One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(17)

Mirabella falls back on her haunches, her courage broken. She scrambles away, cheeks wet with panicked tears, no doubt reliving the last moments on the Quickening stage, when she watched as the bear tore apart priestesses on his way to kill her.

“Wait, wait, come to me,” Arsinoe says urgently, and holds her rune hand out.

The bear is not her familiar. The charm that binds them together is only low magic. But Arsinoe is a queen. Her low magic is strong, and the bear does as she asks. She smears blood from her nose onto her palm and presses it to the great beast’s forehead, and he licks her face.

“Let’s go,” she says. She holds on to the bear’s fur as he takes her burned shirt in his teeth and drags her down the ditch and into the cover of the trees. He is fast, and shockingly quiet, and they are deep into the woodland before Mirabella recovers.

“Arsinoe!” her sister screams. “Where did you go? Where are you hiding?”

“She doesn’t really expect me to tell her, does she?” Arsinoe whispers, and she and the bear sink low and silent, hoping that Mirabella will not be able to find them.





GREAVESDRAKE MANOR





Natalia stares down at the letter in her hand. Now and then she sips brandy tainted with foxglove and taps her teeth against the glass. The letter is from her brother, Christophe. It arrived that morning, and in it he says that his son, Pietyr, returned home only briefly before departing for Prynn on a business errand. What that business entailed, he could not say. He had assumed it was some errand requested by her. But (and she could envision the carefree shrug of his shoulders) he sends greetings and well-wishes from his wife, Marguerite, who extends an invitation to their country estate as soon as Natalia’s affairs with the Ascension are finished.

Natalia crumples the letter in her fist. How nice it must be to live so far removed from the capital, and from the Council, able to speak of the Ascension with such flippancy. Lucky Christophe, who had married and escaped. But she had not, and his son, Pietyr, had not, and the boy had best turn up on her doorstep soon. Katharine must still be crowned. They still have work.

Genevieve knocks once and enters without waiting for permission. It seems that everyone in her family is determined to make Natalia’s head ache.

“I have been at the Highbern all morning,” Genevieve says, referring to the hotel in the city where they will hold their welcome banquet for the suitor Nicolas Martel.

“And?”

“All is well. The silver is polished, the menu selected, and the flowers ordered from the hothouses.”

“Good,” says Natalia.

They will not need to impress the boy much. Natalia remembers how he watched Katharine the night of the Disembarking and at the feast afterward. And he apparently has not been dissuaded by the unsavory rumors surrounding her return. She and Pietyr had hoped that Katharine would have her choice of suitors, but all they really need is one, for show, until Katharine is crowned and selects Billy Chatworth to be her king-consort as she ultimately must.

“What is that noise?” Genevieve asks. She turns and cocks her ear to the hall. Natalia does not hear anything, but when Genevieve wrenches the door open, the sound of clapping echoes up the stairs.

Natalia sets down her brandy, and she and Genevieve follow the applause, past the foyer and the gallery hall and into the billiard room, where a small crowd of servants has gathered.

They slip in quietly, and when they see what has them so enraptured, Genevieve gasps.

Katharine has erected a target on the far side of the tables. Her maid, Giselle, is tied to it. And as Natalia and Genevieve watch, Katharine throws five small knives. Each lands with an audible thud, mere inches from Giselle’s arms, hips, and head.

The servants applaud, and Katharine bows. She walks gaily to Giselle and kisses her cheek before ordering other servants to untie her.

“What is this?” Natalia asks, and Katharine whirls.

“Natalia,” she exclaims, and the servants hunch their shoulders, preparing to be caught in the middle of a great argument.

Natalia arches her brow at them. Since when has Katharine ever argued with Natalia, or with anyone?

“Do you like it?” Katharine asks. “I needed a diversion, kept inside for so many days, hiding from the elemental queen. And I thought the suitors might be impressed by a little sport.”

“A little sport,” Natalia says. “They will be impressed by your riding prowess and your skill with a bow. But I think you will find their mainland stomachs less at ease with a bride who excels at knife throwing.”

“Is that so?” Katharine laughs. “Are they really so frail?”

“I hope not all of them,” Genevieve says quietly.

Katharine fixes upon her with black eyes. Since she returned, Genevieve has not dared to say much to the queen. She has only watched, and reported to the Council so they might whisper. About how the queen is endangering herself. About how she takes in too much poison without a gift, and someday will take in the wrong one.

Katharine inclines her head toward the target.

“Would you care to take a turn, Genevieve? Give the servants a little thrill?”

Genevieve looks at Natalia, as if hoping she will forbid it, and smiles brightly at the queen when she does not.

“Of course.”

She steps out of the crowd and allows Giselle and another maid to secure her wrists to the target. The mood in the room cools. All are hushed. Katharine fans out her silver knives and slides them between her fingers.