Chapter Six Ayleth
Chapter Six
Ayleth
“We cannot possibly need this much wine,” Joan says when Weston presents her with the latest bill during our planning meeting.
Princess Margaret accepted our invitation to the palace almost immediately.
Her answering letter gushed about how excited both she and the princess are to return to Riven.
It’s a good omen, I tell myself. I need Margaret to be sympathetic to our efforts.
But no matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake my anxiety over the impending visit.
I stand at the windows of Joan’s study, watching the dark vein of the road snaking up from the White City.
A crow calls overhead, its cry resonating against my very bones.
“You’re right,” Weston says, tipping his quill at Joan. “We should double it.”
“Double?” Joan repeats, incredulous. “Are you planning to bathe in it?”
“If the occasion arises,” Weston says, grinning. “Margaret certainly might.”
Joan rolls her eyes. “This isn’t one of your—”
“Give him what he wants,” I say, waving off her objections. “This visit needs to be a success.”
And perhaps if Margaret is drunk enough, she’ll be easier to persuade.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Weston says, bowing to me from his chair. “See, Marquess? The queen appreciates my expertise in such matters.”
Joan just presses her lips together and scribbles her name to the order.
“Oh, don’t look so dour,” Weston chides. “Entertaining is my personal specialty. Mark my words, within a fortnight, the duchess will be more than happy to agree to our terms.”
I certainly hope that he’s right. After all, I trusted Darnley and look what happened. Doubts knot in my stomach. I shove them down, focusing my attention on something I can control.
“Did you know her when she lived here?” I ask Weston. “The duchess?”
“Oh yes,” Weston says. He leans back in his chair, reminiscing. “Margaret was fun. Always one for a party. And such spirit. Did you know, she challenged one of her suitors to a duel? Said she’d only marry him if he could prove he could handle his sword.”
Weston laughs, but such anecdotes aren’t much better than what I’d gleaned through Callen over the last week—an array of complaints about their childhood squabbles and Margaret’s pranks.
I tried searching the library for more usable information, but aside from a few vague mentions sprinkled throughout the private records of the royal family, I couldn’t discover anything about the duchess.
The princes, Callen and his brothers, were a different matter.
Entire books were dedicated to the minute details of their lives, right down to what they used to eat for breakfast. But Margaret is like a ghost. Even her date of birth is a mystery.
“What else, though?” I press. “I’m not even sure I’ve seen a portrait of her.”
Joan makes a noise in her throat. “That’s not uncommon for daughters, unfortunately.”
“Why?”
“The duchess wasn’t in line for the throne,” Joan explains. “The details about her life wouldn’t have been considered of much importance, especially after she married and left Riven.”
From what I know of the White Kings, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. And perhaps I can use Margaret’s erasure to my advantage. Make the duchess feel special and wanted in order to win her to my side. The strategy has succeeded with other courtiers.
“You’ll know her soon enough,” Weston says. “Because I’m going to make this the homecoming of the century. It is my sworn duty to the realm.” He rises and bows, pressing a hand gallantly to his chest. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to see a man about gelatin.”
Gelatin? I don’t bother to ask.
“Good riddance,” Joan mutters when the door closes behind him. “He’s driving me insane. And he’s going to run us into the ground with these expenses. After what happened at the Mines, we have to be careful.”
Memories of the disaster bloom in my mind. The crash of stone and the echo of the Dwarves’ screams. Rosemary’s haunted gaze.
“Have you heard anything more from Roland?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “When I left there, they had finished the rescue efforts, but it was still a mess. Which is why we should be sending the Dwarves the supplies they need. Not hosting extravagant parties.”
“If you want to help the Dwarves, we need these parties,” I insist. “We have to give Margaret a reason to ally with us.”
One of the only lessons I learned from Mother: Presentation is everything. Disguising ourselves as Sisters of the Order kept the Hunt at bay for years. And now I have to show the duchess the glittering world she remembers. One she’ll want to save.
But Joan isn’t as convinced. “Are you certain about this? The duchess is going to be asking questions. A lot of them, probably. The princess as well. Especially after they see the king.”
My skin prickles. Much as I’ve tried to deflect them, the same worries have plagued me since I agreed to this plan.
The rest of the court has been fairly easy to control.
Will Margaret be as malleable? Callen is her brother.
If I saw Rhea in the king’s state, I’d stop at nothing to get answers.
But I don’t let myself dwell on that for too long.
“You heard Weston,” I say, as much to myself as to Joan. “Margaret will be easily distracted with parties and entertainment. And it’s not as if the duchess has come knocking at our door before. If she cares so much about Callen, why hasn’t she shown it?”
Joan considers this, fiddling with her quill. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Of course I am. Soon enough all this will be behind us. The war will be over.”
And then the witches will be defeated and this realm will belong to Malum alone. To me.
Shadows writhe in the corners of the room.
Fitz barks, drawing our attention to the door. Joan brightens as another woman enters.
“Oh,” Anora says, bobbing a swift curtsy when she spots me. “Your Majesty. I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”
“That’s all right,” I say, motioning her to come inside.
Anora holds up a plate of small pies. “You’ve been working so hard. I thought you might be hungry.”
“Starving,” Joan agrees.
Anora smiles back at her and the two of them look like twin stars fallen to earth.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” I say, pushing back from the table.
“You don’t have to go,” Joan calls after me. “We haven’t finished.”
“I’m sure you can handle it. Parnell needs me.”
It’s a lie, but I’d rather be anywhere else than the glow of their happiness. One that reminds me too much of the life I thought I’d have.
A life that long ago burned to ash.
—
The days leading up to Margaret’s visit hum with restless energy.
An army of servants scurries about the halls, polishing floors and airing rooms. I supervise every aspect of the preparations, obsessed with perfecting each minute detail.
When not involved with the planning, I spend most of my time using Callen and the crows to scour the realm, searching for any sign of the witches who destroyed the Mines.
But my Huntsman, who is usually so adept at rooting out the covens, returns empty-handed.
“Not even a hint of them?” I ask Shade on the evening before Margaret’s arrival.
Shade’s ember-like eyes glow in the dimness of my chamber. Nettle trills happily as she pounces among his shadows.
Nothing, my queen, he replies. Forgive me.
“It’s not your fault,” I say.
It’s mine.
Frustrated, I go to the map on the other side of the room. The sites of the Mine explosions still smolder, black smoke drifting up from the craterlike holes.
Beneath the whine of the wind outside, I imagine that I hear the horrible groan as the mountain began to cave in on itself.
The crunch of wood and shatter of glass as the village was crushed beneath the rock.
The echo of the Dwarves’ screams, so like that awful night at Stonehaven.
I’m not surprised that the coven witches, the Heirs especially, were part of such a brutal attack on the Dwarves.
But Jacquetta? She understands what it means to lose her home.
Knows what Roland and the rest of the Guilds suffered under the White Kings.
How could she have participated in this?
Then again, I suppose the past never mattered much to her. Certainly not when it came to us.
“I’ve been such a fool,” I mutter.
You are no fool, Shade rasps.
His shadows brush against me in reassurance, my skin tingling at their touch.
I grant him a weak smile. “Recent evidence suggests otherwise.”
We will find them, he vows.
Maybe. But when? My attention lingers on the mountain border between Riven and Rycinthia. Again, my mind conjures images of Mother and the coven witches plotting their next move. It would be so much easier if I could just go there and drag them out. End this madness.
“Are you certain there’s no way for you to cross the border?” I ask Shade.
Yes, my queen, he replies. I have tried. It is impossible.
“Was it always this way?” I ask, curious. “Even before the Veil?”
Perhaps. He hesitates. Though much of that time is…lost to me.
A deep sadness emanates from his form. Nettle meows, as though she senses it, too.
At Stonehaven, I was taught that the Veil was a barrier forged by the Ancients, one that prevented Malum from wreaking havoc on our world.
Through Shade, I’ve learned a very different version of events.
The Veil was a hungry, destructive force, feeding off the creatures trapped behind it.
Whittling them down until there was nothing left.
It robbed them of their memories. Their names.
All because they were different. Unwanted. Just like me.
“Have any more of your memories returned?” I ask gently. “About your life before?”
I hoped that might be the case as Malum strengthened. Shade pauses, his shadows pulsing in a pensive tempo.
Not many, he admits. But enough that I know there were others…like me.
“Others? Do you mean a family?”
He nods.
I imagine shadow creatures like Shade roaming Riven together. Building their own communities. Once such an idea might have terrified me, but now all I feel is anger. What right did the witches have to destroy Shade’s life? Deprive him of a home?
“Do you think you’ll find one another again?” I ask. “When we’re finished?”
After we’ve drained the last drop of coven magic from this realm.
I cannot say, he replies. But…perhaps.
Hope hums beneath his words. It tugs at my own heart—the fact that he cannot even bear to utter such a wish aloud.
“If there’s anything I can do to help you in that effort, please tell me,” I say. “Until then…we have each other.”
Yes, my queen.
His shadows reach toward me and that same feeling from the Dwarvian village warms in my veins. If breaking the Veil meant rescuing Shade and Nox and all the other creatures of Malum, it was warranted. Justified.
And no matter what it takes, I’m going to make certain that no creature of Malum is imprisoned behind a Veil—or anything like it—ever again.