One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(67)

“No, Jules. Willa is right. Mirabella is the chosen queen. And I think I was spared so I could help her.” She grasps Jules by the shoulders, crumpling the duel challenge in her fist. “I’m going to the capital, and I’m going to help Mirabella put down that poisoner queen.”





THE QUEENS’ DUEL





ROLANTH





Mirabella’s coaches are outfitted with silver fastenings and black plumes. The blue elemental insignia flies on flags beside the queen’s black ones. And there are white coaches too, white coaches pulled by white horses and filled with priestesses so that all of Indrid Down will know that the temple stands with her.

“Are you sure you would not rather go by sea?” Sara asks as they pack the last of Mirabella’s things into trunks. “It would be safer.”

“She would parade into my city,” Mirabella says. “So I will parade into hers.”

Sara holds up a gown.

“This, for the ball?”

Mirabella barely glances at it. It is some shiny, satin thing with a fitted bodice and wide straps.

“That is fine.” She turns about the room. Her room at Westwood House since she was taken from the Black Cottage. It is not bare; she has not overpacked. But it still feels emptied, like if she speaks too loud her voice will echo.

“And for the jewels?”

“Anything but black pearls,” she says. “I have heard that Katharine favors black pearls, and I do not want us to look alike.”

“You could never look alike,” says Billy.

Mirabella and Sara turn. Billy stands just inside the door. Sara cocks an eyebrow at his crimson shirt. He should not wear it when they go to the capital, still mourning for a fallen queen when he has declared for Mirabella. But no one will ask him to take it off. And the crimson will win them more favor from the naturalists.

Sara curtsies and leaves to give them privacy.

“How much longer will the mourning last?” Billy asks.

“Not long,” Mirabella replies.

Soon the candles and the crimson will be gone. The prayers said for Arsinoe at altars will cease. Vanquished queens are not spoken of past the Ascension Year. There is no hall in the Volroy that houses their portraits. No one even remembers their names.

“Are you ready?” she asks. “Do you have attire for the ball?”

“I do. Though I can’t believe we’re going to dance and feast with them the night before you kill her.”

“The ball is nothing more than Katharine’s way of regaining control. I set the duel, so she sets the ball. It is all quite transparent. And it will not work.”

Billy holds up a long, rectangular box. “I brought something for you.”

He opens it and takes out a choker of black gems cut into faceted ovals and set in silver. They sparkle as he turns them in the light, and she wonders how long ago he bought them, and if they were meant for someone else. But she will not ruin the moment by asking.

“Here,” he says, and Mirabella holds up her hair to let him place them around her neck.

“They are beautiful.”

“Far more beautiful than anything the poisoner has,” he says. “They can dress that little witch up any way they like. But she’ll still be a monster.”

“Do not say that word,” Mirabella cautions. “We do not say ‘witch’ here. No matter what we feel about Katharine, you must be careful when we are in the capital. I would have you be a popular king-consort among the people.”

Billy grits his teeth.

“Of course. It’s just what she did. . . .”

“I know.”

“I hate her. Don’t you? She took her from me. From us.”

Billy’s hand lingers on her shoulder, from fastening the choker, and Mirabella lays hers atop it.

“I met Katharine before Beltane,” he says. “My father wanted me introduced to all of you, before the other suitors.”

“You never came to me.”

“I chose Arsinoe before I could. But it’s the strangest thing. When I met Katharine, she seemed so sweet. Harmless, even. I actually pitied her. The girl I met was nothing like the one in Wolf Spring. But I suppose I only saw what she wanted me to see.”

“I suppose,” says Mirabella. “Billy, before we depart, I would have you pen a letter to precede us into the capital.”

“A letter? Saying what?”

“Saying that you will be my king-consort and will not pay court to Katharine. Phrase it as meanly as you like. But I would have one more blow to her ego before she sees me at the ball.”





INDRID DOWN





Natalia and Genevieve walk briskly through the bustling streets of the capital after overseeing the improvements being made to the arena: repairs to the stands and extra risers built, a fresh coat of paint on the gallery rail, and all the vast competition ground tilled through and made soft, the tufts of long, hard grass and field stones removed by hand. It has been a long time since the arena was used for anything but fairs and carnivals. A long time since the island has seen a duel or even since it had a war queen who enjoyed watching battle sport.

“The hotels will run out of rooms,” Genevieve grumbles. “There will be tents set up along the roadsides. People will sleep on the streets.”