Chapter Thirty-Four Ayleth
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ayleth
You will burn.
Mother’s warning chases me through the next day, haunting the long hours spent alone in my rooms while Parnell conducts his investigation.
At first, I jumped at every knock on my door or the sound of approaching footsteps, certain that Blodwyn had reported me.
Margaret would love nothing more than to drag me to the pyre.
But the guards don’t come. From what I can glimpse in the mirror, Blodwyn remains in her own chambers, poring over her books.
Still, I cannot quell the hum of dread in my veins at knowing that, with one word from the princess, I could lose everything.
This is dangerous, my queen, Shade rasps as we stand together at the mirror, watching the princess in her menagerie. She cannot be trusted.
“I don’t have any choice but to trust her,” I reason. “She knows too much.”
Which is why we must remove her.
The same thing he’s insisted upon since I explained what happened.
Just weeks ago, I might have agreed with him.
Even before Blodwyn left the palace, there was part of me that thought it would be better if she died of her illness.
And not only because of the threat she posed to my throne.
Our relationship was too much like what I shared with Rhea.
Blodwyn needed me in a way I didn’t want to be needed.
Reminded me of a version of myself that was too fragile to survive.
“Not yet,” I tell Shade. “If anything happens to Blodwyn, they’ll blame me. And I need you focused on the creature or princess or whatever she is. We have to find her.”
Shade’s shadows move in a way that tells me he’s dissatisfied with my answer. But he doesn’t argue further.
As you wish, my queen, he says, bowing. But take care. The princess may prove a greater threat than you imagine.
With that, he dissolves into the darkness, leaving me spinning in my own thoughts.
Deep down, I know that Shade is right. Blodwyn might be working with us for now, but what about after?
Will she simply ignore the fact that I’m a witch?
One who she’s convinced murdered her mother?
Not a full day ago, things were improving between us.
I thought I’d reached her. Now that she knows the truth, she wants nothing to do with me.
Just like everyone else, that small voice slinks through my mind.
“Well, you’re certainly in a mess,” Callen drawls, his face appearing in the mirror. The imprisoned king has made no secret of his delight in my current predicament. “Tell me, are you expecting anyone else to show up and claim their right to the throne? Even the dead are rising.”
I glower at him. But he’s not wrong. The dead are rising.
The book Blodwyn left rests on a nearby table.
I’ve read the text a dozen times, but still struggle to wrap my mind around the details.
The claim about Braxos and the trials. The princess who should have inherited the throne and her mysterious disappearance. The cryptic message left in her rooms.
I am the true queen.
The creature’s words roll around my skull.
“Do you think the story is true?” I ask Callen, frowning at the book.
He scoffs. “Of course it isn’t. Complete nonsense, invented by a rival, no doubt. As if my ancestor could have lost to a woman.”
“You did,” I remind him.
Nettle trills, agreeing. Callen merely rolls his eyes. But I don’t take as much pleasure in agitating him as I usually do.
“Well, who—or what—ever it is, that creature certainly seems far more powerful than you are. Perhaps even more so than that Huntsman of yours. Do you really believe you and that other little witch will be able to fight it off? All on your own?”
This again. “Let me guess, you’ll help us if I release you from the mirror?”
“Perhaps,” he replies, a shrug in his voice. “There’s only one way to find out. Besides, what else are you going to do? You and I both know that you’re running out of time. That thing will return soon enough. Even if it doesn’t, the last trial will be here before you know it.”
Wind pushes against the palace. Just two short weeks until the Justice trial. And we’ve already lost a day.
“I know what I’m doing.”
Callen laughs. “Oh, it certainly appears that way. Keep your stubbornness if it suits you. But remember—if you don’t let me out, Blodwyn may very well take your place. I wonder what she’ll decide to do with the witches living under her roof. Both of them.”
You will burn.
The words have never felt closer than they do now.
—
Court resumes two days after the attack at the ball.
To my immense frustration, Parnell and his minions couldn’t determine how the Followers broke into the palace, or anything else regarding the corpse-like creature.
But there’s no shortage of rumors buzzing around court.
The halls are crammed with courtiers, all of them trading theories like they’re playing cards.
A throng is clustered around the doors to the Great Hall, which have been shut and locked while workers attempt to repair the damage from the attack.
Though the chasm sealed up, the hall is in shambles.
Not that I care. I have no desire to set foot within its walls after what happened.
“She must have been a witch,” a woman in the group says. She and the others are watching the doors like the creature might burst through them at any moment.
“She was dead,” another returns.
“And?”
“Well, I think she was Meira,” a third comments.
“Meira? After what happened to the Follower? Don’t be daft.”
“What about Sybil?” yet another suggests. “She certainly has reason enough to—”
Their conversation ceases when they spot me, and I quicken my pace.
The sooner this creature is banished, the better.
But that’s easier said than done. Jacquetta, Blodwyn, and I have agreed to meet in secret tonight to begin our investigation.
Until then, I’m thrown right back into preparations for the trials.
Margaret’s demands were upheld, of course.
The last known standings of the wisdom trial were used to select the participants for the final challenge.
Which means that, in just under two weeks’ time, Blodwyn, Warbeck’s son, and a young man from one of the eastern provinces will face off against one another in the justice trial.
Two weeks until you lose everything, that voice reminds me.
I roll my shoulders against it and knock on Joan’s door, bracing myself for the torture of another planning meeting. One that may have started without me, though, for no one answers. I let myself into the main room. Voices carry from Joan’s study.
“We cannot stay here,” someone says.
I pause, peeking through the slit in the door. Anora and Joan are standing together at the window, hands clasped. Dull winter sunlight spills over them, lighting up the threads of gold in Joan’s auburn hair.
“We cannot leave,” she protests.
“Why not? The palace isn’t safe anymore. Even you must see that.”
Anora isn’t the only courtier planning their exit.
I heard that the roads leading away from the city are jammed with travelers fleeing the threat of the creature’s return.
Those who remain are clamoring for the trials’ immediate continuation, as they’re convinced that the new ruler will rescue Riven.
Someone who is not you, that voice again.
“I’m sorry,” Joan says. She slowly disentangles herself from Anora’s grasp. “I have to remain at court. Ayleth needs me.”
“I need you,” Anora says, her voice thick with emotion. “I love you.”
“Then I hope you’ll wait for me.”
A long moment stretches between them.
“I’m not sure I can promise that,” Anora says at last.
She waits, perhaps hoping for Joan to say something.
But there’s only silence. Anora nods, then swipes the tears from her eyes and makes for the door.
I pull my shadows around me as she passes.
Joan sinks into a chair, her own shoulders shaking with muffled sobs.
That old wound in my heart opens and oozes on her behalf.
But perhaps it’s better this way. At least now Joan can be sure of Anora’s true feelings.
How much heartbreak would I have avoided if I understood the same about Jacquetta?
I ignore the ache in my chest and step into the study, letting my shadows fall away.
“Ayleth.” Joan straightens. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. I was coming for our meeting and I overheard.”
“The meeting,” Joan says, blinking. “Right. I nearly forgot.”
“We can—”
“No, no,” she says, pulling her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing at her face. “There’s no time to put it off. And I suppose there’s not much to explain about Anora.”
“I really am sorry. I know how much you cared for her.”
“Love,” Joan corrects, a rare edge to her voice. “I didn’t just care for her, I love her. Still. Those feelings don’t just vanish. No matter how much you might wish them to.”
Joan’s words strike an uncomfortable chord inside me.
“You’re upset. We’ll reschedule,” I say, already turning around.
“Wait,” she calls after me. “I shouldn’t be snapping at you. And I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been desperate to speak with you about the ball. What happened? Was it actually the covens?”
I pause. Of course Joan assumes the witches were responsible for the attack—everyone else at court does.
And part of me wants to correct her, but what’s the point?
I can’t tell her about Princess Matilda’s story without risking the rumor spreading.
And I certainly don’t need Margaret sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.
“It must have been,” I say instead.
Joan is quiet for a moment, frowning down at her papers.
“Then I think I owe you an apology,” she says at last.
My brow furrows. “An apology?”
“For doubting you,” Joan explains. “All this time, I wanted to believe there was a way to reconcile with the covens, but you were right. Between the attacks on the Mines and now this…the witches are too far gone. I should have listened to you a long time ago. Maybe if we’d been more aggressive at the start of the war, we wouldn’t be in this mess. ”
I blink, genuinely surprised. I’ve been waiting for three years for Joan to take my side regarding the war.
And if she can be swayed about this matter, perhaps she can be convinced about Malum as well.
Still…my victory isn’t as satisfying as I expected.
Because the covens aren’t responsible for the creature.
And this is yet another lie I’m adding to the pile.
The weight of my own deception presses down on me, heavier than it’s ever been.
“I suppose we’ll never know,” I say, swallowing back my guilt.
Joan just sighs. “And what are we going to do now? What could possibly defeat such a monster?”
I lift a shoulder, as I would give anything to be able to answer that question.
“Theoretically, if I knew what’s holding it here, I could banish the creature,” I say. “But such an anchor would have to be powerful magic—like the Bloodstones used to be.”
“That thing can’t be using those,” Joan reasons.
“No,” I agree. So how else—
A thought drops like a stone into my mind. The last time I witnessed someone be pulled from beyond the Veil was on the night Ignatius summoned Rhea.
Which means I know where we need to start searching for answers.