Chapter Fifteen Ayleth
Chapter Fifteen
Ayleth
What the hell just happened?
The moment replays on a loop in my mind: Blodwyn cornered by Nox. His question carried by the shadows: Kill her?
I didn’t give an answer. Just stood there, frozen, until the stag intervened.
If it hadn’t, would I have let Nox pounce?
Would I have allowed him to rip out Blodwyn’s heart?
Murdering the princess wasn’t my intention when I summoned the Nevenwolf.
In fact, I instructed Nox to find Margaret.
If not to kill the duchess, then at least to maim her.
Get her out of my way. Why had Nox targeted the princess instead?
And another, far darker question surfaces: Should I have let him kill her?
Yes, that voice inside me whispers. Don’t be afraid of who you are.
“What a turn of events.” The duchess brings me back into the forest as she steers her horse to join up with me.
With the trial over, the hunting party trundles back to the palace, everyone laughing and drinking.
Toasting the health of the stag, who has been loaded onto a wagon to be carted back with us.
Blodwyn insisted that the animal recover in the palace stables.
Most seem thrilled by this idea and are already doting on the creature like it’s a pet.
There’s even talk of ennobling the animal and housing it in the princess’s menagerie.
“I trust you’ll dispatch the Hunt,” Margaret continues. “I want that Nevenwolf’s head returned to us on a spike.”
Malum shivers inside me.
“Nevenwolves are notoriously difficult to track,” I reply.
“That one seemed happy enough to make itself known,” Margaret counters. “I shudder to think what might have occurred if the stag hadn’t distracted it.”
That’s another bizarre occurrence. Typically, the forest creatures avoid anything to do with Malum.
I’ve certainly never seen one willingly engage with Nox.
In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the stag intervened on purpose—specifically to rescue Blodwyn.
But why? From its cart, the animal’s bright amber eyes are fixed on me, like it knows what I’ve done.
“Margaret!” Weston maneuvers his horse around to catch up with us. “We need you to settle a dispute. Rathburn here suggests we name the stag Arthur, but I say we call it after me. Weston the Stag. Far more fitting, don’t you think?”
Weston salutes himself and the other man, Rathburn, tries to shove him off his horse.
“These boys,” Margaret says to me with a laugh. “Whatever shall we do with them? And don’t look to me for support, Weston. I’m still angry with you. Given that you were in charge of the hunt, I expected it would be safer. The princess nearly died today.”
Pity the duchess didn’t.
“You have my deepest apologies, Your Grace,” Weston says, bowing in his saddle.
“But I’m as surprised as you are. I haven’t heard of a Nevenwolf wandering so close to the palace in years.
Not since…the hunt for Longest Night, I believe it was.
You recall, Majesty. Someone killed it. Shot out the beast’s eye. ”
Margaret’s attention twitches to me. “You were there?”
“Yes,” I admit, stiffening. “When I was a maiden in Queen Sybil’s household.”
“That’s right,” she says, thoughtful. “I quite forgot about your original placement. What a rise you’ve achieved.”
She deals me one of her knifelike smiles. I grip my reins tight enough that my horse chuffs and flicks his tail in annoyance.
“You know, though,” Weston continues, “a few of the others claim to have spotted the Nevenwolf today. According to them, it had only one eye. Just like the one from Longest Night.”
“It couldn’t be the same creature,” Margaret reasons. “You said it was killed.”
“Who knows?” Weston lowers his voice, ominous. “Now that the Veil has fallen, I expect anything is possible. But don’t fret, Your Grace. I’ll protect you from rogue Nevenwolves, or any other beast who threatens your dignity.”
She just laughs, waving him away. But I do not like that people remember the long-ago hunt. That they’re talking about Nox. About me.
“If it is the same beast,” Margaret continues, her focus returning to me. “How strange it is that you were present at both appearances.”
“Is it?” I ask, attempting nonchalance. “Most of the court attended the other hunt.”
“True,” Margaret allows. “But so many of them are gone now. Or dead. Or worse.”
My mouth dries. “I’m sure—”
Something whizzes past my face so close that I flinch. It thunks into the trunk of a tree to my right.
“Is that,” Margaret points, “an arrow?”
It is. And it’s on fire.
—
The whole forest seems to still as I gape at the blazing fletching protruding from the tree. The flames licking at the bark. And then—
“Long live the true queen!”
I swivel around in the saddle just in time to see a person through the trees—a man—already nocking another shot.
His arrow sails toward me and I duck, barely keeping my seat as my horse rears.
Attackers charge forth from their hiding places, the forest soon flooded with screams and the clang of steel as our party is swarmed.
“The princess!” Margaret shouts. “Get the princess!”
“Majesty!” A guard yells, motioning. “This way!”
I start to obey, but then another flaming arrow hurtles by me.
When I look to see who fired it, I spot a young woman a short distance away.
Her dark hair is braided and falls over one shoulder.
Her olive skin is smudged with dirt. But it’s her eyes that leave me dumbstruck.
They’re blue, like twin sapphires gleaming in the gray of the forest.
“Jacquetta,” I breathe, her name alone like a spell.
Memories crash together in my mind: stolen kisses and twisted bedsheets and whispered promises. Jacquetta appears just as transfixed, the years unspooling between us. Until—
She lifts her bow and fires a shot.
The sight of flame surging toward my face snaps me from my stupor.
I veer out of the way, but not swiftly enough.
White-hot pain sears through my shoulder as the arrow grazes my arm.
Blood blooms on my sleeve. She shot me? My attention whips back to Jacquetta.
She smirks at me, damn her, then darts into the trees. Malum roars behind my sternum.
Follow her, the shadows command. Do not let her get away!
I won’t. Not this time.
Gritting my teeth, I give my horse a kick and gallop after the other witch.
—
Low-hanging branches snag on my hair and clothes as my horse plunges through the woods.
The Followers are everywhere. Their greedy hands grab for my skirts or ankles.
But I hurl my shadows out, shoving the wretched fools away or snapping their necks if they get too close.
All the while, my mind churns with questions.
What the hell is Jacquetta doing here? With Followers, no less?
Have the witches stooped so low as to ally with the very people who hunted them?
But I can’t answer that now. And it doesn’t matter.
One of my shadows tugs at me, guiding me east. I glimpse the dark flash of Jacquetta’s braid and urge my horse on, the thunder of its hooves matching the pounding of my own heart.
Just a little faster. A little more and—
An arrow whistles across my path. My horse whinnies and rears, throwing me backward and out of the saddle.
I land awkwardly, stars spotting across my vision.
The taste of copper coats my tongue. Before I can get my bearings, a pair of hands roughly flips me over, and then I feel the cold bite of metal against my throat.
“Well, well,” Jacquetta drawls, her face looming over mine. “Fancy meeting you here, Your Majesty.”
She spits the last words. Rage crackles in my blood and I call my shadows.
They explode outward, tossing Jacquetta away.
She scrambles to her feet as soon as she hits the ground and flings her knife at me.
I duck before it impales my face, then prepare to launch my shadows again.
But I’ve no sooner called them than roots shoot up out of the ground and twist around my body.
One slithers around my neck like a noose and squeezes.
I grapple with it, my breaths shortening.
My shadows respond at once, rending the roots in half and freeing me. Still, I stare at Jacquetta, stunned.
How the fuck was she able to do that?
Jacquetta grins, evidently reading my expression. “What’s wrong? Can’t fight without that shadow thing to do your bidding?”
Thing. Shade, I assume she means. This has gone on long enough.
I am going to finish her. At my command, shadows descend upon Jacquetta in a storm of fury.
She’s faster than I imagine. She dives and dances out of their reach, her lips moving in the words of her own spells.
Yet more roots erupt from the ground. A branch swings from above and nearly knocks my head off.
Sweat breaks between my shoulder blades as we battle, my breaths sawing in and out of my lungs.
But I don’t slow down. At long last, one of my shadows succeeds in tripping Jacquetta.
I dispatch another wave of shadows before she can find her footing.
She’s hurled backward, smacking into the trunk of the tree behind her.
I seize the opportunity and throw my shadows around her like ropes.
She wriggles within their clutches, snarling like a wet cat.
“It seems I can fight just fine,” I say, crossing the clearing.
She just sneers at me. “Go on, then. Finish what you started for once in your life.”
I forgot how much I hate her. The fire in my blood blazes hotter. My power surges inside me and I set it free. Shadows slam into Jacquetta’s chest and burrow between her bones. Deep within the beating core of her heart, I can feel the pulse of her latent magic.
Do it, that voice again. End this.
I should. But something holds me back. Not affection—not for her. I want something else. I lean closer to the other witch, our faces inches apart.
“Ask me to stop,” I command. “Beg for your life and perhaps I’ll spare you.”
Her expression screws into a snarl, her face pale with pain. She’s too stubborn to die, I reason. She’ll beg. Kneel before me. And then I will—
A feral yell breaks my attention. A Follower barrels out of the brush, weapon raised.
“Long live the true que—” he shouts before my shadows stuff down his throat.
But he wasn’t alone. Several others tear out of the forest. My hold on Jacquetta loosens, freeing the other witch. I expect her to bolt into the trees, but she picks up the nearest weapon and uses it to deflect a Follower.
“What are you doing?” I call, dodging another blow.
She elbows a man in the face. “What does it look like?”
Like she’s fighting against them. But I assumed Jacquetta was on their side. Why else would she be here? I don’t have time to puzzle it out and fall back into the fighting. But after battling Jacquetta, my power is waning and I won’t last much longer.
A blur of black swoops past me. At first, I think it’s another arrow.
But it’s a bird—a crow. A nearby Follower screams as the creature’s talons sink into his face.
There’s a sickening squelching noise and then blood gushes from his empty eye socket.
Another crow, and then another, descends from the forest canopy, until there’s an entire murder winging around us.
“What the hell is this?” Jacquetta shouts over the tumult.
I shake my head, bewildered. I hadn’t called the crows. Was it Shade? I scan the darkness in the distance, but I don’t see my Huntsman. And Nox is long gone.
Thunder rumbles, deep and ominous. A gust of wind rattles the tree branches, the air suddenly thick and charged.
I startle as a streak of lightning spears from the sky.
It hits a nearby oak, splitting the massive thing right down the middle.
The tree groans, a series of sharp cracks emanating from its core.
“Run!” I call. “It’s going to fall!”
I sprint in the other direction, but an anguished cry has me skidding to a halt.
One of the Followers grips Jacquetta by her hair, the other witch’s head pulled back and her neck bared to the Follower’s knife.
And Jacquetta’s power must be exhausted as well, for she’s not fighting back with her own spells.
Leave her, that old voice screams.
I should listen. Jacquetta deserves this. But I can’t. Not because I care about her. But because, whatever happens next, Jacquetta is mine to punish.
Mine to destroy.
And I can’t do that if she’s already dead.
The tree groans again, wood splintering.
In seconds, it will flatten them both. I don’t waste another moment.
The Follower howls as my shadows pummel into her.
She releases Jacquetta and I crash into the other witch, shoving us both to the side just as the tree smashes onto the ground with a deafening thud.
For a few breaths, all I can do is lay there, my ears ringing with the remnants of my panic.
But then I register the scent of juniper.
Jacquetta is pinned beneath me. Her chest rises and falls against mine in shallow bursts.
Her pulse pounds through the thin skin of her wrist, where my hand still grips her arm.
Her blue eyes meet mine and my own traitorous heart speeds up at seeing the silver spangled within them.
At feeling her beneath me like this, our lips close enough to—
“Your Majesty!” Guards break through the trees, shattering the spell between us. “Are you hurt?”
I clamber to my feet, putting as much distance between Jacquetta and me as possible.
“You!” Steel sings as one of the guards unsheathes his sword and points it at Jacquetta. “Get away from the queen!”
“Wait!” I start. “She’s—”
But then I stop myself. What is Jacquetta? Not a friend. My arm is still bleeding from the wound she inflicted. And what was she doing here, anyway? With Followers of all people? Is this some new scheme devised by the covens?
Predictably, Jacquetta’s face gives nothing away.
Her shoulders are back and her jaw set, hard and defiant as ever.
But beneath that is something else—the glimmer of what could be fear.
That fickle, miserable part of my soul shivers in the slightest. I bury it.
Because it’s Jacquetta’s turn to be afraid.
Let her see how she likes the White Palace’s dungeons.
“She’s one of the Followers,” I say, never taking my gaze from hers. “Arrest her.”