One Dark Throne

by Kendare Blake

  “Don’t forget about Luke,” says Joseph. “And me. And Arsinoe herself. She’s not helpless. And only one queen here really poses a threat.”

  “A poisoned knife is still a knife,” Jules says. “It can still kill.” She lets loose a shaky breath, and Camden comes to the edge of Joseph’s bed to nuzzle against her knee.

  “You need to rest,” he says. “It could be a long night.”

  “I can’t.” She shakes her head and turns as if to get up. “What’s happening in the square?”

  Joseph takes her arms and holds her fast.

  “You can see it well enough from here. See? All the tables filling with paper lanterns ready to be released into the harbor. Just like any other year.”

  But it is not any other year. The blue sky above town is plumed with smoke as every kitchen prepares for the feast. And at the inn and on the west hill of the temple, two other queens are waiting, searching for the chance to kill Arsinoe.

  “I said once that it was like you had never come back,” Jules says. “That I wished you hadn’t. I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t do this without you.”

  Joseph reaches out and pushes her hair off her cheek.

  “I will always come home to you, Jules.” He wraps his arms around her, and Jules holds on tight.

  She presses closer, but the tighter she holds him, the more she feels him slipping away. Joseph does not belong here anymore. And she does not know where she belongs.

  “Kiss me, Joseph,” she says, but she is the one who leans in and pulls him close.

  Her arms slide to his back, and she pulls at his shirt until it comes off. He tugs her shirt down off her shoulders, and they laugh when her hands get stuck.

  “I love you,” Jules says. She allows herself one moment where that is all that matters. Just Joseph, and his hands on her shoulders. Just the touch of his fingers in her hair. She lies back on the bed and draws him down.

  “I love you, Jules. I’ll love you for as long as I live.”

  Arsinoe tugs on the edge of her vest. She has worn the same one a hundred times before, but today it feels all wrong, bunchy and ill-fitted. The mask on her face will not sit right either, no matter how she ties and re-ties the ribbon around the back of her head.

  It must be the braid. It hangs down the side of her head, itchy with oat stalk and flower petals. They braid something similar into her hair every Midsummer, even if she cuts her hair so short that the braid sticks out like a stiff, tiny arm. But it has never bothered her before. The day is wrong, not the braid.

  She finds Madrigal seated in the yard, in the shade with Matthew resting beside her.

  “Have you seen Jules?” she asks.

  “I haven’t,” Madrigal replies. “I thought she’d be here by now. We can’t hold the processional forever.” Her shoulders droop, showing the bandage covering the burn that stretches across her collar and down her arm. She should be playfully putting her wreath of white snowdrops and grapevine atop Matthew’s head. Instead, she sits, looking pale and thin everywhere but in the belly.

  Matthew reaches out and pulls Arsinoe to him. His Sandrin smile is firmly affixed, charming and handsome enough to make her blush. So Madrigal must not have told him what she saw in the flames either.

  “That’s a pretty wreath,” he says.

  Arsinoe swings the temple wreath around her finger.

  “I’ve had prettier.” She thinks of the one Billy gave to her. She had to give it to Cait when the temple priestesses arrived with the wreath of the naturalist queen, which is more bouquet than wreath, really. So many sprays of purple and yellow wildflowers that the paper lantern will have to be squeezed into the center.

  Back at the house, the side door slams, and Cait walks toward them with Eva perched on her shoulder.

  “It’s time.”

  “Already?” Arsinoe asks. “Won’t we wait for Jules?”

  “We can’t wait any longer. As the hosts, we’re expected to be first. Jules knows. I’m sure she’ll meet us there.”

  Arsinoe exhales and calls Braddock as Madrigal and Cait step into their places ahead of her, with Matthew to the rear. Ellis walks up and squeezes her shoulder.

  “Stop,” she says, and smiles at him shakily. “It feels like you’re saying good-bye.”

  “Never,” says Ellis. “Just telling you I’m here. So don’t worry about Braddock.”

  Arsinoe nods. The fading Wolf Spring light is gentle and gold.

  “Odd,” she says, “To feel so in danger on such a fine day.”

  They begin to walk. All the way down, she cannot feel her legs. She just tries not to trip and keeps her left hand buried in Braddock’s warm fur.

  By the time they arrive beside the cove, it is already full of people lining the docks and squeezing onto hastily assembled risers. High Priestess Luca stands at the water’s edge with three priestesses, including Autumn, head priestess of the temple in Wolf Spring. When Luca sees Arsinoe, she inclines her head. There is no threat in the gesture, but Arsinoe’s stomach quivers. She looks around anxiously for Jules, but Jules is nowhere to be seen.

  Mirabella walks stiffly with Billy, following behind Sara and Bree. Today the Westwoods ignore that fact that he is only her official taster and treat him like a true suitor. So far, he has gone along with it, though he continually searches through the crowds for his Arsinoe.

  Sara slows, and the line bunches together so that Uncle Miles and Nico nearly run into Mirabella’s heels. A good thing that her dress is short and has no train, or it would be covered in dirty footprints.

  Mirabella cranes her neck. The delay was caused by coming too close behind Katharine’s processional, which is much longer and full of members of the Black Council. She cannot see more of Katharine than the back of her head, her hair loose except for one small bun pinned through with dark red blooms. She is arm in arm with her suitor, the handsome boy with the golden-blond hair.

  They begin to move again, and Mirabella’s stomach hums with something like excitement. She is in Wolf Spring, where Arsinoe grew up. And somewhere near the water, Arsinoe waits. Only she will not be alone. Or smiling. And she will have a bear.

  When they reach the shore, it is oddly silent. Mirabella expected glares from poisoners. Perhaps a little spit from naturalists. But there is nothing. No cheers or chatter. It does not feel at all like a festival.

  As they take their place, Billy tenses. Arsinoe is there, and when she looks at Billy, a blush creeps across her cheeks from behind her mask.

  Mirabella smiles to herself. There is no ill will today. Nothing will happen, nothing more than pretty lanterns floating on the water and a barge full of fruit and grain to burn into the sea. Arsinoe’s bear is calm, and Katharine seems interested only in her suitor, whispering in his ear so intimately that it is almost scandalous.

  The Black Council schemed and lobbied hard to bring them here together. Mirabella is glad that they will be so bitterly disappointed.

  Arsinoe looks across the shore at her sisters. It is the first time since the Black Cottage that she has been this close to both at once. Little Katharine has been overdone with makeup in the Arron fashion, but she no longer looks like a doll. Her chin is high and her cheeks full. The barest hint of a smile plays at the corner of her lips.

  As for Mirabella, she is cold, as always. Her sisters are both queens and know what they must do.

  “This is how it is,” Arsinoe whispers. “Someone’s going to die.”

  “They should have chosen somewhere else to hold the ceremony,” says Nicolas. “Somewhere that does not smell like the inside of a clamshell.”

  The wind has changed direction, carrying with it the scents of the Wolf Spring Marketplace. But Katharine does not mind. What little she has seen of Wolf Spring she likes. The wildness and the harbor full of rickety-looking fishing boats. They bob on the water and glow with paper lanterns in the blue light of dusk.

  “The queens will come forward,” the High Priestess says, and Katharine quiets as
Luca holds her hand out to the naturalist. “Queen Arsinoe.”

  Arsinoe walks to the water’s edge, dressed not as a queen but as a farmer, just like she was at Beltane. She receives a lit paper lantern from a Wolf Spring priestess and leans down to awkwardly push her wreath.

  “Queen Katharine.”

  Katharine takes her lantern from an Indrid Down priestess. She places it in the center of her wreath and releases it, then smiles when her red roses bump Arsinoe’s wildflowers out of the way.

  “They do not mean for the High Priestess to present Mirabella’s lantern,” someone in the crowd mutters as Katharine returns to her place. But of course they do. Mirabella gets her lantern from Luca herself, along with a kiss on the forehead. The response from the poisoners is so strong that Katharine can nearly hear their teeth grinding.

  Mirabella releases her wreath and, in true show-off fashion, uses her gift to push all three out into the harbor. As if it is a sign, the boats drop their cargo of lanterns until the entire cove glows. One of the nearest boats tows a small barge loaded with apples and bushels of wheat. It tows it out before the gathered crowd and cuts it free.

  “The people of Rolanth bring an offering to honor the people of Wolf Spring,” Mirabella says. “To thank them for welcoming us into their city.”

  Katharine pulls close the nearest servant. “Get my bow. Quickly. And the fire arrows.” The girl scarcely has time to nod before Katharine shoves her through the crowd.

  “In Rolanth,” Mirabella goes on, “this is how we celebrate Midsummer. I hope the naturalists will allow us this sacrifice, in theirs and the Goddess’s honor.”

  Heads turn toward a tough-looking, gray-haired woman with a crow on her shoulder. She must be Cait Milone, the head of the Milone family. Arsinoe’s fosters. Cait considers Mirabella’s request for several long, tense moments before finally giving her permission with a subtle lift of her chin. She is hard, that woman. Perhaps even harder than Natalia.

  The people behind Katharine jostle and cluck as the servant girl returns with her long bow, threading it through bodies to get it to the queen.

  “Very good.” Katharine smiles. “Thank you.”

  “Kat,” Pietyr says out of the corner of his mouth. “What are you up to?” And then someone screams.

  “Mira, she has a bow!”

  Katharine rolls her eyes. It was that Westwood girl, the one who likes to play with fire.

  At the scream, the crowd shudders and collectively ducks. The priestesses drag Luca out of the way, even as the doddering old fool struggles against them, and the stupid Westwood girl runs down the bank.

  “Bree, no!” Mirabella cries.

  Katharine puts her hand on her hip.

  “‘Bree, no,’ indeed,” she says. “I only mean to help.” She steps to the center and turns toward the crowd. “My sister has put me to shame. I have brought no offering. But I can help her in the burning of hers.”

  Katharine nocks the arrow and lights the head in the nearest lantern. The arrow burns prettily as she sights up into the darkening sky. When she draws back and shoots, it arcs out over the cove and strikes the barge dead center. The fire spreads, and the crowd aahs with relief. Many clap softly, and not only poisoners. High Priestess Luca scowls at Natalia, but when Katharine looks back, Natalia nods. Mirabella’s moment has been thoroughly stolen.

  “This puts me in mind for something else,” Katharine says loudly, looking at her bow. “I know there is a great feast awaiting us in the square. But we are in Wolf Spring, are we not? Home of the naturalists?” People in the crowd nod, their eyes filled with reflected flames from the burning barge. Mirabella and the High Priestess shrink backward, but there is nowhere to go but into the sea.

  “I have nothing to offer,” Katharine half-shouts. “No fine gifts. But I would still honor the naturalist queen.” Her eyes settle on Arsinoe, petting her bear. The creature looks confused. Nothing to be afraid of, the poor thing. “Before we sit down to feast together . . . I would have Queen Arsinoe lead her sisters on a hunt.”

  Arsinoe’s stomach drops into her shoes. Everyone is cheering for Katharine’s challenge. Even her Wolf Spring people. The great, wild fools can never resist a hunt. And with her bear, they think she can win. They think the poisoner queen has made a fatal mistake.

  Amid the poisoners, a handsome boy with pale blond hair whispers furiously into Katharine’s ear, and Natalia Arron and the Black Council shift on their feet. They did not plan this. But they cannot stop it now, and nor can the priestesses or the Westwoods.

  It is a challenge from one of the queens. It is why they came.

  Arsinoe stares straight ahead. She will not plead and make Cait and Ellis feel guilty when they cannot help. Soon enough, Cait’s strong voice cuts through the din.

  “The hunt will commence in the northern woods, past the orchard. Make your queens ready.”

  Out over the sea, the sun is setting. There is too much light left. Too much to be able to wait for cover of dark, when Arsinoe’s knowledge of the landscape could help her. She scans the crowd. Billy’s eyes are full, as though she is already dead. Luke is praying, probably thanking the Goddess for a sure victory. Arsinoe digs her fingers into Braddock’s fur.

  “Jules,” she whispers. “Where are you?”

  THE QUEENS’ HUNT

  Arsinoe runs from the gathering at the cove. Braddock jogs by her side and butts her with his head, the impact hard enough to send her nearly sprawling. She leans down to quickly kiss his ears. The sweet bear thinks it is only play.

  “Arsinoe!”

  She turns. Billy lingers at the bottom of the hill. He cannot follow. If only they had a moment to talk, he would try to tell her what to do. He could find Jules and Joseph. Maybe act like a mainlander fool and make her angry enough to have a fighting chance.

  “Don’t look so sad,” she says even though he is too far away to hear. “We both knew one of them would do something like this.”

  Running probably seemed cowardly. Neither of her sisters ran. Mirabella scarcely could, surrounded by priestesses and Westwoods, and of course Katharine would not. The little poisoner has been waiting for her chance, hatching a plan all on her own.

  “Arsinoe!”

  It is Luke, with Hank flapping on his shoulder.

  “I can’t wait!” she shouts. She has to make it to the orchard and into the woods before her sisters or it will be over before it begins. Katharine said that Arsinoe was to lead the hunt. But all that means is that Arsinoe will be the quarry.

  “Luke, stay out of the woods! Find Jules! Find Jules and Joseph!”

  The Westwoods and Luca stop Mirabella just west of the square. They form a wall of robes, and Bree, Sara, and Elizabeth take her out of her Midsummer dress and put her into her hunting clothes: leggings and light boots, a warm tunic and cloak.

  “Quickly, quickly,” Luca orders breathlessly.

  “I need my crossbow,” Bree says. “And one for Elizabeth.”

  “Bree, you cannot interfere.”

  “I know that. But this is a hunt. Do you think the poisoner queen is going to charge into those woods by herself? She will have an entire Arron guard!”

  “She is right,” says Elizabeth. One of the priestesses hands her a weapon, and she hoists it in her good hand. “We will not interfere. But we won’t let you face this alone.”

  Mirabella looks at Luca, but the High Priestess says nothing. Instead, Luca takes Bree and Elizabeth by the shoulders.

  “You good girls,” she says. “You loyal friends. Do not let our queen fall to treachery. If death finds her, it must come from a queen and a queen only.”

  “Wait,” Mirabella protests. “Arsinoe does not know that she may have a guard! I saw her run off alone, and the Milones have not gone after her!”

  “Good,” says Sara. “An advantage.”

  “But that is not fair!”

  “Mira,” Luca says as gently as she can. “This was never going to be fair. Now, to the woods. Ov
er the hill to the orchard. Follow the Wolf Spring priestesses.”

  “Katharine, what have you done?” Pietyr asks. He puts his hands on both sides of his head as servants help Katharine out of her gown and into hunting clothes.

  “She is doing what she is meant to do,” says Nicolas as he watches her change. Pietyr looks like he would break him in half.

  “You stay out of this,” Pietyr barks. “I have had enough of your mainlander ideas. You are a suitor and not even her chosen one. You are not an Arron.”

  Katharine lets them bicker. The tension between them must overflow eventually. She just hopes she is there to see it when it does.

  “If he has put ideas into my head, Pietyr, they are nowhere near as many as you have.” Pietyr quiets. He glares at Nicolas. It is a good thing she is taking them with her on the hunt.

  Katharine slides her throwing knives into their sheaths and buckles them about her waist as Natalia sweeps into her room.

  “My sweet Kat. You continue to surprise me.”

  “This will be easier, Natalia. You will see.” She slides a longer knife into her boot. “It would have been chaos trying to poison at the dinner. So much sleight of hand and changing plates. You know I have never been good at that.”

  “You are a skilled archer, Kat, but I have never known you to be good at hunting. This is more risk than the Council cares to take.”

  “Be that as it may, they cannot stop it now.” Katharine gestures to a servant. “Crossbow. And bolts dipped in Winter Rose,” she orders, referring to the Arrons’ favorite hunting poison.

  “No, we cannot,” Natalia agrees. “The wait for your return will be long, with my sister and Renata in my ear. Do not tarry. You must promise.”

  Katharine pauses. No one else can see what she can in Natalia’s eyes. Natalia will never show fear or doubt. But they are there. Be careful and return to her is what she means.

  “I promise, Natalia.”

  “Good.” Natalia blinks, and the moment is gone. “Horseback, I think, is the best way. I have had Half Moon saddled, along with Pietyr’s and Nicolas’s horses. Bertrand Roman will join you, as well as Margaret Beaulin.”