Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(67)

“Like water in a brook.” Genevieve frowns. “This will all turn out to be a very great waste of time.”

“It will be all right, Genevieve,” says Katharine, and takes Pietyr’s arm. “I would not have her put in the cells anyway. Give her a chance to be loyal. Summon her to the throne room.”

She walks with Pietyr through the castle, the weight of the poison a comfort in her pocket.

“Let them doubt,” Pietyr says softly. “The oracles know things about the island that even the temple does not. Bringing her here was a wise decision.”

Katharine nods. “I hope so, Pietyr.”

When they enter the throne room, they are alone except for the servants who tend and clean. But it does not take long for the Black Council to relocate from the chamber, and soon all are seated at their long table to her right. Bree catches her eye, pleased she has decided to question the oracle before them all. Cousin Lucian, on the other hand, clears his throat.

“Has the oracle been sent for? Should we not meet first? To discuss what to ask?”

“We will meet after. To discuss what is said.” Katharine motions with her chin. It is perhaps a less respectful gesture than he is accustomed to, for his eyes narrow. But Katharine does not care. Her mind is on the oracle, and besides, he is not her cousin.

Theodora Lermont, of the famed Lermont family of oracles, enters the throne room in a gown of pale yellows and grays. She is older, not as old as the High Priestess, but still older than Natalia. She is very spry, and the bath and meal have served her well. One would never guess she had just been dragged all the way across the island at a fevered pace.

“Theodora Lermont,” Katharine says after the seer has bowed deeply. “You are most welcome at the Volroy. I hope that your journey was not arduous?”

“It was long, Queen Katharine. But not arduous.” She turns to face the Black Council and nods a greeting to the High Priestess. “Luca. I am glad to see you are well. It’s been many years.”

“It has.” Luca chuckles. “And not all of those years have been kind.”

Katharine smiles passively at their exchange. She does not like the seer’s eyes. There is an emptiness there, or perhaps a resolve.

“Do you know why I asked you here?”

The seer smiles. “I am afraid, my queen, that that is not how the sight gift works.”

Katharine laughs politely, along with most of her council. Theodora Lermont has no tell, but Katharine knows she is lying.

“Then tell me, seer, how does it work? What use can you be to your queen?”

“I can cast the bones.” Theodora reaches into the folds of her gray skirt and produces a small leather pouch affixed to her belt. Inside will be knuckle bones, and the bones of a bird, feathers, and stones carved with runes. “See your fortune. Tell your future.”

“It is hard to be respectful of the sight gift when it comes dressed as a charlatan and with a bag of child’s toys,” says Genevieve, and Theodora’s eyes glitter with outrage.

“But respect it we will.” Katharine shushes Genevieve with a finger. “Respect it, we do. I would be honored if you would cast the bones for me. But later. Knowing my future is useful, but it is not why you are here. What do you know of the naturalist girl called Juillenne Milone?”

The oracle lowers her eyes, and Katharine glances at Pietyr, who nods subtly.

“Everyone has heard of the legion-cursed naturalist,” replies Theodora. “After she attacked you in the Wolf Spring forest, word spread quickly. And after she appeared in the midst of the duel, her fame continued to grow.”

“And now?”

“Now she gathers people to her cause.”

“So it is truly Jules Milone?”

Theodora shakes her head.

“That, my queen, I have not seen.”

“But you have seen that her cause is my crown.” The seer looks up at her gravely, and Katharine leans forward, that the woman may have a better view of the black band tattooed into her forehead. “How can that be? How can she seek to replace me with herself, when she is not a queen? Not of the bloodline of the Goddess?”

“Some say that the Goddess has abandoned the queens’ bloodline.”

“Is that what the prophecy says?” Pietyr asks, and Theodora’s eyes dart between them. “We have heard there is a prophecy.”

“Jules Milone was once a queen, and she may be a queen again.”

The Black Council begins to mutter, making gestures of disbelief.

“Or,” the oracle goes on, “she may be our doom.”

Katharine straightens. A sharp intake of breath sounds from the council table. But Theodora Lermont only shrugs.

“Our queen or our doom,” she says. “Or both at once. And if that is to be then none will stop her. Not the Black Council. Not the High Priestess.” She levels her eyes at Katharine. “Not you.”

Katharine touches her stomach as the dead queens wail. The crown is all they want. All they are. If she were to lose it, they would leave her. They would seep out of her pores, and then what would she have? How would she get it back?

“What does she have to do with the mist?” Katharine asks sharply. “Is she the cause of the mist rising?”

“The mist?” Theodora’s brows raise. “I know not.”