Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(49)

“What are you doing, creeping around? You’re as bad as Camden on padded feet.” She runs her hand through her growing hair; soon it will be time to cut it again and further horrify Billy’s mother. “Why were you hiding?”

“I was not hiding. I was sitting in the shade.”

“Where’s Billy?”

“He left me at the gate. So as not to interfere.”

Arsinoe cranes her neck. The grounds are deserted, as usual. She kneels beside Joseph’s grave and begins to unload the contents of her sack.

“I cannot believe I agreed to this.” Mirabella lowers herself onto the grass to help. She takes up the blue bottle and holds it to the light. “We should have come after dark.”

“The fire would have caused even more attention then.” Arsinoe sets the three candles in a triangle atop the grass where Joseph lies. But perhaps that is too close. She needs the aid of his island blood, but she does not want to disturb him.

“He would disapprove, you know.”

“I know. And then he’d help us anyway.”

The words catch in her throat, and she and Mirabella look sadly at the grave marker. It is so fresh, so bright among the other, older gravestones on the hill. It is still hard to believe that he is gone.

Together, she and Mirabella lay the other items from the sack on the grass: the pieces of resin, the oil, and finally, Arsinoe’s sharp little dagger. Arsinoe uncorks the oil and sniffs. The scent is sweet and herbal. She shakes some onto the ground, then dabs a bit onto her forehead and chest. She does the same to Mirabella, who crinkles her nose.

“Would it be possible to do a banishing spell? Could we use these same things to send the Blue Queen away and get rid of your dreams?”

“Maybe,” Arsinoe replies. “But somehow, I don’t think it would work.” She pauses and looks at her sister a bit guiltily. “I think I’ve come to like her. Daphne, I mean.”

Mirabella dabs at the oil in the bottle and rubs it between her fingers. “What did she show you last night? When you struggled?”

“She showed me her hatred of Duke Branden of Salkades.”

“The handsome suitor? And why does she hate him? Because he is ruining her Henry’s chances?”

“No,” Arsinoe says darkly. “Because he is wicked.”

“Well.” Mirabella adjusts her legs to sit in a more comfortable position. “You do not have to worry too much. History tells us that Henry Redville becomes Illiann’s king-consort. And that Salkades becomes the leader of the losing battle against the island.”

“I didn’t know about Salkades.” Arsinoe shoves her lightly. “Don’t spoil it for me.”

The preparations complete, she rubs her hands together and gestures to the candles.

“Can you use your gift to light these?”

“All three?” Mirabella squints doubtfully.

“What about just the resin?”

Mirabella focuses until sweat beads on her temples. It is difficult to watch, when Arsinoe has seen her summon a ball of flame straight into her open palm. With a wish. With a thought. But just when Arsinoe thinks Mirabella will give up, the resin lights and starts to smoke. Mirabella exhales and laughs, and the candles ignite in a rush. Around them, the wind stills. The birds and insects quiet.

“Is this a good sign?” Mirabella asks.

“Any sign is a good sign.” Arsinoe takes up the dagger and cuts a small crescent into the curve of her arm. The sting is familiar, but it does not feel the same as it did beneath the bent-over tree. There is a flatness to it. The pain is thin and bitter as a dirty coin in her mouth. “Give me your arm.” She cuts Mirabella a crescent to match. The first scar upon her flawless skin.

“What should I do?” Mirabella asks as their blood drips before the candles and sinks into the earth where Joseph lies.

“Reach out to the island with your mind. Let it find you—” Arsinoe starts, and then the shadow of the tree changes.

It grows darker. It grows deeper. It grows legs.

The shadow of the Blue Queen slinks toward them as if made of smoke, if smoke could bend the grass and stamp it down into footprints. When she climbs atop Joseph’s headstone and perches there like a hideous crow, Mirabella jerks, perhaps to run away or perhaps to knock her off, but Arsinoe holds her fast.

“What do you want?” Mirabella asks.

The Blue Queen stretches out her arm. She points a finger toward the sea. Toward the island.

“The island.” Arsinoe stares deep into the void of the ancient queen’s face. “We understand. But what do you want? Why am I dreaming as Daphne? What are you trying to tell me, Queen Illiann?”

The Blue Queen makes a sound. A shriek. The groan of a dead jaw yawning open. The sound grows until it becomes a wind, and Arsinoe ducks over the lit candles. But they remain lit. Flickering, as Mirabella uses her gift to push back.

“We are like you,” Mirabella says. “We are of your line. Tell us what you want from us. Or leave us in peace!”

The screaming wind slows, and the Blue Queen puts her hands to her throat. Her head twists back and forth.

“She can’t speak,” says Arsinoe. “She’s trying.”

“Go.” It is a croak. One word. Then again. “Go.” She claws at her mouth. Points again to Fennbirn. “Go.”