The Witch Queen (The Crimson Crown Duology #2)

Prologue Ayleth

Prologue

Ayleth

On the night before my coronation, the moon is shrouded in shadow.

I watch from the window of my chamber as the inky tendrils of darkness skim across the skies.

The hour is late, but the gardens below teem with courtiers, a few drunk enough from the evening’s entertainments that they’re splashing in a fountain.

I should be with them, reveling in the parties being hosted in honor of the new queen.

In honor of me. But my attention is fixed on the horizon, searching for even a hint of beating wings.

Straining my ears to detect the shriek of a raven.

But there’s only silence, just as there has been every day since I broke the Veil.

What else did you expect? That old voice needles at me.

I bristle against it. Nearly three months have passed since the night in Ignatius’s lair when I destroyed the Bloodstones.

After the Veil fell, I expected hordes of ravens to flock to the palace, witches either threatening revenge for what I’d done, or perhaps—if they were smart—attempting to negotiate with Riven’s rising queen.

After all, I made no secret about my position.

As soon as I was able, I dispatched heralds to every corner of Riven to announce my ascension.

Because I wanted the witches to know. Wanted them to crawl here on their knees, begging.

But there hasn’t been so much as a whisper from the covens.

Such stubborn silence doesn’t surprise me from Mother and the rest of the Heirs.

And yet there was one witch who I believed might be different.

The wind picks up, carrying what could be a trace of juniper.

My queen.

A voice rasps through the chamber and I whirl around, anticipating Callen.

The imprisoned king has developed a habit of appearing unannounced, simply for the pleasure of scaring me out of my wits.

He’s succeeded more often than I care to admit.

But the mirror’s glass is vacant, only my own reflection staring out at me from the gnarled-wood frame.

“Did you hear something?” I ask Nettle.

My cat merely continues in her game of pouncing among my shadows.

One dissolves beneath her paws and re-forms, tickling her nose.

I frown, more than a little jealous that Nettle seems to possess a better understanding of Malum than I do.

Since shattering the Veil, I’ve spent most of my nights scouring every book I can find on the subject, including those from Ignatius’s lair.

But, try as I might, I haven’t been able to command a single wisp of shadow in the past months.

In fact, I can barely sense the subtle hum of Malum between my bones.

My lack of control is increasingly worrying.

Malum chose me—wanted me. Or so I thought.

I abandon the window and drift over to the slender box next to Callen’s mirror.

Firelight shimmers on the jagged jewels within—the Bloodstone crown.

Sharp-edged and brutal. A permanent version of the crown that the shadows wove above my head.

A reminder of everything I’ve done to get where I am.

But even now, with all of Riven at my disposal, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something.

I turn my palm up, tracing the place below my left ring finger where my sister, Rhea, drew her rune what feels a lifetime ago.

Though most of the original mark vanished when I accepted Malum, I can still make out the three faint lines crossed in a triangle.

A symbol that Rhea promised meant we would always find our way back to each other.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I whisper to the night.

The fire pops, stirred by a breeze too strong to have come from outside.

Tapestries knock against the far wall. Nettle arches her back and hisses at a spot in the corner.

I stiffen. A servant would use the main doors.

Could it be one of the courtiers, drunk enough to wander up here?

Perhaps one who doesn’t support my new position—there are certainly no shortage of those.

“Who’s there?” I call.

A cloaked figure materializes from the darkness. A woman, perhaps, about my height. She lowers her hood. Firelight washes over her features: White skin and high cheekbones. Hazel eyes. Recognition hits me in a rush.

“Mother,” I whisper, stunned into stillness.

I haven’t seen her since the night I scried in the palace gardens.

Was that just months ago? Mother appears as though she’s aged decades.

Her auburn hair is heavily streaked with silver.

Unfamiliar lines fan out from the corners of her eyes and bracket her mouth.

Still, it’s her. A flood of memories engulfs me: Mother’s fingers carding through my hair while I fell asleep.

Her gentle instruction as I helped prepare ingredients in the workroom.

But she is not that witch anymore, I remind myself.

She hasn’t been for a long time. Anger overtakes my shock and I snatch up a knife from a nearby table, gripping the hilt hard enough that I feel my pulse thudding beneath my skin.

“Ayleth.” Mother’s gaze darts from me to the weapon. “What are you doing? It’s me.”

“Exactly,” I say, raising the blade higher.

Nettle growls, seconding my opinion.

“Please”—she puts up her hands—“I’ve come to help you.”

“Help me?” I bark a rueful laugh. “Like you did at Stonehaven?”

Another memory rears: The burned-out Sanctum. The crimson cloak I discovered when I returned after fleeing the White Court. It should have been my cloak, a symbol of my joining the coven. But Mother stuffed it inside a chest. Abandoned it. Just like she did me.

“I was going to come back for you,” Mother says, flushing.

“Oh, really. Then why not send a raven to tell me that?”

“Because it was too dangerous,” she insists. “I had the entire coven to consider. The Heirs refused to accept us if we didn’t cut ties with—”

“A failure?” I finish for her. “A Wayward? A monster?”

Be that monster, that voice again. Where is it coming from? I scan the room, but there’s only the two of us and Nettle.

“I’m here now,” Mother says. “Please, Ayleth. You don’t understand the danger you’re in. We have to—”

She stops short, her attention settling on a spot to my right.

“The Bloodstones,” she breathes.

Ignoring the threat of my knife, Mother hurries across the room and halts in front of the box containing my crown. Her fingertips hover over the glittering shards of stone and I stiffen, bracing for her fury. Her disgust. Instead, she looks at me and…smiles.

“You’ve done it,” she says. “You’ve actually done it.”

I search her face for a lie, but don’t find it. In fact, her expression is the same one she wore before Rhea died. Like she cares for me. Like I matter.

“You’re…pleased?” is all I can manage.

Even Nettle meows, confused.

“Of course I am,” Mother says, as though the answer should be obvious. “This is the crown. The crimson crown. Oh, Ayleth, I’m so proud of you. This changes everything.”

Instincts war inside my mind. I’ve waited my entire life to hear her say those words. That I’m just as good as my sister. But something about this doesn’t feel right.

“What are you talking about? What crown?”

“It’s from the prophecy.” Mother steps closer. “That’s why I came to find you. Selene told us that Aphelia, the first Diviner, spoke a vision with her dying breath. She said: From the darkness will rise a queen. A queen who will wear the crimson crown. I wasn’t sure it was real, but…”

She trails off, gesturing at the crown. And for the first time in weeks, I sense Malum stir behind my breastbone. Shadows dance in the corners of the room.

“Aphelia saw me?” I ask, bewildered.

“It could be you,” Mother agrees, a manic glint in her eyes. “It could be us, now that you’ve recovered the Bloodstones. The others will have to negotiate with us if they want to reforge the Veil. Have to take us seriously for once.”

Reforge the Veil?

Cold comprehension prickles over my scalp. Mother isn’t proud of me. Not really. She’s only interested in what my actions mean for her own status, just as she was at Stonehaven. I scold myself for nearly having fallen under her spell again.

“I have no intention of ingratiating myself with the Heirs,” I reply. “And if they wish for my mercy, they may come here and beg for it.”

“Come here?” A crease forms between Mother’s brows. “Ayleth, you cannot mean to remain at the palace.”

She laughs, like the idea is ridiculous. Like I am ridiculous.

“That’s precisely what I mean to do.”

A beat passes, Mother sizing me up. The same thing she used to do when I was a witchling and questioned her orders.

“Listen to me, Daughter,” She starts at last. “Selene and the others will stop at nothing to retrieve the Bloodstones. Even if you manage to evade them, how long until the mortals learn what you really are? You will burn.”

She’s right, that voice inside me whispers.

I hate it almost as much as I hate Mother for causing me to hear it.

“I’ll take my chances.”

She huffs, exasperated. “Enough. This is our only opportunity to gain the upper hand with the Heirs. If you won’t do it, then—”

She reaches to take the crown, but Nettle yowls and leaps at her, sinking her teeth into Mother’s shoulder. Mother screams and tosses Nettle away. My cat lands with a thump on the other side of the room. Malum surges through my limbs.

“Leave her alone!” I shout.

Shadows mass around me, feeding off my energy.

Mother pales at the sight of them. “What is this?”

“Just what it looks like,” I reply. “Shadows. My shadows.”

“Yours?” She echoes. “But they can’t be. Unless…”

“Unless I bound myself to Malum,” I finish for her. The shadows spread behind me like wings. I lift my chin, savoring the feel of them. Of the power coursing through my veins. “Which is what I did—after I broke the Veil.”

Horror twists Mother’s features. She looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. And it feels good to have her cornered. To finally be the one in control. Mother must sense the shift as well. And she does not appreciate it.

“No,” she snaps. “I will not allow this. We’re leaving. Now.”

She snatches my forearm and attempts to drag me away.

Do NOT touch her.

The voice lashes through the chamber.

Mother halts as if struck. “What was that?”

In answer, shadows slither across the floor and cobble themselves together.

The mass of darkness stretches and divides until it forms a towering figure, one at least two heads taller than I am.

Shadows curl like smoke from its limbs, like the shadow women I summoned to terrorize Callen in Ignatius’s lair.

But this figure is far more solid. Far more alive.

His eyes glow like embers as they meet mine.

I should probably be terrified, but I’m not.

Instead, I feel a sense of kinship. Like I have been waiting for this moment, and this creature, for a long time.

“Who are you?” I ask, my own voice barely above a whisper.

The creature dips his chin. I am called Shade.

Shadows drift from his form and wrap around me, brushing gently against my skin. And I swear that I can feel something like reverence radiating from their touch.

“Ayleth.” Mother jolts me out of my trance. “Get away from that thing. It—”

In a single fluid motion, the shadow creature’s fist pummels into Mother’s chest. She howls, her knees buckling, and sinks to the floor. Shade’s hand twists, then slides free of her body. Buried within his palm is a pulsing crimson orb.

For you, my queen.

He glides closer and slips the orb into my hands. It is warm and shimmering and I know what it is as soon as it touches my skin: Mother’s latent magic. The final dregs of power she retained after the Veil fell. The kind all witches possess from birth.

Shade’s red eyes glitter. Destroy it.

“Don’t!” Mother begs, looking up at me. “It will kill me. Please, Ayleth!”

But what do I care if she dies? Mother deserves this fate. Desire rushes up inside me, urging me on. Shadows press closer, awaiting my command. Still, something holds me back.

“Death is too quick,” I say to Shade.

Though his face is largely featureless, I sense that he smiles. One of his shadows drifts over to the Bloodstone crown. It’s…glowing.

Then take it, Shade says. Lock it away, as they did to us.

At first, I’m unsure what he means. But then I remember—

The Bloodstones were forged of the Ancients’ latent magic. They’re what held the Veil and kept Malum back for past centuries. Before I shattered them, Ignatius runed the stones so that they would absorb a witch’s power. Even now, the broken pieces hum—like calling to like.

It must be undone.

Rhea’s words resound in my mind. At the time, I assumed she meant the Veil. But my work is not finished. Not yet. I look to Shade. He nods, his shadows weaving around him.

Yes, he rasps. From the darkness, will rise our queen.

Their queen. That’s what I am. What I became the moment the shadows crafted the Bloodstone crown. They were crowning me. Anointing me. Gifting me their power. And now I know what I am meant to do with that gift.

“Go back to the Heirs,” I say to Mother. “Tell them that the queen from their prophecy has indeed come. And if they want this crown, they’re going to have to wrest it from my own hands.”

“Ayleth, no!” Mother pleads, desperate. “Don’t—”

It’s too late. On my command, shadows wrap around the orb of Mother’s magic and carry it to the Bloodstones.

She screams and lunges, trying to stop them, but ropes of shadow spring up to restrain her.

In the next instant, the orb of Mother’s power vanishes into one of the Bloodstones.

The whole crown blazes a blinding red, absorbing her magic, and then dims and goes cold.

Mother sags in the shadows’ grip, not dead.

But completely and utterly powerless. Just like she taught me I was for so long.

Shade lifts the Bloodstone crown and settles it on my head.

Fairest, the shadows whisper. Fairest of them all.

The words fill me up, stirring the Malum between my bones. A power I have waited my whole life to wield. And I’m not going to waste another second.

“You will be my Huntsman,” I tell Shade. “Together we’re going to track down every drop of coven magic and remove it from this realm. Until there’s nothing left but us.”

Shade’s eyes glitter with malice. Yes, my queen.