Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns #4) - Kendare Blake Page 0,38

of Genevieve Arron.”

“Of course it was.” Mirabella sighs. “Queen Katharine told me that she had set Genevieve to look into it.” She leans her head back and stares at the ceiling as if she can see right through it, all the way up to Luca. Maybe if she grabbed her by the shoulders and shook, all of the answers would simply fall out of her. “Goddess. Now I am thinking like Arsinoe.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. The Arrons—do they often make demands upon the temple? Is it easy for the priestesses to function here, so close to the crown and the council?”

“It can be difficult,” Dennie admits. “Though perhaps the greatest difficulty lies in simply being acknowledged. Sometimes I think that the Black Council has forgotten the reason that the capital city was founded here in the first place.”

“And what was that?”

“It was the site of the first temple, of course.”

“This”—Mirabella gestures around them—“this was the very first temple?”

“No. This is a monument to the Volroy. Completed before it but made to match. The first temple has been lost to time. Like so many things. But you mustn’t worry about us. It has been much better since the High Priestess returned.”

“The High Priestess . . . does she know about the first temple?”

“Yes, but perhaps no more than I do.”

If only it still existed. The answers it must hold. Mirabella picks up a book and runs her hand across the cover.

“I have been reading about the other queens. But I can find no mention of any before Queen Bethel the Pious. Are there other, older volumes kept elsewhere?”

Dennie’s brow knits in thought. “Perhaps in other temples. Perhaps pilfered away to the Volroy. Or even to Greavesdrake Manor. Or perhaps, those ancient queens have also been lost to time.”

“As long as there has been the island, there have been the island’s queens,” Mirabella says absently, and the initiate nods. Everyone on Fennbirn knows that. And they know the first, though she has no name. The first queen, known only through myth and legend. Bearer of the first triplets. Some say she was the Goddess herself, that she bestowed the gifts upon the early people and ruled for a hundred years. Mirabella has seen her in many paintings: a dark beauty with shadowed eyes, always depicted with her arms extended above the island and three dark stars beneath her.

But those are only artists’ renderings. Nothing ancient remains from her time. No accounts. No relics. Not even her name.

“The Goddess herself,” Mira muses quietly. “And what would that make us?”

“My lady?”

“Nothing. I was only wondering about those queens who have come before. Those ancient ones who are lost to us. What wisdom might they have? What secrets would they share? Was it easier in their times?” She rubs her hands roughly across her face and her tired eyes.

“It’s a shame no one knows where the ruins of the first temple lie. And it is a shame to have lost such a sacred site.”

“It is a shame,” Mirabella says. “Perhaps some queen someday will find it.”

GREAVESDRAKE MANOR

Whenever she can get away from the castle, Katharine goes to Greavesdrake to tend to Pietyr herself. Lately, it has not been easy. With Mirabella in the city, the whole of the Black Council is as jumpy as cats in a thunderstorm. The members want their Queen Crowned close at hand. They want to be sure that she is watching, and ready, like they are, should Mirabella prove to be less than trustworthy.

“I am sorry I am late,” she whispers to Pietyr as he lies resting peacefully in her old bedroom. There has been no more bleeding, and Edmund has told her that occasionally there are twitches of reflex in Pietyr’s legs or movement behind his eyelids. She knows that he will wake soon. She can feel it. And then he will be back with her, where he belongs.

“And when you wake, we will be even. Truly even. You threw me down into the Breccia Domain, and I . . .”

As she looks at him, the dead queens rise, fascinated by him as he lies there. As if not even they can believe what they have done.

“No,” Katharine whispers. “Stay away from him. When we are in this room, you will not be here.”

The dead queens ignore her. Instead, they grasp for control of her hand and reach for his cheek, as if they might feel for warmth, and peel open his eyes to gaze inside them. It is