Chapter Twenty Blodwyn
Chapter Twenty
Blodwyn
Over the next few days, the memory of the attack fades beneath the flurry of preparations for the next trial: the Remembrance Ball.
Much as I dreaded the hunt, the ball will be a thousand times worse.
As is tradition, everyone attends the event in costume, representing a figure from Riven’s history.
My own gown is meant to honor my mother.
I’d requested a simple design, as Mother would have worn.
But Aunt Margaret insisted on a monstrosity of white silk studded with pearls and real diamonds.
I have no idea how I’ll be able to move, much less dance, in it.
And the dress is the least of my worries.
For everyone else, the ball will consist of music and food and revelry.
But I’ll be spending the hours answering a barrage of questions pertaining to Riven’s history.
At the end of the night, only the three claimants with the highest score will advance to the final trial.
Which means I need to cram as much information into my skull as possible.
Luckily, I won’t be alone. Verity has agreed to help me study before the challenge, and so I make my way to the library to meet her.
It’s the first time I’ve been able to visit the place since my return, and as I step through the doors, it almost feels as though the last three years slide away.
The second-story gallery stretches above me, the shelves fashioned to look like towering trees.
Apple-shaped light fixtures cast everything in a warm amber glow.
Mother and I spent hours tucked away here, sharing our favorite books.
The memories of that time are so vivid that I half expect her to round the corner, smiling at me with her arms full of volumes.
“Your Highness!”
A man in purple Keepers’ robes approaches from the large desk at the front. His smile is wide and welcoming, his hazel eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.
“Master William!”
Abandoning Aunt Margaret’s propriety lessons, I throw my arms around the Keeper. He smells of old books and leather and ink and I have missed this place.
“Welcome home,” he says.
This might be the only part of the palace that does feel like home.
“It’s good to see you,” I tell him, meaning it. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Where else would I be?” He gestures around us. “A collection becomes like family after a time. I can’t imagine leaving it behind.”
I smile, warming to the idea that books can be family.
“But I suppose you’re here to prepare for the next trial?” the Keeper asks.
“Unfortunately,” I confirm, already dreading the hours ahead of me.
“Well, you’re not alone.”
Master William indicates the other claimants scattered around at the tables, half hidden behind their own towering piles of books.
There are a few courtiers as well, wandering the aisles or peering around the stacks, the click of their heels and rustle of their skirts spoiling the usual peace of the library.
Judging from the flash of coin, a few of them might even be placing bets.
I doubt any of them are betting on you, that voice comments.
“Don’t worry,” Master William says, patting my arm. “It may not be strictly permitted, but I’ve saved some of the most thorough histories especially for you. I’ll be right back with them. And we’ve just had a tray of tarts delivered from the kitchens. Shall I bring those as well?”
“That would be wonderful,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
He smiles at me and disappears into the stacks.
Verity doesn’t seem to be here yet and so I wander the nearby area, revisiting some of my favorite places.
Against the east wall, a giant glass cylinder contains a huge preserved eel whom I used to call Bartholomew.
When I was younger, I was convinced he could understand me when I spoke to him.
That his tail would swish in greeting every time I visited.
But not even Bartholomew could hold my attention as well as the enchanted Dwarvian map.
I used to stand in front of the piece for ages, watching the trees rustle in the invisible wind and the minuscule people roving around the cities.
Ever since my conversation with Gavin, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the rest of Riven.
I’d gone so far as to ask a few of my servants about their own families.
None of them would share much. In fact, I got the distinct impression that they were worried about what I would do with such information.
Like they were afraid of me. Should it be that way?
A dark shape leaps up onto the map and I startle.
“Nettle,” I scold. She swishes her tail in greeting. “Get down. And what are you doing here?”
I get my answer at the click of approaching footsteps. I peer through the stacks. Sure enough, the gaudy stones of Ayleth’s crown gleam on the other side of the shelf.
Damn everything.
I’ve been avoiding her since the hunt and have no desire to change that now. As silently as I can, I begin to sneak away. But then a loud thump echoes in the quiet.
My attention whips to the right, where Nettle has decided to knock a book off the highest shelf. She blinks her golden eyes at me, evidently proud of herself as she settles, loaf-like, into the place where the book used to be.
What are you doing? I mouth at her. She flicks her tail, amused.
“Is someone there?” Ayleth calls.
I’m tempted to say nothing, but it will be worse if I’m caught lurking. Grudgingly, I abandon my hiding place. Ayleth’s eyes widen as I step around the shelf.
“Oh. Blodwyn.”
Awkwardness hums between us. Nettle saunters into view and winds herself around my ankles.
“I see the two of you are still friends,” Ayleth comments.
I shrug. “She visits the menagerie on occasion.”
Though after today, there will be decidedly less treats. If any. I glare down at the cat, who only yawns and stretches.
Traitor, I accuse.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Ayleth says. She stands taller, like she’s steeling herself. “And…I’m also glad that I ran into you. I’m sorry, again, about the misunderstanding with the bow. Despite how it may have appeared, I merely wished to show my support.”
She’s right—it didn’t appear that way. Especially not when I saw her after I claimed the apple.
That strange expression on her face. I wonder if Ayleth agrees with people like Isabel, who don’t believe I should have passed the trial.
Maybe she was hoping I would wind up disqualifying myself to save her further trouble.
“It doesn’t matter now,” I say. “As you saw, I didn’t wind up needing the bow to win. I’m sorry if that disappointed you.”
“I’m not disappointed.” She pauses. Fidgets with one of the rings on her fingers. “In fact, I think you did well.”
I huff a short laugh. “You don’t need to flatter me.”
“I’m not,” she insists. “Sparing the stag is exactly what your mother would have done. She’d be proud of you.”
Proud. The word touches a tender place within me.
And, as much as I am loath to admit it, some part of me thinks that Ayleth might be right.
Mother despised hunting for sport, always refusing to accompany the court on such ventures.
For the briefest of instants, I imagine that I smell the soft floral perfume of the oils Mother once wore.
Like she’s here with me. But I shake that away.
Because Ayleth didn’t know Mother. And she has no right to speak of her.
“Perhaps,” I say to Ayleth. “We’ll never get the change to find out. Mother isn’t here.”
And Ayleth is part of the reason she’s gone. Still…for the briefest of instants, pain flickers across Ayleth’s features. Guilt twinges in my chest, but I shove it down. If Ayleth is wounded, it’s her own fault.
“Well,” she says, forcing a smile. “I hope—”
“Blodwyn? Here you are. I’m sorry I’m…” Verity rounds the corner and halts when she spots the two of us. “Your Majesty! Forgive me, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Not at all,” Ayleth replies, her shoulders still tense. “I should be going. Good luck on your studies, Blodwyn.”
With that, she retreats into the stacks, her skirts whispering across the floor. Nettle stays behind, fixing me with what I interpret as a reproachful stare. I ignore her.
“What was that about?” Verity asks, nodding in the direction Ayleth went.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just another of her pathetic attempts to befriend me. Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers.
She’s spent the last three years proving that she has no interest in me at all.
Even a fool can guess that she’s only showing me kindness now because she wants something. Just like it was before with Papa.”
Verity frowns, a crease digging between her brows. “Maybe. But…”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” she continues. “Perhaps the queen does feel badly about all that.”
“Then why open the trials? Invite the whole realm to compete against me?”
“I can’t guess the queen’s motives,” Verity admits. “But…I’m not entirely sure she could have done otherwise, given the circumstances. In fact, I doubt her position is an easy one. Especially not in this court.”
“So you’re taking her side?”
“No,” she assures me. “It’s just…from what I understand about the queen’s past, she didn’t have a lot of options.
I can empathize with that. If a king had shown up and wanted to marry me, my own mother probably would have shoved me down the aisle.
Perhaps the queen found herself in a similar situation.
Whatever she’s done, you can’t blame her for wanting some control over her own life. ”
Verity’s words strike an unwelcome chord. How often have I felt like a piece on a board, being pushed around by Papa or the White Court’s whims?
“That doesn’t excuse anything,” I argue.
“No,” Verity agrees. “But families can be difficult, remember? Maybe the queen has come to regret some of her choices. Perhaps, in her own way, she’s trying to apologize.”
Like with the bow. Or how Ayleth left my menagerie in perfect condition.
I’d always assumed Ayleth hated me because I was a threat to her position.
That she used me to get close to Papa and then turned on me as soon as she didn’t need me anymore.
But could I be wrong about her? What if she does regret the past?
“Come on,” I say to Verity, banishing the questions. “We’d better get started.”
—
“Honestly, who taught these people how to write?” Verity complains. It’s been hours, but we’ve barely worked through half the books Master William brought. “I know this is history, but does it have to be so dry?”
Even Nettle has grown bored. She devoured two bowls of cream and is now curled in the window seat, napping. I would give anything to join her.
“You really don’t have to stay,” I tell Verity.
“Of course I do. I’m here to support you. Besides, these”—she lifts one of the tarts on the plate between us—“are delicious. It pays to be friends with a princess.”
Friends.
I’m not sure I’ve ever had a friend before.
Certainly not one my age. Children weren’t permitted at court, so—aside from Mother—my sole companions were my ladies.
Given that I spent most of my time making their lives miserable, they didn’t warm to me.
But Verity is different. And it’s nice to have an ally in this viper’s pit.
In fact, I wish we’d met sooner. I smile to myself, imagining the trouble the two of us would have gotten up to.
The clock chimes again, reminding me of the hour.
I sigh. “We’ll see if you still want to be friends after—”
Verity gasps, cutting me off. “Look who that is.”
She gestures down an aisle, where a young man is perusing the shelves.
Sunlight spills over him, shining against the embroidery on his doublet, one cut so that it shows off his broad shoulders and tapered waist. As though he can feel our attention, Gavin turns.
Notices us. Panic tightens in my chest, worried he’ll come this way.
Worried he won’t. In the end, it doesn’t matter.
Gavin just dips his chin, tucks his book under his arm, and strides away.
“Someone’s bitter about the hunt,” Verity comments. “Can’t even deign to say hello.”
“That’s not it,” I say. “I…ran into him on the night of the victor’s party. In the stables.”
“You were with him in the stables?” she repeats, waggling her eyebrows. “Alone?”
Heat floods my face. “It wasn’t like that.”
“So what if it was?” Verity asks with a shrug. “He’s handsome enough.”
“He isn’t,” I insist, even as I recall the dimples that appeared when he laughed. The muscles visible through his thin linen shirt. “He’s unbearable. And he doesn’t think much better of me, either.”
And he’s right, that voice adds.
“Nothing like a little rivalry to inspire passion,” Verity replies. She leans forward and lowers her voice. “Just think. When you’re queen, you can make him kneel before you.”
Unbidden, an image of Gavin doing exactly that surfaces in my mind: his face tilted up, the flecks of gold shimmering in his brown eyes.
“You’re awful,” I say to Verity, swatting at her. “And anyway, I decided a long time ago that I’m not going to bother with any of that.”
“With what?” Verity asks, bewildered. “Love?”
“I never mentioned love.” Certainly not where Gavin is concerned. “But yes, if you must know. Such feelings inevitably fade in time. I’ve watched it happen with nearly every couple I know, my own parents included. And I’m not going to wind up like…”
My mother. The words stick in my throat.
But they’re true. I promised myself that I wouldn’t become trapped in a marriage with a man I despised—and who despised me—shrinking with each passing day.
Sometimes I wish Mother had never married Papa at all.
Perhaps I wouldn’t exist, but we also wouldn’t be in this mess.
“Is this about what Isabel said?” Verity asks, concerned. “About the curse? Because that isn’t who you are, Blodwyn.”
“That’s not what everyone else thinks,” I mutter.
“Who cares about everyone else? I certainly don’t.” She grins at me, but I can’t return it. “Are you truly going to close off your heart? Isn’t that lonely?”
An ache throbs in my chest, one I’ve experienced too many times over the past few years. Because she’s right. I am lonely. Desperately. How often had I lain awake through the long hours of night, wishing to be someone else? Wishing to be happy?
But wishes have never made much of a difference in my life.
“Better to be lonely than foolish,” I tell Verity.
With that, I return my attention to my book. But the words just swim on the page, my thoughts pulled back to the stables and Gavin. Even if I did feel something for him, how could I ever fully trust him? Besides, I doubt he would share those feelings. Not for me, the cursed princess.
But what if he did? a small, fragile part of me whispers.
The answer is more frightening than a Nevenwolf.