Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(4)

“My whole long reign.”

“Yes. Thirty, perhaps forty years.”

“Pietyr.” She laughs. “Queens do not rule that long anymore.” She sighs and cocks her head at her unfinished image. Barely begun and unknown, much like she herself is. Who knows what she might do during her years as queen? Who knows the changes she might make? And Pietyr is right. The people will know what they need to know. Already they do not know that she was thrown down into the Breccia Domain, saved from death by the spirits of the dead sisters who were thrown down similarly when their Ascensions failed. The people do not know that she has no true gift of her own, and what strength she has is borrowed from those same dead queens, who even now race through her blood in a rotten current.

“Sometimes I wonder whose crown this is, Pietyr. Mine,” she whispers, “or theirs. I could not have done it without them.”

“Perhaps. But you do not need them anymore. I thought . . . ,” he says, and clears his throat. “I thought they might be gone. That they might leave you alone now that they have what they wanted.”

Katharine’s stomach flutters. Her hunger for poison and her lust for blood have slackened since her sisters sailed into the mist to drown. So perhaps Pietyr is right. Perhaps the dead queens are finished. Perhaps now they will grow quiet and content.

She finishes signing the orders Pietyr brought and takes up her empty bottle and rope as the painter returns.

He wraps the rope again around her wrist, over and over until he has it just as it was. “We must work quickly now, before I lose the light.” He lifts her chin with a finger and gently positions her head, daring one moment to look into her eyes.

“How many sets of eyes do you see?” she asks, and he blinks at her uncertainly.

“Only yours, my queen.”

The next morning, Genevieve arrives at the door of Katharine’s chamber to escort her to the Black Council.

“Ah, Genevieve,” says Pietyr. “Come in! Have you had your breakfast? We are just finishing.”

His voice is bright and smug; Genevieve’s smile forced and closer to a grimace. But Katharine pretends not to notice. Natalia’s murder has left a void that must be filled, and all Arrons will bicker among themselves to fill it. Besides, despite the hatred she still feels for Genevieve, Katharine has determined to judge her anew. She is Natalia’s younger sister, after all, and now the Arron matriarch.

“I have already eaten.” Genevieve studies the queen’s empty plate: a mess of cheese scraps and bits of boiled egg. Smears of a jam of poison fruit. “I thought we had decided to limit her poison intake after what happened to the king-consort.”

“It is only a little jam.”

“Two days ago, I saw her shove belladonna berries and scorpions into her mouth faster than she could chew.”

Pietyr glances at Katharine, and she blushes. The dead warriors made her hands itch for blades, and the dead naturalist queens drew her to stroll in the garden. Sometimes the dead poisoners had their cravings.

“Well,” he says, “limiting her intake may not reverse the condition anyway.”

“But it is worth trying, since we have time. And that is the only thing we do have, is it not?”

Katharine slips away to feed Sweetheart as they argue. The coral snake has molted and grown and has a lovely new enclosure filled with leaves to hide behind and rocks to sun herself on. Katharine reaches into another small cage and scoops out a baby rodent. She loves to watch Sweetheart race across the warm sand of her enclosure after it.

“Is there a particular reason you have come to escort me this morning, Genevieve?”

“There is. High Priestess Luca has returned.”

“So soon?” Pietyr wipes his lips with his napkin and stands. It has been only two weeks since the High Priestess departed for Rolanth to move her household from her quarters in Rolanth Temple to her old ones in Indrid Down. “Kat, we should go.”

One on each side, Pietyr and Genevieve escort her down the many stairs of the West Tower, down and down until they reach the main floor of the Volroy and the council chamber. The other members have already assembled, chatting quietly over their tea. High Priestess Luca stands apart, drinking nothing and speaking to no one.

“High Priestess Luca,” Katharine greets her. She takes the old woman’s hands. “You have returned.”

“And so quickly,” says Genevieve with a frown.

“My household is traveling slowly behind me by wagon,” Luca replies. “I have beaten them by a day or two.”

“You should install some of your belongings here in the West Tower.” Katharine smiles. “It would be good to have another floor in residency. From a distance, it looks very grand; imagine my surprise to discover how many floors are taken up by kitchens and storage.”

She and the High Priestess both refuse to acknowledge the sour looks on the faces of the council, as well as their own discomfort. Katharine cannot say that she likes the old woman, and from the way Luca’s eyes follow her, she knows the High Priestess neither likes nor trusts her either. But Natalia struck this bargain. Her last bargain. So Katharine will honor it.

She gestures to the long dark table, and the Black Council takes their seats as servants leave two fresh pots of tea, one poisoned with Natalia’s beloved mangrove, and refresh the sugar and lemon bowls. They clear old cups and saucers littered with biscuit crumbs and brighten the lamps before closing the heavy doors. An extra seat has been added for Luca. Pietyr sits in Natalia’s old seat, though he has not replaced her as Head.