“Everyone knows that the temple supports Mirabella,” she says. “But you are priestesses of Indrid Down. In service to poisoners since you came.” “All queens are sacred,” the priestess responds. Katharine’s jaw tenses. She glances at Nicolas, who moves his horse back. “I know you do not like me,” Katharine whispers. “I know you sense that I am wrong, even if you will not say so.” “All queens are sacred,” the priestess says again in her infuriating, even voice. Katharine would like to ride the white robes into the dirt. Grind them into the mud until they are stained dark red and brown. But the
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