Chapter Thirteen Ayleth #2
“Oh.” The person stops and drops into a swift curtsy. It’s Anora. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“No harm done,” I tell her.
She bobs another curtsy and hurries off, Joan trailing her.
“Is everything all right?” I ask, indicating the direction Anora went.
“Not really,” Joan replies, her brow creased with worry. “Anora has been attending some of the recent parties. A few of the claimants have been making promises about the changes they plan to implement if they win.”
She doesn’t need to elaborate on what those changes might entail.
“None of it will come to pass,” I assure her.
“I hope you’re right,” she says. “For both our sakes. Speaking of, I’ve been meaning to talk with you about my…investigation.”
About Margaret, she means. I move closer to Joan and drop my voice. “And?”
“There’s nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “The duchess’s servants don’t even gossip about her.”
I frown, annoyed. “Someone must know something.”
“I’ll use the day to dig through the archives,” Joan says. “But what about you? I saw you talking to the princess at the pall-mall match.”
“That…didn’t go as planned,” I admit. “I tried explaining my side of things, but she wouldn’t listen. We argued.”
Joan sighs. “Ayleth.”
“I know. It was a mistake. And that’s what this is for.” I show her the long box I’m carrying. “It’s from Roland. Surely it can undo whatever damage I’ve caused.”
“Maybe.” Joan eyes the gift, dubious. “But I’m not convinced the princess will appreciate an attempt to purchase her affection.”
“What else do you suggest?”
“Just…be her friend. Show her that you’re the same Ayleth she remembers.”
I hum my reply. Because I cannot be the Ayleth that Blodwyn remembers. That witch is dead. I shed her skin the moment I accepted my true power. And I’d do it again, a thousand times over. Malum swells inside me, shadows playing around my skirts.
A flurry of laughter and movement distracts me as a gaggle of courtiers enters the courtyard, Margaret at their head.
The duchess is wearing yet another stunning outfit.
It’s a deep gold color, embroidered in shimmering bronze thread and studded with seed pearls.
She breezes past me without a glance, engrossed with her flock of admirers.
She is so very popular, isn’t she? One of Callen’s unwelcome observations from the past week echoes in my mind.
I shake it away, focusing instead on the last person to arrive: Blodwyn. Her riding habit is a deep burgundy, trimmed in sable fur, which only accentuates the rich black of her hair and the red of her lips. She looks every inch a queen.
The true queen.
A crow calls overhead.
“Blodwyn,” I say, putting myself in her path.
She pins me with one of her frosty glares. “Is there something you need?”
“I wanted to apologize,” I begin. “About the other night. My behavior was inexcusable. I didn’t mean what I said.”
Blodwyn just stands there, sullen as a wet cat. And it soon becomes clear that she has no intention of apologizing for the things she said to me. Fine, then.
“Here,” I say, holding out the box. “This is for you. For the hunt.”
She looks at my offering like it’s something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
But her curiosity must win out, for she deigns to unlatch the fastenings and lift the lid.
Dull sunlight gleams on the polished wooden bow, a reddish yew, which is engraved with foliage and animals chasing themselves along the weapon’s curve.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, running her fingertips along the details.
“It’s Dwarvian,” I explain, smiling at finally having impressed her. “I had it brought from the Mines in honor of the occasion. Because I do support you, Blodwyn.”
She looks up, her seemingly permanent scowl softened in the slightest. “This is—”
“What a lovely piece.” Margaret’s voice slices between us.
Malum pulses behind my sternum. How does this woman always seem to guess the precise moment to show up and spoil everything?
“And did I hear you say that it’s Dwarvian?”
“That’s right,” I reply tightly.
“How generous. It’s only…” Margaret frowns, looking at me like I’m a witchling still learning her wards. “On any other hunt, this would be a fine weapon. But enchantments are forbidden during the trials.”
“It’s not—”
“Master Roderick”—Margaret beckons—“would you inspect this bow?”
“I’m sure that won’t be—” I start.
But the weapon’s master has already arrived, trailed by a few other courtiers who are lured by the exchange. Master Roderick picks up the weapon, tilting it so that he can see the inside of the bow’s curve.
“Ah, yes. Here,” he says, indicating several markings. “A rune for speed. And one for strength. I’m afraid Her Grace is correct. This weapon isn’t permitted.”
My cheeks burn. “I didn’t realize…”
“But of course you didn’t,” Margaret croons. “No one here thinks you deliberately gave the princess an enchanted weapon.”
The crowd has thickened, suspicious looks grazing my skin. Murmurs chase themselves around the courtyard, suspicious looks grazing my skin. Shadows undulate, slinking nearer.
“Wait.” A crease forms between Blodwyn’s brows. “Is that why you gave this to me? Because you knew I’d be disqualified if I used it?”
“Of course not. I only wanted you to have the best chance today.”
“So I can’t win unless I’m cheating?”
“That’s not what I said. Don’t be—”
“Ridiculous?” she asks, tilting her head at me. “Is that what you were going to say? Is that what I am to you?”
“No.” The word comes out too shrill. “You know I don’t think that.”
“Actually,” Blodwyn replies, “I don’t know much about you at all.”
She slams the box closed and storms off—again. I stare after her, blood pounding in my veins. How did I manage to lose control of this situation so quickly?
“I am sorry about that,” Margaret says, sidling up to me as if we’re friends.
As if she didn’t just sabotage me in front of everyone.
“Next time, though, you should check with me before presenting such gifts to the princess. We wouldn’t want anyone to be able to question the results of this trial, would we? ”
How I despise this woman. My power burns in my chest, shadows leaping and diving around me, desperate to be used. I would give anything to be able to reach out and strangle Margaret with them. Rip out her heart the same way that I did her brother’s.
As though she can guess my thoughts, Margaret’s gray eyes glitter, causing that phantom sensation to tug at my left ribs again.
The duchess throws me one of her brilliant courtier’s smiles, then saunters away, leaving me standing on the fringes, an outsider in my own palace—just as it’s been every day since she arrived here.
Do something, the shadows seem to whisper. Take back control.
They’re right. I’m done playing these games. Margaret is a threat. And I will not lose everything I’ve worked for to some insipid noble, army or not.
The time to act is now, before it’s too late.
I turn on my heel and go to summon Nox.