Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns, #4)(73)

Ahead, riding in the lead on her black stallion, Katharine turns and smiles. The cliff path is not terribly steep, but it is narrow in places. Mirabella’s mount is the same gray charger she rode in the parade. Despite his high step and good looks, he has proven to be sweet and reliable, even for a poor rider like her.

They reach the beach, and the horses dance in the sand, happy as Mirabella is to be back on even ground. The day is cold and slate colored, and the beach is deserted except for a few small birds racing back and forth before the surf.

‘The northern cliffs are wild,’ Katharine says. ‘Even before the mist rose, they were often empty. You probably did not need to wear that brown cloak as a disguise, High Priestess.’

‘Perhaps not, Queen Katharine.’ Luca dismounts and tugs the cloak tighter around her. ‘But an overabundance of caution has saved my old skin more than once.’ She nods ahead. ‘There it is.’

Mirabella follows her gaze. The opening of the cave is not wide, though perhaps long ago, it was wider. When Luca said she had discovered the location of the first temple, Mirabella had not imagined a cave. She had thought they would follow the river, perhaps, and find an old circle of stones, or a crumbled foundation. A place to dig. Not to descend into.

‘And just what, sister, do you expect to find?’ Katharine asks, voice raised against the wind and the waves lapping at the rocks.

‘I do not know.’

‘Maybe nothing,’ says Luca. ‘Maybe I am wrong, and it is only a cave.’

But looking into the dark, Mirabella’s queensblood begins to sing. Whatever remains of the first temple, they will find it inside.

‘If you will not soften the wind, you can at least light us a torch,’ Luca says, and holds out three. Mirabella lights them with a cupped hand as Katharine watches with wonder.

‘Surely you have seen Bree light torches before.’

‘Yes,’ says Katharine. ‘But not even she makes it look so easy.’

They each take one and go, with Luca leading the way. ‘Watch your footing,’ the High Priestess cautions. ‘Do not slip.’

‘She says that as though we are the ones with swollen knees,’ Katharine whispers, and Mirabella smiles, shushing her with a glance. Inside the cave smells of salt and other minerals. And faintly of sea life. It sits above the tides, but the high tide must barely kiss it, leaving behind small pools and wet stones. Past the entrance, the ground rises and becomes drier, and the ceiling opens up to a small dome. The walls are smooth, worked by long-ago currents and perhaps by hands.

‘Do you feel that?’ Katharine asks.

‘Feel what?’ asks Mirabella, though the hum in her blood is almost as loud as the ocean.

‘That sensation. It feels like I have been here many times before. Many times . . . yet—’

She does not finish her sentence, but Mirabella knows what she means. As they follow Luca, her eyes study every crack, every curve of dark, dripping stone. Soon enough, the flat path gives way to stone steps, down and curving deeper into the cliffs.

‘Luca, how did you find this place?’ she asks.

‘Vague references in old writing.’

‘Old writing?’

Luca waves her hand to end the questions, though that has never stopped her before. But then they reach the end of the path, and all of Mirabella’s words are forgotten.

The interior of the first temple is magnificent. The domed walls have been carved into ancient sculptures, etched with ancient stories. And at the heart of it sits a shrine inlaid with gold.

‘Look at it,’ Katharine says breathlessly, and hurries to the walls, her torch close as she touches the carvings. Some of the figures and scenes have been reduced to vague shapes by dripping and seeping water. Others are so well-preserved that they could have been carved yesterday. Even some of the ancient pigments have survived in blues and reds and yellows. ‘What must it have been like when it was new?’

‘What was the world like when it was new?’ Luca asks, her eyes wide. ‘How many have come before to worship? And how long has it been since anyone has walked this room? Breathed this air?’

Mirabella carries her torch above her head, urging the flame a little higher to better view the ceiling. She sees depictions of sun and stars, water and waves. Dogs and deer. She sees figures racing through forests of trees, telling stories she has never heard. She sees the shrine.

The gold is so bright in the light of the torch that it hurts her eyes. Upon the floor, plates of ancient bronze still sit, corroded green by minerals. Once, they must have held the offerings of the people or the burning herbs of priestesses. She looks up at the image behind the shrine, depicted in jewels and black tiles.

The first queen of Fennbirn.

‘Katharine. Come here.’

Katharine comes to her side, and they look upon her, their ancestor. The origin of the line. Above her head is a crown in gold and below her feet, three dark stars: the first triplet sisters.

‘Do you see her?’ Mirabella asks as Katharine takes her hand.

‘I see her.’

The first queen of Fennbirn is shown with five arms. Upon each of her hands rests each of the gifts. Fire in a clenched fist. An apple in an open palm. A clutched dagger. An open eye, faced out. And a snake twisting through her fingers. The first queen was a Legion Queen.

Mirabella reaches out toward the image, the lightest of brushes against her ancient cheek. When her fingertips touch, the picture in her mind comes fast. Strong enough to rock her back on her heels, and to ripple into Katharine through their joined hands.