Free Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake Page B

queens until after the Quickening is over. She wonders who these men are to have been able to bend the rules.
    Joseph nods at someone over her left shoulder, and Jules turns to see Autumn, a priestess from Wolf Spring Temple,approaching with a somber expression.
    â€œJuillenne Milone,” she says gently. “Forgive the intrusion. The temple wishes to welcome Joseph Sandrin back to his home. We would take him and his family to the altar to receive a blessing.”
    â€œOf course,” Jules says.
    â€œCan it not wait?” Joseph asks, and grumbles when the priestess does not reply.
    On the eastern hill of Wolf Spring, Wolf Spring Temple sits tucked, a white circle of brick surrounded by small priestess cottages. Autumn is one of only twelve priestesses who reside there. It has seemed to Jules a lonely place, whenever she has gone to pray. Except on festival days, the temple is mostly empty save for Autumn, tending the grounds, and the others in the gardens.
    â€œAnd as always,” Autumn says, “we extend an invitation to Queen Arsinoe, to receive a blessing.”
    Jules nods. Arsinoe has never set foot inside the temple. She says she will not pray to a Goddess with a turned back.
    â€œListen,” Joseph says. “I will come to you when I’m ready. If I come at all.”
    Autumn’s serene face falls to a scowl. She turns on her heel and leaves.
    â€œThat was not much of a welcome,” Jules says. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œThis is all the welcome I need.” Joseph puts his arm across her shoulders. “You. Here. And my family. Come and say hello to them. I want you all with me, for as long as I can have you.”
    Madrigal tells Arsinoe that they are going into the hills after pheasant. She will charm them, and Arsinoe will shoot them.
    â€œYou have never gone hunting in your life,” Arsinoe says, shouldering her small crossbow and bag of bolts. “What are we really going to do?”
    â€œI don’t know what you mean,” Madrigal replies. She tosses her pretty, light brown hair, but the way she glances through the kitchen window, where Cait stands preparing a stew, tells Arsinoe that she is right.
    Together they walk far north of the house, up the trail past the clearing and Dogwood Pond, and into the cover of the forest. Arsinoe sinks past her ankles into snow. Madrigal hums a little tune, graceful despite the drifts. Her familiar, Aria, flies far ahead above the trees. She never sits on Madrigal’s shoulder, like Eva sits on Cait’s. It is almost like they are not familiar-bonded at all. Or perhaps it is only that Aria never matches the outfits that Madrigal likes to wear.
    â€œMadrigal, where are we going?”
    â€œNot far.”
    It has been far already. They have walked up high, where large gray stones break through the ground. Some are only rocks, and some are the mostly buried remains of monoliths from back when the island was truly old and wore a different name.
    In winter, though, they are hidden under snow, and slippery. Arsinoe has almost fallen twice.
    Madrigal changes her course and walks along a rise to theleeward side, where the snow is less deep. It is an odd little spot where the thick trunk and bare branches of a tree bend over to form a sort of canopy. At the base of the hill, Madrigal has hidden a cache of dry wood, and two small three-legged stools. She hands one of the stools to Arsinoe and begins arranging the wood for a fire, weaving in slender pieces of kindling. Then she pours oil from a silver flask onto the lot of it, and lights it with a long match.
    It whooshes up hot. The logs catch quickly.
    â€œNot so bad for a naturalist,” Madrigal says. “Though it would be easier if I were an elemental. Sometimes, I think I’d rather be almost anything than a naturalist.”
    â€œEven a poisoner?” Arsinoe asks.
    â€œIf I were a poisoner, I would be living in a grand house in Indrid Down