Chapter 41
Guinevere
With relief I crawl from the tunnel when I hear the bells ringing for curfew. My skin still crawls with hundreds of tiny phantom feet, and I brush at my arms to try to rid myself of the feeling.
I make it to the stables without being noticed. The stable boy is already asleep in the hay. The horses whicker softly, flicking their ears, uncertain of me as I creep through the shadows. Even Eira, my father’s pretty white mare, snorts and stamps her hooves as I come near.
I whisper to her, hoping to quiet her. “You know me. You do. You have just forgotten.”
She tosses her head but stills and I’m grateful. I pass her stall without reaching in to stroke her nose lest I rouse the boy.
In the store I find an old tunic and exchange the rich cloth of my prince’s clothes for a stable hand’s, hoping I’ll go unnoticed for longer. I’ll be questioned if I’m found in the inner keep, but at least I won’t be instantly recognized as a potential intruder on the way.
A dog howls as I slide over the wall of the kitchen gardens, and I freeze, fingertips still clinging to the wall, feet dangling. I hear no other noise below, so I drop to the ground, hoping I haven’t been spotted.
I crouch behind the lavender, nervously listening. Silence.
With relief, I sneak around the wood pile, collecting a few logs to hold in front of my face. I hurry through the busy back quarters through the small opening and into the servant’s corridors within the main keep, all without being stopped.
When someone calls out to me from a corridor, I mutter, “Wood, for her majesty’s rooms,” and hurry on, grateful when I’m not followed.
At this hour, the queen and her ladies and the lords and knights who attend them will be feasting in the main hall.
Most of the palace servants will be busy there, fetching food from the kitchens, clearing plates, preparing the next dishes.
Then the servants will sit down to their dinner before clearing away.
If I hurry, I can make it to the queen’s solar alone.
The queen’s room is dark when I push the door open. The fire has burned low in the hearth. I suppose that is why my excuse worked, for I see there is indeed little wood by the fireplace. I stack my bundle there, throwing one onto the embers and looking around for a candle.
I must hurry. I want to find the heart before I confront her.
I find a taper and light it, taking my first good look around the room, unfamiliar now as it has been redecorated.
When the room was my mother’s it looked very different.
I remember a carved wooden chair beside the fire where I would sit to let my hair dry, and she would tell me stories.
I remember soft gold and rose fabrics, the scent of honey and citrus fruits, and sunshine streaming through the windows.
The room was filled with shelves of books and little tables with sweets for me when I came in to see her.
Now it’s sparsely furnished, with large, imposing pieces.
The dressing table takes pride of place, dominating the room.
Though the large mirror is covered with a dark cloth.
Tiny bottles of expensive powders and potions cover the table and fill the little drawers beneath it, but each drawer I open is too small for a box big enough for Alaric’s heart.
I pull at the table, but the top doesn’t lift.
I slide my fingers underneath, but there’s no hidden latch.
Disappointed, I move on to try the bed with a similar result.
Everywhere I search I find nothing. The heavy mattress slides aside to reveal only ropes beneath.
Nothing hidden there. Beneath the bed is empty.
There’s a large wooden chest below the window, but it is locked.
I could break it, but that will let Melantha know that someone was searching her belongings.
In her dressing room, which adjoins the main chamber, there are more chests, but all they contain are belts and shoes, shawls and blankets and furs.
Instead of pulling them all out, I’m forced to slowly reach my hands deep into the bottom of each, questing with my fingers for a box or parcel that isn’t there.
Every moment I spend, I’m glancing back over my shoulder, worried I’ll be caught and I’ll have to make a choice about whether to harm the maid who catches me or let Melantha find out I’m here.
From the main chamber comes a sound and I freeze, snuffing out the taper and slowly closing the lid of the chest I’m searching. The squeak of a hinge as the door is opened, then footsteps as someone enters.
On tiptoes I creep to the door of the dressing room and open it a crack to peep out. Melantha’s maid carries a candle in and places it on the dressing table where its reflection flickers in the tiny glass vials beside it. Then she sets down a jug of steaming water.
I’m only just quick enough to dart into the dark corner when she pushes open the dressing room door and withdraws a basin and cloth for Melantha’s evening wash. She sets these on the dressing table, turning from the room and leaving the door ajar.
I don’t dare peek. I can still hear her moving about the room, turning down the bed, gathering coals from the fireplace for the bedpan, and fluffing the queen’s pillows.
Then the chamber is quiet. I’m frozen, not certain whether to move or stay. The maid preparing the room tells me Melantha will come to bed soon. But I haven’t finished searching.
The moment I decide to move again there are more footsteps at the door, and this time the distinctive stride tells me who it is before she enters.
I dart behind the door, pressing my back to the wall, peering through the crack.
Melantha enters her rooms and goes straight to the dressing table.
Her maid hurries in, taking down Melantha’s hair, getting her nightgown.
I think I will be discovered for a moment as the woman pushes the door open and I am squeezed against the wall. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, simply getting the garment and taking it out to my stepmother.
It would not be hard to draw my knife and kill them both before a footman or guard comes running. Even if they come, what will they do to me when I am already dead?
But this maid doesn’t deserve to die at my hand. And if I kill Melantha and leave her alive, she will take the blame for the queen’s death and be killed all the same.
I stay where I am, fuming at having her so close yet being unable to act. My fingertips curl around the hilt.
Melantha washes her face and sets the cloth aside. As soon as she is dressed for bed, she sighs. “Leave me.”
The maid makes a quick curtsy and exits swiftly.
Is this my moment? My fingers tighten on the knife, but the maid is still close by.
Through the crack in the door, I see Melantha draw the cloth from the mirror, and I almost let out a gasp when I catch a glimpse of her reflection.
The withered, sunken face bears such little resemblance to her haughty beauty that it takes me a moment to realize what I’m seeing.
Then the motion as she reaches forward makes both figures move in unison and I clap my hand over my mouth.
Melantha reaches around the mirror, and then there’s the click of a latch. I tilt my head, angling for a better look at what she’s doing.
Then just like that, Melantha pulls the mirror forward to reveal a hidden compartment behind!
This must be what I was searching for. And it was right in front of me all along.
Sure enough, the queen withdraws a silver box and takes a key from a long chain around her neck.
I watch in fascination. I almost imagine I can hear the beat of the heart, though that’s impossible. Alaric’s heart doesn’t beat any more than mine does.
Yet when she unlocks the box and draws back the lid, a tremor runs through me.
Melantha looks around.
Have I made a sound?
She merely checks the door and then lifts a pale white heart into her hands, setting the box down on her table. She clutches the heart in her hand, nails digging into the pure white flesh. Then, looking at her own reflection, she chants, “Bound by flesh that once was yours,
Bend your will to my command.
Wait upon my purpose here,
To answer what I will demand.”
I almost rush from the dressing room to slit her throat then. Yet she holds his heart in her hand. One misstep, one sound to alert her, and she could crush it.
The maid taps on the door and enters. Melantha replaces the box and quickly hides the mirror. “What is it?”
“Your Majesty, there are reports of strange creatures in the town again. The hunters wish to set a guard at your door.”
Melantha frowns. “What strange creatures?”
The woman shudders. “I do not know, my lady, I heard a whispering of dead things walking the streets.” She makes the sign against evil.
“I don’t know about that, but there’s something afoot. Yes. Set the guard.”
I curse. If I kill her now, the guard will be blamed, but I may not get another opportunity like this. Frozen with indecision, I wait behind the door.
Perhaps I can create a distraction. I close my eyes and concentrate, but every time I try to send my mind out, I’m snapped back to the queen’s chamber when a movement or sigh from her draws my attention. Hatred for her drips from my flesh and my knife longs for her blood.
“If I am asleep, wake me when Sir Alaric returns,” says the queen to her maid, when the woman returns. “He is expected back tonight.”
She called him, but as far as I know he is safely restrained under the watchful eye of my gargoyles. That should be impossible.
Unless he has betrayed me. But I trust him too much to entertain that thought for long.
Once I have his heart in my possession I will not need to trust any longer. I will know he’s mine. For some reason that sits uncomfortably like a corset with a bone loose and jabbing into my ribs.
I can think of no way to create a distraction that will not result in another death.
Innocent lives will be lost if I am to take what I want tonight.
I should have thought of this. What I need is to kill her in a way that looks natural or challenge her in the open.
But that has too many complicated implications.
The people think I’m dead. Better if it stays that way.
I shudder at the memory of her true reflection. It was one thing learning she is as old as Alaric, quite another to see the reality of what that looks like.
Yet even her true image isn’t as ugly as her soul.
Too many people have already suffered for this queen.
I do not mean to add to that number if I can help it.
I must wait for her to leave the solar. Luckily I can outwait her.
And perhaps that’s all I need to do. Would she die without the magic Alaric has been casting to keep her youthful?
If I can keep him from her long enough.