Chapter Twenty-Four Ayleth
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ayleth
The clock on the mantel chimes midnight.
I sigh and rub my eyes, which are gritty from having spent the last few hours poring over endless pages of tiny scrawl.
After the incident in the forest, I dredged up every book I could find in the library about magic or Malum.
But none contain any information that would help explain the bleeding tree, much less the spells in the forest. The mystery is maddening. As are Jacquetta’s words:
You look ridiculous.
I bristle against them. Jacquetta is the one who looks ridiculous.
For years, she insisted that she wanted to upend the hierarchy of the covens—which is what I did.
But instead of thanking me, Jacquetta is treating me like I’m a monster.
They’re the ones who are the monsters. The covens caged and suppressed my true gifts.
I’m the one with the real power. They’re just too stubborn to admit it.
My attention settles on another book. A thick, well-worn tome with a soft leather cover and yellowed pages.
It’s a record of Diviners’ prophecies, one I discovered in the archives shortly after Mother’s visit.
How it survived the purge of coven artifacts at the start of the war is beyond me, but I’m grateful that it did.
When I open the book, the pages fall instantly to a section I’ve visited countless times over the years.
The faded letters are nearly illegible, but I know them by heart:
Daughter of glass, worth yet unseen,
From the darkness will rise a queen.
But every throne carries a cost,
A price to pay, a heavy loss.
A beating heart must she drown,
If she is to wear the crimson crown.
—Final prophecy of Aphelia, First Diviner, Age of the Covens 300
“The crimson crown,” I murmur.
In its box, that very crown gleams, the shattered shards of the Bloodstones glittering in the low light.
I forged that crown. Broke the Veil. Freed Malum.
I am the queen from this prophecy. No other witch was brave enough to take this path.
Still…if I am the promised queen, why does it seem as though everything is slipping out of my control?
My queen, Shade’s rasping voice carries around me.
The fire gutters, shadows lengthening as my Huntsman materializes from the darkness. Nettle meows a greeting and instantly sets to pouncing among his shadows.
“You’re back,” I say, relieved at having a distraction from my own mired thoughts. “What have you found?”
Nothing, he replies. There is no sign of another witch.
“Not even Nerissa?”
He shakes his head, regretful.
“Damn,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
Each day that Shade turns up empty-handed only adds more credence to Jacquetta’s story. And if she isn’t lying about Nerissa, what else might be true?
And there is another matter, Shade goes on. Nox is missing.
“Missing?” I repeat. “I thought he was hiding from the Hunt.”
As did I, Shade confirms. But they have long ceased their efforts, and he has not yet returned. Does not come when I call. I fear for him.
If my Huntsman is afraid, then so am I. And I can’t help recalling what Jacquetta said in the forest—the tales of pilfered graves and mutilated animals. Just nonsense, I’d assumed. Lies she invented to rattle my nerves. Now…
“Jacquetta mentioned strange occurrences,” I say to Shade. “Evidence of what could be dark magic. And we found a tree in the forest near here that looked like it was bleeding. Do you think it means anything?”
Shade considers this, his shadows weaving around him.
Perhaps, he replies, cautious. But I do not trust the other witch.
He hadn’t been pleased to learn that I allowed Jacquetta out of the dungeons at all. But there was nothing for it. Shade can’t be everywhere at once and I can’t battle Margaret alone.
“I don’t trust her, either. But I saw the tree myself. And the spells during the hunt…” I pause. “What if Jacquetta is right? If it’s not the Heirs causing all this? If there really is another witch out there?”
One who is better than you, that vicious voice needles me. Worthier.
I roll my shoulders against it.
If there is such a witch, I will find her, Shade promises. We will destroy her together.
His shadows brush against me, their touch tingling against my skin.
Fairest, they whisper. Fairest of them all.
But for the first time since the night I broke the Veil, my motto doesn’t inspire confidence.
And later, when I finally sink into a fitful sleep, my dreams are riddled with images of bleeding trees.
Lightning crashing around the palace until it breaks apart.
Murders of crows, their talons slicing my flesh to ribbons.
And a shadowy figure in the distance, laughing as the world I built collapses.
—
I don’t see Jacquetta again until the following evening. To best avoid Parnell or other prying eyes, I instructed her to come to my rooms after everyone was asleep. Which means it’s late when she finally knocks on my door, carting the tray of food I ordered from the kitchens.
“Your most gracious Majesty,” she says, dipping into a curtsy. “What an honor that I, a lowly servant, would be permitted into your presence.”
The guards glance over their shoulders at her overt display.
“Stop that,” I hiss at her, motioning for her to come inside. “You’re drawing attention.”
“My apologies,” she drawls, sauntering past me. “Nice outfit, by the way.”
I fight the wave of embarrassment that rises. I’d changed into my dressing gown, but only because it would have been impossible to remove my court attire without the servants’ assistance. That was a mistake. With my hair loose and my feet bare, I feel entirely exposed.
“Just put that there,” I say, flustered. “On the table.”
Wine sloshes over the rim of the pitcher as Jacquetta plops the tray down. I immediately pour myself a glass.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” she asks. “I may have poisoned it.”
I hesitate, then realize that’s precisely what Jacquetta intended for me to do. I drain the glass in one gulp, just to show her that I’m not threatened. She merely smirks and scans the rest of the room.
“You’ve changed things.” She strolls over to the drapes, which are stark crimson, embroidered with my A, and arches an appraising eyebrow. “It looks worse now.”
Why did I ever release her from the dungeons?
“You’re not here to comment on the furnishings.”
She shrugs. “Why not? You obviously need an opinion. And—”
Jacquetta halts near Callen’s mirror. The curtains are thankfully drawn around the glass, but the slender box is open, displaying the Bloodstone crown.
Its jewels sparkle in the firelight. After our first interaction in the dungeons, I’ve worn it far less.
I even considered giving the crown to Shade for safekeeping.
But then I decided that hiding it would only prove to Jacquetta that she wields power over me.
She doesn’t. Still, my confidence wavers when Jacquetta brushes her fingertips over the broken pieces of the Bloodstones.
It takes all my strength to keep from rushing over to her and snatching the crown away.
But I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me ruffled.
“You just leave this here?” she asks dryly. “Out in the open?”
“Why?” I cross my arms. “Are you plotting the best time to steal it?”
Jacquetta snorts. “As if I’d want that hideous thing.”
My brow furrows. Her disinterest is no doubt meant to throw me off. Still…judging from our previous conversations, Jacquetta hasn’t developed much respect for the Bloodstones. Magical rocks, Jacquetta called them. And if she is here for the crown, she’s dragging her feet about taking it.
It doesn’t matter, that voice insists. She lies.
Nettle appears from wherever she’s been hiding, spots Jacquetta, and hisses.
“You.” Jacquetta points. “I know you’re the one leaving dead rats in my bed.”
The cat meows, proud of herself. I smirk and toss her a piece of ham from the plate on the tray.
“Are you…going to eat that?” Jacquetta asks, eyeing the rest of the food.
I should tell her yes out of spite. But something in the other witch’s expression gives me pause. She looks absolutely famished. How much are they feeding her in the servants’ quarters?
She is not your concern, that voice presses.
No. But I can’t have her wasting away while she’s investigating Margaret.
“Take it,” I say, shoving the plate toward her.
Jacquetta dives in immediately, stuffing a whole wedge of cheese into her mouth.
“How are things going with Margaret?” I ask.
“Not much progress,” Jacquetta replies around a bite. “I’ve searched her rooms, but there’s nothing but invitations to parties and a staggering number of outrageous shoes.”
No surprise there. “What about the servants?”
“Tight-lipped,” Jacquetta says, echoing what Joan told me.
“Try some of the older staff,” I suggest. “They might have been around when Margaret was here before. And Joan mentioned some scandal concerning the duchess.”
“That’s a bit vague, isn’t it?” she asks.
“Yes. Which is why you need to investigate it.”
Jacquetta sighs, exasperated. “Fine. What about my mother?”
“Still nothing,” I say. “If she’s out there, Shade will find her.”
“I hope so,” Jacquetta replies, stabbing a chicken bone in my direction. “Because if you’re manipulating me just to get what you want—”
“No, that’s your job, isn’t it?”
Nettle meows, seconding the question, and Jacquetta glowers at us both. She sullenly goes back to eating, but then notices the books on my table.
“What’s all this?” she asks, dragging one toward her and leafing through it. Her brow furrows as she scans the text. “Cunnings? Wait, is this about…magic?”
I hesitate before answering, but I suppose there’s no point in keeping it back. It’s not like Jacquetta will learn anything useful from the information in these volumes.
“Sort of,” I explain. “I ordered these books to be brought in from other realms when I first started learning about my own power. I’ve been revisiting them in case they can help me understand what we saw in the forest.”