As soon as they drop anchor, Mirabella dives over the side. Her splash brings the crew shouting and leaning over, too late to try and stop her.
“Thank you, captain,” Arsinoe says, and shakes his hand. “I am truly grateful for your service. But now I had better get after my sister.” She steps up onto the rail and crouches. “Billy, don’t forget the bags!”
She jumps in, never that much of a swimmer, and her jaw instantly locks from the cold. Her arms and legs seize up as well, so she can barely grab for the satchel that Billy throws into the water.
Another splash, and she hears him shout and curse her for such a stupid idea. But then Mirabella’s current takes hold and ferries them toward shore.
“Pretend to swim,” she says, teeth chattering. “Or it’ll look strange.”
“I’m too cold to even pretend, you arse,” he says, and a moment later their toes drag against the sand.
Miserably freezing, they join Mirabella on the beach and wave to the slack-jawed fishers on the boat.
“What must they think of what they found?” Mirabella asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” Arsinoe replies. “They won’t be able to find it again if they try. Not unless they’re meant to.” She turns and looks past the beach to the dense green moss and flat, gray stone.
“Good Goddess, I’ve missed this terrible place.”
INDRID DOWN TEMPLE
With tired eyes, Pietyr cracks open yet another book from the many shelves of the temple library. He has been there since before dawn after creeping out of Katharine’s bed and onto the back of a cranky, half-awake horse. Riding through the dark streets to slip into the library with a lamp and a sheaf of paper. Hours later, the paper is mostly blank. He has not come across much about the dead queens or even about exorcism, and when he does, he must be careful what he writes in case someone were to find the notes.
He leans back and stretches, and the light of one of the small windows catches him in the eye. He has no idea what time it is. It could be near midday. He bends over the book, scours a few pages, and shuts it again. Part of him wants to quit. It is not as though getting rid of the dead queens is something that Katharine wants. Not when they have convinced her how much she needs them.
But she does not need them. They forced her hand to take that young boy’s life. Their existence is an affront to the Goddess. It is their presence that has caused the mist to rise. It must be.
If he does not find a way to stop them, they will cost Katharine everything.
He takes the book back to its shelf. The library on the lower level of the temple is not large. The entirety of it could be fit into a corner of the one at Greavesdrake. But it is well stocked. The texts here are ancient and preserved nicely, not a speck of dust on the spines and no whiff of mold even near the binding. Some of the pages actually smell rather like fresh parchment simply from being so rarely read. He was sure he would find something here. But every tale of spiritual possession he has come across has been written about shallowly. Treatments simply alluded to and sometimes the outcome not mentioned at all.
Pietyr sighs and gathers up his paper and fading lamp. Perhaps there is no way.
“They said you have been here a long time.”
He turns.
“High Priestess. How do you manage to be so quiet with all those rustling robes?”
“Years of practice. What brings you to our library, Pietyr?”
“I did not know anyone saw me come in. What are you doing here?”
“The temple has been tasked with uncovering the truth of the mist.” She opens her hands and looks around at the shelves. “I came to learn of the progress.”
Pietyr cocks an eyebrow. If there was progress made, there was none to be told of that morning. He had been the only person in the library since he arrived.
“Are you also here on an errand for the queen?” Luca asks.
“No. I am here on behalf of myself.”
“You know you can confide in me, Pietyr. She is as much my queen now as she is yours.”
“That is not true,” he says, and straightens. “That will never be true.”
“All of our fates are tied to hers. You cannot keep her all to yourself. Not anymore.” She raises her arm and folds one side of him in soft, white robes; squeezes his shoulder; and guides him back to the table, where they sit.
Perhaps it is because he is in need of sleep or perhaps it is due to simple frustration, but after a moment, he says, “I am not here on behalf of Katharine. I have been looking into another solution to the mist.” He rubs his throbbing temples. “Examining any possibility. Sometimes I think I have found something useful, and then it falls apart.”
“It has been a long time since I took a deep dive into these old shelves.” Luca nods. “But I well remember how it felt: an aching back, dry eyes. So many words turning circles in my head.”
“Have you ever—” he starts, and hesitates. Old Luca is shrewd. If he tells her what he seeks, all of Katharine’s secrets about the dead queens may be laid bare. But it is true what she said. Her fate, the fate of the Black Council, the very tradition of the island, and their way of life are all tied to Katharine. So let Luca figure it out. Even if she were to know, she could do nothing.
“In all your years in service to the temple,” he says, “have you ever come across an instance of spiritual possession?”
“Spiritual possession? What an odd question.”
“Forgive me.” He waves his hand, casually. “I am exhausted. It was just something I happened upon this morning, and there was so little written about it . . . the entry was so vague. I suppose it piqued my curiosity.”
Luca drums her fingers on the table.
“I have never seen a case of it, only heard reports. None could ever be confirmed, which would explain the incomplete writings. The temple does not generally interfere in such things. The only thing for it is prayer, and usually a merciful execution.”
Pietyr exhales. Merciful execution. That is a dead end, and a bleak one.
“Of course,” the High Priestess goes on, “knowing that, many sufferers do not seek the aid of the temple. They go elsewhere. To those who practice low magic.”
“Low magic is a desecration of the Goddess’s gifts.”
“They are desperate. Who knows? Sometimes it may work. Though the temple could never condone its use.”
Low magic. It is not the answer he hoped for. To practice low magic is a danger even to those who are well versed in it. He knows nearly nothing of what it entails.
“Blast,” he says, looking at his hand and seeing a smear of ink. “Is it everywhere?”
“Just a bit on the cheek and the bridge of your nose.” Luca points and helps him to rub it off.
“What time is it?”
“Not yet midday.”
“Is the queen awake?”
“She was not when I left. Up too late celebrating. She is overjoyed to have the mother of Juillenne Milone locked up in the Volroy cells.” She pats him on the knee and stands. “You had best find someplace to get some sleep. As soon as she rises, she will want to question the prisoner. And then there will be decisions to make.”
THE VOLROY
Katharine sits before her dressing table and rubs soothing oil into her temples and hands. For once, everything is proceeding as she hoped. The visions of the dead oracle Theodora Lermont proved true, and Katharine’s soldiers found Jules’s mother as she rode south through the mountains. She arrived the night before, arms tied behind her back and a sack over her head. Now she sits cozily in the cells below the castle.
“A lovely morning,” Katharine says to her maid Giselle.
“It is, my queen.”
“Only the dark, blue expanse of the sea. No mist, no screams . . . no one running into the Volroy to tell me that more bodies have washed ashore.” She takes a deep breath as Giselle gently brushes her hair. “How long has it been since we had any ill news?”
“Since before the oracle was brought.”