“Who is to say who is more of the Goddess? The line of the queens is her line, and it was the queens who gave us the mist. So . . .” She stops and shakes her head. “These are questions for a priestess. Where is Elizabeth when I need her?”
“I must admit I thought you might bring her along. You two are never far apart. But I will not hold you to these oaths, Bree Westwood. I know that whatever comes of this rebellion, the High Priestess will decide the allegiance of Rolanth.”
“Rolanth is not Luca’s lapdog. Nor is it mine. But for my part, I think you have grown into the crown very well. Better than I thought. It has been difficult, but I can’t imagine Mira—any queen doing better.”
They round the house, and Katharine signals for Bree’s horse.
“Is that all, my queen?”
“That is all.”
Bree glances up at the dark walls and windows. “Why are you really here instead of at the Volroy?”
“Just why I said. And also to retrieve something I will need for the oracle when she arrives.”
Bree turns and is helped into the saddle by a groom. Her horse snorts and dances in place.
“When she does arrive, you should question her before the whole council. The people will no doubt hear of it, and they like to know that the High Priestess has the ear of the crown.”
“I will consider it.”
Bree lifts a rein to wheel her horse back to the city. “There are plenty of poisons in the Volroy, are there not?”
Katharine smiles.
“Not like these.”
Not long after Bree leaves, Genevieve and Pietyr arrive, nearly at the same time though not together—Genevieve in a coach from the Volroy and Pietyr on horseback, coming to scour the Greavesdrake library for insights into the dead queens. Still, when Edmund, Natalia’s good and loyal butler, tells them that the queen is upstairs, both make their way to Natalia’s old study.
“Pietyr, Genevieve.” Katharine turns to greet them but only partway. Her arms remain inside the open doors of one of Natalia’s cabinets. “Is there news? Has the oracle been brought?”
“Not yet.” Genevieve comes into the room and runs her hand over Natalia’s favorite wingback chair.
“I do not know what is keeping them. The captain of the queensguard sent word that they arrested her nearly a week ago.”
“The weather in the mountains is bound to slow their progress.”
“You do not come in here often, do you, Genevieve?”
“No. Not often.”
“I can tell.” Katharine wrinkles her nose. “It smells musty. Perhaps Edmund could open the windows for an hour or so per day.”
Neither Genevieve nor Pietyr comment. They are so silent that Katharine turns around, thinking they have gone. But there they are. Standing beside Natalia’s old chair as if they are staring at her ghost seated in it.
“I wish she were here,” says Katharine.
“So do I.” Genevieve squeezes the leather. “I asked Rho Murtra what it was like to find that mainlander standing over her body. I asked what it felt like to kill him for it. Made her describe it to me in every detail. And still it was not enough.”
Her fingers dig deeper into the leather. “Leave it to the war priestess to carve him up. When poison was what he deserved. Someday, I will cross the sea and find his entire family. Poison them with something from the room here. Watch every last one of them kick and bleed from the eyes. His wife. His siblings. His children. And especially the suitor Billy Chatworth.”
“That would be a worthy errand,” Pietyr says quietly.
“Someday,” says Katharine. “But not today. Today, I would have you help me find a proper poison to loosen the oracle’s tongue.” She points to the cabinets she has not looked through yet, and the Arrons set to work.
“I do not know what you hope to learn.” Genevieve’s finger softly rattles a row of bottles. “I have met only two oracles before, but both had gifts so weak, they could hardly be called gifts at all. A few correct predictions, a hazy vision, all garbled with doublespeak.” She chews on her cheek. “If only there were a poison to sharpen one’s gift.”
Katharine laughs, her head so far into a particularly deep shelf that the sound echoes. “If there had been such a poison, I would have nowhere near as many scars.”
“Kat,” Pietyr whispers, so suddenly close that she startles and hits her head. He is always so silent. She should make him start wearing more of that cologne she likes, so she can tell when he is coming.
“I am starting to find passages on the queens. So many different texts, it is difficult to keep track of them all, and I am only taking the volumes I most need to avoid suspicion.”
Katharine carefully extricates herself from the cabinet and looks into his excited eyes. Over his shoulder, Genevieve is not listening, occupied with an open book of poison notes in one hand and a bottle of yellow powder in another.
“There are passages about the dead sisters?”
“Not many. I did not really start to gain ground until I looked past them, into cases of spiritual possession.”
“Spiritual possession!” she hisses, and pulls him down low.
“That is, in essence, what they are.”
“They are more than that, Pietyr. They are queens.”
“Yes, but separating them from you may work in much the same way—”
She squares her shoulders and returns to her cabinet.
“I cannot entertain this right now.”
“But I thought we agreed—”
“Yes, but . . . not now, Pietyr! With a rebellion rising under Jules Milone? I cannot let them go right when I might need them.” When he starts to argue further, she reaches up and takes his face in her hands. “Not now. Not yet.” Then she looks away before he can begin to doubt.
“Very well, my love.” He steps away, voice terse. “Another day. Today, however, you should be wearing an apron. And better gloves than these. Borrowed gifts or no, some of the poisons in this room could still mean your death.”
“This reminds me,” Genevieve calls from across the study. “We should have the poison room at the Volroy restocked. Even some of these here in Natalia’s private collection are better than what the castle has on hand.”
“Not a terrible idea.” Pietyr pulls one of Natalia’s journals from her desk. “Though there are more pressing things to deal with just now.”
“Yes, yes, nephew. Like raising more soldiers for the royal army. But Rho Murtra is seeing to that. And a poisoner should never settle for substandard poisons. Most of the restocking we could pull from the inventory here at Greavesdrake. Our poison room has always been better anyway.”
Katharine touches the bottles affectionately. Most of the labels were written in Natalia’s own hand. Some contain Natalia’s own special concoctions.
“I should have a cabinet made specifically for Natalia’s creations. With silver fastenings and a glass door. The last poisons of a great poisoner.”
She and Genevieve smile at each other. Pietyr turns and taps a page from the notebook.
“It says here that Natalia once crafted a poison that induced an agreeable delirium.”
“That might work.” Katharine turns to the shelves as Pietyr comes to scan them. He plucks it from near the top: a tall purple bottle. “Is it preserved?”
“If it was not, she would not have kept it.”
“Does the delirium outpace the agreeable portion?” Genevieve asks. “What do the notes say?”
“She designed it specifically for interrogation.” He gives the murky liquid a gentle shake and removes the stopper to sniff. “Sharply herbal and very alcoholic. With a fungal note, right at the end.”
“There is so little of it left,” says Katharine.
“But I think she would want you to use it. She would want them used for you and for some important purpose.” He looks back down at Natalia’s notes. “I would say we could try to duplicate the recipe, but that is risky. We have only one chance to administer it.”
“Why? It does not result in immunity?”
“No,” he says. “It results in death.”