Chapter Forty Ayleth
Chapter Forty
Ayleth
The following evening is Margaret’s party.
Given the state of the Great Hall, the event is being held in the throne room.
And the duchess wasn’t exaggerating about her wish that this event would double as Blodwyn’s coronation.
White roses hang from garlands around the upper-story gallery or spill out of enormous vases.
Banners ripple in the torchlight, embroidered with apples ringed in crowns.
After my argument with Jacquetta, I feel the weight of my own crown digging into my scalp, far heavier than it ever has been.
I haven’t seen the other witch again. She’s still in the palace.
My shadows would have alerted me if she attempted to flee.
But she’s keeping her distance. So am I, Shade’s plan rolling around in my brain.
There’s no reason to keep from acting on it.
To finish what I started when I broke the Veil. So why am I hesitating?
“Your Majesty.” A voice interrupts my thoughts. Master Parnell waits a few steps behind me, his crow-like appearance doing little to settle my nerves. “A word, if I may? I need to speak with you about the final trial.”
My stomach sinks at the reminder. There’s less than a week remaining. I’m not certain which I dread more—the creature’s return or the last challenge.
“What about it?”
“Given the attack at the ball, I’ve ordered that security be doubled for the event,” Parnell goes on. “But I fear such precautions may not be sufficient.”
He’s not the only one. With each day that passes, the court seems to wind tighter, everyone jumpy and snappish with one another. Even here, surrounded by food and music, there’s little revelry. The late Queen Sybil’s funeral was a better party.
“And what of the creature?” I ask. “Any word on its whereabouts?”
“Unfortunately not,” Parnell says. “Save for the reports of the destruction it’s caused, there’s no sign of the thing.
And, unfortunately, the creature’s emergence has only spurred the Follower groups.
At least three more have been sighted in the last days and they’re rapidly gaining strength. They may march on the palace.”
No doubt followed by Rycinthia and the covens.
Failed, that voice supplies. You have failed again.
“Have the Hunt put down as many uprisings as possible,” I instruct Parnell. “And bring more reinforcements to the palace.”
“Yes, Majesty. But our troops are dwindling.” The steward steps closer. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that the duchess’s army would be of great assistance at the moment.”
I snort. “If she would lend it.”
“Indeed. And perhaps it’s time to start considering alternative solutions,” he continues. Drops his voice. “I can make discreet inquiries with Lord Warbeck. See what it might take to…sway him to our side.”
What it might take to get his son to withdraw.
To allow Blodwyn to win the trials and become regent.
I look across the hall, to where the princess is standing with a small group of courtiers.
Her gown is gold satin embroidered in sparkling white, the fabric glowing against the torchlight.
During our last conversation, the princess suggested a way forward.
But would that hold if Blodwyn won the trials?
If she ever discovers the extent of my lies?
More than that…can I really hand her, or anyone else, the throne?
You will burn, Mother’s warning comes back to me.
“Not yet,” I say to Parnell.
“But, Your Majesty, the duchess’s army—”
“I said not yet,” I repeat, sharper. “There’s time enough for me to decide.”
Parnell’s expression suggests otherwise. And he’s right. If we’re going to make a move with Warbeck, it should be now. But I cannot walk away yet. Cannot let go of everything I’ve achieved. And I certainly cannot allow Margaret to win.
As if on cue, heralds trumpet their horns.
The duchess sweeps into the chamber in another of her elaborate gowns, sapphire brocade trimmed in silver.
“Your Grace,” Weston calls, raising his glass. “Here you are. I thought you abandoned us.”
“I do apologize for my tardiness,” she begins, holding up her hands for quiet. “But I assure you that I have a very good reason. One that will put all our minds at ease. Something that could stop that abominable creature and end this war once and for all.”
Confused murmurings churn through the audience.
“End the war?” I ask, stepping forward. “What are you talking about?”
Margaret fixes me with one of her feline smiles. “I trust you remember the rumors about the escaped prisoner? Well, I have found her.”
Escaped prisoner.
An icicle of fear skims down my spine.
At Margaret’s signal, someone else strides into the chamber. A pair of blue eyes lands squarely on mine:
Jacquetta.
—
The walls of the chamber seem to narrow, my heartbeats thundering in my chest as the court erupts with shouting.
But I can hardly hear the chaos over the storm of questions in my mind.
What is Jacquetta doing here? Margaret claimed that she found the escaped prisoner, but Jacquetta isn’t chained.
In fact, she holds her head high, completely unruffled by the jeering crowd, like she doesn’t fear them at all.
A thought clicks into place. Maybe there’s a reason Jacquetta isn’t afraid. Maybe she’s here by choice. And if that’s true…
She betrayed you, that voice hisses.
Malum rumbles in my chest.
“Enough!” I shout. The crowd quiets. “Someone explain what’s going on.”
From across the room, I spot Joan, who stares back at me, open-mouthed. Heat floods my face, but I shove that down. Joan is a problem for later. For now, I turn my attention back to Margaret. The duchess hasn’t moved. Blodwyn stands at her side, her gaze wide and terrified.
“Happily, Your Majesty,” Margaret continues. “Allow me to introduce you to my special guest, Jacquetta. Here on behalf of the covens to negotiate.”
Covens ripples around the room in shocked gasps, instantly followed by witch. My fists clench at my sides. What is Jacquetta playing at? What has she done?
“Negotiate?” Lord Warbeck bullies his way through the crowd. “With a witch? If you intend to make a mockery of the council, Duchess, I will—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Margaret waves him away as if he’s no more than a bothersome insect. “Aren’t you curious to hear what she has to say?”
I, for one, very much am. Because if Jacquetta is supposedly here to negotiate, that means she went to Margaret on her own. Has she exposed me? Shade was right. I should have taken her power while I had the chance. Never should have released her from the dungeons.
“Fine,” Warbeck grumbles, crossing his arms. His son, Gavin, waits just behind him, observing the scene in stunned silence.
“Go on, then,” Margaret prods Jacquetta. “Tell them what you told me.”
Shadows slither from the corners of the room. I brace myself for whatever Jacquetta will say next. For the fight ahead if I have to battle myself free of this throne room. I lock eyes with the other witch, but Jacquetta’s expression gives nothing away.
“I am a witch,” Jacquetta confirms, eliciting a storm of nervous chatter. The court presses closer together. “But I wasn’t responsible for the attack at the hunt and I didn’t summon the creature. No witch could.”
Warbeck scoffs. “So you claim.”
“It’s true,” Jacquetta insists. “We lost most of our power when the Veil fell. We want the world rid of Malum as much as you do.”
So this is why she involved Margaret, I realize. Because I wouldn’t give her what she wanted. Anger and terror churn inside me.
Failed, that awful voice. You have failed.
“If that’s how the covens feel, then why did you instigate the war?” Warbeck demands.
Several others in the crowd voice their agreement. My shadows draw even tighter. This is when she’ll tell them it’s my fault. What I am. Jacquetta’s gaze finds mine again. For an instant, it’s as though there are only the two of us in the room.
“What would you do,” she starts at last, addressing the court, “if you’d been hunted for decades? Punished for merely existing? Why should we have run back here, trusted you, after everything the White Kings did to us?”
Some of the tension in my chest loosens.
She didn’t reveal me. Why not? There’s no time to puzzle it out now.
The court absorbs her words with mixed reactions.
A few shout rebuttals, claiming that the witches deserved their fate.
Others appear more sympathetic, frowning or whispering behind their hands.
“And what do you propose, witch?” Warbeck asks.
Jacquetta’s jaw sets at his tone, but she doesn’t rise to his bait.
“A meeting with the coven leaders,” she says. “We sit down together. Discuss a way to contain Malum. To banish this creature. And to end the conflict between us once and for all.”
To end you, that voice goads.
Because that’s what will happen if Malum is contained. That’s what Jacquetta wants—what she’s always wanted.
“Banish the creature?” Warbeck echoes. “You just said the witches lost their power when the Veil fell. How will they face such a force without it?”
“We’ll find a way,” she says, ignoring the derisive laughter that follows. “But not if we continue down this current path. I’m tired of war. Of losing people I care about.”
She glances in my direction and that ancient part of my heart pulses, but I smother it. Jacquetta doesn’t care about me. Not if she’s done this.
“No,” I say, the word like an arrow through the hall.
Thick silence descends.
“No?” Margaret echoes, tilting her head at me. “But surely we can all agree that this is the most beneficial course for everyone.”
“I agree with my aunt,” Blodwyn chimes in. “The covens might be the only ones who can help. We should call on them. Hear them out.”
So she’ll take Jacquetta’s side as well? Was she party to this plan? I grit my teeth, Malum straining beneath my skin.