Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns, #4)(39)

Genevieve crosses her arms and leans back, eyes narrowed. ‘You have been in contact with Margaret Beaulin.’

‘Until recently, I believed her loyal, despite her dismissal from the Black Council.’

‘But that is no longer so?’

‘She insists that she is still with us,’ says Renata. ‘But that is not what my spies say. They say she left for Sunpool, with a signed treaty, to declare the city for the rebellion.’

‘A signed treaty? Who signed it?’

‘The head of every major family of war-gifted.’ Katharine sits, overcome. ‘How has this happened? How has the crown lost Wolf Spring and Bastian City? At least Mirabella may help us keep Rolanth!’

Rho Murtra slides her palms eagerly across the wood. ‘We might also march on Bastian.’

‘Now?’

‘There are no mountains between us. No reason to wait for a spring thaw.’

‘No,’ Antonin objects. ‘We should hold our resources until the spring.’

‘When the rebels can march from the north and Bastian can flank us with warriors,’ Rho says, and lazily reclines. ‘It is clear that poisoners have led few battles.’

‘Because respect for us has kept anyone from rising in the first place,’ Antonin hisses, ‘for the last hundred years!’

‘Enough.’ Katharine stands, signaling the meeting’s end. ‘You have all been heard. And now I will consider the options.’

After the Black Council disbands, Katharine retires to the privacy of her rooms in the West Tower.

‘Is there anything you need, Queen Katharine?’ her maid asks.

‘No, Giselle,’ she replies. ‘Not just now. And when you go, please bar the door.’

The loss of Bastian City and the betrayal of Margaret Beaulin are regrettable. But Katharine cannot help but be pleased. She could not have asked for a better solution to fall into her lap.

‘Dead sisters,’ she whispers to her reflection in her dressing mirror. ‘Our reign is once again threatened. I would have a word.’

She steps closer as the dead queens rise. Had someone else been watching, they might not have detected the change—a subtle shift in her facial muscles, a tremor in her iris, a small collection of tics belonging to many different queens—but she can see when they have drifted out of her blood and into her skin.

What word? they ask, and hiss. What threat?

‘The war-gifted move against us. They would turn from the crown and join the rebellion.’

The rage of the dead queens ripples across her face.

They must not. They cannot.

‘They will unless we stop them.’

Yes. Stop them. Kill them.

‘But I cannot go. I am needed here.’

We must ride. Ride with the army.

‘Yes,’ Katharine says carefully. ‘But you must go alone.’

We cannot go alone. We have no body and no blood. You are our vessel.

‘What if I gave you another one?’

Mirabella . . .

Katharine’s voice hardens. ‘No. Not Mirabella. Never my sister,’ she says, and clenches her teeth as the dead queens continue to whisper Mirabella’s name. ‘Someone else. Can you move into someone else?’

Not permanent. A lasting vessel must be of the blood.

Of the blood. Queensblood.

‘Temporarily, then. How is it done?’

They fall silent. Katharine tenses.

They must be willing. Or they must be weakened. ‘Weakened? Like I was when I fell down the Breccia Domain.’ They say nothing. She hears only the multitude of their breaths. ‘No. I cannot do that. The temporary vessel must be willing. And you will still obey me when you are with them?’

You are our permanent vessel. You are a queen. Of our blood. Queen Katharine. Beloved.

‘Good,’ Katharine says. ‘I have the perfect soldier in mind.’





SUNPOOL




A few days after the Sandrins depart with baby Fenn, Arsinoe and Billy are roused from their room by a sight-gifted girl in a yellow cloak.

‘Queen Arsinoe, Master Chatworth, please come with me.’

‘Why?’ Arsinoe asks, swinging her legs out of bed. ‘And why so early?’

‘Um, Arsinoe,’ Billy says, buttoning his shirt and looking down at the square from their window. ‘We’d better go. Everyone’s down there already—Jules, Emilia, Mathilde, even Cait and Caragh Milone. As my mother would say, something’s afoot.’

Curious, they ready themselves and go down to the square. They follow Jules and her entourage through the courtyard, past the now-working fountain with its statue of leaping fish. Parts of Sunpool have come alive again, cleaned and refurbished after the influx of new, skilled labor. Yet as they pass a few of the scattered oracles in yellow cloaks, Arsinoe feels a pang of guilt. The oracles were ghosts before as their numbers dwindled. And they are still ghosts now, their quiet and stillness overrun, pushed aside to make way for the war.

‘Isn’t it strange?’ Arsinoe says quietly to Billy. ‘They invite the rebellion here, yet they don’t seem to want a say in it.’

‘Maybe it’s because they already know what’s going to happen,’ he replies. ‘But it is odd. Since we’ve been here, I’ve only seen Mathilde speaking with Jules and Emilia. But Mathilde isn’t even a Lermont. The Lermonts are like the Arrons of this city, right?’