Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(20)
“Perhaps someone so serious as my sister needed that lightness,” Katharine says, propped up on an elbow. “Perhaps I do, too, and Bree will become my friend.”
“Or perhaps she is truly an idiot butterfly, never aware of the weight of the events transpiring around her, and now we must suffer her on the Black Council.” Pietyr adds wood to the dying fire and swings a pot of water over it to heat for tea.
Katharine’s eyes go blank, her voice empty. “Never trust her. She will always hate and resent us.”
“Whose words were those?” Pietyr asks. “Yours or Natalia’s? Mine?” He chuckles, and it sounds false. “Or someone else’s?”
She knows who he means. The dead queens clamoring nervously and eagerly in her blood. The words came and went so quickly that not even Katharine is sure.
Pietyr returns to the bed and kneels beside it. He cups her face and trails his fingertips from her neck to her collarbone. “Do you need them anymore?”
“What do you mean?”
“You are the Queen Crowned. You have what we wanted. What they wanted. And now they can grow quiet and disappear.”
Disappear. In her mind’s eye, she sees Pietyr’s neck snapping, his head twisted too far around. She can almost hear it, the crunch of bones. Hush, hush, old sisters. I know you have had enough of disappearing.
She takes his hand and kisses it, then pushes past him to get out of bed.
“I am only in the crown because of them.” She ties her dressing gown and sits at her table to rub a soothing cream into her dry, scarred hands. “It was they who brought me back. Who made me strong.”
“I am grateful that they saved you. But it is your time to rule now, Kat, and you have always been a queen, able and blessed.”
Katharine smiles at him from her reflection in her mirror. The young queen it shows is still pale but not so hollow. Not so sunken, and the hair falling around her in loose curls shines brightly black.
“What am I without them? Without the dead queens lending me hints of their gifts, I have nothing. No gift of my own. The dead war queens let me throw their knives. The dead poisoners let me devour their poisons. The dead naturalists make sure that New Sweetheart does not turn on me and bite.”
“New Sweetheart,” he says softly.
“Yes. I figured that out, too. So perhaps they have even made me smarter.”
“You were always clever, Kat. Clever and sweet, in equal measure.” He approaches from behind and squeezes her shoulders. “I will leave you to prepare.”
“Indeed. We do not want to be late for Bree’s first day.”
Katharine orders fresh pink roses to brighten the council chamber, along with plenty of cool water in silver pitchers. She has the tea cart loaded with berries and meringues and other things she has heard that elementals like to eat, and not a single drop of it is poisoned.
“It is more than we could have expected, had things gone another way,” Pietyr says when he sees her preparations. He kisses her hand, and his teeth graze her knuckles, sending pleasurable tingles all the way up her arm. It will be hard to revert to discretion after Pietyr finds her another husband.
The clock ticks, and the other members of the Black Council begin to arrive. Genevieve comes to curtsy and kiss her cheek, so sweet and gentle to Katharine since the crowning. Cousin Lucian bows grandly, perhaps afraid his seat could be traded back to Cousin Allegra at any time. Renata, the priestess Rho Murtra, and High Priestess Luca enter together and sit without a word, though Luca’s old eyes twinkle like stars.
Antonin sniffs the dishes on the tea cart.
“Not a drop of poison?” he asks. “If this is how it will be, I will have to start taking a larger breakfast.”
Together they wait, and wait some more, some standing and chatting quietly, others seated and looking bored. Pietyr has his head propped on forefinger and thumb, staring at the untouched empty chair left specifically for Bree.
“Perhaps her carriage was delayed?” Renata suggests, and glances around meekly. “Shall we send someone out after her?”
“She will be here.” Every back in the room straightens when Rho speaks. Her voice is nearly too booming for the chamber to contain. “Her town house is not far. If the carriage failed, she and Elizabeth will walk.”
“Elizabeth?” Genevieve asks. “Who is Elizabeth? Surely the Westwoods know that they are not allowed an entourage. Surely she has the backbone to come alone.”
“Of course I do!” Bree Westwood calls out, her timing so perfect that Katharine wonders whether she was waiting just outside the door. The heels of her boots ring off the stone, and Katharine glimpses someone behind her, lingering in the hall in a white priestess robe. It must be the priestess Elizabeth. Mirabella’s other best friend.
“Perfect,” Katharine whispers, and squeezes her hands tight to quiet the dead queens’ grumbling as Bree Westwood blows into the Black Council like a gust of cold air. She has had weeks to prepare for this, her grand arrival. And there is nothing for Katharine to do but be gracious. Bree drops half a curtsy to Katharine, and a very full bow to High Priestess Luca, and then plops into her seat. Her chin is raised, eyes defiant, and hair cascading in bright brown waves, held back by silver combs.
Katharine nods to her.
“Welcome to my council, Bree Westwood. I hope your journey to the capital was not difficult? And if there is anything I can do to ease the transition of your household, do not hesitate to ask.” Bree does not respond, so she goes on. “I have had a special tea prepared, to welcome you.” She gestures toward the cart.