Chapter Thirty-Six Ayleth
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ayleth
The Order’s wing is deserted and tomb-like.
Jacquetta, Blodwyn, and I creep through the empty corridors, the only light coming from the glow of our candles.
Cobwebs drape down from the eaves and dust carpets the once-glorious amber-veined floor.
Forgotten shards of the false goddess are scattered within empty alcoves.
Lighter spots mark the places on the paneling where the Order’s despicable Eye or Illuminations have been pried out and burned.
But I can still sense them pressing down on me, like the ghost of the false goddess continues to haunt this place, watching us.
“Let me get this right,” Jacquetta says. She hasn’t stopped her barrage of questions since I told them where we were going. “Ignatius summoned Rhea?”
I nod, pressing my thumb into the faint remnants of my sister’s mark.
“I’ll explain more when we get there, but yes. That’s why we’re going to his rooms.”
“I thought you said you didn’t bring your sister back,” Blodwyn adds, significantly less impressed with this development. “That breaking the Veil and seizing the throne were more important than your own family.”
Unsurprisingly, any friendliness between the princess and me has abruptly shriveled. She’s reverted to her stony silences and barbed comments. If that weren’t bad enough, each moment in her presence is a stark reminder of what she knows. Of how thoroughly she could destroy me.
Destroy her first, that voice urges.
The shadows undulate around us.
“I didn’t bring Rhea back,” I say. “Ignatius did. And if we can determine how he summoned Rhea, we might be able to do the opposite in order to banish the princess. I hope.”
“You hope?” Blodwyn echoes.
I clench my fists and will myself to be patient. “It’s the best I can do for now. Unless you have another idea.”
Blodwyn just stalks down the corridor.
“This should be fun,” Jacquetta mutters.
That’s an understatement.
—
At long last, we find our way into the dilapidated remains of Ignatius’s rooms. I lead the others through to the back—the High Priest’s bedchamber.
The hangings around the bed are torn and tattered, billowing in the draft like ghosts.
The wardrobe in the far corner is closed and locked, but I use my shadows to open it, revealing the hidden compartment behind the moth-eaten clothes.
It slides open and a cold draft brushes our faces from the room below.
“What on earth?” Jacquetta asks, wide-eyed.
“Come on,” I say, gesturing for them to follow. “This is only the start.”
Memories wash over me as we descend the curved staircase into the former High Priest’s lair.
The light from our torches seeps outward, illuminating the worktable with Ignatius’s instruments.
The bookcases crammed with his stolen grimoires.
A few jars of ingredients survive, one with various species of eyeballs floating in a yellowish substance.
I shudder, recalling Marion’s tuneless song as she glided along those shelves, the mirror sheen of her sightless eyes.
Pale spots line the walls, where Ignatius’s mirrors used to hang.
Roland came and took the glass back to the Mines a long time ago.
But I can still see the room as it was. A draft stirs and I can almost hear the click of Nox’s claws on the stone.
See myself, huddled in a corner, alone and afraid and certain that I would die.
Malum stirs behind my breastbone and I lean into it.
“Spirits,” Jacquetta murmurs, taking it all in. “This was down here the whole time? How did you discover it?”
I hesitate. I haven’t shared the full extent of the events that occurred that awful night with anyone.
Not even Joan. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how heavy the memories have become.
How much I’ve needed to relieve myself of the burden.
And, ignoring that insistent voice inside me that warns me to keep it inside, I do.
As briefly as I can, I explain about sneaking back into the palace and discovering Queen Sybil’s private writings, including the centuries’ old illustrations of Ignatius.
How the High Priest captured me and dragged me here.
About Marion and Nox. Ignatius’s insidious offer of power.
Rhea. I press my hand to the wall when I speak of my sister, wishing that she could appear like she did that night, even if only for an instant. That place on my palm prickles.
For obvious reasons, I don’t divulge Callen’s fate.
Nor do I mention my control of the shadows, as I don’t need Blodwyn’s opinion of me to sink any lower.
But my story was clearly shocking enough on its own.
By the time I’m finished, Jacquetta is sitting on the first stair, her lips slack.
Even Blodwyn’s expression appears a bit softer.
Not quite sympathetic, but less like she’s determining the best way to murder me in my sleep.
“So Ignatius,” Jacquetta says at last, “was a…witch?”
“I wouldn’t call him that,” I reply, bitter. “He was rejected by the covens. Whatever power he found he stole from the witches during his quest for revenge.”
He’s not the only one who stole, that pesky voice goads.
I shove it down, refusing to meet Jacquetta’s gaze.
“In any case, Ignatius is dead,” I go on. “All that matters now is that we learn how to banish that creature.”
With that, I head toward the shelves and set to work.
—
It’s all but impossible to keep track of time this far below the palace, but I suspect a few hours pass in relative silence.
Blodwyn peruses the shelves at her own pace, keeping her distance from Jacquetta and me.
Occasionally, I hear her muttering what sound like curses.
Otherwise, I focus on my own pile of books.
It’s not the first time I’ve studied these texts.
I returned to this place a few times during the early months of my reign, seeking answers about my fledgling power.
I didn’t find much, though. And so I left the books down here to rot.
They reminded me too much of the High Priest. Even now, I can almost hear his awful voice in my head through his spidery handwriting.
My revulsion only deepens when reading the context of the texts.
I find a section in a journal explaining how Ignatius crafted his medallion with the Bloodstones, one runed to siphon power from the witches.
There are also logs detailing various members of court, including the queen and Marion and even Callen.
Not simply their movements, but their tastes and preferences.
Aspirations and fears. And these are the least sinister of the volumes.
Others contain macabre rituals that make the forbidden books at Stonehaven seem tame.
Experiments Ignatius conducted in his attempts to bind hearts to a mirror.
Recordings about how humans react to certain kinds of magic or even poisons.
Servants and Order girls seemed to be Ignatius’s preferred victims, as they were least likely to be missed.
Anger smolders inside me, realizing just how lucky Jacquetta and I were to have escaped the High Priest’s clutches.
“Ayleth”—Jacquetta nudges me—“look.”
She slides her book in my direction. It’s one of the grimoires, open to a page depicting what appears to be a human heart, rendered in painstaking clarity.
The arteries are severed and there are spots of what might be dried blood spattering the page, leading me to wonder if the heart was illustrated from life.
But my attention is fixed to the center of the organ, where Ignatius has included an additional chamber. One filled, inexplicably, with gold.
“What is that?” I ask.
“From what I can gather, Ignatius believed it was an ingredient of some kind,” Jacquetta explains. “One that could be extracted.”
My brow furrows. “Extracted?”
A grisly image resurfaces—the creature ripping out the Follower’s heart. Blood running down her face as she tore into the muscle with her teeth.
“Could that be what the creature is doing?” I ask.
“I wondered as much, too,” Jacquetta agrees. “Maybe this is how she’s binding herself to our world. Her anchor.”
It’s not a bad guess. “But then how—”
“Is that why she wants me?”
We both jump at the voice. I’d been so engrossed in our theory, that I didn’t hear Blodwyn approach.
I immediately move to close the book, but the princess has already seen it.
She steps nearer and runs her fingertips along the drawing of the heart.
Despite everything between us, my own throat tightens at the fear I know must be churning through her veins.
“It could be,” I say.
But Jacquetta frowns, thoughtful. “I’m not so sure. About the princess, at least. If the creature is using mortal hearts as an anchor, why would she specifically focus on Blodwyn? It was clear enough that anyone’s heart will suffice.”
“Because she hates me,” Blodwyn replies without a beat of hesitation. Her fingers curl away from the page. “And who can blame her, after what my family did? Braxos may have even murdered her himself. No wonder my family is cursed.”
Her jaw sets and, once again, I’m reminded of the young witch I used to be, convinced of my own curse. Terrified of the darkness that dwelled within me.
“There is no curse,” I say to Blodwyn.
“Tell that to the dead princess trying to eat my heart.”
“What happened to her wasn’t your fault,” I insist. “And we won’t let her harm you.”
I’m surprised at how true the words feel, especially since it would be far more advantageous for me to allow the corpse-like princess to finish her work.
But, just like on the night of the ball, I find that I cannot simply let Blodwyn fall into the void.
The princess, however, doesn’t reply. She drifts back to the shelves and starts sorting through the books again.
“That was kind of you,” Jacquetta comments.
“What did you expect me to say?” I ask. “That we would serve her heart up on a platter?”
“No. But I’m not sure how you plan to keep the promise you just made. If the creature really is eating hearts as a means to bind herself here, banishing her just became much trickier.”
I inwardly curse. Because Jacquetta is correct. If the dead princess was using the Bloodstones or some other object as an anchor, it would be simple enough to destroy it. But hearts? I can’t murder everyone in Riven just to send her back to her grave.
“We’ll find a way,” I say, as much to myself as to Jacquetta.
“And if we don’t?” Jacquetta presses, leaning closer. “Are we really just going to sit around and wait for her to return? We can’t fight her alone.”
Frustration balls in my chest because I know exactly where she’s going with this conversation. “I’m not involving the Heirs.”
“Oh, but you’ll dig through this madness,” she says, gesturing disgustedly at the book.
“You think I’m enjoying it?”
“Of course not. Which is why you need to let me call the Heirs.”
Shadows dart around me, as agitated as I am.
“And then what?” I throw back. “Let them re-establish their hierarchy? The same system you said you wanted to abolish? Or was even that a lie?”
“It wasn’t. But there’s no other way. This is more than—”
“Yes,” I cut her off. “It is more than me. What do you think happens to creatures like Nox if the Veil is reforged? You helped him. Or have you forgotten that already?”
She looks away. I recall the moment in the garden—Jacquetta watching Nox go. For once, the expression on her face wasn’t revulsion or fear, but compassion. She could feel that for more than just my Nevenwolf if she would only try.
“I haven’t forgotten,” she says. “But we’re in over our heads, Ayleth. And when that creature drags herself up from the ground again, do you really think she’ll stop with the princess’s heart? You’ll be next.”
Usurper, the creature’s croaking voice echoes in my ears.
“And you care what happens to me?” I ask.
Jacquetta holds my gaze, the bits of silver standing out in her eyes. It reminds me of the way she used to look at me in the forest, when we were sixteen. And I almost…
“Ayleth.”
Blodwyn’s voice breaks the spell between us.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Just look.”
She holds out what appears to be a journal, but I can tell by the handwriting that it’s not Ignatius’s. Instead, an elegant, looping script fills the pages. A hand, I realize dully, that I have encountered before.
“This is…”
“My mother’s,” Blodwyn finishes for me.
And there, staring out at me from the page is: I have paid the price of blood and snow.