don't know if I want to meet the rest of you,” Billy says. “It feels a little like befriending a cow on its way to slaughter.”

Arsinoe chuckles. “Be sure to tell my sisters that, when you
meet them,” she says. “But if you don't want to meet them, then don't.”

“My father isn't the sort of man you say no to. He gets what he wants. He won't have raised a failure.”

“And what did your mother raise?” she asks, and he looks at her, surprised.

“It doesn't matter,” he says. “She never wanted this. You know mothers. They'd keep us attached to their apron strings forever if they could.”

“I do not know that,” Arsinoe says. “I do know that you sound a little like you are sulking. Don't forget the difference between what a lost crown means for you and what it means for me.”

“Yes. You're right. I'm sorry.”

She looks at him from the side of her eye. It cannot be easy, to be a stranger here and to give up everything familiar for a crown and an unfamiliar life. He has tried to be fair, and she should try also. And she should keep her distance. It will not be easy for him to see her dead, should they become close. But she has so few friends. She cannot turn one away.

Arsinoe pauses. Without thinking, she has turned them onto the trail that leads to the woods, and the old stones, and the bent-over tree.

“No,” she says, and changes their direction. “Let's take another path.”

“What do you think your sisters are like?” Billy asks.

“I do not know and I do not care,” Arsinoe says. “They are
both probably in training for the Quickening Ceremony. Less than three months now.”

“Beltane,” Billy says. “It's held every year, isn't it?”

“Yes. But this year is different. This Beltane is the start of the Ascension Year.”

“I know that,” he says. “But how is it different? Does it still last for three days?”

Arsinoe cocks her head. She can only say what she has heard. Neither she nor Jules has ever attended one. To go, you must be at least sixteen.

“It is still three days,” she says, “and there is always the Hunt. The ritual hunt to provide meat for the feasts. Then normally there are daily blessings, and rites that the temple performs. But this year there won't be much of that. Everyone will be preparing for the Disembarking the night after the Hunt, and the Quickening on the night after that.”

“The Disembarking,” he says. “Where you are presented to the suitors.”

“Where the suitors are presented to us,” she says, and punches him in the arm.

“All right. Ow. And the Quickening. That's when you demonstrate your gift. How are you going to manage that?” he asks, and braces for another hit.

Arsinoe chuckles instead. “I thought I would learn to juggle three herring,” she says. “Katharine will eat poison, and Mirabella . . . Mirabella can fart cyclones for all it will matter. The island will love her best.”

“Fart cyclones,” Billy says, smirking.

“Yes, you would like that, would you?”

He shakes his head. “And after Beltane is over, that's when you are courted, officially,” he says. “And when . . .”

“And when we can kill one another,” Arsinoe says. “We have a whole year to do it. Until the next year's Beltane. Though if Mirabella comes charging like an angry bull I could be dead within the week.”

They tramp through snow, ice-crusted from melt, into the resting earth of the orchard. They walk deeper down into the valley until the birds stop singing and the wind breaks.

“Do you ever wonder what happened to your mother?” Billy asks. “After she had you and left the island with her king?”

“King-consort,” she corrects him. “And no, I don't.”

There are stories, of course. Tales of great queens who left the island to become great queens again on the mainland. Others tell of queens who live out the rest of their lives peacefully and quietly, with their consorts. But Arsinoe has never believed a word. In her mind, every last queen lies at the bottom of the sea, drowned by the Goddess the moment she was done with them.

Jules runs her hand through the dark hair at Joseph's temple. It is soft, and long enough to twist around her fingers. They are alone in the Sandrin house today. Joseph's father is out on the
Whistler
with Matthew, and his mother and Jonah have taken a carriage to Highgate to secure hardware for the boats. It is a
good thing, too, since Billy's father sailed home to the mainland and robbed them of the use of Joseph's cabin.

“This is just as uncomfortable as on the boat,” Joseph says. He lies half on top of her, with Camden stretched across their lower legs.

“I didn't notice,” Jules says. She pulls him down and opens her mouth beneath his. From the way his arms tighten around her, she can tell that he does not really notice either.

“Someday soon, though, we will have to find a bed big enough for the two of us, and your cougar.”

“Someday soon,” she agrees. But for now, she is glad of the cramped quarters, and the lack of privacy. As much as she loves Joseph, she is not ready to go further. With Camden hindering their movements, she can kiss Joseph for as long as she likes without feeling they ought to do more.

Joseph lowers his head and kisses Jules's collarbone, where it peeks through her disheveled shirt. He rests his chin against her and sighs.

“What is it?” she asks. “Your mind is on something else today.”

“My mind is only on you,” he says. “But there is something.”

“What?”

“Do you remember that boat in our western slip?” he asks. “The shiny little daysailer with the new deck and fresh stripe of blue paint?”

“Not really.”

The Sandrins' shipyard has been full of jobs like that for
months. Vanity repairs, from all along the coast. Mainlanders will arrive on the island soon, and the island wishes to show a fresh face. They have even had jobs from the fishers of Wolf Spring, who say the word “mainlander” through curled, disdainful lips. They may speak of mainlanders and spit, but they will use that spit to shine their own shoes.

“What about it?” she asks.

“I'm to sail it up to Trignor to return it to its owner. I leave as soon as my mother and Jonah return from Highgate.”

“Oh,” Jules says. “Why does that trouble you?”

Joseph smiles. “It will sound foolish to say so out loud, but I don't want to be parted from you, even for a short time.”

“Joseph.” Jules laughs. “We have been together almost every moment since you've returned.”

“I know,” he says. “And I will not be gone long. If the winds are good, I can reach Trignor by nightfall. It should not take more than a few days at most, to catch the coaches back to Wolf Spring. Still”—he pulls himself farther on top of her—“perhaps you could come with me?”

Traveling on a small craft with Camden and long days of rumbling coaches does not sound pleasant, but being with Joseph would make it so. She slips her arms around his neck and hears Arsinoe's voice:
Jules and Joseph, inseparable since birth.

“I can't,” says Jules. “I have neglected Arsinoe enough already. She's had to work on her gift with my mother, and I can't ask her to take on any more of my chores. She's a queen.”

“The best queens don't mind extra chores.”

“Still,” Jules says. “I shouldn't leave her here. And you should not ask me to. You love her too, remember. As much as you love me.”

“Nearly as much, Jules,” he says. “Only nearly.”

He drops his head to rest against her shoulder.

“We will not be parted for long, Joseph. Don't worry.”