Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake Page A

groans. “We are only picking out jewels. You do not have to treat it like the Disembarking!”
    â€œEverything public will be formal after she is crowned,” says Sara. “You had best get used to it.”
    As they enter the park, Sara motions to one of the novice priestesses.
    â€œQueen Mirabella has not eaten today. Would you please prepare her something?”
    The girl nods and scurries away. Mirabella is not really very hungry. The dreams of her sisters often leave her with no appetite until evening. But it will be easier to nibble than to argue with Sara.
    The merchants bow when they approach the tables. The Westwoods will purchase something small from every one—a ring or bracelet, a scarf. Only a select few will be commissioned for gowns, or sets of gems.
    â€œI can tell you without looking that we will only be buying handkerchiefs at the first table,” Sara says into Mirabella’s ear. “That woman has no sense of elemental movement. Everything she sews is tight and severe. Fit for a poisoner.”
    Approaching the woman’s stall, Mirabella can see that Sara is right. It is all shimmer, and each gown is close fitted. But the tailor is so nervous. So hopeful.
    â€œThose are very fine gloves,” Mirabella says before Sara can speak. “Do you also work in leather?” She half turns to Sara. “Bree has need of a new pair for archery. And little Nico must be outgrowing his.”
    â€œYes, Queen Mirabella,” the merchant says. “I particularly enjoy working with leather.”
    Mirabella leaves the table so that Sara may discuss fees, and to keep from hearing her grind her teeth. From the nextmerchant she selects rings of twisted silver, and the next of polished gold, as Bree tugs her along in her hurry to meet her brown-haired boy.
    The novice priestess returns with a tray of cheeses and bread, and a small jar of preserved tomatoes. Elizabeth takes it from her.
    â€œBree, slow down,” she says, and laughs. “Take a moment to eat.”
    She does, but they are only one table away from her boy now, and the way she nibbles her cheese is highly suggestive.
    â€œWe must find something to distract her,” Elizabeth whispers to Mirabella. “Perhaps these gowns. They are beautiful!”
    â€œI do not think any gown can distract her,” Mirabella says. “No matter how beautiful.”
    The dressmaker studies Bree. He reaches beneath his table.
    â€œPerhaps this one,” he says, and unfurls it before them.
    Mirabella and Elizabeth are speechless. Bree drops her cheese.
    It is not a gown for a queen. Those must be all in black. This one has a bodice embroidered with blue waves, and a gathered train of storm-blue satin cuts through the black skirt. It is splendid.
    â€œThis is the one,” says Mirabella. She turns to Bree and touches her braid fondly. “You will outshine me in this. All the suitors will look at you.”
    â€œNo,” Elizabeth says. “That is not true, Mira!”
    Perhaps it is not. A queen’s raven-black hair and strangeblack eyes always command attention. But Elizabeth misunderstood. Mirabella is not jealous. She could never be jealous of Bree.
    Sara rejoins them and nods her approval.
    â€œWe will have three gowns,” she says, “including this one to fit my daughter. Perhaps more, if we do not find anything else equal to your skill. I will call upon your shop to discuss them further.”
    â€œFinally,” Bree whispers into Mirabella’s ear. They have reached the jeweler and the boy.
    â€œWe will speak to his father, not to him,” Mirabella says. “How will you manage this?”
    Bree motions discreetly with her chin. The merchant and his son have a small, stout brazier set back from the table, to keep warm as they wait. Perhaps they are not elementals then, or perhaps their gifts are merely weak.
    Bree throws her arm around Elizabeth.
    â€œSweet