One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(87)

It takes a long time. A lot of time and pain, but it is a crown that will not fade and cannot be taken from her head to give to another.

“Rise, Katharine,” Luca says. “The Queen Crowned of Fennbirn Island.”

Katharine stands, and the assembled guests clap until she holds up her hand.

“I would choose my consort,” she says.

“As you will,” Luca replies. “Whom do you choose?”

“I choose . . . ,” Katharine looks at William Chatworth. He seems to her a piggish man and too smug and confident when his son has not even bothered to be present. Natalia must be mad to recommend him. But Natalia is not the queen.

“I choose the suitor Nicolas Martel.”





THE VOLROY CELLS





Arsinoe has been banging her head against the stone wall for what seems like hours. But there is no way to tell for sure. The only way to gauge the passage of time is by the guard changes.

“Are you feeling any better?” she asks Mirabella.

Mirabella draws her leg up beneath her torn black skirt and braces her heel on the edge of the wooden bench.

“I feel almost well, actually. Whatever I was poisoned with, it seems to have run its course. It seems it was not meant to kill me.”

“Of course not,” Arsinoe says. “She was meant to kill you.” She sighs and leans back. Flicks her hand toward the wooden door. “Can you burn us a way out of here, then?”

“No. The wood is too thick. I would have to call fire so hot it would burn you up with it. If the smoke did not kill us first.”

Arsinoe glances at her sister. Mirabella has sloughed her light overlaid jacket to sit in a corseted bodice with wide black straps. It must be true what they say, and elementals do not feel the drafts or the damp.

“Why did they put you in a skirt?” Arsinoe asks. “Didn’t they know they were dressing you for a duel?”

“I am wearing boots,” Mirabella replies. “And no slip or petticoat.” She rolls her head toward Arsinoe and smiles tiredly. “Appearances, appearances.”

Arsinoe chuckles.

“At least when we’re dead, there’ll be no more of that.”

“You think we are to die, then?” Mirabella asks, and Arsinoe cocks her eyebrow. She has to remind herself that her sister was not raised like she was. Mirabella was treated as the queen. Death must seem impossible.

Arsinoe sighs. “I don’t think they’ll let me out to cause any more trouble. But you have the High Priestess. And the Westwoods. They’re shrewd; maybe they can barter you for me. Though I don’t like to think about what they’ll do to Jules and Joseph.”

“They will not do anything,” Mirabella says, and the air in the cell begins to crackle. Arsinoe stares down at her arm in wonder as the hairs rise and stand on end.

“Do you promise?” Arsinoe asks. “If you get out of here, do you promise to take care of them?”

“Of course I will.”

Arsinoe stands and stretches her back.

“Good. Because it’s my fault, you know. Joseph being banished five years ago. Jules being poisoned after Beltane. Even Cam getting mauled by that sick, old bear.”

“They do not see it like that.”

“Of course they don’t. They’re too good.”

Footsteps sound in the corridor. It could be Billy, coming back to tell her that they will be released, free to kill another day. Even to be locked together in the tower would be preferable to this.

But the footsteps are too light and accompanied by too many other footsteps. And there is too much rustling.

Katharine’s face appears at the barred opening of the wooden door.

“Sisters,” Katharine says. Her pretty, dark-lashed eyes flicker between Arsinoe and Mirabella, who stands up quickly and brushes dust and straw from her dress.

Arsinoe waits for Katharine to say more. But she just stands before their cell, smiling. Like she is waiting for something. Mirabella gasps.

“What?” Arsinoe asks.

“Her forehead,” Mirabella whispers. “Look at her forehead.”

Arsinoe squints and peers through the bars. A thin, black line has been etched across Katharine’s brow, just below her hairline.

“I wanted to show you,” Katharine says brightly. “So there would be no confusion. So that no one could tell you lies. I wanted you to see my crown for yourselves.”

Arsinoe swallows. “Is that what that is?” she asks. “I thought you must’ve rolled across a piece of coal.”

Katharine laughs. “Joke all you want. But it is done. And I owe it to you, in part. Thanks to your grand pronouncements of mercy for each other, the Council and the temple felt they had no choice. Your refusal to kill made them finally see that I am the only true queen born of this cycle.”

Arsinoe scoffs. She should probably be afraid, but instead she is irritated. Almost angry. Poor Mirabella looks as though she might be sick, seeing that crown painted on Katharine’s forehead.

“The only true queen,” Arsinoe spits. “The only killer.”

“But she was not always,” Mirabella says. “You were not always, Katharine. You were sweet once. We used to—”

“Do not try to make me guilty,” Katharine interrupts. “It had to be one of us. That is the way the game is played. That is what we are.”