Three Dark Crowns (Three Dark Crowns #1) - Kendare Blake Page 0,93
here,” Natalia says in her cold, steady voice. She is the only one in the tent whose heart does not appear to be pounding. “She has no voice on the council.”
“There are many here who do not have a voice on the council,” Cait points out.
“Cait,” Natalia says. “Of course you may stay. As fosters, all you Milones may stay.”
“Aye, and we thank you,” Cait replies sarcastically. “But is it true? Has she been found?”
“We will know soon enough,” says Luca. “I have sent priestesses to the coast to collect these travelers, whoever they may be.”
The Black Council sneers at the word “travelers,” and Natalia shushes them like children. “If one of these travelers is indeed Arsinoe, then Queen Mirabella should go. You know better than anyone that they are not to meet until the Disembarking.”
“They have already met once,” Luca says. “Another time will do no harm. The queen will stay. She will stay and be silent. As will you, young Milone.”
The cougar pins its ears. The elder Milones each place a hand on Jules’s shoulders.
The priestesses return from the beach with tromping footsteps and jostling bodies. Mirabella listens tensely as the crowd mutters and gasps. And then the tent flap opens, and the priestesses throw Arsinoe inside.
Mirabella bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. It is hard to tell that it is Arsinoe at first. She is soaked to the bone, and shaking, crumpled into a ball on the thin temple rug. And her face is ruined by deep, stitched gashes.
The priestesses stand guard with their hands on the hilts of their knives. They are ridiculous. The girl can barely stand let alone run.
“What happened to her face?” Renata Hargrove asks, disgusted.
“So there really was a bear,” Genevieve mutters over Natalia’s shoulder.
The stitched-together cuts are bright red. Irritated by the salt water.
More noise rumbles outside the tent flap, and two more priestesses enter with a boy struggling between them. Through his soaked, sand-streaked clothes, Mirabella recognizes him as the boy who was in the woods when Arsinoe and Jules found Joseph. He had been holding the horses. She had thought he was an attendant. But he must be the suitor, William Chatworth Jr.
The boy wrenches loose of the priestesses and kneels near Arsinoe, shivering.
“Arsinoe,” he says. “It’s going to be all right.”
“Arsinoe, I’m here!” Jules shouts, but Cait and Ellis hold her back.
Lucian Marlowe reaches down and pulls Chatworth up by the collar. “The boy should be killed,” he says.
“Perhaps,” says Natalia. “But he is a delegate.” She steps toward him and holds his chin in her hand. “Did you knowingly take Queen Arsinoe, mainlander? Did you attempt to help her flee? Or did she take control of your vessel and do it herself?”
Her voice is carefully neutral. Anyone listening would believe that she does not care one way or another how he answers.
“We were caught in a squall,” he says. “We barely made it here. We did not mean to leave.”
Margaret Beaulin laughs aloud. Genevieve Arron shakes her head.
“He didn’t know,” Arsinoe whispers from the carpet. “I made him. It was me.”
“Very good,” says Natalia. She flicks her wrist, and two priestesses take Billy by the arms.
“No,” he says. “She’s lying!”
“Why should we believe the word of a mainlander over one of our own queens?” Natalia asks.
“Take him to the harbor,” she says. “Send word to his father. Tell him that we are most relieved that he has been returned unharmed. And hurry. He does not have long to recover before the Disembarking.”
“This whole place is mad,” Billy growls. “Don’t you touch her! Don’t you dare touch her!”
He struggles, but it is not difficult to remove him, exhausted as he is.
With him gone, every eye falls on Arsinoe.
“This is unfortunate,” Renata says.
“And unpleasant,” says Paola. “It would have been better had she stayed lost. If she had drowned. Now there will be a mess.”
Genevieve slips out from behind Natalia and leans down close to Arsinoe’s ear.
“She has been very stupid,” she says. “Another boat and another boy. She has not even come up with a different plan.”
“Get away from her.” Jules Milone’s voice is a growl. Genevieve looks for a moment at the cougar, as if unsure it was not the one who actually spoke.
“Quiet,” the High Priestess says. “And you, Genevieve. Get back.”
Genevieve clenches her jaw. She looks to Natalia, but Natalia does not disagree. At Beltane, the temple rules. The Goddess rules, whether the Black Council likes it or not.