Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns #4) - Kendare Blake Page 0,60

you any reason to suspect Mirabella’s involvement in this plot?”

Rho takes a moment to consider. “No. And I have been monitoring her closely. Even down to the woodpecker.”

“Good.” Katharine sighs and walks to her bed, where a black embroidered gown has been laid out to wear beneath her gold breastplate. “For I am surprised to discover that I actually trust her.”

“She is a powerful ally to have.”

“As are you,” Katharine says. “I want to thank you, Rho, for your loyalty. And for your discretion.” She lifts the strap of the gown. “Will you send my maid back in, please?”

Rho nods and leaves. The moment the door closes behind her the dead queens begin to chatter.

Mirabella, Mirabella, they murmur until Katharine wants to tear her hair out.

Mirabella is not to be trusted. Not until she is ours.

Bree and Elizabeth arrive early to dress and arm Mirabella. Elizabeth wears her finest robes and an adornment of blue ribbon, the splash of color permitted in celebration of the Mistbane and the heroic elementals. Bree wears the custom gown Katharine ordered made, and the blue and silver beads of the skirt sparkle as she moves, giving her the impression of a shining, swimming fish.

“It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be,” Elizabeth says, holding the breastplate in place with her right hand as Bree buckles it. The smooth, silver panel shines across Mirabella’s chest. She will have to be careful not to look down at it if the day proves sunny. She might blind herself.

Bree runs her fingers across the engraving of clouds and lightning, so expertly worked into the metal, the veins of the bolts spidering down to the edge of the armor. “It is beautiful. Even Luca was raving about it. I think she wishes we had made you something like this for the Ascension.”

“Does she think that would have helped?” Mirabella looks down at herself, then over her shoulder, toward the hanging tapestry and the secret door. She knows that Arsinoe is gone; after Katharine left her alone, she fiddled and tapped at the wall for what felt like forever, unable to get the passage to open. If Arsinoe had still been there, she would not have been able to disguise her laughter.

“Are you all right, Mira?” Elizabeth asks. “You seem very nervous for a simple parade.”

“You will not have to fight the mist today, after all,” Bree adds. “Well, unless it decides to rise . . .”

“That is very helpful!” Mirabella forces a grin. “But I am fine. And as usual, Bree, you will outshine me.” She gestures to the beaded gown, and Bree twirls.

“It is glorious! But heavier than your breastplate. I feel sorry for my horse.”

“They’ll have to put you on a nice, heavy draught horse, then,” says Elizabeth.

“Good Elizabeth. Always thinking of the animals. Perhaps a charger. I do not think Queen Katharine will allow any plow horses into her parade.”

Mirabella squares her shoulders. Arsinoe will not have given up on trying to get her out of the capital, no matter how foolish and impossible the task. Will she be there, somewhere? Will Mirabella have to see her face in the crowd, and the betrayal in her eyes when she does not use the distraction to run?

“Mira, do you want to wear any jewels? I do not know how they will go with this armor. . . .”

Anything could happen today. Something could go wrong. People could be killed. And there is no way to avoid it. She is utterly powerless to stop her sisters as they gnash their teeth at either end of her outstretched hands.

“No jewels,” she hears herself say. “Just the blue cape.”

“We should go, then,” says Bree. “They will want us in the council chamber. The soldiers will have already lined up.”

Mirabella follows Bree and Elizabeth down the stairs and listens to the sounds of the city at every window. It is louder than usual. Excited. The marketplace is alive, and vendors have taken up places along the parade route to sell hot hand pies and skewers of roasted meat. People will crowd along the streets ten or twenty deep.

When they enter the Black Council chamber, no one bows. They only nod, and after a quick glance, their eyes slide by to linger on Bree. Only Katharine remains fixed on her, whispering to Rho from the corner of her mouth and beckoning Mirabella closer.

“Sister,” Katharine says. “Are you ready?”

“I am. You look very fine in your armor.” Katharine’s gold breastplate, engraved