Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake

sees Arsinoe’s dirty nose. She hears Katharine’s laugh.
    Queens are not supposed to love their sisters. She has always known that, even when they were together at the Black Cottage, where she had loved them anyway.
    â€œThey are not those children, anymore,” she whispers into her hands.
    They are queens. They must die.
    Bree knocks on her door and pokes her head in, her long brown braid swinging over her shoulder.
    â€œIs it time?” Mirabella asks. Today they are to go into the city, where Rolanth’s best artisans wait to present their finest jewels and gowns for the Beltane ceremonies.
    â€œNearly,” Bree says. “But do not sound so glum. Look who has come from the temple.”
    Bree swings the door wide, and Elizabeth leans in from the opposite side. Mirabella smiles.
    â€œOh no,” she says. “People will start saying that I will only be friends with girls who wear braids.”
    After Mirabella is readied and dressed, she, Bree, and Elizabeth climb into a coach waiting in front of Westwood House. Sara is already inside.
    â€œVery good,” Sara says, and taps the roof, signaling the driver to depart. “It is kind of you to join us, Priestess.” Shesmiles at Elizabeth. “The temple will surely approve of our choices today.”
    â€œOh, I am not here for temple approval.” Elizabeth grins happily, watching the city rumble past. “I’m only escaping my chores.”
    Sara’s lips draw into a thin line, and Bree giggles.
    â€œWe are happy to have you in any case,” says Sara. “Mira, are you well? You seem pale.”
    â€œI am fine, Sara.”
    Sara taps the roof harder, and the driver urges the horses to go faster.
    â€œPerhaps you are needing something to eat. There will be plenty when we arrive at the park.”
    Moorgate Park sits in the central district that runs alongside the channel. In spring it is pretty, full of trees and pale stones, with a gurgling ivory fountain. This time of year, the trees are bare and the grounds more open. Plenty of room for the jewelers and tailors to present their wares.
    â€œI hope the tailor from Third Street brought that handsome son of his,” Bree says.
    â€œI thought you were seeing the Wexton boy,” says Sara.
    Bree snuggles back into the coach’s velvet cushions.
    â€œNot anymore. Since Mira’s birthday he has forgotten how to kiss. So much tongue!” She shivers and gags and leans against Mirabella for comfort. Mirabella and Elizabeth laugh. Sara says nothing, but her eyes bulge out and her lips practically disappear.
    Mirabella looks out the window. They are nearly there. In the central district, the buildings are broad, and white. What cracks there are have been carefully hidden with paint. Here, one can see how fine the city of Rolanth once was. One can see how fine it will be again, after Mirabella takes the throne.
    â€œHere we are,” says Sara as the coach jerks to a stop. She smooths the skirt of her long black dress and prepares to exit the carriage. “Bree,” she mutters, “please try not to wander off.”
    â€œYes, Mother,” Bree says, and rolls her eyes.
    Mirabella steps out after Sara. Through the park’s open gate she can see the jewelers and dressmakers, waiting in a row. And the priestesses, of course. Always on guard.
    Bree cranes her neck.
    â€œHe is here,” she says, and grins.
    It is easy to see who she means. A handsome boy with light brown hair stands beside the jeweler near the end of the row. He has already seen Bree as well.
    â€œIt never takes you very long,” Mirabella says quietly.
    â€œNor should it. I have had years of practice.” Bree grasps Mirabella’s arm in one hand and Elizabeth’s in her other. “We must find out his name.”
    â€œEnough of that,” Sara says. She unlinks the girls’ arms and takes her place behind the queen.
    â€œMother,” Bree