“Who is here?” she asks as they pull a dress of fine black wool over her head. “Who am I to meet?”
“No one is here,” Bree replies. Over the last three years, Bree has grown lovely. Her chestnut hair is twisted into buns on the back of her head, and she wears a light blue skirt edged with black ribbon. “We must travel to meet them at Starfall Lake. You are to meet the High Priestess of the island. High Priestess Luca.”
It takes a long time for High Priestess Luca and Sara Westwood to reach the end of the rocky, sloping path to the shores of Starfall Lake, but when they do, only Sara is out of breath.
“It surprises you.” Luca stretches her arms. “You likely thought I would be old and soft. You have only seen me from afar, riding in fancy carriages and eating from silver platters on the festival days.”
“I am impressed but not surprised. Have you ever been to the lake before?”
“Of course. Though not for several years. Starfall Lake. Named for the starfalls reflected in its waters, still commonly visible in the winter skies on this side of the island. It is lovely, is it not?”
“Yes, lovely,” says Sara, her voice like a waving hand. The lake is not important. The only thing that is important is the small girl making her way around the shore opposite. Several Westwoods form a circle around her. It would look like protection had Luca not already heard about the queen’s erratic behavior.
The Westwood party arrives and pays respect to the High Priestess. Some wear temple insignia around their necks, and bow to her with unusual fervor, perhaps touched by the Goddess to become priestesses one day. Luca nods and lays distracted blessings upon their heads. Her focus is on the queen, as theirs should be, but the moment the Westwoods saw Luca, they flocked to her in relief and left Mirabella’s side to hide behind the High Priestess’s robes.
Queen Mirabella, meanwhile, has stepped into the lake up to her ankles.
“Mirabella,” Sara Westwood says. “Will you come and meet the High Priestess?”
Other Westwoods begin to gather cautiously around the lake, closing in on the queen in a half circle, but Luca shakes her head. Mirabella walks closer, alone, and silly Sara feels the need to whisper, “Take care. She learns new tricks every day she is allowed outside.”
Luca pays no mind. She slides out of her shoes and walks into the lake, up to her ankles in cool water on the warm, summer day, shoulder to shoulder with the queen.
“It is lovely here,” she says.
“Yes.”
“Nice. Quiet.”
“Yes.”
Mirabella is a queen of few words. Or perhaps she is only shy, like Queen Camille, and will chatter on and on if given the opportunity, in private. Luca looks her over quickly, from head to toe. A beautiful girl with even features and a firm set to her mouth, even at nine years old. Dark, determined eyes. She does not seem like the wild thing that Sara described, though that is perhaps because they have groomed and disguised her in thin black wool, and an airy veil.
“Do you know who I am?” Luca asks.
Queen Mirabella glances at her.
“You are the High Priestess. That much they have told me. But I know what a high priestess is. From my teachings. You are the leader of the temple.”
“That is right. And who was your teacher?”
“The Westwoods teach me now. Sara and Uncle Miles. But my first teacher was . . . Willa.”
“You remember her fondly?”
“I remember,” Mirabella says, but Luca sees through her clenched teeth to the truth. The truth is that she remembers Willa, only not as well as she used to. And she remembers the other queens, though she remembers them even less so. The fight in her has become a fight against forgetting. That is where the anger stems from.
“It is all right to remember,” says Luca. “You will not be punished for remembering.”
“Why are you here?”
Luca cocks her head. She kicks a little, playfully, at the water of the lake.
“I go where the Goddess wills me.” She smiles at the queen. “As we all must. As surely you do. Someone with a gift as strong as yours must feel her with every beat of your heart.”
“The Goddess,” Mirabella murmurs thoughtfully. “Willa said she was my . . . our mother.”
“The Goddess is mother to us all. But to you, especially. You are her body, here, on the island. Her hand. As I am her ears and eyes. And her voice to the people.”
“Why are you here?” Mirabella asks again, brow furrowing, and the lake shudders suddenly, the entire surface contracting, as if an earthquake struck someplace down deep.
“To meet you, of course. I am here because you are sad.”
“What is that?” From the shore, Sara points down into the water. Luca cannot see what she means, but from the way everyone backs away, it cannot be good. “There’s something in the lake!”
Mirabella draws the creature out of the water, and Luca gasps. The translucent, liquid body is oddly beautiful as it hovers above the surface. Perhaps it is the water spirit of Starfall Lake, given form. But if it is, then Mirabella can do something no elemental has been able to do in recent memory.
“I am not sad,” Mirabella says, and Luca looks at her and sees dots of perspiration on the little girl’s forehead. “I am angry.”
“Queen Mirabella—”
“Give me back my sisters!”
The water creature dives onto Luca, stabbing watery fingers into her eyes and into her nose and ears. She hears the Westwoods screaming as the water forces its way down her throat. Luca wishes she could scream, but all she can do is flail, and fall to the ground, and get her arms wet as she tries to fight.
“Mirabella, stop!” Sara shouts. But the queen will not. There is steel in her spine, and ice in her heart that will not be melted by one dead priestess. But Luca knows that her murder will force them to say Mirabella is mad. The people will storm Indrid Down and demand she be put to death.
With a gargantuan effort, Luca wills herself to stop panicking. She looks at the queen with compassion. She holds out her hand. For a moment, she thinks it will not work, that the burning in her lungs will increase until her vision goes dark. But then the water splashes to the ground. She coughs it up until her throat is raw and her muscles sore, but she can breathe again.
The Westwoods circle around Mirabella, ready to drag her from the lake and lock her back where they found her.
“No!” Luca shouts in between her coughing. They back away, and Luca looks up at the queen fondly. “No one touches our chosen queen.”
WOLF SPRING
Arsinoe follows Jules as Joseph leads them on a merry chase through the woods. Try as he might, he cannot leave them behind. Both are still as slim-hipped as he is, and what Jules lacks in length of leg she makes up for in quickness. All three run for the sheer childhood delight of running and never seem to tire, though their cheeks are flushed red. It has been three years since Arsinoe joined them, and while she is still far more serious than Jules or Joseph, she will laugh now, and a mischievous, sarcastic edge has crept into her voice. She is happy. Jules and Joseph have become her friends, and if some part of her remembers that they are not to be replacements for others . . . Well, that part has fallen very quiet.
“Joseph, not so fast!” Arsinoe shouts from the back.
Joseph cackles and yells, “Faster!” He twists his head to look. She and Jules are right on his heels, and he smiles as though proud of them. Ahead, the path leaves the woods and broadens into the tall, sunlit grass of the meadow beside Dogwood Pond. Jules takes her chance, surging ahead of Arsinoe, short legs flying. She overtakes Joseph at the last moment and bursts through first, into the daylight.
“That’s practically cheating!” Joseph says, and Arsinoe laughs. Her strides slow, and her muscles relax to weak-kneed slackness.