Five Dark Fates (Three Dark Crowns #4) - Kendare Blake Page 0,72
the front steps, she feels the house watching, every empty window a curtain-lidded eye. She nearly tugs down the hood of her cloak to conceal herself.
The door opens before she has a chance to knock. A butler in a smart black jacket and gray vest bows hello. There is a green scorpion clipped to his lapel but not a real semi-live one, thank the Goddess.
“Queen Katharine sent for me.”
“Of course.” He steps aside, and she walks into the foyer, heels echoing off the marble. “The queen is in her old rooms.”
Her old rooms, where Pietyr Renard was kept during his long illness. And now the rooms that he was kidnapped from.
Mirabella stretches her neck to get a better look at the butler’s face. The shadow of a fading bruise mars his cheekbone.
“It must have been frightening for you when the warriors attacked.”
“‘Warriors,’” he says. “I saw only one. And yes, she was fearsome.”
She follows him through the foyer and past several open doors. Greavesdrake is almost too much to take in. Her eyes wander up to the molding on the high ceilings and windows, and the wallpaper of textured velvet. She listens to her footsteps change from the marble floor to dark, polished wood. Every table is set as though ready to be committed to canvas: ornate gold candlesticks and shining trays spread with sinister red jewels. No doubt the jewels are replaced by poison berries when poison berries are in season.
“What a beautiful place to grow up,” she comments, though she means exactly the opposite. Greavesdrake Manor is opulent and menacing. Much like the poisoners themselves are.
“I could tell you many stories about the young queen. Perhaps after you are dismissed, I may bring you to the library. It was Queen Katharine’s favorite place to hide. In the stacks. Behind the curtains. We would lose her there for hours, bricked up behind a fortress of books.”
“A fortress of books,” Mirabella says. She imagines little Katharine stacking volumes to craft a careful, curving tower. And then reading her way out.
Little Katharine. Gone as Little Mirabella is gone, and how she mourns them. How all women must mourn the loss of those little girls, relegated to shadow as they grow.
He leads Mirabella up a long set of stairs that overlooks the center gallery and great room, and along the hall before stopping at a set of open doors.
“The queen is expecting you,” he says, and bows. “I am called Edmund, should you have need of anything.”
Mirabella nods and steps into the room. It appears untouched. Nothing upended or rifled through. Emilia—for it must have been Emilia—has left no trace.
She steps farther inside, past fine tables and a chaise of striped silk. The servants have kept the space up nicely. But it still carries a smell. Sour and stale. The smell of a body fallen into disuse. As she reaches the threshold of the bedroom, she sees Katharine standing at the foot of the bed.
“Katharine?”
“Yes, yes, come in.”
Katharine seems distracted. Or perhaps merely upset. As Mirabella moves to join her, she cannot help but remember: it was here that Pietyr was discovered after whatever had befallen him. And perhaps whatever that was has left something behind.
She scans the walls and furniture, not knowing what she is looking for. But that is pointless. Luca said that Pietyr would be able to tell her what is wrong with Katharine. But only if he is conscious. And here.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” Mirabella says. “Though I do not know how much help I may be. Do you mean to send me back to the rebellion? Try to convince them to release him?”
Katharine glances at her like she is a fool. “Of course not.”
“Then what would you have me do?”
“What will I do?” Katharine asks. “The queen in me says I should do nothing. That Pietyr has been as good as dead for months, and his body . . . his shell . . . is not worth any risk.”
“But?”
“But I would ride there tonight if I could. Take the fastest horse from the stable and gallop through the frozen pass.” She seems exhausted. And smaller, somehow, as if the trappings of the crown have fallen away inside her childhood bedroom. “There were rebels in my city. Warriors, who came here, to the Arron estate, and stole the thing I hold most dear. What sort of Queen Crowned am I, Mirabella, if they would dare that?”
Mirabella frowns. She looks around the floor, into the shadowy corners,