Queens of Fennbirn (Three Dark Crowns 0.5)(15)

She steps into the tub and submerges immediately, the heat and weight of the water pressing down like a blanket. Water has always been her worst element. The most elusive. Almost playful in its propensity to ignore or disobey. But today is different. Today she can tell that it has missed her.

Mirabella surfaces and lets Bree and the maids wash her face and scrub her fingernails. It is nice to be touched. Nice to be warm. And after the bath, they wrap her in a soft dressing gown, and brush and brush the tangles out of her hair.

“Who is here?” she asks as they pull a dress of fine black wool over her head. “Who am I to meet?”

“No one is here,” Bree replies. Over the last three years, Bree has grown lovely. Her chestnut hair is twisted into buns on the back of her head, and she wears a light blue skirt edged with black ribbon. “We must travel to meet them at Starfall Lake. You are to meet the High Priestess of the island. High Priestess Luca.”

It takes a long time for High Priestess Luca and Sara Westwood to reach the end of the rocky, sloping path to the shores of Starfall Lake, but when they do, only Sara is out of breath.

“It surprises you.” Luca stretches her arms. “You likely thought I would be old and soft. You have only seen me from afar, riding in fancy carriages and eating from silver platters on the festival days.”

“I am impressed but not surprised. Have you ever been to the lake before?”

“Of course. Though not for several years. Starfall Lake. Named for the starfalls reflected in its waters, still commonly visible in the winter skies on this side of the island. It is lovely, is it not?”

“Yes, lovely,” says Sara, her voice like a waving hand. The lake is not important. The only thing that is important is the small girl making her way around the shore opposite. Several Westwoods form a circle around her. It would look like protection had Luca not already heard about the queen’s erratic behavior.

The Westwood party arrives and pays respect to the High Priestess. Some wear temple insignia around their necks, and bow to her with unusual fervor, perhaps touched by the Goddess to become priestesses one day. Luca nods and lays distracted blessings upon their heads. Her focus is on the queen, as theirs should be, but the moment the Westwoods saw Luca, they flocked to her in relief and left Mirabella’s side to hide behind the High Priestess’s robes.

Queen Mirabella, meanwhile, has stepped into the lake up to her ankles.

“Mirabella,” Sara Westwood says. “Will you come and meet the High Priestess?”

Other Westwoods begin to gather cautiously around the lake, closing in on the queen in a half circle, but Luca shakes her head. Mirabella walks closer, alone, and silly Sara feels the need to whisper, “Take care. She learns new tricks every day she is allowed outside.”

Luca pays no mind. She slides out of her shoes and walks into the lake, up to her ankles in cool water on the warm, summer day, shoulder to shoulder with the queen.

“It is lovely here,” she says.

“Yes.”

“Nice. Quiet.”

“Yes.”

Mirabella is a queen of few words. Or perhaps she is only shy, like Queen Camille, and will chatter on and on if given the opportunity, in private. Luca looks her over quickly, from head to toe. A beautiful girl with even features and a firm set to her mouth, even at nine years old. Dark, determined eyes. She does not seem like the wild thing that Sara described, though that is perhaps because they have groomed and disguised her in thin black wool, and an airy veil.

“Do you know who I am?” Luca asks.

Queen Mirabella glances at her.

“You are the High Priestess. That much they have told me. But I know what a high priestess is. From my teachings. You are the leader of the temple.”

“That is right. And who was your teacher?”

“The Westwoods teach me now. Sara and Uncle Miles. But my first teacher was . . . Willa.”

“You remember her fondly?”

“I remember,” Mirabella says, but Luca sees through her clenched teeth to the truth. The truth is that she remembers Willa, only not as well as she used to. And she remembers the other queens, though she remembers them even less so. The fight in her has become a fight against forgetting. That is where the anger stems from.

“It is all right to remember,” says Luca. “You will not be punished for remembering.”

“Why are you here?”

Luca cocks her head. She kicks a little, playfully, at the water of the lake.

“I go where the Goddess wills me.” She smiles at the queen. “As we all must. As surely you do. Someone with a gift as strong as yours must feel her with every beat of your heart.”

“The Goddess,” Mirabella murmurs thoughtfully. “Willa said she was my . . . our mother.”

“The Goddess is mother to us all. But to you, especially. You are her body, here, on the island. Her hand. As I am her ears and eyes. And her voice to the people.”

“Why are you here?” Mirabella asks again, brow furrowing, and the lake shudders suddenly, the entire surface contracting, as if an earthquake struck someplace down deep.

“To meet you, of course. I am here because you are sad.”

“What is that?” From the shore, Sara points down into the water. Luca cannot see what she means, but from the way everyone backs away, it cannot be good. “There’s something in the lake!”