Chapter Twenty-Two Ayleth
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ayleth
She will destroy everything, Shade’s warning drums in my ears as I chase after the traitorous witch.
As always, my Huntsman was right. My shadows stream ahead of me, tracking Jacquetta like hounds after a fox as she ducks into the forest and weaves through the trees. I should have left her in the dungeons to rot. Well, that’s a mistake easily rectified.
First, though, I want to discover what she’s up to.
I keep a safe distance, using my shadows to shield me.
Eventually, Jacquetta pulls to a stop and starts rooting around through the brush.
I hide behind a tree, waiting. But as I reposition myself to get a better view of her, a twig snaps under my foot.
Jacquetta’s attention whips in my direction and I inwardly curse.
She yanks a small knife from her belt. Its blade gleams silver in the moonlight.
“Who’s there?” she calls.
There’s no point in hiding now. Jacquetta glowers as my shadows fall away.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than to follow me?” she asks. “It’s bad enough that you watch me all day.”
“How do you know—” I stop short, realizing my error.
Jacquetta just smirks. “I can sense things, remember?”
I do remember. When Jacquetta found me at Stonehaven, she explained that she’d been able to determine my location because of our connection.
Our love.
That certainly isn’t the case anymore.
“If you don’t wish to be followed, then perhaps you shouldn’t give me a reason to do so,” I say, gesturing at the bushes. “Or do you expect me to believe that you’re out here digging for Margaret’s secrets among the—”
Jacquetta abruptly turns to the side, hunches over, and vomits. Violently. I’m so stunned that I just stand there, watching her until she settles.
“What’s the matter with you?” I ask.
She grimaces and wipes her mouth. “Nothing.”
“Yes, it definitely looks like nothing.”
She huffs a sigh. “If you must know, it’s the iron poisoning still working its way out of my system. I came out here looking for willowroot.”
It’s then that I notice the greenish cast to Jacquetta’s skin.
The hint of iron tracks still peeking past the hem of her sleeve.
She’s lucky no one else has spotted them.
Lucky the iron didn’t kill her outright.
Even in the dungeons, her eyes had begun to turn rust-colored, just like Rhea’s had on the night she died.
But not even Rhea, with all her power, had been able to fight the poison off at that point. Why had Jacquetta been spared?
“How much of your gift is left?” I ask.
“Why?” Jacquetta crosses her arms. “So you can feed it to that shadow minion of yours?”
“I’ve told you—Shade has a name.”
She grunts. “Well, my gift is none of your business. Our deal only pertains to information about the duchess.”
So this is how it will be.
“Fine,” I reply, irritated. “But you didn’t have to sneak out here for willowroot. You could have asked me for it.”
“Yes, I definitely trust what you’d give me,” she says dryly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She starts to stalk off again.
“I’m not just going to let you wander the forest on your own,” I call after her.
“Are you worried about me?” she shoots back. “How sweet.”
I curse the heat that prickles on the back of my neck.
“If you want willowroot, I’ll get it for you myself.” I summon a nearby shadow and bid it to locate the plant. It slithers off through the trees. “That way.”
Jacquetta eyes the shadow like it’s a snake, but she eventually picks up her skirts and traipses after it.
We walk together in silence, the sounds of the forest drifting around us.
Owls and other night birds, but also creatures of Malum: the distant wails of banshees or the howling of Nevenwolves.
Sounds I used to fear but are now as welcome to me as my own shadows.
My own breath. Jacquetta, however, is not as at ease.
She flinches at every noise, continually glancing over her shoulder like something might swoop down and swallow her whole.
“Nothing out here will harm you,” I tell her. “Not unless I want it to.”
I grin at her and she scowls back at me.
“Like what you wanted to happen to that woman in there?” she asks, jerking her chin toward the palace.
I stiffen. “You saw that?”
“Of course I did,” she scoffs. “I assume that was the whole point.”
“No,” I reply, then regret it. Because I shouldn’t give Jacquetta the impression that I’m ashamed. “I don’t care what you saw. But you should be grateful it was her and not you.”
“Is that meant to be a threat?” she asks. “Because it’s going to take more than your little show to frighten me.”
“Because my steward noticed a discrepancy in the prisoner log,” I retort. “He’s looking into the possibility of an escape.”
Jacquetta stops short. “What?”
She’s not so smug anymore, I see. But I can’t take much pleasure in the petty victory. Not when I have so much to lose.
“Just stay out of his way,” I tell her. “He’ll move on when he doesn’t find anything.”
“And if he does find something?” Jacquetta throws back.
That same worry from earlier nips at me. What will I do if Parnell discovers Jacquetta?
Let her burn, that deep instinct whispers.
“Then I suppose you’d better be quick,” I say. “As soon as you finish your end of the bargain, you can leave.”
Jacquetta’s jaw works, clearly wanting to say more. But she just mutters something under her breath and then starts walking again, noticeably faster this time. Soon enough, my shadow halts at the base of a tree up ahead, curling among the leaves of the willowroot.
“There,” I say, motioning in its direction. “You’re welcome.”
Jacquetta doesn’t deign to reply as she tromps over to the tree and kneels down to dig up the plant.
“And what about your end of this bargain?” She asks. “Has that pet shadow thing of yours found my mother?”
I don’t bother to correct her about Shade’s name. “It’s only been a few days.”
“And? You said it could find her.”
“He can’t find what isn’t there. Maybe Nerissa went back to Rycinthia.”
Jacquetta gives a short shake of her head. “She would have sent a raven.”
Then Nerissa isn’t like my own mother. Despite the brief snatches I’ve glimpsed in my mirror, I haven’t heard a word from Mother since she left the palace.
It’s no surprise, given our last encounter.
In fact, I probably wouldn’t have replied if Mother did try to communicate.
Even so, jealousy digs between my ribs, just as it always has where Jacquetta and Nerissa are concerned.
When the two of them lived at Stonehaven, I was always wishing that my relationship with my mother could be more like theirs.
Anyone could see how Nerissa adored Jacquetta.
And she never once tried to force her daughter to conform to the covens’ demands.
Malum pulses in its den. I have never been more grateful for its presence.
“What about the other Heirs?” I ask. “Have you asked them for help?”
“Of course I have. I’m not an idiot.”
That’s debatable. “And?”
“There’s nothing they can do,” Jacquetta says, though I notice the way she starts hacking away at the willowroot. “We all understood the risks when we agreed to the mission. If we get separated, we’re on our own.”
“So, they left her to die,” I drawl.
Jacquetta pauses. Looks at me over her shoulder. “No. You did.”
Rage smolders in my chest. And I want to snap back that I’m not the one who snuck over the mountain and blew up the Mines. But I don’t waste my breath. It doesn’t matter what I say. Jacquetta will blame me for everything.
“Are you done yet?” I ask instead. “It’s cold.”
In answer, Jacquetta yanks up a few handfuls of willowroot and shakes the dirt free. But then she pauses, examining one of her hands in the moonlight. A few drops of crimson glisten on her palm.
“Are you bleeding?” I ask, stepping closer.
“It’s not mine,” she replies, confused.
Another drop lands on her skin. I look up and realize that the source of the blood-colored liquid is the tree itself. Droplets hang like tiny garnets from the branches. They ooze out of the bark and run down the trunk, pooling at the roots.
“Just like the Mine,” I murmur, recalling the crypt.
The dead don’t bleed, Roland had said. Neither do trees.
“The Mine?” Jacquetta asks.
“Give me your knife,” I say, motioning for it.
“Why?”
“Just give it here.”
She grumbles, but hands me the blade. I use it to gather up some of the sap-like substance and lift it to my nose. It smells like flowers. Like roses and something softer—sweeter. But as the seconds pass, the smell abruptly alters. Its sweetness festers, turning to rot. I jerk back.
“What is it?” Jacquetta asks.
“You tell me.” I pass her the knife and she sniffs it, then makes a face.
“Ugh. How should I know?”
“I found the same substance in the crypt at the Mine,” I explain. “I assumed it was the fireroot you planted. The whole thing exploded as soon as a torch touched it.”
“We used fireroot,” she confirms, without a trace of remorse. “But that’s not what this is. You can smell it for yourself.”
Jacquetta hands back the knife and I inhale again, frowning. She’s right. There’s no telltale sting of sulfur or bite of ash.
“It looks exactly the same, though,” I say, brow furrowed.
“Maybe the fireroot got mixed up with it inside the Mine,” Jacquetta suggests. “Besides, how would what we used be leaking out of this tree?”
It’s a good question. But if this isn’t the witches’ potion, what is it?
“Unless.” Jacquetta pauses, her lips pressing together. I know that look—it’s the same one that would cross her face at Stonehaven when she was worried about something.
“What?” I press.
“Some of the others mentioned seeing…strange occurrences throughout the realm,” she says at last. “Animals with their hearts removed. Graves dug up. With what the Followers are claiming about Meira…”
I bark a laugh. “You don’t actually think that’s true.”
“No. But someone has to be doing this. And it’s not us.”
The wind picks up, rattling the branches overhead. That same tendril of fear tingles down my spine, but I refuse to give in to it. Refuse to give in to her.
“Is this the Heirs’ plan?” I ask, gesturing around us with the knife. “To frighten me with stories about some mysterious witch who doesn’t exist?”
“Stories? You saw what happened in the forest.”
“I don’t know what I saw.”
“Oh yes, you do,” she insists. “You just don’t want to admit that there’s someone out there who’s better than you are.”
The ridges of my ears burn. “That’s not it.”
“That’s exactly what it is. You want to be the most powerful witch in the world”—she waggles her fingers—“the witch from that nonsense prophecy Selene is obsessed with. You look ridiculous.”
Malum swells in my chest. Shadows dart around me, and it is everything I can do to keep from lashing out at her.
“You think your opinion matters to me?” I ask through gritted teeth. “I spent twenty-three years being told I was nothing. Now I’ve finally found my true gift and—”
“It’s not a gift, Ayleth,” Jacquetta all but shouts. “All Malum does is cause pain and destruction.”
“And what would you want to do?” I challenge. “If you had been trapped in a world of darkness for centuries? Imprisoned for the sole crime of being different? Because you were different? Because people feared what they didn’t understand?”
A muscle tightens in Jacquetta’s jaw. “That’s not—”
“It is what happened,” I interrupt. “To Shade and all the other creatures that I freed. They deserve to have a life as much as you do.”
“They’re not alive,” she says, throwing up her hands. “They’re Malum.”
It shouldn’t surprise me that Jacquetta believes such cruelty, but it stings nonetheless.
“You know,” I reply icily, “that’s the same thing people used to assume about witches,” I reply icily.
Jacquetta swallows. Without another word, she stalks off the way we came.
This time I let her go, needing distance between us so I don’t use my shadows to throttle her.
In the quiet that follows, I study the tree again.
Its bark is black in the moonlight, glistening with that blood-like substance.
Its limbs, gnarled and ominous, stretch up into the night.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say it looked like the tree in the forest where Jacquetta and I carved our initials what seems a hundred years ago:
A + J
The memory twists through me like a knife, dredging up the question I’ve never been able to answer: Had the tree died because of what we’d done—a warning carried up through its very roots?
That, together, we are cursed.