Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake

spear above her head, and arrows—suspended from the ceiling.”
    â€œSuspended from the ceiling?” Mirabella asks.
    â€œA long time ago, when the war gift was strong, a war queen could move things through the air, just by the sheer force of her will.”
    Mirabella’s eyes widen, and the High Priestess chuckles. “Or so they say.”
    â€œWhy have you asked to see me, High Priestess?”
    â€œBecause a task has arisen.” Luca turns from the mural and clasps her hands. She walks north, toward the Goddess’s altar, and Mirabella falls in beside her.
    â€œI wanted to wait,” she continues. “I knew how tired you would be, the day after such a spectacle. But try as I may to keep you young, and to keep you here with me in this quiet place, I cannot. You have grown. You are a queen, and unless your gift has expanded to stop time, the Quickening is coming. We can no longer put off the things that need doing.”
    She puts her soft hand on Mirabella’s cheek. “But if you arenot ready, I will put them off anyway.”
    Mirabella places her own hand over Luca’s. She would kiss the old woman’s head were the priestesses not there watching. No High Priestess has ever shown favor to one queen as Luca has to her. Or caused such scandal as to leave their chambers in Indrid Down Temple and install themselves closer to their favorite.
    â€œI am ready,” Mirabella says. “I will happily do whatever you require.”
    â€œGood,” Luca says, and pats her. “Good.”
    The priestesses walk Mirabella far out beyond the temple grounds, through the evergreen forest and toward the basalt cliffs above the sea. Mirabella has always loved the salt air, and enjoys the light breeze, and kicking her legs out fully in her skirt.
    When they came to claim her from the temple, they did not tell her what they wanted. Priestess Rho leads the escort, so Mirabella thinks that it is probably to go on a hunt. Rho always leads the hunts. Every initiate in the temple is fearful of her. She has been known to strike the ones who displease her. To be a priestess is to have no past, but Mirabella is certain that Rho possesses the war gift.
    Today, though, Rho is grim and sober. The priestesses carry their hunting pikes but have brought no accompanying hounds. And all the good game runs are far behind them, deeper into the woods.
    They reach the cliffs and continue on to the north, farther into the rock than Mirabella has ever gone before.
    â€œWhere are we going?” Mirabella asks.
    â€œNot much farther, my queen,” says Rho. “Not much farther at all.” She taps the priestess to her left. “Go on ahead,” she says. “Make sure all is ready.”
    The priestess nods and then runs up the path to disappear around a corner.
    â€œRho? What are we doing? What am I to do?”
    â€œThe Goddess’s bidding and the queen’s duty. Is there ever anything else?” She looks over her shoulder at Mirabella and smiles meanly, and her hair peeks out from under her hood, bloodred.
    The fall of their boots is loud against the stone and gravel, but it is steady. None but the girl tapped to scout ahead will go any faster, no matter how Mirabella tries to change their pace. She quickly stops trying, feeling the fool, like a bird fluttering against a cage of robes.
    Ahead, the trail turns, and they round the corner and move farther into the canyon of dark rock. Mirabella catches her first glimpse of whatever it is they have brought her for. It does not look like much of anything. A gathering of priestesses in black-and-white robes. A tall brazier, burning something hot that hardly smokes. And a barrel. When the group hears them coming, they turn and stand in a row.
    None of them are initiates. Only two are novices. One of the novices is dressed strangely in a simple black shift, witha blanket across her shoulders. Her brown hair hangs loose, and despite