When the heavy temple doors close behind her, cutting off the sounds of the city and trapping her along with the breeze, she nearly bolts. She should not have come. Luca should have come to them. She should have come to Westwood House on her knees after what she did to Mirabella. Instead she appointed Bree to the Black Council—along with herself and her pet monster, Rho, of course—and wrote that Bree should join her for tea at the temple before appearing at the Volroy.
“This way, Miss Westwood,” says a tall, reedy priestess with a light blond braid sticking out from her hood. Ice-blond and in the capital: probably an Arron. Indrid Down Temple must be crawling with them. Bree glances at the priestesses sweeping or tending the altar, praying before the great black glass in the floor that they call the Goddess Stone. Their white hoods and black bracelets are supposed to strip them of their names and gifts. But Bree feels like she is walking through a nest of vipers.
She follows the priestess through the temple’s interior rooms, past the small open cloister, and down a set of steps into a chamber lit only by torches.
“The High Priestess’s rooms are not far.”
Bree stops. “I will wait for her here.”
“But—”
“Just bring her to me.” She shrugs out of her cloak and slings it across the back of a chair. “And tell her not to tarry.”
She does not look at the priestess before she goes, so she does not know whether the girl’s mouth dropped open. But it probably did. Perhaps telling the High Priestess not to tarry was going a little too far.
Bree considers sitting in the chair, affecting a bored pose as she waits. But the chair faces the door and the hall where Luca would approach from, and angry as she is, Bree knows that were she and Luca to stare at each other for the length of the hall, she would look away first. So instead she wanders the confines of the small stuffy chamber, studying the fragments of ancient mosaic on the floor and the hangings on the wall: poisoner depictions of deaths by boils, and a snake wreathed in poisonous flowers. There are also tapestries of familiars and battles, but they are much, much smaller.
“Bree Westwood. I am glad you have come.”
Bree turns. The High Priestess stands in the doorway with a look of affection on her face, hands folded.
“Of course I came. You named me to the Black Council. Mother was thrilled. She’s installed an entire household for me in the north end of the city.”
“Good. And are you finding it comfortable?” Luca steps aside as a priestess arrives carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. She sets it on the table.
“Shall I serve?” the girl asks.
“No.” Luca waves her away. “I will serve. If you will sit, Bree?”
“I will not.” She lifts her chin. It is a hard thing to refuse Luca, whom she has known and been fond of for most of her life. Whom she has been taught for so long to revere. “One pot of tea and a seat on the Black Council is not going to make everything better.”
“I see.”
“You joined with them and ordered her execution!”
Luca nods. She pours cups for them both and sweetens her own with honey. “But she was not executed.”
“No thanks to you. You would have been there when it happened. You would have stood there and watched while Queen Katharine killed her!”
“I know,” Luca says. “And she would have known. It is that which keeps me up at night, above everything else. That she went into the sea knowing that I abandoned her.”
“Went into the sea? So you believe that she is dead?”
“A storm rose up in the mist, and came for the ship.”
“A storm couldn’t kill Mira.”
“That would depend on whose storm it was.”
Bree clenches her teeth. Of course. The Goddess’s storm. That is what they say came for the queens. And Luca is the Goddess’s most important servant. Loyal only to her, and to her will. “You are such a wretched old woman.”
Luca’s eyes snap to hers and Bree quiets. Those eyes are not old.
“You are angry, Bree. I understand. But dead or not, Mira is gone, and we must make something of what she left behind. With we three on the council, it will be nearly as if she were the one wearing the crown.”
“I should oppose you,” Bree says bitterly. “I should do it for her.”
“That is not what she would want.”
“You do not know what she would want.”
Luca sighs. “Then what do you want? What must I do? What amends can I make?” She smiles. “Or should I pass you over for your mother?”
Bree is well aware that Luca only appointed her to the Black Council as an act of contrition. And perhaps because she would be a more effective thorn in Queen Katharine’s side than her mother would be. If she cooperates.
“Elizabeth will stay with us, always,” Bree says. “The temple will make no more demands on her. And you will allow her to recall her familiar.”
“Priestesses do not have familiars. We do not have gifts. She made her choice.” But Luca’s expression is soft. She does not really care about one tiny tufted woodpecker.
“Rho made her choose between taking her priestess vows that very moment or watching her bird be crushed. It was not really a choice. Pepper is small. She hid him before. She can do it again.”
“Very well.”
“Fine.” Bree bends and gathers her cloak.
“You know why I did it, don’t you, Bree?” Luca asks.
“Yes, I know.” She looks resentfully around at the musty old temple. “The island is what matters.”
Nearly the moment that Bree exits the temple, Elizabeth grabs her and pulls her into the shadows with her one good hand, black bracelet peeking out from beneath her sleeve.
“Elizabeth! I thought you were going to wait at the town house. What are you doing here?”
“Listening,” the priestess replies, and smiles, her cheek dimpling. “And blending in. None of these priestesses here know me enough to recognize me if I stay quiet and keep my head bowed.” She demonstrates, tucking her chin and widening her eyes until they are large and blank and simple-looking. Then she perks up. “Now what did the High Priestess say?”
“Just what we expected. She wants to be friends again, so I will do what I am told.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said that I would. As long as you can stay with us. And as long as you can have Pepper back.”
Bree grins, and Elizabeth makes a high-pitched noise and throws her arms around her neck. “Oh, Bree, thank you! But will you? Will you really do as Luca requires, even after . . . even after what she would have done to Mirabella?”
Bree glances around, but there is no one near to hear them refer to Mirabella by name. “I may. I will for a time, at least until I find my footing in the capital. But I still intend to make every poisoner suffer. Especially her.”
“You must be careful. She is the Queen Crowned. And maybe she won’t be so terrible. I’ve heard she means to welcome you to the city with a banquet.”
“A banquet?”
“To be held later this week, in the square overlooking the harbor.”
Bree looks over her friend’s shoulder, toward the sea, imagining the trouble she could cause at a party held in her honor. “You are a kinder girl than I, Elizabeth, if you think her overtures are genuine.” She sighs. “Let us go back to the house.”
“I’ll meet you there later.” Elizabeth hastily pats her shoulder and then runs off in a flurry of white robes. “First I’m off to the woods for Pepper!”
THE VOLROY
Pietyr runs his fingers down Katharine’s bare back as she lies across his chest.
“Keep doing that,” she whispers. His touch is soothing. Gentle. With his hands on her, she could perhaps fall asleep again, despite the bright light streaming into her bedroom. She slept only a little the night before, unable to still her mind no matter how Pietyr exhausted her body.
Today is the day that Bree Westwood comes to claim her place at the table.
“If I keep doing that, it will lead to more of this.” He rolls on top of her and drags kisses along her throat.
“What do you know about Bree Westwood?”
He stops kissing her and sighs. “No more than what you know. She is always fashionably dressed. Certainly beautiful, never serious. She flitted about in the wake of your gloomy older sister like an idiot butterfly.” He rolls away and gets out of bed, struts across the room bare and splendid before slipping into a dressing robe.