Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns #4) - Kendare Blake Page 0,54

rounds in the soldiers’ barracks. The tall priestess is so focused on her task that Katharine must call out to her twice.

“Yes? What is it, Queen Katharine?”

“I would speak with you a moment. If you would follow me?”

Rho nods. She does not hesitate when Katharine brings her through the entrance to the Volroy cells. Nor does she hesitate when they go down stair after stair, deep into the belly of the fortress. Why would she? She has nothing to fear, the great warrior priestess, not from Katharine, who is only a pale and sickly poisoner and small for her age to boot. Katharine leads Rho down to the lowest floor, to the cells that have long stood empty and are rarely checked, except for rats. She brings her to the last cell and steps inside.

“What are we doing here, Queen Katharine?”

Rho inhales through her nose. Though she is not afraid, she is on alert. Her broad shoulders and neck give her the look of a bull about to charge.

Katharine hesitates. To make this request of Rho is to tell her all. And if she refuses . . . She looks down, gravely, her fingers dancing across the poisoned blades she keeps ever at her hip.

“In the time you have served on the Black Council, I have come to trust your advice. But I must ask. You are a priestess of the temple. Where do your loyalties lie?”

“With you,” Rho says, surprised. “And with the Goddess.”

“All gifts come from the Goddess,” says Katharine. “And the queens are of the Goddess’s line. Descended from her. We are the Goddess, on earth.”

“Yes. That is known.”

“So what if I could make your gift stronger? Do not mistake me. It is strong already. But what if I could make it . . . invincible?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was not a poisoner born, Rho.” Katharine walks around her, cutting off her exit. “I expect Luca has told you that already.”

The priestess lowers her eyes, as much of an admission as she is going to get.

“I was not a warrior born either,” Katharine continues. “Yet I can throw knives with perfect aim. The people say that when I came back from the Quickening at the Beltane Festival, I came back changed. And they were right.” As she speaks, the dead sisters slip to the surface, listening. They look at Rho through Katharine’s eyes and sense the strength of her gift.

“Changed how?”

“For the better,” Katharine says, and Rho gasps. The dead queens have begun to show through. Black rot rises on Katharine’s cheeks; she feels the softening of the skin across her forehead.

“What are you?”

“Do not be afraid. I am the keeper of the Goddess’s other daughters. She has sent them to me, to look after her island. And I would share them with you. If you are willing.” The vessel must be willing. Or it must be weakened. Katharine’s hand again trails along her blades. “I need your help now, Rho. Genevieve and Renata tell me that their spies have indicated that the Legion Queen has left Sunpool. I fear that she may be here. That she may seek to sabotage the parade or worse, assassinate my sister.” Katharine waits as Rho studies the rot on her cheeks, and the sickly shadows swimming under her skin. Either Rho will draw her sword and try to run her through, or she will ask another question and Katharine will know she has her.

“What do you mean, share them with me?” Rho asks.

“There is only one way for you to truly know.” Katharine reaches up and touches Rho’s shoulder. “Kneel. Kneel, and receive them.”

Mirabella returns to the king-consort’s apartment with a throbbing headache. She had forgotten how much she dislikes dress fittings. All of the endless dress fittings she underwent at Westwood House, being made to stand this way or that way, to raise her arms and square her shoulders. To hold very still and avoid the pins. But what really bothered her was having the armor put on. Seeing herself in the mirror outfitted in shining silver, the breastplate etched with thunderheads and veins of grooved lightning, standing there as Mirabella Mistbane, ally of the Queen Crowned.

She walks through the room to the bedchamber. Perhaps if she lies down for a little while and gets some rest. If only she can keep from dreaming of Madrigal Milone choking on a mouthful of blood.

She spins at an odd sound of grinding and calls fire to her fingertips as someone steps