Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(68)

“Can you at least tell me how Jules Milone can bear the legion curse without losing her mind?”

“I cannot speak to that either.”

Katharine throws up her hands. She looks at the council, at Bree and Luca. She has tried. They must be able to see that.

“I am sorry, Queen Katharine. I’m sorry to displease you.”

Katharine turns her wrist against the bottle of Natalia’s poison, hidden in her sleeve.

“You have not displeased me. Return to the room we have prepared for you. Rest. I will join you later this evening to have my fortune read. I am looking forward to it.”

Theodora bows low and turns to leave. Katharine studies her every movement, wondering if the woman’s sight gift has shown her the queen’s true intentions. It does not seem so.

“Is that all?” Cousin Lucian asks. “Is that all we have waited for?”

“No, it is not all,” Katharine says. She motions to Pietyr and he comes to her instantly.

“Have guards placed outside her door. Let her wander, if she will, but do not let her leave the Volroy. I will have my answers, Lucian. We will all have them.”

That evening, Katharine goes to the oracle’s room with dinner in covered silver platters.

“Queen Katharine.” Theodora bows deeply. “It is an honor to dine with you. Will others from the Black Council join us?”

“Not tonight,” Katharine says, thinking of Bree and for some reason feeling guilty. “Tonight, I would keep my oracle all to myself.”

They sit, and the servants reveal the dishes: a pretty, pale soup of autumn squash, golden roasted hens bundled full of aromatic herbs and a dessert of custard swirled through with a fruit preserve. The servants fill their cups with wine and water and slice the bread. Then they go and close the door tightly behind them.

“I would have asked my companion, Pietyr Renard, to join us or Genevieve Arron. They have ever been fascinated by the sight gift. But they have also grown up as poisoners, and their faces turn so sour in the presence of untainted food.” Katharine gestures to the plates. “I find it terribly rude. But I cannot seem to break them of it.”

“The poisoner gift has grown strong. Even the babies are born with immunities now. To come into your gift and be impervious to the deadliest toxins . . . They have every right to be proud. It is a sacred thing.”

“Like all gifts are sacred,” Katharine says quickly. “I would instill in them a healthier respect of those other gifts.”

“Shall I throw the bones for you?” Theodora asks.

“After supper, perhaps. We do not want the food to get cold.” Katharine motions for her guest to begin, feeling the weight of the poison tucked into her sleeve.

Theodora stares at her. She is no fool. She knows what is coming. After a long moment, she takes up a piece of bread and dips it into the soup.

“I am sorry I was not of more use.” She turns to the hen and picks meat from the breast with her fingers.

“That is all right. You will be.”

The woman eats as slowly as she can, afraid of every bite. But she swallows and swallows again. Such brave consumption. It is a wonder to watch, even if the meal is not poisoned yet.

“You know I never wanted a troubled reign.” Katharine takes up her silver and begins to eat her own portion. “I am not the monster that you have heard about. Not undead, like they say. It was my sisters who were the traitors. Pretenders in black dresses—or trousers, as the case may be.

“But the island never gave me a chance. They rose up as soon as I had my crown. The mist coming for me like the Goddess herself.” Katharine skewers a bite of hen. “Well, let her take the naturalist’s side. It was not by the Goddess’s will that I was crowned anyway.”

“If not hers,” Theodora asks, “then whose?”

In her lap, Katharine positions the bottle of poison. Then she reaches for her wine.

“Have the oracles truly allied themselves with the rebellion?”

“I know of no such allegiance,” Theodora says, and purses her lips.

“Then why did you refuse to come? Why was I forced to drag you here?”

“Perhaps because everyone on the island is afraid of you.” She takes another bite of soup and bread.

Katharine shifts the poison at the edge of her sleeve. Agreeable delirium, in a purple bottle. Agreeable delirium, and death.

“You have such kind eyes, Mistress Lermont. I wish you were telling me the truth.” She takes a drink and sets her wine back on the table, passing her hand over the tops of Theodora’s cups. She has gotten better at it, and the poison slides down unseen to mingle with the water and wine. It is so easy that Katharine slips poison into every dish, tainting the bowl of squash soup and adding several shimmering drops to the custard. So much poison in the meal that the delirium begins to strike before the dessert is even touched, and Theodora starts to laugh.

“Is something funny?”

“No.” She dabs at her forehead with her sleeve and calms to take a swallow of water. “It’s only so strange that we are afraid of you. The stories that they tell—the Undead Queen—but you are such a small thing. And young. Nearly a child.”

“All queens are young in the crown at some point. You would think Jules Milone and her cronies would know that. But perhaps it is not even the true Jules Milone. Perhaps the real Jules Milone drowned in the Goddess’s storm with my sisters.”