“Sisters—” Elia began.
Regan interrupted, “You are bold to bring Aremoria with you. Have you fallen for his charms, baby sister?”
“We thought,” Gaela said, “you would prefer our offering.” She turned her gaze to the Fox, who stared at Elia.
“I have business with my old friend, the Fox,” Morimaros said threateningly. Elia held her hand to him, and he did not step forward.
The wizard said, “I ended our business.”
“That is not your right,” said the king.
“Morimaros,” Elia said. “This, now, is our turn to speak: my sisters and I. You are here on our sufferance.”
He bowed his head, though did not remove his gaze from his Fox.
Gaela smiled broadly at Elia. “You have found some iron in your worm-soft bones, or else been blessed finally by our imperial ancestors.”
“Circumstances have tempered me,” Elia replied.
“Then,” said Regan, “swear to us and retire to the star towers.”
“No.”
“No?”
Elia held out her hand, and Aefa Thornhill lowered her arms from her breast. She held a pillow, its prize covered with a thin blue cloth. The girl took a fortifying breath and picked the cloth up by a corner, sweeping it away to reveal a crown of freshly woven, slightly crushed hemlock. In the flickering orange candlelight, the starburst blossoms seemed to catch fire.
Regan gasped softly, eagerly, even, and Gaela laughed dark and loud.
“You are resourceful, Elia,” the self-annointed king, her sister, said. “Did Brona show you this? Or did the trees themselves whisper their secrets to you? Was it because youlistened?” On the last word, the wolflike grin turned into a sneer, though Regan beside her seemed almost wounded.
“The trees,” Elia said. “You know what this means, then? We should eat it, and drink from the navel well, and be the queens of this island together.”
The three sisters stood at three points, the bright stars that formed a constellation of disaster.
Wind shoved at the north wall of the pavilion, pushing the canvas taut.
“You think it would only save you,” murmured Regan. “That our island loves you best of all, little sister. That we are unworthy, because you do not understand our way of loving. You have ever avoided your own choices, and now you make the island seek vengeance on your behalf.”
“No, that isnot true.I do not want either of you to die. I want all of us to survive—to live, together, as we have not in so many years.”
“Then submit,” snarled Gaela.
“I would survive,” Regan said. “The island loves me, as it loves you, only more, for my Connley’s bones are our roots now.”
Elia reached for her sister, but stopped. “I am so sorry he’s gone, Regan. I know you loved him.”
The middle sister’s face turned hard as crystal.
Gaela stepped nearer and put one hand on Regan’s shoulder; the other she made into a fist and settled threateningly against Elia’s. “This is a waste of our time.”
“If you are to be queens of Innis Lear,” Elia said, “you must be part of the island, sacrifice your own selves to gain its trust, the trust it waits for you to show. Are you afraid of something our father was brave enough to undergo? If you would be the queens of Lear, this is how the crown is claimed.”
“I claim my own crown. Our father was not strong enough to do so. He was weak, and terrible. Magic did not help him.”
“He denied all but the stars; that is why the island turned on him, as it will turn on you if you reject the roots.”
“I do not need it. Let the wind rage—eventually it will stop, when it understands I dominate.” Gaela spread her arms, displaying herself.
