One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(42)

“We are both that way. I can never find words that don’t sound stupid on paper. Jules can write for days.”

“We must always be sure to come face-to-face, then. So there are never any misunderstandings.”

He runs his fingers along the edge of her mask, down to her jawline where the smallest bit of scar shows from behind the lacquered wood.

“I don’t know how much I’ll get to see you,” he says.

“Aren’t you staying with the Sandrins?”

“Even in Wolf Spring, I’m still Mirabella’s official taster. I will have to stand beside her during the festival ceremonies.”

Arsinoe’s throat tightens. To see Billy standing behind her sister will hurt, even if it is only for show.

“So you won’t do what you did at Beltane. Leave Mirabella and come to me.”

“Things are different now,” he says quietly.

“How different?”

Billy takes her by the shoulders, and she holds her breath. There is no poison on her lips this time. If he kisses her, she will kiss him back. She will never let him go.

But instead, he crushes her to his chest.

“Arsinoe,” he says, and kisses her hair and her shoulder, everywhere but where she wants. “Arsinoe, Arsinoe.”

“I hope we can talk once more at least,” she says. She buries her nose in his shoulder. “Before one of my sisters gets to me.”

“Don’t say things like that. For her part, Mirabella has no particular plan here, except to stay alive.”

“Or you just don’t know of one,” Arsinoe counters, drawing back. “Would you tell me, Junior? If you did? Would you tell her if you knew a plan of mine?”

He looks away.

“Don’t answer,” she says. “They were unfair questions. Mirabella isn’t just a name to you now or a face atop a cliff. I don’t expect that you would hate her for me.”

Billy takes her hand in his and threads their fingers together.

“Perhaps not,” he says. “But I will never let anything happen to you. And that will never change.”





WOLF SPRING TEMPLE





Luca runs her finger along the windowsill in the temple cottage and holds it up to Rho.

“It is clean at least.”

“At least.” Rho chuckles. “You have grown soft and spoiled as a cat, High Priestess.” Luca chuckles as well. That is true enough. She has been the High Priestess for a long time and enjoyed all the trappings that came with it. If she sets all of that aside, the modest dwellings are perfectly sufficient.

The Rolanth priestesses have done a fine job cleaning and clearing out needed space. They could not say much about the security of the temple grounds, but Rho will take care of that. The difficult thing will be keeping Mirabella close. Already Luca has seen her wandering the edges of the temple garden, eyes cast toward the town and the harbor. Their soft-hearted queen is curious about the life that her sister has led here. And she is yearning to see the boy, Joseph Sandrin.

“I like it here,” says Rho, inhaling deeply. “It is harder than Rolanth. And more honest.”

“Such an assessment from one sniff of the air.”

“You know me, Luca. It does not take me long to have the measure of a place.”

“Nor of a person,” Luca says. “What do you make of this little poisoner? I did not think her a threat until she disappeared at Beltane and mysteriously returned.”

“So she dragged herself out of a pit.” Rho curls her lip dismissively. “She is still weak, propped up by the Arrons.”

Luca walks to the eastward-facing window that overlooks the marketplace and the western harbor. It is a sunny, pretty day. Down in the city, people are busy outfitting the town square for their extra guests. Only the queens, their fosters, and the luckiest of the attendees will be able to fit there. The rest will spill out onto the side streets for the feast: Wolf Spring, Rolanth, and Indrid Down mingling together.

“Were we wrong to come here?” Luca asks.

“No.”

“Even though we cannot help her?”

Rho places her hand firmly on the older woman’s shoulder.

“This is helping her. A young queen has only one purpose, and that is the crown.”

“I know you are right,” Luca replies. “But I still do not like it.”

“They celebrate with wreaths,” Bree says as she twirls one around her finger. “This was made for you by the Wolf Spring priestesses. They have made one for each of the queens.” She hands it to Mirabella. It is beautiful and expertly woven, comprised of some variety of blue wildflower, white lilies, and ivy. “I saw the one they made for Katharine. All dark red roses and thorns.”

“What do they do with them?” Mirabella asks, but it is Elizabeth and not Bree who answers.

“We float them onto the water with paper lanterns at their center,” she says, her face turned toward the harbor, a little wistful.

“Does this place make you homesick, Elizabeth?” asks Mirabella. “Is it very much like Bernadine’s Landing?”

“A little. My home was not so near the sea, but all of that region bears similar scenery and the same traditions.”

“I did not see the bear when I was exploring town,” Bree says abruptly, and Mirabella stiffens. “Though there was plenty of talk of it. Where is she hiding it, do you think? And why? Perhaps it is not safe. It was so brutal that night. . . . Is it that way for you, Elizabeth? Does Pepper not always do exactly as he is told?”