Chapter Text
Phillipe didn’t listen to Camille.
He was tired, true (in this same moment, a thousand lifetimes away, he would have been much too tired and much too sullen to put up a fuss) and he had a long journey ahead of him. But Phillipe had given everything to this island. His years, his family’s funds, his dedication, and now he would give his children. He was owed, at least, a chance to see them for the first and last time.
So he went.
When his wife laid down to rest, still weary from the tribulations of birth, and when the old midwife stepped outside to fetch a bundle of calming herbs at the king’s behest, Phillipe went to see his daughters.
As he stepped into the hall, Phillipe came to the stark realization that he had no idea where the nursery was. In all the hours that they’d been here, Willa had not bothered to show him where the babes would be kept. Why would she? He was never meant to see them after all. They weren’t his to see.
But still, he searched undeterred, and eventually, he came across a room a few doors down from Camille’s birthing chamber, barred by an expertly crafted door engraved with three black roses. Beautiful flowers marked with the color of death. How symbolic.
Pushing into the room, Phillipe was reminded of the brief moment of calm that often comes within the eye of a storm. He felt himself relax as he took in the domesticity of it all.
Sunlight gently streamed in through the window, falling on three bassinets to the side of the room. He felt a small smile split his face as he approached the cradles. Seeing the small forms sleeping peacefully inside filled him with indescribable joy, he wished he knew their names. Phillipe’s smile morphed into a frown. He should know their names.
He started with the one cuddling the cloud pillow. Scooping her tiny form into his arms was a surreal experience. She barely weighed anything at all and staring down at her little face almost gave him the sensation of floating. It was often said that the queens retained no physical traits from their parents before them but he could see that this one had his jawline and ears. She would grow up to be beautiful.
Phillipe kissed her brow before settling her back into place.
The next one did not look much like him, although he could see a bit of Camille in the roundness of her face and himself in her strong nose. However, as he gently lifted the little girl out from underneath her horrid mobile, it quickly became clear the similarities between them lay in their personalities. He chuckled softly as she squirmed in his arms. His mother often told stories of how fitful Phillipe was as a child, even when asleep. His restlessness did not subside much as he grew older but rather worsened. All up until now in his manhood he had trouble keeping still. Phillipe suspected this child would be the same.
He pinched the tiny hand that slipped out of the swaddle and nearly cried when it latched around his fingers.
He tenderly set the second child down, careful to avoid disturbing -or touching- the dead reptiles, and turned his attention to the final cradle.
This last child was not like him in appearance nor mannerisms. She was so still that Phillipe almost feared for her health until he saw the healthy flush in her face. And she did not look like him at all but, he noted with no small amount of pride, she was almost the mirror image of Camille. Smallest out of the three by far, this one had to be the youngest.
Just as he kissed her cheek and prepared to set her down, big, black doll-like eyes suddenly fluttered open. He froze.
She didn’t immediately start wailing like he assumed her to. In fact, she stared at him almost expectantly. As if she were waiting for him to do something. It almost felt like…a request.
To his credit, Phillipe did try to leave. Told himself to go before his traitorous thoughts could continue entertaining a notion that would likely get him killed. Yet still, even as his rational mind tried to reason with his body, he felt himself crumple to the floor. Those eyes that were so much like Camille’s turned his legs to anchors.
There is a saying amongst the people of Fennbirn. At first glance, it seemed a strange one given this island’s seemingly unconditional adoration of their triplet queens. But the years taught him better.
Only a fool could love a queen
Then he truly must be the king of fools to have fallen in love with four of them.
Camille shot up with a gasp. Cold sweat ran down her forehead in rivulets. She gripped the sheets like a lifeline. She felt like throwing up. Camille groaned at the intense pounding in her skull. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since her…victory.
Sleep. How could she? How could she when the ghosts of her sisters screamed in her ear; when she saw their dead and dying faces every time she closed her eyes; when the memories of her early days returned to her and all she could think of is the sweet little girls in those memories and how she murdered them?
Camille shook herself. Now was not time for regret. It wouldn’t do much good for anyone either way; what’s done is done is done. She was so close to everything she had dreamed of for seven years. She could start over; live the life she had always wanted from the beginning. All she had to do was walk away and never turn back.
Yet, when she searched for her dream’s face, she did not see him.
A cold pit of dread formed in her stomach.
Camille called for him, hoping he had simply stepped out for air. No answer. The pit in her stomach grew larger.
She desperately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he just went to get some water or if not that then to get a better pillow or if not that then to use the chamber pot. One by one she checked the kitchen, each of the bedrooms, and the bathroom, and one by one they all were deemed empty.
Once it became evident that her husband was nowhere else in the house, Camille slowly made her way to the nursery. She pointedly ignored the bittersweet feelings that rose marked door summoned within her as she made her way into the room.
Inside, she found her husband, sitting on the ground and cradling one of the baby queens against his chest. Camille sighed heavily and approached the pair. She carded a hand through his auburn curls.
He looked up at her and- oh
He was crying.
Her love, soft-hearted though he may be, was not a well-known crier.
Pursing her lips, she carefully settled down next to him. “Come now, darling. Let us find Willa.” But he was already shaking his head. He looked back at the child in his arms.
“I- I can’t do this Camille. I’m sorry.”
Camille’s hand slipped from his hair to his shoulder as she dredged up every last ounce of patience her tired body possessed. “I know this is hard for you but it’s simply how we do things here. I promise that once we get to the mainland-”
“Did you hold them? Did you even touch them?”
“Phillipe-”
“Take her, Camille.”
Camille did not take her. “You’ve known that this would happen for years. I’ve told you time and time again that you can’t get attached. This is why I told you not to go. ”
“I can’t just leave my daughters-”
“They aren’t your daughters,” Camille said gently, “They belong to the island and the Goddess only.”
Phillipe tensed. “So you truly believe that it’s right for us to just sail away and go about our lives knowing what they’ll be subjected to here? That it’s right to just hand them over after everything these people have done to you?”
“It is my duty as queen”, Camille said mechanically. She wasn’t even sure if they were her words (they weren’t. Not really).
“They’ve taken so much from us. I hear the way you cry out for your sisters at night. I’ve seen the scars on your arms and back. The Arrons, the temple, this entire damned island, they have given you nothing, nothing but heartache and pain. And as thanks for your suffering, you’d give them our children to torture?“
"They are not our children!”, She snapped, then softer, “Please, enough of this. You know the island won’t let them go. We can have a real family on the mainland.”
Phillipe just sadly shook his head again. “I can’t be with someone who would abandon her own daughters to a life of misery. If you force me to choose between you and them- it’s them. I’m sorry”, and Camille’s heart shattered.
He finally turned from the infant to her. “I don’t want to choose, please don’t make me choose.” He took her hand and rested it on the child’s -Katharine, she numbly recalled- head. “This is our family. Don’t let the island tear it apart.”
Everything Phillipe was saying went against the very person Camille had been taught to be. What the temple taught her of being a vessel for the Goddess on earth. What the Arrons taught her about succeeding no matter what. The things Phillipe was suggesting were blasphemous and damn near sacrilegious (but she had stopped praying a long time ago). To go along with it would be to burn down years of meticulous planning. To spit in the face of all the teachings Camille received.
She looked from Phillipe and his pleading eyes to Mirabella and Arsinoe, blissfully sleeping through the turmoil in the room, to little Katharine, whose eyes and nose looked so much like her own.
Queens never pass on physical traits
She was tired of following the rules.
The Black Cottage was small, although it was not actually a cottage. Hidden away in the forest and surrounded by undergrowth, it was not an easy place to find, let alone reach. Few people were privy to the cottage’s exact location and every one except the queens were sworn to secrecy on pain of execution. This, of course, was to allow the Midwife to raise the ascending queens in peace as well as protect them in those few vulnerable years where they were not constantly guarded by a powerful foster family. The meticulous position now worked to their advantage as Queen and King rushed to secure the baby girls in the back of Willa’s old but sturdy wagon.
Phillipe tied down the wicker baskets that held his daughters with the rope they found in the kitchen while Camille shackled Willa’s fastest horse, Sarin, to the front of the wagon.
Phillipe stopped suddenly. “Wait, should we bring nappies?”
Camille blinked. “What? You mean soil cloths?”
“Yes, who is going to change them?”
“I’d reckon you know more about these things than I do.”
“But you’re-”
She shot him a withering look. “I’m what? A woman?”
“Smarter than me”, he finished.
Camille just rolled her eyes. “We can figure all that out once we’re on the road. I’ll go get the cloths.” He nodded as Camille finished attending to the horses and turned back towards the house.
She stopped.
There in the meadow stood Willa. This was the first time Camille’s seen her since the birthing. She had completely forgotten about her pseudo mother. Behind her, a small gasp indicated that Phillipe had similarly forgotten about the only other person in the house.
“Camille-”
“Get in the wagon.” She sucked in a breath and righted herself with a confidence she did not feel. “I will handle this.”
Still, Phillipe glanced between her and the old Midwife as though he expected Willa to summon a dagger out of thin air and bury it in Camille’s eye. Knowing of the old woman’s history as a poisoner, Camille could not even say his concern was unfounded. But he finally nodded once and got in the coach’s seat.
She approached Willa with her head held high
Willa smiled as she drew near. “You were going to make off with my only wagon and best horse without even a goodbye? The gall of this generation.”
Camille didn’t know what to say. She stayed silent as she eyed the bag Willa had slung over her shoulder. Noticing the younger woman’s tension, Willa’s smile fell away.
“Relax girl. I’m not going to beat you to death with a rucksack.” Her eyes hardened, “And I’m not going to try and stop you either.”
Now Camille’s silence was tinged with an air of shock.
“Those six years I spent raising the three of you were the happiest years of my life. I treasured every moment I spent watching you and Arden play in the river. Eating those horrible cookies that Nautica baked every winter,” Willa raised one wrinkled hand to Camille’s cheek. She didn’t pull away. “You girls were the most important things in my life even after those black carriages came and took you away.”
“I collected every piece of news about you three I could find. I celebrated every victory with you and every time I heard of Nautica’s escapades with her multiple spouses or of Arden’s ridiculous spars with the warriors from Bastian, I would think of our time here together.”
“The pain I felt when I heard of their passing was the worst than anything I had ever experienced. I prayed I would not live long enough to feel it again.”
Camille couldn’t help it. Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, “I killed them.”
Willa nodded. “You did.”
“I remember their faces. I remember the river, the cookies, all of it.” Camille shook as she wept, “And I killed them.”
“And now-”, Willa said as she wiped her tears, “You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again.”
“You failed your sisters and I failed the three of you. Do not fail your daughters.” Camille nodded against Willa’s hand.
Willa again smiled briefly.
“I’ll send for the houses in two hours. It will take one hour for the word to reach all of them and another three or so for the carriages to arrive. I suspect that should be just enough time for you to reach the landing. Provided you take the back roads of course.”
“I-yes. That should be enough.”
“Good. Now then,” She handed Camille the sack she had brought. Inside were blankets, soil cloths, medicinal herbs, clothes for infants, and a collection of peculiar items that she assumed were to the girls entertained. And quiet.
“Thank you”, said Camille, and she meant it from the depths of her soul.
“A child needs not to thank her mother for doing a mother’s duty.” Then mother and daughter embraced for the last time. Camille stiffened as she pulled away.
“You’ll be-” executed. Brutally. Painfully.
The old crone just smiled. “I will be fine.” It was a lie.
The Midwife turned around and slowly made her way back into the house. Camille watched until her back disappeared behind the door before walking back to her husband and daughters.
To her family.
Jonathan Blackburn is a family man at heart.
Whenever his sister needed help wrangling her massive brood of eight, Jonathan was there. Whenever his mother needed him to drive the cattle because one of the work hands fell sick, Jonathan was there. And when Phillipe came to him seven years ago and told him of his plans to go to the legendary island of Fennbirn and pursue one of their triplet queens well, what other choice did Jonathan have than to go with him?
You could start a family of your own you know, Phillipe had said.
And Jonathan replied, How could I trust myself to start a new one if I can’t take care of the one I have now?
So, when his little brother arrived at the landing three hours early in an old wagon with his wife at his side and a slumbering newborn in his arms, Jonathan took one look at his pleading face and called for the captain to take to sea.
Not a word was passed between them.
The Goddess took being robbed of her new queens about as well as Camille expected her to.
Within thirty minutes of leaving Bernadine’s Landing, a vicious storm descended upon the mighty Rapshire, and thus, the battle began.
If there was one silver lining in this whole debacle, it’s that every man aboard this ship was a mainlander. Not one of them batted an eye when she and Phillipe carried the girls aboard.
But as it goes, if there’s an upside then there’s a downside. No matter how good of a crew these men were, they were simply no match for the ferocity of the typhoon. There were many times in her life when Camille wished to be an elemental but none more so than today.
Down in the underbelly, Camille listened to the stomping and shouting above her head as the men tried everything in their power to keep the ship afloat. Phillipe was up there too, shouting orders with the rest of them.
A particularly strong gust of wind threatened to capsize the ship altogether and the young mother desperately kept hold of her children while struggling to stay sitting upright. Camille winced as the wails of Arsinoe and Katharine rose to match the crashing of thunder.
The eldest of the baby queens simply laughed. Where Camille greened every time the boat was violently rocked by the waves, Mirabella shrieked in delight and flapped her little arms about as if she were the one bringing this storm down on their heads.
Camille huffed. Elementals.
Once again, the ship rocked so violently that it was everything Camille could do to keep a tight grip on the baskets. She felt something slip out of her pocket and clatter to the ground. She looked down at it and paled.
A vile of nightshade. Willa had pressed it into her hand during their embrace. Such a poison was much too weak to have any effect on Camille. There was no question of who it was for.
You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again.
Somehow she managed to grasp the vile with a shaking hand. She swallowed as she considered the task before her. Killing two teenage girls whose faces she hardly remembered was difficult enough but three infants?
Yet, letting the Goddess sweep them back to the island would be just as damning. A small bit of nightshade is incomparable to the suffering that the Arrons would inflict on Arsinoe. And Mirabella, she would be forced to live through the deaths and haunting memories of her sisters as Camille is. She uncorked the vile.
Yes, this is the kinder fate. A death by nightshade would be quick and painless. At her young age, not even Arsinoe’s poisoner gift could protect her from a toxin this deadly.
She only wished that she could have made their last moments as joyous for her two youngest as they were for Mirabella.
Slowly, she kissed each of the girls goodbye. The silence was deafening as she pressed the vile to Katharine’s lips and made to tip it back.
Silence?
Camille snatched the nightshade away before a drop of liquid could spill over.
The cabin was suddenly still. There was no booming thunder overhead. No screaming wind that nearly knocked them clean over. She couldn’t even hear the rain anymore. It was as if the storm had never happened at all.
Camille dared to let herself hope.
And when Phillipe rushed downstairs to practically slam his mouth into hers, she knew her dreams finally came true
The sun on her skin was a blessing after being cooped up in that tiny cabin for what felt like hours. If the pleased cooing was anything to go by, it seemed Katharine agreed.
An arm wrapped around her waist and her husband and brother-in-law joined her at the bow of the ship. Each of them held her other two children.
Phillipe observed them with proud eyes. He stared down at his daughter in his arms as if she were the most perfect this in the world.
Phillipe looked at her again and she saw tears in his eyes for the second time in seven years.
“What are their names?”
Camille smiled through her own tears. “She-”, Camille said, nodding to the babe in Phillipe’s arms, “-is Mirabella. The eldest.” The new father beamed.
She gestured to Jonathan. “She is Arsinoe. Middle child.”
Jonothan grinned down at his wiggling niece. “Hello, little Arsinoe. I am your uncle Jon. I can already tell you’re going to be as much of a handful as your father is.”
“And this is Katharine. She is the youngest.” Camille pressed a kiss to Katharine’s head.
Phillipe repeated their names in order under his breath. Then louder and louder still until he was shouting at the top of his lungs.
“THEIR NAMES ARE MIRABELLA, ARSINOE, AND KATHARINE! I’M A FATHER!”
Jonathan whooped. “You heard him, gents! Hats off to the new parents!”
Camille laughed like she never had before as each and every man on board cheered and flung their hats into the ocean. Those that didn’t have hats took the shirts off their backs and whipped them over their heads like madmen.
Distantly, the part of her that still thought of Fennbirn as home wondered what would happen to the island without its queens. Perhaps the people would learn to move on without them, even as their gifts faded. Or maybe the Goddess, in a fit of self-righteous anger, would turn her ire on the island that she’d birthed. Maybe she would command the seas to rise and swallow Fennbirn whole. Send a storm three times as terrible as the one she inflicted on Camille’s family to wash everyone and everything away.
But as she watched her husband dance and cry and laugh and kiss their daughter all over her face, Camille found that she could not bring herself to care.