Chapter Nineteen Ayleth
Chapter Nineteen
Ayleth
“I hate to say I told you so,” Callen drawls. I’d summoned him as soon as I returned from the mews, my heart still racing after my encounter with Margaret. “Actually, I don’t. It gives me immense satisfaction to say that I did tell you about my sister. And that I was right.”
I hate the duchess only a little less than I do her brother. Shadows trail me, as agitated as I am. Nettle has made a game of pouncing on them, the tendrils of darkness disappearing under her paws. She misses, catching my skirt with her claws instead and I yank them out of her reach.
“Stop that,” I snap.
She trills at me, indignant, and slinks away to sulk beneath a chair. I toss out a piece of ham as an olive branch, but she stubbornly ignores it.
“You should have alerted me that she was poking through the archives,” I say to Callen.
“I can’t be everywhere at once,” he replies, petulant. “And there aren’t any mirrors in the archives.”
Because I didn’t think I needed them there when I was the only one who had access.
Another mistake, that voice hisses.
I drain my wineglass in one gulp.
“There has to be some way to outsmart her,” I insist. “Joan mentioned a scandal before Margaret’s marriage? What was that?”
Callen just sighs, bored. “I have no idea. That was twenty years ago and she’s my sister. Likely some tryst they wanted to cover up.”
Which is what Joan thought, too.
“Then why would Margaret have removed the records?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“Because that would work,” I mutter.
And there’s no one else who might tell me, either.
I’m too conspicuous. Even if I did manage to get someone at court or on staff to speak to me, Margaret would find out.
In fact, the duchess is probably just waiting for me to stumble into such a trap.
But there must be a way to evade her spies.
If only I could…An idea begins to cobble itself together in my mind, one I instantly detest. But it might be the only way.
Because I may not be able to dig up more information about Margaret, but there is someone else in the palace who can. Someone no one would suspect, or even know about. Someone almost as conniving and duplicitous as Margaret herself:
Jacquetta.
—
I wait until the dead of night to return to the dungeons.
The whole way there, I tell myself to turn around.
Jacquetta can’t be trusted. Shade is right—she wants to destroy me, which is precisely what happened the last time I let her into my life.
But that was before I had my shadows, I reason.
Army or not, I want to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off Margaret’s face.
And I don’t care who I have to ally with to do it.
Malum shivers behind my sternum, as if in agreement.
I let it thread through my veins, reminding myself that I don’t need to be afraid of Jacquetta anymore. I don’t need to be afraid of anything.
Soft scraping sounds reach me as I approach Jacquetta’s cell. She’s crouched in the far corner, as far from the light as possible.
“Come on,” she mutters to herself. “Just—”
There’s a sharp snap. Jacquetta curses and flings something away. It flies out of her cell and past my head, landing with a brittle clatter at my feet. It’s a piece of thin metal, one Jacquetta must have been attempting to use as a lockpick.
“I’m curious,” I say, stepping out of my shadows, “what would you have done if you succeeded? You can’t exactly stroll out of here.”
Jacquetta freezes at the sound of my voice. Her blue eyes meet mine, bright in the dimness. That traitorous part of my heart speeds up.
“I would have thought of something,” she says simply.
“Yes, you always do, don’t you?”
Jacquetta just glowers. “What do you want? To gloat? Go ahead.”
She approaches the bars. Torchlight illuminates the dark circles under her eyes, which are bloodshot and rust-tinted.
Her lips are dry. Dark veins are starting to track up her arm from the iron cuff.
Soon, they’ll web through her whole body.
Just like it was with Rhea. The old wound of my grief opens and oozes but I seal it off.
Jacquetta is not Rhea. She doesn’t deserve my pity.
“Were you really going to let yourself rot down here?” I ask. “For them? Do you care about them so much?”
She just shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I just hate you more.”
I flinch at her jab, then scold myself for feeling anything at all.
Leave her here, that old voice urges.
I’d like nothing more. But I’m running out of time with Margaret. Much as I loathe the scheming witch, this might be the one time Jacquetta’s character works in my favor.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Jacquetta sweeps a look up and down my body. “I’m not interested.”
“That’s not…” Heat flames in my face. “I need your help looking into someone.”
She snorts. “Can’t your shadow minion do your dirty work for you?”
“Believe me, I would greatly prefer it,” I tell her.
But I can’t pull Shade away from searching for the other witches. Even if I could, I can’t take the risk that someone might see him. Namely, Margaret.
“The situation is complicated,” I explain. “It involves the king’s sister.”
“You mean, your sister?” She clicks her tongue, feigning sympathy. “Oh, dear. Is there trouble in the family?”
“Margaret isn’t my family,” I say, irritated. “Nor does she desire to be. She made that fact evident when she brought the princess here to begin Braxos’s Trials.”
“Oh yes,” Jacquetta says with a laugh. “Everyone in the city was talking about that. How the princess showed up to kick you off the throne.”
I bristle. Is that what they’re saying about me?
“I’m not being kicked anywhere.”
“Well, someone’s going to win, and it’s not you.”
“You’d be surprised,” I say, lifting my chin. “I made it this far when no one thought I could, especially not the covens.”
“No one thought you would, Ayleth,” she says. “There’s a difference.”
Beneath her haughty veneer, I might detect a thrum of pain in her voice.
“The trials,” I continue, ignoring it, “are why I need your assistance with Margaret. She’s making a move against me. I need to stop her before she ruins everything.”
“Ruins everything for you,” Jacquetta comments. “Which sounds fine to me.”
She really is the most infuriating witch alive.
“Pity you won’t be around to see it,” I say, gesturing to her arm. “The guards will soon know exactly what you are. And it doesn’t take long to build a pyre.”
Jacquetta tugs at the iron cuff and winces. She might despise me, but her time is growing painfully thin and she knows it.
“And if I agree?” she asks at last. “What am I supposed to do? I won’t give you any information about the covens, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“No.” Her sullen silence over the last days proved that. “You’ll join the palace staff and investigate Margaret. Discover whatever plans or secrets she’s hiding.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I retort. “After all, you’re so very skilled at skulking around and deceiving people.”
Jacquetta crosses her arms. “And what do I get in return? I’m not doing this for nothing.”
It astonishes me that she believes she’s in a position to negotiate. But she’s obstinate enough that I know she’ll refuse unless I offer something. And there’s only one thing she seems to want.
“You said you’re looking for Nerissa.”
Her self-satisfied expression wilts. “Do you know where she is? If you’ve—”
“I haven’t done anything,” I insist. “And I don’t know where she is. But I’ll send Shade to look for her.”
“Shade?”
“My Huntsman,” I clarify, but Jacquetta still appears confused. I huff a sigh. “My shadow minion, as you called him.”
Jacquetta gapes at me. “That thing has a name?”
“Yes, he does. And you’ll remember it if you want him to find your mother.”
“Why would I want that?” she asks, aghast. “So he can murder her? Steal her magic?”
“He won’t harm her. Not unless I bid him, which I won’t”—I point at her—“if you help.”
She weighs this, still skeptical. “And then what?”
“If Shade finds Nerissa,” I go on, “and after you’ve held up your end of the agreement, then the two of you can leave.”
Jacquetta steps closer. Wraps one hand around the bars. For an instant, I remember what those fingers felt like against my skin.
“What do you mean, leave?” she asks.
“You can leave Riven. I won’t look for you. And I won’t send Shade.”
Though I’m not planning on sharing that last detail with my Huntsman.
Shade would never agree to such terms. Would remind me that all magic must be contained or destroyed in order for this realm to truly belong to Malum.
But Jacquetta and Nerissa are only two witches.
They can’t possibly make a difference. And Jacquetta won’t agree to any other terms. That’s why I suggested the bargain, I tell myself. Not for any other reason.
“Until our magic runs out, you mean,” Jacquetta counters. “Which won’t be long.”
I shrug. “You don’t know that. And it’s not my problem, anyway.”
She bares her teeth. “Yes, it is. All this is your fault.”
“Believe what you like,” I say. “But ask yourself this while the iron poisoning eats through your blood: Would we be here if you hadn’t walked away all those years ago? You had more than one chance to make things right.”
Jacquetta’s jaw works. Rage smolders in her blue eyes, eyes that once gazed at me with such wonder and softness that I thought I would melt. Now, though, it’s the same way Mother and the rest of the coven stared at me on the night I saw Rhea in the coven fire: like I’m a monster.
“How long are you going to punish me for that?” she demands.
Forever, that voice whispers. Until her bones are nothing but dust.
“That depends on you,” I reply. “You can take this opportunity or leave it. There won’t be another. I can see the marks on your arm from here. How long do you think you have?”
She pauses. The torches snap in the draft. And for an instant, I believe I’ve underestimated her stubbornness. Perhaps she really will choose the covens. Die a martyr rather than bargain with me. But then—
“Fine,” she says, the word rough and thick with shame.
You see, that voice slinks through my mind. She is just like you.
The victory is bittersweet.
“So you’re not the noble witch after all,” I say. “You’ll put yourself first—just as you’ve always done.”
A muscle in her jaw sets. “I hate you.”
The words land in a tender place, but I refuse to show it. I lean in, so close that, beneath the foulness of the dungeons, I smell the hint of juniper clinging to her skin. So close that our lips could brush. Energy crackles between us.
“Good,” I whisper. “That will make things easier.”
For both of us.