Chapter Forty-Four Blodwyn
Chapter Forty-Four
Blodwyn
The glow of my candle lights my way through the servants’ passages.
Gavin and I decided it was safer to wait until nightfall before meeting at the stables.
I should be headed there, but I have one more errand to complete.
There are two letters in my satchel—one for Aunt Margaret and one for Ayleth.
I debated writing them, as I don’t want anyone sending a search party for us too soon.
But I haven’t revealed where I’m going. Only that I’ve left the palace and that I’ll return once they’re willing to listen.
Verity will write to us at Gavin’s estate with updates, letting us know when it’s safe to return.
Ayleth’s rooms are first and I press my ear to the panel before pushing my way inside.
Aside from the night I discovered Ayleth’s secret, I’ve not visited these rooms since Mother’s death, a fact that drums against my skull as I cross through into the main chamber.
Everything is different. The bright colors Mother loved are replaced with crimson and black.
Mother’s pomegranate crest is now Ayleth’s crowned A, which is embroidered on curtains and pillows.
And it’s not just the furnishings that have been altered.
When Mother was alive, these rooms were filled with music and laughter and warmth.
Now the cold eats through my woolen dress, raising gooseflesh on my skin.
Shadows seem to stretch in the corners of the room, and I can’t shake the ominous sensation that I’m being observed.
But I push that away. The rooms are empty.
And there’s no sign of any servants. Still, I should be quick.
I set my satchel down and dig the letter out of it.
A nearby table is littered with books and partially unrolled maps.
I bury the letter with those, hopefully buying myself some time before Ayleth discovers it.
But as I start back the way I came, I notice another set of curtains.
The thick fabric ripples, as if stirred by a draft.
My brow furrows. That’s an inner wall, which means there can’t be an outside window behind them.
Curiosity gets the better of me and I peel back the curtain to investigate.
I was right. Instead of a window, I discover a large mirror hidden behind the fabric.
Judging from the craftsmanship, it’s Dwarvian.
Its frame appears to be fashioned of dark bramble, with scarlet-eyed crows nestled into the branches, which are dotted with garnet gems cut to resemble apples.
But the glass is the most striking element.
It almost appears liquid, like the surface is still water.
A strange pull begins behind my sternum, like a tether drawing me toward the glass.
My hand lifts, obeying an almost overpowering urge to—
Princess, a voice rasps.
I whirl around, dropping the curtain, my heart hammering in my chest. Across the room, the shadows seem to move, slithering toward me. Twin spots of crimson glimmer, like a set of eyes in the dimness. Panic climbs up my throat. Is that the creature? Has she—
“Blodwyn?”
The shape in the distance instantly vanishes, the shadows of the room receding. Had it ever been there at all? Or am I losing my mind? But those questions fade away as someone else enters the chamber. Someone I was not supposed to run into tonight.
“Aunt Margaret,” I blurt, my pulse humming. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” she replies. Then pauses, studying me. “And is that a servants’ uniform?”
“Oh,” I say, cursing myself. “I just…”
“Didn’t want to be recognized?” she asks slyly. “While you’re sneaking in to explore your new chambers?”
Relief crashes into me. Of course that’s what Aunt Margaret guesses I came to do. I latch onto the excuse. “Yes. That’s it.”
Aunt Margaret winks. “I’m guilty of the same, I confess. In fact, I planned to have these rooms redecorated for you—as a gift.”
The fact that she thinks I would care about such things only proves how little she knows me. But I smile at her, feigning gratitude.
“That’s so generous.”
“Not at all. You’re my niece. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. And these rooms desperately need refreshing.”
Aunt Margaret strolls around the chamber, picking up items and examining them with an expression of distaste.
She pauses at the table where I’d hidden the letter.
Sifts through the papers. My throat tightens, certain that all this will be over before it starts.
But she soon gets bored of the mess and moves on. I relax in the slightest.
“What colors will you choose? White, of course. And perhaps—” Aunt Margaret stops short as she nearly stumbles over an object on the floor. “What on earth is this?”
My stomach sinks—my satchel.
“I…don’t know,” I say, struggling to keep my composure. “Something of Ayleth’s, I suppose. You were discussing colors? How about…”
But my aunt is already rummaging through the bag. She draws out a pair of stockings. A shift. With each item, I can feel my plan unraveling.
“Strange,” she comments. “These look more like your size than the queen’s.”
“Do they?” I ask, cursing the way my voice hitches up an octave. “Well, maybe they belong to a servant or…”
“The same servant whose dress you’re wearing?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.
My mouth dries, all excuses shriveling.
“You know,” Aunt Margaret goes on, still clutching the stockings, “I had a bag like this once. When I was about to make a terrible mistake. Tell me, is this the work of the Warbeck boy? Or the Talbot girl?”
I should deny it. Or simply plead for her forgiveness. It’s what she expects me to do. But I think back to the ball. The hedge maze. Even the throne room. If I keep allowing Aunt Margaret to run my life, she’ll never stop.
“It’s neither of them,” I say instead, lifting my chin. “I’ve decided to leave. I’m not your pet. Or your puppet. You can’t just sit me on the throne and rule through me.”
A long stretch of quiet passes.
“I think I’ve been very patient with you,” Aunt Margaret says at last. Her voice is soft, but I sense the danger beneath it. “Far kinder than my own father would have been. It saddens me that you don’t appreciate my efforts.”
“I do appreciate—”
“In fact,” she goes on, “I’m concerned about you. You’re not looking very well.”
I blink at her, confused. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“No?” She tilts her head. “All this talk of curses. Your obsession with a dead princess. That’s hardly the behavior of a sane person. Much less a future queen.”
Fear skims down my spine. She knows what I’ve been doing. Of course she does. I was a fool to assume otherwise.
“You’ve been spying on me.”
It’s not a question and she doesn’t bother to deny it.
“I’m only trying to help you, Blodwyn,” she says. “Let’s call the doctors. Get you feeling better.”
But I won’t feel better if I’m drugged into a stupor with their tinctures and tonics.
Perhaps, I realize, that’s exactly what Aunt Margaret wants—what she’s always wanted.
For me to be the cursed princess, entirely under her control.
That deep instinct screams at me to act.
To get away from her. Now. I start to run for the servants’ passages, but Aunt Margaret is surprisingly quick.
She catches up with me before I’m halfway across the room, her grip like iron around my wrist.
“That’s enough, Blodwyn.”
I struggle against her. “Let me go!”
“I will as soon as you—”
A blur of dark fur springs from the shadows, landing on Aunt Margaret’s shoulders with a feral yowl. Nettle.
The cat claws at my aunt, forcing her to release me. I don’t waste my chance. Abandoning my satchel, I bolt through the chamber and into the passages, slamming the door—and the life I lived with Aunt Margaret—behind me.
—
By some miraculous stroke of luck, I make it through the maze of the servants’ corridors and out of the palace without being discovered.
But even as the night air stings in my lungs, I don’t let myself slow, my ears pricked for Aunt Margaret or the guards.
Keeping my hood drawn, I dart between shadowy hiding spots until I reach the safety of the stables.
Lantern light flickers near the back stalls and I rush toward it.
“Blodwyn.” Gavin looks up from fastening the saddle as I round the corner. “Are you all right? You look—”
“We have to go,” I tell him, still breathless. “Right now. My aunt knows our plan.”
As if to illustrate my point, a voice carries from outside. “The princess? No, she’s not been around here.”
Gavin pales.
“All right.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t have the other horse ready yet, but we can share this one. Can you finish with this? I still have a few things to gather. It won’t take long.”
“Yes, fine,” I say, making a hurrying motion. “Just be quick.”
Gavin nods, then peeks his head around the stall and disappears.
I take his place with the saddle, securing the last of the buckles.
But even the horse must sense my nervousness, for it won’t remain still.
It bumps into me and I stumble backward, knocking something over—Gavin’s satchel.
I bend to retrieve the items that tumbled out of it.
One is a folded piece of parchment, a letter.
The wax seal is broken, but I recognize the emblem—a roaring wolf’s head.
One that belongs to the Warbecks. Which means this letter came from someone in Gavin’s family.
A sibling, perhaps, I reason. Still…foreboding taps at the nape of my neck.
What if it isn’t a sibling? Against my better judgment, I unfold the letter and scan the meticulous handwriting:
Present this to the master at arms at the estate. He’ll know what to do with her. And under no circumstances is she to leave.
—W
For the second time tonight, my blood turns to ice. I read the letter twice, then three times, the words swimming together. Straw crunches as hurried footsteps approach.