Chapter Fifty-Two Ayleth
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ayleth
By dusk the next day, the sound of hammering fills my chamber as workers erect the stake and start stacking piles of bundled wood for the pyre Callen promised.
You will burn. Mother’s warning circles like a crow in my mind.
“Damn everything!” I cry out, slamming my hand against the entrance to the old servants’ passages.
But it, along with all other escape routes—including the windows—are blocked.
Not that it would matter too much if I discovered a way out.
I can hear the guards talking on the other side of the doors.
Without my shadows, I’ll never be able to slip past them.
I’ve tried to summon the shadows more times than I can count, but they still stubbornly refuse me.
As does Nox, if he’s nearby. Even Nettle has apparently abandoned me.
“Margaret,” I say, returning to the duchess.
She hasn’t moved since Callen left us, still seated in her chair, her silver eyes staring out into the distance.
Much as I’ve hated this woman, it’s sad to see her like this.
All her fire and energy snuffed out like a candle flame.
But she has to be in there somewhere. After all, if Callen was able to fight his way back into his body at times, surely Margaret—with all her obstinance—can manage it.
“Come on,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of her face. “Wake up. Callen is going to kill us both unless we get out of here.”
For an instant, Margaret sits up straighter. She reaches out to me, cold fingertips brushing the side of my face.
“Fairest,” she says in her strange, hollow voice. “Fairest of them all.”
Is that motto the only thing Margaret remembers about me?
Or had Callen instructed her to mock me with it?
If so, it works. Shame scalds the ridges of my ears.
For so long, all I thought I wanted was to bring justice to the White Court.
To the covens. Even now, that old desire surges up, demanding more.
But now I wonder whether it could ever be sated.
Or whether, in truth, it was always consuming me.
A dull scraping noise snags my attention and I whirl around, sure that Callen has come to demand my answer or drag me to the flames.
But the doors to my chambers remain closed.
Instead, one of the tapestries on the far wall billows inward.
A familiar meow emanates from behind the fabric and then Nettle saunters into the chamber, her tail swishing.
“Nettle!” I hurry over to her. “Where have you been? And—”
Someone else follows after my cat. Her blue eyes meet mine.
“Jacquetta.” Relief hits me in a rush. I leave Nettle and throw my arms around the other witch, inhaling her scent of juniper. “Callen told me they were holding you in the dungeons.”
“They were,” Jacquetta confirms, pulling back and grimacing. “I have to say, I’m getting very tired of that place.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “How did you escape?”
“Her.” Jacquetta motions to where someone else has entered from the passage beyond.
My mouth drops open. It’s…Joan.
“Hello, Ayleth,” she says, granting me a tight smile.
“You’re here,” is all I can manage in reply. “I thought you were gone.”
“I kept to my rooms, but I didn’t leave the palace,” she explains. “Something told me that I shouldn’t go far. When Nettle came to fetch me, I knew I was right.”
My cat preens. I don’t deserve either of them.
“Well done,” I tell Nettle, bending to scratch beneath her chin. She winds herself around my ankles. “And thank you, Joan. I never expected your help. Especially after I…”
I trail off, the memory of our last conversation hanging between us. I’d been so callous. So unimaginably stupid.
“I’m your friend, Ayleth,” she replies. “I’ll always be your friend.”
Her loyalty puts me to shame. I start to tell her how wrong I was for being such a reckless fool, but Joan’s attention pivots to the other side of the room.
“Is that…the duchess?”
Jacquetta looks to me, alarmed, and follows Joan to where Margaret is still slumped in her chair. Joan waves her hand in front of Margaret’s face, but the duchess doesn’t respond.
“What’s wrong with her?”
I hesitate. Explaining about Margaret will mean telling Joan about Callen as well. About the methods I’ve used to control this court for the last three years.
Don’t, that voice urges. DON’T.
But where has its guidance ever led me? To a lifetime filled with self-doubt and isolation. This time, I follow a different instinct.
“Callen and Parnell cut out her heart and put it in a mirror,” I say. “Just like I did to the king.”
Joan gapes at me. “You did what?”
As briefly as possible, I tell Joan the real story about the night I broke the Veil.
How I bound myself to Malum and gained my ability to control the shadows.
My plan to wreak vengeance on the covens by robbing them of their magic.
Joan listens without speaking, but her body tenses with each admission.
When I finally finish, she’s quiet for a long time, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of the pyre being erected.
“So it was you,” she says at last. “The whole time. You wanted the war. Wanted Riven to become…what it is now. You lied about everything.”
There’s no rage, or even accusation, in her tone, which is somehow worse than if she was shouting at me. “Yes.”
“She didn’t totally lie about the covens,” Jacquetta adds. “They—we—were never interested in peace. We wanted to destroy Ayleth as much as she did us.”
“And the rest of us?” Joan asks. “People like me? Where did we fit in?”
“I…” The truth tastes bitter. “I don’t know.”
She nods. The seconds drag on, each one heavier than the last. And I wouldn’t blame Joan if she turned around and never looked back. Marched me to the pyre herself.
“Well,” she says at last. “I suppose I can’t exactly be throwing stones in this situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“I knew what would happen when the Veil fell,” she replies. “Or I had a pretty good idea of it. I still helped you. And I’m not an idiot. I could have discovered the truth about all of this if I’d looked hard enough. I didn’t. Because it was easier to ignore it. What does that say about me?”
Jacquetta and I share a look. What a mess we’ve all made.
“No one is blaming you, Joan,” I say.
“I am,” she returns simply. “But I’m also willing to do something about it. And that’s not going to happen if we remain here for much longer.”
It’s not forgiveness, but it’s not rejection, either. For now, that’s about as much as I can hope for.
“More than anything, we need to find Blodwyn,” I say. “After what we saw at the last battle, the creature will be looking for her. Callen as well.”
I’d like to believe that the king wouldn’t harm his own daughter, but I’m not convinced.
“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” Joan asks.
I shake my head. The princess has only ever lived at the palace and Margaret’s estate. Where could she have—
Margaret.
My attention pivots to the duchess, her silver eyes shining in the dim light.
“The mirror,” I murmur.
“What about it?” Jacquetta asks.
“From what Parnell explained, Margaret’s heart is inside Callen’s body,” I say. “But he is still connected to the mirror. Which means she might be as well. And she might share the mirror’s abilities. Except…”
I gesture helplessly at the empty place on the wall where the mirror used to hang.
“It’s gone,” Jacquetta observes.
“Callen took it, no doubt.”
“Could it be in his chambers?” Joan asks. “We can use the passages to get there.”
Perhaps. But Callen would want the mirror in the safest place possible. Even his chambers might be too exposed. So where would he…
The answer lands in my mind like a stone.
“Ignatius’s lair.”
—
Leaving Margaret’s body behind, we navigate the maze of passages to reach the High Priest’s chambers.
In a rare stroke of luck, we’re not followed and don’t seem to have alerted the guards.
Still, the air in Ignatius’s lair is thick and charged as we descend the stairs.
I can’t shake the feeling of being observed.
But perhaps that’s just because I know about Parnell’s visits.
Fresh anger crackles in my wrists at the thought of the steward sneaking in and out of this chamber.
Learning Ignatius’s secrets. Using his position at court, one I gave him, to restore Callen to the throne.
You were always going to fail, that voice jeers.
“Ayleth, look,” Jacquetta says, nudging me.
She points across the chamber. Torchlight gleams against the silver glass of my mirror. But any relief I feel at having found it is instantly overtaken by the sense of urgency drumming in my chest. The sooner we get out of here, the better. Nettle meows, agreeing.
“How do you know if she’s in there?” Joan asks as we gather around the thing.
Usually, witches offer their blood to summon a mirror’s occupant, as Mother used to do with her raven.
But Callen was always different, appearing at the mere sound of my voice.
Or, more often than not, whenever it pleased him.
Yet another clue that the king wasn’t fully bound to the glass.
And then I recall the instances in which Callen thwarted my instructions, obeying me only so far as the spell compelled him to do so.
The truth was staring me in the face for years, but I refused to acknowledge it.
But now is not the time to dwell on such matters.
“Margaret?” I venture, placing my hand on the glass. “Are you there?”
The surface remains still for long enough that I start to worry she won’t come. But then the glass eddies and another face begins to materialize. I brace myself for it to be Callen’s. For all this to be over before it’s even started. But then—
“It’s about time you showed up.” Margaret’s voice lashes through the mirror like a whip. “Get me out of here immediately.”
Relief swells in my chest, even if the duchess is shouting at us.
“This is incredible,” Joan breathes, reaching out a tentative hand to touch the glass.
“Don’t you dare!” Margaret barks.
Nettle hisses at the duchess.
“Enough,” I say. “Stop making a fuss. You’re fine.”
“Fine?” Margaret replies shrilly. “I’m in a mirror.”
And she appears to be taking to it about as well as her brother did. I exchange a beleaguered look with Jacquetta.
“We’ll work on that,” I promise, though a not-so-small part of me would like to keep things as they are. “For now, you need to help us locate Blodwyn.”
“How am I supposed to do that? What part of my being trapped behind glass do none of you understand?”
“The glass grants you certain abilities,” I explain, drawing on every ounce of patience I possess. “You can see things. Sense them.”
“With what?”
“Just try,” I practically beg. “Think of Blodwyn. Let yourself find her.”
Margaret’s expression is dubious, but she finally closes her eyes and concentrates.
“Oh!” she cries out, disgusted. “A crow. Nasty creature!”
“No, it’s all right,” I assure her. “The crow is there to help. Tell it what you want.”
Margaret opens one eye, her mouth screwed into a pout. But then, “Find my niece, you filthy bird. Ugh. I can feel its wing air.”
She continues with her noises of discontent for a while longer. But then—
“Ah! I see her. She’s in a forest. There’s a cottage with a thatched roof,” she says. “Lots of moss on the walls. It’s quite hideous, really.”
“Whose cottage?” I press.
“Do you want me to sense the deed as well?” she replies archly. “A peasant, I expect. Certainly not anyone with an ounce of taste.”
This is supremely unhelpful. Even Nettle trills, annoyed.
“Can you give me anything more specific?”
Margaret thinks for a few more moments. “It’s in the east. Perhaps a day or so from the palace. That’s all I can determine.”
“I suppose that’s better than nothing,” Jacquetta grumbles.
Margaret sniffs. “You’re welcome.”
I ignore her. That sense of urgency thrums even harder. If Blodwyn is that far away, we need to get moving—now.
“Joan,” I say. “Can you get us to the stables?”
“Of course,” she says, already heading back the way we came.
“Wait!” Margaret calls after us. “You can’t just abandon me here!”
“Sorry,” I say, not meaning it in the least. “We’ll come back.”
But Jacquetta touches my arm. “Much as I hate to admit it, we might need her. She could help us find the cottage. And tell us what’s happening here.”
I inwardly groan. Because Jacquetta is right. Margaret could prove useful. Still, we can’t drag the mirror with us through miles of forest. How else could we…
Nettle meows and paws at something under the table.
A piece of glass about the size of my palm.
It’s probably leftover from one of the mirrors that broke on the night I shattered the Veil.
Roland must have missed it when he collected the rest. A thought lands in my mind.
Callen was able to bend the rules of the mirror to appear to Parnell. Is this how they’d done it?
“Margaret,” I say, picking up the jagged piece of glass, “try to appear in this.”
“How? I—”
“Just try!” All three of us shout in unison. Even Nettle joins in with a yowl.
The duchess grumbles, but then squeezes her eyes shut. An instant later, she disappears from the larger mirror and emerges in the piece I’m holding.
“Ah!” she crows, triumphant. “I did it!”
Fury burns in my own veins. Because this must have been how Parnell managed to communicate with Callen. When did it start? That very night? A sour taste cuts between my teeth, hating myself for my own arrogance.
“Right,” I say, giving myself a shake. “Let’s get going. And, Margaret, if Callen tries to speak to you, don’t tell him anything. Don’t even let him see you if you can help it.”
“Yes, please keep wasting my time with obvious instructions,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Now, are you all going to just stand there, or shall we rescue my niece?”
I look to Jacquetta. “We’re going to regret this.”
She grunts her agreement. I pocket the mirror, careful of its sharp edges, and then we follow Joan up the stairs and back into the darkness of the tunnels.