Chapter Eleven Ayleth #2
Each claimant must formally present themselves to be considered for the trials and I’ve lost count of the number I’ve received over the past few days.
“Welcome to the White Court,” I say vaguely, gesturing him away.
The man rises and veers off to join the others.
With just two days before the first trial, Weston has organized a party to celebrate the claimants.
But numbers have swelled so much that the Great Hall is deemed too small for the event and he has moved the festivities outside to the palace gardens.
Ice sculptures gleam silver in the light of the torches, and there’s a game of pall-mall organized on the lawn.
Ornate metal wickets stick up from the earth, with brightly colored wooden balls strewn about the grounds.
A high laugh catches my attention: Margaret.
Much to my annoyance, the duchess has slipped seamlessly back into her place at court.
She hosts her own parties in her rooms each night, always surrounded by an orbit of sycophants.
How anyone can stand more than a few moments in the duchess’s company is beyond my comprehension.
I hoped that Joan would have uncovered some information I could use as leverage by now, but she hasn’t sent word. The mystery is maddening.
“What do you know about the duchess?” I ask Master Parnell, nodding in Margaret’s direction.
“Not much, I’m afraid, Your Majesty,” he replies. “Her Grace’s time at the palace concluded well before I arrived at court. Is there something specific I can inquire about?”
Tempting as it is to utilize Parnell’s network of spies, I have no doubt such methods would circle back to Margaret. Joan’s investigation is dangerous enough as it is.
“No,” I say. “I just want to become better acquainted with her, given her long absence.”
“Indeed,” Parnell continues. “Though I will say, it doesn’t seem that so much time has passed. The court has certainly welcomed the duchess home with open arms.”
Margaret takes a shot. Her ball sails expertly through one of the metal wickets and she claps in delight, the rest of her cohort cheering.
“And you, Parnell?”
He inclines his chin. “I am loyal to Your Majesty, of course.”
For now. But I can sense the sand shifting beneath my feet.
The minutes counting down. A few weeks and all this might be gone forever.
It won’t be, I try to tell myself. I’ve climbed my way to the top of this court once before.
Nothing is going to drag me down. Malum expands behind my sternum, but I can take no comfort in its presence.
Instead, I’m stifled. The same way I used to feel at Stonehaven, when it seemed the very walls of the Sanctum were inching in around me.
“I’ve had enough of this for one night,” I say, pushing up from my chair. “Handle the rest yourself.”
Before Parnell can object, I snatch up my cloak and start striding back toward the palace. Halfway across the grounds, I spot someone familiar: Blodwyn. She stands at the edge of the pall-mall game, observing the players. Alone.
I pause, considering. I’ve attempted to speak with the princess several times over the last few days.
But each note I wrote to her was answered by one from Margaret herself, informing me that Blodwyn was busy preparing for her trials, or otherwise occupied.
Blodwyn even stopped taking her meals in the Great Hall, presumably to remain as far away from me as possible.
But now…I glance back at Margaret, who is still engrossed with her own court. Which means this is my opportunity.
Blodwyn looks up at the crunch of my footsteps. Torchlight washes gold over her features, highlighting the angles of her face. But any softness in her expression abruptly hardens when she registers that it’s me.
“Hello,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I’m glad to see you here. I’ve been hoping for the chance to talk.”
She returns her attention to the game. “I didn’t realize we had anything to discuss. You expressed yourself perfectly at dinner.”
So this is how it’s going to be. I hold back a sigh. Remind myself to be patient.
“It wasn’t my intention to—”
“Encourage everyone to fight against me?”
“I didn’t encourage anyone,” I reply, sharper than I’d intended. “In fact, I said I thought you were entirely capable of proving yourself.”
Blodwyn just snorts. A group of nearby courtiers cheers.
“Perhaps I wasn’t as sensitive as I could have been,” I allow, changing tactics. “But this is a complicated matter. How do you imagine the court would have reacted if I refused their request? I did what was necessary.”
“Yes, you’re good at that, aren’t you?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She huffs a laugh. “Are we really going to pretend with each other? Like last time?”
“Last time? What—”
“I know, Ayleth.”
Blodwyn finally faces me. Tendrils of her dark hair frame her face, her lips the color of a witch’s cloak. A crow calls overhead, its shadow skimming the yard.
“You know,” I start, my pulse kicking up, “what?”
She doesn’t answer right away and with each passing second, my muscles tense. The shadows creep closer, readying themselves.
“You were never my friend,” Blodwyn says at last, spitting each word. “You only pretended to care for me because you wanted Papa. And to take my mother’s place.”
Some of the tension in my chest loosens. She might hate me, but she didn’t call me a witch. “Blodwyn, that’s not—”
“Then why did you send me away?” she hurls the question like a blow.
“Why didn’t you invite me to the wedding when you married my father?
I was right here—in the palace. And were you ever going to call me back from Darryn?
Or were you just going to abandon me at Aunt Margaret’s estate for the rest of my life? ”
“You were ill,” I remind her. “I was helping you. Ensuring your safety. And you never complained about your life there. Your aunt is the one who put those other ideas in your head. She—”
“Don’t you dare talk about Aunt Margaret,” Blodwyn snaps. “She cares for me, which is more than I can say for you.”
I flinch. “I do care. We were friends.”
Blodwyn laughs low in her throat. “Until you got what you came here for. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I couldn’t see right through your pathetic attempt to steal my mother’s throne? To take everything that was mine?”
They’ll see right through you, that voice hisses.
The last thread of my patience unravels.
“And what about your own lies?” I throw back at her. “Including your scheme with your aunt. Was that honest? Is it something your mother would have been proud of?”
Blodwyn visibly recoils. I tell myself to pull back. That this is too far. But I don’t.
Hurt her, that old instinct drives me on. Wound her.
“In case you’ve forgotten, while you were off in Darryn, riding and practicing your archery, I was here.” I gesture to the palace. “Dealing with the business of the realm. With your father’s condition. How often have you even been to see him? Just the once?”
“That’s not—”
“Fair? You’re one to talk. Punish me if you like, but the truth of the matter is that you could have asked to come home. Why didn’t you?” I tilt my head at her. “Perhaps because you were content to let me act in your stead. Happy to let me do what, deep down, you know you can’t: rule.”
The words thrum between us. A tear tracks down Blodwyn’s face, shining in the torchlight.
“I hate you,” she spits.
And then she picks up her skirts and stalks away.
I watch her go, ignoring every instinct screaming at me to go after her.