Chapter 49
Juliana transformed from a wrinkly, red-faced newborn to a cherub with plump cheeks and Nicolas’ hair.
How quickly that darkness had shifted to a platinum blonde, soft and curled in a number of cowlicks.
She had my eyes, or so it seemed; Mother said it often took a while to discern a baby’s eye color, but mark me, those were blue.
Across from us, Quinn was cross-legged on the floor.
He’d revealed a small arsenal of outrageous expressions to the baby, each earning a toothless grin and those faint beginnings to her first laughs.
Nicolas was in another meeting, taxed each day by the burdens of the crown, while I faced a welcome reprieve from matters of state.
The viscount seized every possible moment to spend time with Juliana, only departing when Nicolas was at last freed from his duties.
Things were strained between them, but neither spoke to me of any argument. As good at reading one another as they often were, I had to wonder if they’d exchanged further blows through their minds.
I set Juliana down on her stomach and she raised her head like a garden snake. Quinn mirrored her, quietly mimicking the little growls she made.
Even when he contorted his face like a big, ugly gargoyle’s, the fact that he was doing so in service of my daughter made him devastating to behold. I had to look away.
“Nicolas will kill you if she laughs for you before him,” I commented.
Quinn beamed. “Perhaps your husband should try being funnier.”
Even in the rare moments where both men stood together, Juliana’s attention fixed on Quinn.
I thought it might be his eyebrows providing an interesting contrast; at least, that was the explanation I served to Nicolas.
Never mind that Quinn saw her more, and I couldn’t bring myself to make him go away.
Nicolas did spend a lot of time with her, but she slept through much of it. She was mercifully restful at night, an easy baby and a blessing for us as new parents. Winnie said it meant the next one would be difficult, but that was a woe for another day.
Juliana’s arms gave out and her face planted softly onto the carpet. She whimpered and I moved to help her, but Quinn was already there, gently turning her onto her back. He rolled over with her. “There we are, little princess. The world is much better from this angle, isn’t it?”
He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was watching me, devoid of his earlier playfulness. That familiar ache settled into his eyes, an entanglement of longing and loss. I wondered what he saw reflected in my own gaze.
The door burst open, pulling us both from the moment. Winnie stood in the threshold, chest heaving, and tried to speak through stolen breaths. Behind her, Marcy pushed off from the wall, readying herself for action. “Your Majesty, my lord! The courtyard—you must come at once.”
“Hello, Winnie,” Quinn dismissed, rising slowly to his feet while I gathered Juliana.
Winnie whacked him on the arm. “Now is not the time. It’s the Banewights.”
I stiffened. Not another word was needed to get me out of the door; I left, veering down the corridor toward the stairs. Quinn followed as Winnie explained what was happening, the lot of us followed by my queensguard.
“Angharad spun some tale to Sahra a few months ago, some hogwash about Florence using dark magic to bind her to a chair,” Winnie said, descending alongside me. “Nothing ever came of that, so she went to Taran. He’s confronted Florence outside.”
Spring was only a couple of short weeks away, but it was rather temperate already, several flowers blooming prematurely in the gardens. Likely Florence had gone out to look for specimens after yesterday’s rains.
“Alana, be careful,” Quinn urged, coming around to walk ahead of us. “Let me speak on your behalf. Don’t implicate yourself.”
I bit my lip and nodded, shifting the baby on my shoulder.
I wasn’t worried about myself, though; I was worried for Florence.
The Banewights only stuck around for so long because they sensed something was off.
This was their chance to prove there was a witch underfoot, to root her out in front of the courtiers.
Florence once told me she’d killed before. If Taran backed her into a corner, would she do it again? Not with magic; the Banewights were protected. What would that say about me? A queen with a killer-in-waiting…
No, I couldn’t think about myself now. Not with my mentor’s life on the line.
We found them surrounded by an audience. Florence maintained her dignity, her head slightly inclined toward Taran as she held an empty basket in her arms, but I knew burning indignation when I saw it.
Winnie whispered that she would take Juliana off my hands. I agreed, passing the baby along. She disappeared back into the palace.
“Banewight!” Quinn called, coming into the center of the commotion. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Maybe nothing.” Taran’s eyes were trained on Florence. “I’m only addressing a peculiar rumor, Viscount. You know better than to interlope.”
Angharad stood nearby, watching the confrontation with disgust. She’d see Florence killed, and for what? If Florence hadn’t bound her to that couch, I might have sent her to the dungeons.
I still hadn’t addressed her slight that day; hopefully I wouldn’t regret my delay.
Quinn hesitated. “I’m interrupting because this rumor was spread by a damned harpy.” Angharad startled, whipping her head to him. “She was scorned by Florence and wants to punish her for it… But to accuse her of witchcraft, knowing it could get her killed—?!”
“She’s only in danger if it’s true.” Taran narrowed his eyes. “What’s in the basket, Lady Florence?”
“Morels.” Florence opened the lid to show them off. “They’re good for inflammation, and damned delicious.”
Taran chuckled. My skin crawled like it was covered in mites. “I have the Doonles searching your chambers. What do you suppose they’ll find?”
“Sacrificed goats, perhaps, or vials of virgin blood,” Florence quipped.
She was too calm; the only hint of anxiety came from a brief flit of her gaze toward me.
“They will find my amateur apothecary station, a collection of rather dull books, and perhaps, if they look in the box beneath my bed,” she grinned, “a nine-inch cock carved from ivory.”
Taran didn’t so much as blush at that remark, even as the courtiers gasped. Angharad placed a hand over her heart in a false display of modesty.
“Can you swear fealty to the Lady of Day?” asked Taran.
“The only fealty I observe is to Her Majesty, Queen Alana Callan of Antier, and to her husband, the king.”
“Curious that you should list your queen first.”
Florence shrugged. “I serve her directly.”
“But you deny the Lady?”
“Come now, this is a farce,” Quinn attempted once again.
“Interrupt me again, Viscount Navarro.” It was a bone-chilling dare. Quinn hesitated, looking to me for direction. I shook my head; I didn’t want to find out what lay on the other end of that threat. “Do you deny the Lady of Day?”
“No, I am aware of her,” said Florence. Could she not lie? Would the Lord punish her for it? Her obtuse attitude wouldn’t earn favor with Taran. “Is it illegal to be secular?”
Taran said nothing. Then Asli tore out from the palace entrance, followed distantly by Sahra.
“And?” Taran asked, not having to turn his head to know who had come out.
“It seemed normal,” Asli began, almost sounding dejected.
Good. They’d found nothing. “A few empty diaries, some books on Gallaean customs, an old Hadrian tome on botany. She had a decent setup for making potions, but on further inspection of those along the shelves, there were only health tonics. Nothing supernatural.” Florence lifted her chin.
“Sahra found no signs of enchantment. No evidence of rituals performed, no heretical symbols. Everything seemed to be in order.”
How could that be? I’d been in Florence’s chambers many times.
I knew she had books on magic, that the potions on her shelf were more sinister than medicine, that she kept the implements for curses and incantations in a box inside.
The only way they wouldn’t find those items was if Florence had somehow hidden them, and the easiest way to do so would have been to enchant the space with some sort of illusion.
But Sahra would have noticed that, unless… Was Sahra lying for her?
Taran shifted his footing. “Unrelated, perhaps, but… What did you tell me when we first arrived here, Asli? During the execution of Augustine?”
The Seeker folded his hands behind his back. “He’d been drugged the night of his arrest. The man could drink; you saw how he behaved from only a few glasses.”
“And then he confessed to treason,” Taran replied.
He turned away from Florence, regarding the audience.
“Asli has seen no magical traces since our arrival, but Sahra has, so we know that we are dealing with a sorceress…and if the matters are related, she had much to gain from such a confession. Do you all recall the night of his arrest?”
“I remember Lord Quinn returning to the dining hall,” said Angharad. “He whispered something to King Nicolas, and they both departed. It seemed related to the former Duke of Demagret; he was arrested shortly thereafter.”
Murmurs of agreement rang through the crowd. An uneasy feeling came over me, and it must have done the same to Quinn as he came to take my side.
“Were any women notably absent from dinner, in that span of time?” asked Taran.
“There was Winnie Balden,” joined someone else, making me flinch.
“The Balden girl lost her parents due to his confession. If the fool loosened his lips to her, it is unlikely she would’ve shared that information.” Taran scratched his chin in a performative, exaggerated way. “Anyone else?”
He asked it like he knew the answer and was only playing a game of cruel riddles.
Angharad spoke up once more. “Florence excused herself rather quickly. As did Queen Alana. If I recall correctly, the queen was also in attendance when the viscount came to speak with the king.”
All eyes turned to me, and more than half of them were filled with that hunting suspicion that had just been focused on my lady-in-waiting. All I could think was that I should’ve locked Angharad away a long time ago, the moment she began to annoy me.
Quinn put a hand on his sword, but it was Marcy who stomped forward. “You would dare implicate your queen in this matter?”
“You must admit it’s suspicious,” Angharad retorted, meeting my eyes.
“The Princess from Nowhere suddenly manages to woo the bachelor prince on a hunt? She is beautiful now, but let’s not fool ourselves, the woman lived in a hut.
She would’ve been filthy. And yet the prince declared their betrothal a ‘matter of love’. How on earth did she enchant him so?”
Taran made a thoughtful sound and quirked his brow at me.
There were cracks in my story now, and my options were depleting.
If Taran had another means of checking for witchcraft and he turned those on me, I’d be killed.
But if my people knew the truth, that I had won their king through the effects of a curse…
I couldn’t imagine what might happen then.
“Now there’s a fascinating possibility,” Taran said. Quinn’s stance became guarded.
“The king is not enchanted,” Sahra joined in. To my surprise, she took my side. “Last I checked, infatuating a man wasn’t a crime.”
“You didn’t know him,” Angharad argued. “The man was impenetrable. He had the finest women throwing themselves at his feet for years and showed no interest.”
“Perhaps he was drawn to her for reasons less banal.”
“Perhaps,” said Taran, drawing nearer. “Queen Alana…Chastain, was it, before your marriage? Daughter of those apothecaries?”
Florence tensed. He shot her another look, and I saw exactly what this was.
Taran knew.
He must have known for some time, at least since my parents came to court, and he’d kept the information in his pocket for some time. Now it was an arrow pointed at my head unless someone confessed.
He must’ve had very good instincts, to still believe Florence was a witch despite the lack of evidence.
Florence shifted her eyes from me to the Banewight.
No.
No, Florence.
I prayed she’d keep her mouth shut, that she would let the Banewight reveal the truth. It might not be so terrible an outcome; I was not on trial for witchcraft.
It was wishful thinking, but maybe the court would simply push for our marriage to be annulled, for me and Juliana to be exiled. It would hurt, but I would live. Florence would live.
If she kept quiet.
“Alana, dear,” Florence said. She made a resigned smile and my heart dropped. “I’ll miss your singing. I hope the whole world hears it someday; it’s a shame to keep such a gift locked away.”
No, no, no—
“I’m your witch, Banewight.” Florence held up her hands. “I drugged and seduced the Duke of Augustine. I killed Percy Montfort, too. And…” She paused, turning to Angharad. “I should have killed you. Slowly.”