Natalia is the last to be seated, and she does so with grace, though everyone in this room she would gleefully throw out a window.
“This is unthinkable,” Antonin says, staring down at his hands. “So many in the arena heard their words today. As if there were not enough whispers about these queens already.”
“Whispers?” Margaret Beaulin interjects. “The whispers have risen to a roar. And long before this. The whispers started over little undead Katharine. They are not proper queens, the people say. There is something wrong with them.”
“Do not speak this way about the queens,” Sara Westwood hisses. “They are sacred!”
“Enough words.” Cousin Lucian rubs his temples with long fingers. “The only thing that matters is what we do. And whatever is done must be done publicly. Katharine must execute them herself. With no interference seen from us.”
“Executed? That has not been decided! Queen Mirabella has committed no crime. She was not part of this naturalist stunt!”
“It does not matter,” snarls Genevieve. “You heard her. She refuses to kill Arsinoe. And a queen who refuses to kill has committed treason.”
“Against who?”
“Against the island!”
Sara looks to the High Priestess for help. But Luca looks only at Natalia and Natalia back at her, as if they are the only ones who matter. Because they are.
“I would speak to the High Priestess alone,” Natalia says.
Apprehension flutters through the Council. It passes back and forth between her relatives in furtive glances until Genevieve is forced to speak.
“Sister. This decision is for us all.”
“Indeed. And after Luca and I have finished talking, you will all agree with what we decide. Now go.”
Genevieve closes her mouth. She shoves herself away from the table and voices her displeasure by loudly ruffling her skirt. She leaves, and the others follow her out.
“Council members,” Luca says before they close the doors, “do remember to quiet your voices in the halls. The guards and servants still have ears.”
Renata Hargrove scowls, and the heavy black doors thump shut.
“How is it possible that Genevieve and I share the same blood?” Natalia asks, and sighs heavily. “Shall I call for tea?”
“No. But I would not mind a glass of that.” Luca peers over Natalia’s shoulder into the corner of the room where there is a small stock of liquor. “Unless it is all poisoned?”
Natalia walks to it and pours two glasses.
“Not with Renata and Margaret on the Council.” She hands a glass to Luca, and they sit together at the long, oiled wood table of the chamber. Side by side, they look at the relief sculpture that wraps around the room in black-and-white marble, scenes depicting all of the island’s gifts, joined together as one.
“You know that crowning Mirabella has become impossible,” Natalia says quietly.
“Not impossible,” Luca says, but her eyes fall to her glass. “We will give them until Beltane, as is their right. And if they still will not, then we will put them in the tower.”
Natalia drains her drink. When she returns from refilling it, she brings back the decanter.
“You know that will not be allowed. Not when there is one willing queen.”
“Yes,” says Luca. “Your undead girl. How happy you must be.”
The old woman’s eyes bore into her. What steel there is in this High Priestess. But not even steel can guard against the love for a queen.
“I know you do not want Mirabella to die. I know she is more to you than the temple’s ambition.” Natalia sets her glass down and stares into it. “We both know to what lengths we have gone to ensure that Katharine and Mirabella survived.”
“All of our plans,” Luca whispers. “All of our preparations. All failed.”
“These queens are uncontrollable. Unpredictable. They have taken the choice out of our hands, perhaps without even knowing they were doing it.” She watches Luca drink. The High Priestess knows all this. She is no fool. “This is not the way that I would have Katharine take the crown.”
Luca’s response is quick. “But you do mean for her to take it.”
“Genevieve was right when she called their actions treason,” says Natalia. “And Antonin was right when he said the people will doubt us, no matter the outcome. So I would have your voice again in this chamber. And someone of your choosing placed on Katharine’s new Council. If the crown is to weather this storm, it will need the backing of the temple.”
“You are bribing me,” Luca says. “For Mirabella’s life!”
“Not a bribe. Never a bribe. None of us has won here, Luca. If we do not come together, we will lose what is left.”
She sits very still and lets Luca study her. Lets her try to discern whether she is honest or plotting. In the end, the High Priestess will accept. Natalia only extended the offer as a courtesy anyway. Mirabella will die, whether Luca agrees to benefit from it or not.
Finally, Luca nods.
“We should not let Arsinoe’s execution be in front of the people,” she says. “She has caused too much trouble already. Who knows what else she might try if given the chance.”
“I agree,” says Natalia. “Though I also agree with the Council, that Katharine must execute at least one of them in the square.”
Luca’s face goes slack thinking of how it will be, to preside over Mirabella’s execution.
“The people were robbed of a duel,” Natalia presses. “And what they saw instead was not the image we would leave them with.”
“It will not be easy for Sara and the Westwoods to accept this.”
“I know,” Natalia replies. “But you can convince them.”
Natalia pours into Luca’s cup and pushes it toward her. Luca takes up the cup and drains it. When she sets it down, her hand shakes.
“Three seats on the Council,” she says. “Three seats, of my choosing.”
“Done.” Natalia strikes her hand against the tabletop.
Poor old Luca. Her eyes wobble with doubt, as though that was too easy. As though she should have asked for more in exchange for her queen.
“Order the executions,” the High Priestess murmurs. “And in the morning Katharine shall be crowned. I will do it myself.”
Natalia exhales. It could have gone worse. The infighting, the roundtable discussions dragging into the night. Sara Westwood wailing.
“It is a relief,” she says, gentler now, “to have a High Priestess of your fortitude.”
“Oh,” Luca replies. “Natalia, do shut up.”
INDRID DOWN
Madrigal and Jules’s aunt Caragh were not at the stables opposite the Highbern Hotel. He should have known that they would not be, after passing Braddock’s empty cage in the Volroy courtyard. But Billy started his search there anyway, hoping, knowing how much harder it would be to find them in the woods.
The southern woods, Arsinoe said. By the riverbank. He asks a nut vendor which way to go and makes his way there, alternately creeping through the trees and then being noisy so they might find him instead. He wanders for most of the afternoon. Until he is sweaty and tired.
“I can’t stay out here in the dark,” he says to himself, and punches his way through a shrub.