the tent. The flap moves behind her, and she turns to see Pietyr.
“They should let us do as we wish with our own feast,” he says, reading her mind. “It is not as if anyone is brave enough to try our food, anyway.”
She looks out into the night, the bonfires and milling people. He is right, of course. Not even those who have had too much to drink will dare touch what the poisoners prepare. There is too much fear. Too little trust.
“The delegates may venture close enough to eat,” Natalia says. “And we do not want to be poisoning them. It would create a spectacle if they had convulsions on the rug.”
And they cannot afford to lose a one. There are fewer and fewer suitors every generation. On the mainland, the number of families who share the secret of the island has dwindled. One day, Fennbirn may be nothing more than a rumor, a legend to delight the mainland children.
Natalia sighs. She has seen a few of the suitors standing before Katharine’s feast already. The first was the handsome boy with broad shoulders and golden-blond hair. He seemed to like the look of her very much, though they will still not be allowed to speak.
“I hope you have taught her to flirt from a distance,” Natalia says.
“She knows how to use her eyes,” Pietyr says. “And her movements. Do not worry.”
But he is worried. She can see it in the drag of his shoulders.
“It is unfortunate that the Chatworth boy proved loyal to Arsinoe,” Pietyr says.
“Is it? I am not so sure. I have been assured that he will fall into line.”
“It did not seem that way on the beach. Right now he is probably lingering outside of Arsinoe’s feast, like a dog hoping for scraps.”
Natalia closes her eyes.
“Are you all right, Aunt? You seem tired.”
“I am fine.”
But she is tired. Katharine’s Ascension Year is the second of her lifetime. It will probably be her last. It was all so much easier with Camille, when Natalia was still a girl and her mother was still alive to act as the head of the family.
Pietyr stares through the tent flap.
“The country fools dare one another to come close to our feast,” he says. “Such is our influence. It is hard to believe that it will all be over tomorrow. It is hard to believe that the priestesses have won.”
“Who says that they have?” Natalia asks, and Pietyr looks at her in surprise. “You say that I am tired, but why do you think that is? You asked me to find a way to save our Kat. All day long, I have been preparing food for a Gave Noir with no poison in it.”
“How?” Pietyr asks. “With priestesses overseeing everything?”
Natalia inclines her head. No poisoner is better at sleight of hand than she is.
“Natalia, they will test it.”
Natalia does not reply. He acts as though she has not been slipping poison into things unnoticed for most of her life.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS’S ENCAMPMENT
“I do not believe the brat returned,” says Rho, standing with Luca outside the High Priestess’s tent, watching the last of the temple crates be moved.
“It is a curious thing,” Luca says. “Queen Arsinoe washing up on our beach was certainly not something I expected. But it was not her choice.”
“Her part in the story is not over yet, it seems,” says Rho. “Or perhaps the Goddess is as mindful of tradition as our Mirabella, and no queen leaves unless she is dispatched by her sister’s hand.”
“What have you heard, Rho?” Luca asks, her eyes on the crates. “About today’s debacle? What are the whispers?”
“The only whispers I have heard are about Arsinoe’s return. When they mention Mirabella’s storm they only talk about her rage. Nobody suspects why the storm was actually called.”
Rho steps away to bark at one of the priestesses for failing to notice that the crate she is carrying has been damaged. She jerks it from her and cuffs her on the back of the head. The initiate, barely thirteen years old, runs away, crying.
“You did not need to do that,” says Luca. “It was in no danger of cracking.”
“It was for her own good. Had it broken open, she might have lost most of her hand.”
Rho grasps the crate and twists. The sides splinter apart. Packed inside are three dozen of the temple’s serrated knives.
Luca takes one of the knives out of the crate. The long, slightly curved blade glows ominously in the light from the