The Oracle Queen (Three Dark Crowns #0.1) - Kendare Blake Page 0,17

say? Do they think him a fool? Or me the fool for being wooed by his pretty face?”

“I’m afraid I don’t hear much court gossip, with my nose inches from a canvas. The painting is coming along splendidly, by the way. I hope to be able to present it to you within a matter of weeks.”

“Perhaps you could show me its progress.”

“I would like that.” His eyes took on a curious slant. “So you really don’t hear all the gossip, then? I had heard that some oracles were able to hear the thoughts of others.”

“Some can. The sight gift is varied and not well understood. We are so rare. Even with me on the throne, the sight-gifted will never be as prolific as the naturalists or the elementals. What good would we be? The Goddess knows how best to balance her gifts.” She motioned for him to take a seat and joined him, pouring some watered wine for them both to get the taste of Gilbert’s tonic out of their mouths. “Sometimes the sight gift comes as nothing more than seeing cold spots. Violence and places of bloodshed.”

“I know of that. I have read of it. ‘Death leaves an impression as a cold stain upon the ground.’” His brow furrowed. “Is it like that for you?”

“Not only that, but yes. I can tell you the near-precise location where every queen before me died, for what feels like four generations. The places where my sisters died may as well be splashed with blood.” She looked out her window. “How is your history? Do you know of Queen Elo, the fire breather, who burned a fleet of Selkan ships in Bardon Harbor?”

“I do. They say she put an end to foreign invasion, and in impressive fashion.”

Elsabet smiled. Invasions would come again as new kings sought to leave their marks through conquest. But she had seen none coming during her time.

“I can hardly bear to look out into the harbor some days, depending on the wind,” she said softly. “The churning ghosts are still so thick.”

Jonathan swallowed and followed her gaze as if he might catch a glimpse of them himself.

“I don’t tell that to many people,” Elsabet said. “Bess knows. And sometimes I think Rosamund and Sonia—the war-gifted—can sense it. But I have never told them outright.”

“Why not?” he asked, but then shook his head. “Forgive me. That was a foolish question. Seeing ghosts and scenting graves are shunned even in a fortune-teller. Of course they would be shunned in a queen.”

“A queen is expected to yield grand prophecies. Not grow faint passing unmarked graveyards.”

“Well. I find it a useful skill and would welcome you as a fellow traveler along unfamiliar roads.”

He raised his cup to her, and Elsabet laughed.

“Every time we meet, I mean to find out more about you and instead give away more of myself. Do you inspire such candid conversation in everyone you meet, Jonathan Denton?”

“I’m sorry, my queen.”

“Do not be sorry. Just do not become my enemy.”

THE VOLROY

Queen Elsabet and Bess walked along the rows of roses on the west side of the Volroy. To anyone watching, it would have looked like an idle errand: the queen accompanying her friend as she pruned. But those who knew her best knew that Bess was often the queen’s eyes and ears, when she could not be seen to be looking or listening herself.

“You need better spies than me,” Bess said quietly. “It is too well known I am of your household. No one speaks when I’m nearby.”

“But who else could I trust? Only you and Rosamund.” Perhaps Jonathan Denton, one day. But she did not say so out loud.

“Catherine Howe is loyal. And I am sure her household has very good spies.” Bess clipped a rose and teased the petals back and forth beneath Elsabet’s nose. “There was one rumor that was too loud to be hidden.”

“What?”

“That Jonathan Denton is the queen’s new lover.”

Elsabet laughed. “New? As if there have been others.” She had known that was what people would think. What she did not foresee was how much the idea would please her. “Poor Jonathan. He will have no peace.”

“Poor Jonathan?” Bess smiled. “Is he coming back to the Volroy soon?”

“I think so.” She prodded Bess in the hip when she laughed. “To show me my painting.”

They walked together around the castle, and two servants stepped up and bowed.

“What’s this?” she asked, and they held out a long, formal cape, soft and shining black. Threads of silver had