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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussions of emotional abuse and death.
During the very first interaction between Queen Mirabella and Elizabeth, the temple initiate, Elizabeth offers an insight that captures the ambiguity of power in the novel. She says: “We are all dual-natured, Queen Mirabella. Every gift is light and dark. We naturalists can make things grow, but we also coax lobsters into pots, and our familiars tear rabbits to shreds [….]. Even the poisoners […] are also healers” (90). The novel reveals that the gifts themselves and the people who possess them have both creative and destructive potential.
Elizabeth uses “light and dark” as metaphors for each gift’s capacity to both nurture and harm. For instance, naturalists can prolong the life of plants, urge flowers to bloom, and fruit to ripen; they can even communicate with animals. Each also has an animal familiar—like Jules’s Camden—that reacts based on the naturalist’s feelings. However, these same abilities can be weaponized. When Joseph confesses that he slept with Mirabella, Jules grows angry and warns him: “[I]f you do not leave now, my cat will tear your throat out” (228). Naturalists can also prompt an animal to act against its own interests or for deadly or evil purposes, such as when Jules manipulates the bear to act as Arsinoe’s familiar and unleashes it on Mirabella. Thus, even a bond that can benefit nature can be twisted into a tool for violence.
Mirabella’s elemental gift is also dual-natured, as she can use it to save people or harm them. For example, she commands the sea water surrounding Joseph after his boat sinks, urging it to bring him safely to land; in this way, she prevents his death by drowning. However, she is also responsible for conjuring the storm that nearly kills him in the first place. When she nears the sea, she urges the wind, saying, “‘A little more,’ […] and it races around her and squeezes” (174). Before realizing that the storm endangers Joseph and his boat, she even takes pride in crafting it, thinking: “Tomorrow, the people who live here will speak of this […] storm. They will talk about it over breakfast tables” (174). Mirabella’s gift also allows her to prevent the priestesses from killing Arsinoe, raising another storm to save her sister. This action ends up thwarting Luca’s plans to make Mirabella queen without her having to bloody her hands and creates doubt about her willingness to kill her sisters.
Poisoners, too, can use their powers to harm and to heal. They can concoct deadly toxins but are also capable of resilience from poisons and even medicinal practice. Natalia Arron, for example, can withstand toxins without sickening herself. However, she prioritizes political gain over healing knowledge, so she mixes poisons to kill others. Power, in this novel, is never purely good or evil, and its consequences are shaped by choice.
The characters’ experiences highlight how identity building is a complex process that is determined by several influences. Mirabella, Katharine, and Arsinoe’s fates seem to be decided for them: They are queens born into rigid roles, and each one is expected to embody a specific gift and use it to murder her sisters once they reach the age of 16. However, there is a significant discrepancy between who they are supposed to be and who they actually are. At various points in the narrative, they struggle to reconcile this, and they end up acting out against one another and themselves.
According to Fennbirn tradition, the Goddess determines the queens’ abilities, and these abilities shape their communities’ expectations. For many years, the triplets measure themselves against these expectations and either feel capable, like Mirabella, or inept, like Katharine and Arsinoe. For example, when Pietyr tells Katharine what his role in her life will be, she says, “It is all pressure and expectations. And I will fail” (107). Katharine thinks of herself as a disappointment and feels the immense pressure of performing her poisoner skills. While Pietyr’s “training” gives her more certainty, ultimately, his attempt to kill her pushes her to believe in herself as she sheds her former, hesitant self and redefines herself. However, her struggle to figure out who she is characterizes her for much of the novel.
Power structures and deceit further complicate the queens’ sense of identity. For example, the Arron family’s political maneuvering undermines the sacred mythology surrounding the queens. As the narrator says, “The gift matters less and less. Crowns are no longer won, they are made, through politics and alliances” (61). This statement highlights that belief in the Goddess and her power—which is said to underwrite the queens’ strength—is less important than the powerful families that rule behind the scenes. This calls into question the entire structure on which this community is built, how it allocates power, and how the queens come to understand their identities. Mirabella’s identity is similarly shaped by the temple’s agenda and her relationship with Luca, the High Priestess. While “[t]here was a time when Mirabella listened to no one, and nothing” (205), she has become docile under Luca’s influence. Luca has deceived Mirabella, constrained her behavior, and even tried to control her memories to mold her into the kind of queen who will prioritize the temple’s goals during her reign.
Even outside perceptions can impact identity. Billy tells Arsinoe about a song mainland children are taught in which the queens are described as “witches” who seek to “devour” one another, but this song is an oversimplification that mischaracterizes the triplets and strips them of their humanity. Further, when Arsinoe uses low magic on Jules to find Joseph, Jules is described as “magic encased in skin, with no person left inside” (196). This showcases just how easily identity can be abandoned, reformed, or distorted. Rather than a stable trait, identity is constantly evolving, and it can be difficult to pin down.
The brutal world of Three Dark Crowns illuminates how the instinct to live can force individuals to compromise on their values, blur moral codes, and make difficult choices. The queens are not only flighting for their own lives but for the wellbeing of their communities. Thus, the actions of families like the Arrons and even the temple priestesses reflect this theme.
The queens are torn between personal feelings and duty. This is especially true of Mirabella, who is the most compassionate of the three. From an early age, she has been deeply attached to her sisters, despite knowing that “[q]ueens are not supposed to love their sisters” (95). To steel her resolve and prepare to kill them, she tells herself: “They are not those children, anymore […]. They are queens. They must die” (95). Mirabella has always chafed against the community’s expectations of her, but she also understands that either she must kill them or they will kill her. Still, her internal conflict between this knowledge and her desire to protect her sisters only escalates, and she says to Elizabeth and Bree: “I cannot stay here anymore and dream of my sisters talking to me from dead bodies. I cannot kill them. I know that you need me to; I know that is what I am meant to do” (164). Ultimately, it is only her belief that Arsinoe attempted to kill her with the bear that convinces her to abandon her sentiments: She interprets the attack as proof that love must yield to survival.
The same tension between morality and necessity drives the Arron family and the temple priestesses. They, too, act contrary to their communities’ moral codes as they search for ways to hold on to the power they require to thrive. For instance, the poisoners have abandoned the healing nature of their gift in favor of using it for political dominance through violence. Of the Arrons, Elizabeth tells Mirabella: “It’s true […] [that] [t]hey know the ways of healing. They have only forgotten it in the face of their hunger for council seats” (91). In the deadly world of Fennbirn politics, the Arrons have prioritized power over principle.
Similarly, the temple priestesses are also willing to bend moral codes in order to survive. They do not truly trust the Goddess they claim to revere and choose, instead, to engage in deceit and subterfuge to put their queen on the throne. When Luca considers Rho’s suggestion about declaring this Ascension Year a Sacrificial Year, she thinks, “It is not a lie, Rho told her. It is part truth. And it is for the good of the island. Someone must take things in hand, if their chosen queen will not” (207). Her manipulation of Mirabella and her willingness to ignore the Goddess’s will reveal that even religious leaders make moral compromises when their survival is on the line.



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