Chapter Thirty-Nine Ayleth
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ayleth
That night, I dream of the lost princess.
She stands in a clearing of a forest, surrounded by bleeding trees.
At her command, corpse-like minions rise from beneath the ground, flesh hanging off their bodies.
Some of them I recognize as witches from Stonehaven—Isolde, one of the Elementals who taught me to hunt.
Willa, who used to let me hide in the kitchen to avoid lessons.
Even Eden, her lavender gaze, which was once brimming with mirth and laughter, now shining with hate.
They stalk toward me, their bodies at wrong angles and their claw-like hands outstretched.
Murders of crows descend from the sky, their talons ripping my flesh to ribbons as the world I built is swallowed by flame.
Pay the price, the creature’s unearthly voice resonates above the tumult. You must pay the price.
I wake with a start, bedclothes sticking to my skin.
The remnants of the dream still clinging to me, scratching at me, as if the corpse-like creatures are reaching through my mind.
I kick my way free of the coverlet and throw open a window.
The storm that has been threatening all day has finally broken.
Thunder shakes the palace as sheets of rain pour down outside.
Lightning flashes over the grounds. For an instant, I spot a shadowy figure in the distance.
Just like what I thought I saw on the night before Margaret arrived.
Is it her? The lost princess? Has she been here the entire time? Haunting me?
A crash carries through my chamber.
I nearly leap out of my skin and whirl around, but my room is empty.
When I look back out the window, the shape is gone as well.
I close the panes and tell myself it was nothing, but then the noise starts again.
Light spills through the crack of my door, coming from the next chamber.
I creep toward it, drawing my shadows around me.
Malum pulses behind my sternum, ready to be used if it’s—
“Jacquetta!”
The other witch is standing at the map of Riven, surrounded by piles of books and papers. Fitz is with her, but is currently being chased around the room by Nettle, who no doubt caused the commotion I’d heard.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my pulse finally slowing.
“Sorry,” Jacquetta says, motioning toward the two animals. “I tried to stop them, but…”
“It’s hopeless, I know,” I say, throwing a reproachful glance at Nettle.
She merely trills and continues swatting at Fitz, who growls at my cat from where she has him cornered.
“What’s all this?” I ask, gesturing at Jacquetta’s piles of papers. “I assumed you returned to the servants’ quarters.”
And that she’d had her fill of scouring endless pages of tiny scrawl. We already spent three hours in Ignatius’s lair earlier, not that we have anything to show for it.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Jacquetta replies. “I decided to go through some of these books from the other realms. And I might have found something.”
She indicates a text on the table beside her, open to a section with a map spread across both pages. It appears to be Carrick, the queendom to the west. It’s a strange rendering, though. The illustration is covered with dozens of intersecting lines.
“What are those?” I ask.
“It’s a theory about power,” Jacquetta explains.
“Power?” My brow furrows. “You mean like magic?”
“Something similar,” she agrees. “But it’s interesting. The author refers to the power like it’s a living force, one that carries memory and even emotion. According to this, there are thousands of such lines beneath the earth. Sort of like the lines of our palms.”
I frown at that, turning my own palm up and studying Rhea’s faded mark.
“What is it?” Jacquetta asks.
“Probably nothing,” I say. “But those lines. It reminded me of Rhea. The rune she drew.”
“That’s right,” Jacquetta says. “The triangle, wasn’t it?”
I’m surprised she remembers. A long-ago image resurfaces, the two of us lying together in bed. Jacquetta’s fingertips, featherlight, tracing that shape.
“Yes,” I agree, clearing my throat. “On the night he captured me, Ignatius said there was a connection between Rhea and me. One strong enough to cross the Veil. He thought the mark had something to do with it. That it held power.”
That place on my palm prickles.
Jacquetta considers this, thoughtful. “Do you think Rhea knew that?”
“I doubt it. Not the full extent, anyway.” I pause. “Could it be related to the theory?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” She gestures hopelessly to the map. “I’ve been trying to figure out if anything similar exists in Riven, but the only clear line I see is here.”
Jacquetta indicates the mountain border between Riven and Rycinthia. On our side, tendrils of shadows skim across the surface of the map. But on Rycinthia’s, there’s nothing. Even the Dwarvian enchantments fade away to mere ink and parchment.
“I still don’t understand why everything stops there,” Jacquetta says. “Do you know?”
I shake my head. “Shade claims it’s always been this way. Even before the Veil.”
At the mention of my Huntsman, Jacquetta tenses. “Have you heard from him lately?”
I hesitate. Jacquetta hasn’t asked about her mother in a while. “Not about Nerissa.”
Just about the Heirs. Once again, Shade’s plan nips at me. Along with his words:
Do not forget the promises you made to us.
The nearby shadows lengthen, reaching for me.
“You’re certain she didn’t leave Riven?” I ask Jacquetta, distracting myself.
“Yes. In fact…”
“What?”
She tugs on her sleeve. “After what we witnessed at the ball…if that creature found my mother…maybe she really is gone.”
“Wouldn’t you sense Nerissa’s death?”
“I should,” she agrees. “But my power isn’t what it was. I haven’t even cast a decent spell since the forest. I assumed it was the iron poisoning, still lingering and tampering with my abilities. Now, though…”
She trails away, tugging on her sleeve again. And, much as I try to fight it, pity twinges in my chest.
A question wriggles up from the pit of my stomach, one I tell myself not to ask. But it slips out, anyway. “Does it hurt? Losing your gift?”
Surprise flashes in Jacquetta’s blue gaze, then swiftly hardens.
“Yes,” she replies. “It’s agonizing. I can feel it withering. Dying. Like pieces of me are just…decaying. Even in Rycinthia, I felt like I was rotting from the inside out.”
That’s what I wanted, isn’t it? Each heart I added to my crown was a victory.
A conquest. I reveled in the witches’ torment.
I wanted them to feel exactly what I did: hollow and useless and nothing.
I was so sure that doing so would make me feel larger.
In control. But that’s not how I feel in this moment. Quite the opposite, in fact.
The shadows shimmer in the corners of the room.
Another idea begins to take shape in my mind: Shade thinks we should use Jacquetta to lure the Heirs here.
Take their magic. But what if there was another way to fight against the creature?
If there were more witches like me? Weeks ago I never would have expected Jacquetta to join me.
I know her feelings about Malum. But she did help Nox.
And she claimed that the only reason that she sided with the Heirs is because she doesn’t see an alternative.
Maybe she just needs to be reminded that there is another choice.
“What if I could change that?” I ask.
Jacquetta arches a skeptical eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Restoring the Veil isn’t the only way to banish the creature,” I go on. “If you bind yourself to Malum, we could be so much stronger. Perhaps even strong enough to defeat her.”
“Ayleth, I don’t think…”
“Malum isn’t what the covens taught you,” I press. “You’ve witnessed that for yourself—with Nox. If you accept it, we won’t need the Heirs. You don’t have to be part of their hierarchy anymore. This could be a different world.”
Our world. Could it be possible? I hold my breath, anticipating her answer.
“A different world,” Jacquetta repeats at last. “And what place do I have in it?”
“Whatever place you want.”
“But only if I reject my natural power. My life. My family.”
“Nothing comes without a cost,” I allow. “But think of what you’ll gain. With Malum, you’ll have more power than you ever dreamed. So much more than just coven magic. I could give that to you.”
She could let me. Choose me. Some desperate part of me hopes that she’ll do exactly that. That she will finally reach for me. Want me.
“My magic is part of me,” Jacquetta replies. “You can’t ask me to change it. And I wouldn’t even if you did.”
Another rejection, then.
What else did you expect? that hideous voice taunts.
“You’re asking the same thing of me,” I retort. “Worse, you want me to give up my abilities entirely. Abandon everything I’ve built. All so the covens can—”
“You think you’re so different from them?” she throws back. “What about this?”
She roots through a pile of books and yanks one out. Every muscle in my body freezes. It’s the collection of Diviner prophecies.
“How many times have you read this?” she asks, showing me Aphelia’s words. “Quite a lot by the look of things.”
“That’s none of your concern,” I grind out.
“And why is it your concern, Ayleth?” she goes on, brandishing the book.
“Why do you care about the words of a dead witch—one who led the same covens you claim to hate? Why are you so obsessed with being queen? You may have shattered the Bloodstones, but they’re still controlling your life. So are the Heirs.”
Shame burns in my cheeks. I seal it off, leaning into anger instead. I let it fill me up. Thread through my spine like steel. Shadows mass around me, eager to be used.
I snatch the book from Jacquetta’s hands.