Three Dark Crowns (Three Dark Crowns #1) - Kendare Blake Page 0,43

Midwife as babies.

“Then what?” Luca asks.

“In the old legends, there were other White-Handed Queens,” says Rho.

“Queen Andira, whose sisters were both oracles, with the sight gift,” Luca says. Queens with the sight gift are prone to madness, and put to death. But neither Arsinoe nor Katharine are oracles.

“Another,” says Rho. “Still another. I speak of the White-Handed Queen of the Sacrificial Year.”

Luca narrows her eyes. Rho has been thinking on this for a long time. A Sacrificial Year refers to a generation in which two of the queens are nearly giftless. So weak that they are viewed less as kills than as sacrifices.

Rho has dug deep. Only temple scholars are likely to have heard even the vaguest allusion or parable of the Sacrificial Year.

“This may be such a year,” says Luca. “But I fail to see how it will help, if Mirabella will not claim the sacrifices.”

“In some Sacrificial Years, the people take the sacrifices for her,” Rho says. “The night of the Quickening, in the most sacred of places, the people rise up and feed the other queens into the fires.”

Luca watches Rho carefully. She has never read that. “That is not true,” she says.

Rho shrugs. “Enough whispering will make it true. And it would be quick, and clean, and it would spare the queen’s soft heart.”

“You want us to—” Luca starts, but then glances at the door and lowers her voice, “sacrifice Arsinoe and Katharine at Beltane?”

“Yes. On the third day. After the Quickening Ceremony.”

Bloodthirsty Rho, always seeking final solutions. But Luca never imagined she would hatch anything like this.

“The council would have us killed.”

“Mirabella would still have the throne. And besides, they would not, if the island was with us. Not if the rumor was spread. We will need Sara Westwood.”

Luca shakes her head. “Sara would not agree.”

“Sara has become a pious woman. She will do as the temple instructs. And so will its priestesses. Besides, it will do the island good, to be reminded of its old legends.”

Old legends. Legends that they spin out of thin air.

“I do not want to give up on Mira so quickly,” she says, and Rho frowns. “But it is something to consider.”

GREAVESDRAKE MANOR

Katharine and Pietyr sit with Natalia around a table picked clean of food. Lunch was a loin of pork from a poisoned hog, the sauce made from butter and milk from a cow that had been grazed on henbane. Stout oat bread to sop it up. There was also a soufflé of jack-o’-lantern mushrooms. Natalia does not care to eat untainted food, but everything she served contained poisons to which Katharine has acquired a near immunity.

Natalia calls for more wine. Her dining room is pleasantly warm. Fire crackles in the fireplace and thick red curtains hold in the heat.

“How was Half Moon’s gait today?” Natalia asks. “One of the grooms worried he was swelling on his right rear pastern.”

“His gait was fine,” Katharine replies. “And there was no heat in the leg.”

Half Moon is her favorite black gelding, named for the white crescent on his forehead. Had he showed any signs of lameness, Katharine would never have taken him out. Beneath the table, she moves her knee against Pietyr’s.

“Did you notice anything, Pietyr?” she asks.

“Not at all. He seemed perfectly sound.”

He clears his throat and moves his knee away from hers, as if he fears that Natalia can sense their contact. When they are in her presence, he is always careful to maintain distance, even though Natalia knows what they do. Even though he is there at Natalia’s insistence.

“I have some exciting news,” Natalia says. “A delegation has arrived early from the mainland. And the suitor wishes to meet with Katharine.”

Katharine sits up straighter and glances at Pietyr.

“He is not the only one to meet, mind you,” Natalia continues. “But he is a promising start. We have had dealings with his family for a number of years. They fostered Joseph Sandrin during his banishment.”

“I will look upon him kindly, then,” Katharine says.

“No more kindly than you would look upon any other,” says Natalia, even though she means exactly the opposite. “His name is William Chatworth Jr. I do not know when we will be able to arrange a meeting. He is in Wolf Spring at present, having audiences with Arsinoe, the poor boy. But when we do, will you be ready?”

“I will be.”

“I believe you,” says Natalia. “You have looked much better these past weeks. Stronger.”

It is true. Since Pietyr has come, Katharine has changed. Genevieve would still

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