Chapter Twenty-Nine Ayleth
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ayleth
I remain in the garden for a long while after Blodwyn returns to the party, our conversation replaying in my mind.
I’d said too much. Showed the princess too much of my real self.
It was strategy, I tell myself. I let Blodwyn close only to steer her further away from Margaret.
But even I know that’s not entirely true.
In listening to Blodwyn speak, hearing the pain in her voice, all I could think about was my life at Stonehaven.
How it felt to be an outsider in my own home.
The hours I spent wishing I could be different.
Hating myself. For whatever reason, I couldn’t allow Blodwyn to feel the same.
Mistake, that voice whispers. It was a mistake.
Perhaps. But in this moment, it doesn’t feel like one.
“Spirits, here you are.”
Gravel crunches as someone else approaches—Jacquetta. I haven’t seen her since we left my chambers. Moonlight gleams silver on her dark hair and glows against her olive skin. The square-cut bodice shows off her collarbones and I scold myself for noticing.
“Don’t say Spirits. Someone might hear you.”
“Then don’t make yourself so difficult to find,” she replies, rubbing her arms against the chill. “What are you doing out here, anyway? It’s freezing.”
“I came after Blodwyn.”
Jacquetta raises an eyebrow. “To murder her?”
“Of course not,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And what are you doing? You should be inside.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she replies, bobbing a curtsy. “But I assumed you’d like to hear what I learned about our friend.”
“Already?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
I knew the court would be eager to gossip, but it’s barely been an hour.
She nods. “You have the duchess to thank for it. Her costume set a lot of tongues wagging. I overheard a couple of courtiers commenting that this was just like last time.”
“Last time? What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure,” Jacquetta admits. “The courtiers I spoke to either didn’t know or wouldn’t share. But I did learn about the other family who was involved. The Hastings, apparently.”
“Hastings,” I echo, trying and failing to place the name. “I haven’t heard of them.”
“No surprise there,” she says. “They’re dead. All of them.”
“All? From what?”
She lifts a shoulder. “There were rumors of plague or something. But from what I understand, there was plenty of speculation that their deaths were sanctioned.”
The wind picks up, carrying the call of a crow.
“So they were murdered? The entire family?”
“That’s what was suggested,” Jacquetta confirms. “If it’s true, whatever they did must have been spectacularly awful.”
I puzzle over this. What could the Hastings have been involved with that would warrant their unofficial executions? And what was Margaret’s part in it?
“That’s good work,” I say to Jacquetta.
“Well, don’t look so shocked,” she replies primly.
“The night’s not over yet,” I remind her. “Keep digging. The more we know, the better.”
“Fine,” she says with a sigh. She looks around us. “What is this place, anyway?”
“A garden. It belonged to Queen Sybil.”
Jacquetta frowns. “It’s the saddest garden I’ve ever seen.”
She’s not wrong. I wasn’t paying much attention before, but now I take in the decaying trees and withered husks of forgotten rosebushes.
But, for once, I cannot blame the state of this garden on Malum.
I neglected it on purpose. Every time I saw it, all I could think about was Sybil.
Her kindness. Her innate, quiet strength.
The promise I made to her on the night she died: to take care of Blodwyn.
A vow I let shrivel and die like the flowers that used to thrive here.
Almost involuntarily, my gaze tracks up, landing on the seven stars of the Spirits’ Mirror. This time, though, I don’t wonder if it’s Rhea looking out at me from the darkness, but someone else.
“We should go back,” I say, tucking my emotions away where they belong. “We’re wasting time out here.”
Jacquetta follows me, but we don’t get two steps before a low growl rumbles nearby.
My shadows instantly surround me as a shape begins to materialize in the darkness. I catch the shine of a single crimson eye.
“Nox,” I breathe, relief flooding me. After what Shade said, I was worried I’d never see him again.
“Is that a Nevenwolf?” Jacquetta asks, horrified.
She starts muttering the words of a spell, but I signal for her to stop.
“Don’t. He won’t harm you.”
In fact, Nox doesn’t look well. His steps are crooked and he keeps his head low.
After a few more paces in our direction, he abruptly collapses.
I hurry over and kneel beside him. There’s a huge gash on his left side, just beneath his ribs.
Nox’s dark, tar-like Nevenwolf blood seeps between my fingers.
“What’s wrong with it?” Jacquetta asks, keeping her distance.
“I don’t know. He was injured during the hunt, but he should have healed by now.”
Why hasn’t he? Beneath my hands, Nox’s breathing is ragged and shallow. His crimson eye watches me with what is unmistakable pleading.
“Just hold on,” I murmur to him.
I’ve never used my power to heal anything before, but surely I can.
In this instance, at least. Malum swells within me, cantering through my veins.
I call my shadows and they burrow into Nox’s body, threading between his bones and winding around his organs.
I grit my back teeth, concentrating. For a few moments, it seems to help.
Nox relaxes and ceases to whimper. But then, as if snapped, my shadows shrivel away. The power in my own veins cools.
“No.” I shake my head. “It didn’t work.”
Why didn’t it work? Because Malum doesn’t heal things? Or is there a deeper reason?
Because you’re not as powerful as you believe, that voice taunts.
“Here.” Jacquetta approaches. “Let me try.”
I instinctively move to shield Nox. “So you can kill him?”
“I wouldn’t have to do anything at all if that’s what I wanted,” she replies, gesturing at Nox. “Take my help or leave it.”
Grudgingly, I shift to allow her room. Jacquetta kneels beside Nox and places her hands on his body.
She closes her eyes, her lips moving in a spell.
After a few moments, I can feel Nox’s heartbeat strengthening beneath my palms. His wounds knitting together, leaving nothing more than a scar on the Nevenwolf’s side. I stare at him, bewildered.
“How did you do that?” I ask Jacquetta.
“The same way I always use magic,” she says. “I just…asked it.”
That doesn’t make any sense. Why would a witch’s magic have cured Nox and not my own? Nox isn’t concerned about such details. He rises, shaking himself. His crimson eye glitters in the night. Jacquetta flinches as he faces her, but I touch her arm.
“He’s thanking you,” I explain.
“I…you’re welcome,” she tells the Nevenwolf, a slight tremble to her voice.
Nox throws his head back, his howl startling a few birds out of their nests. Then he bounds away into the shadows. Jacquetta is quiet for a long while, watching him go.
“He…can feel, can’t he?” she says at last.
He. Warmth blooms in my chest.
“Yes,” I reply. “I told you. Shade, Nox—they’re all the same as we are.”
Jacquetta absorbs this. “I just…I didn’t understand.”
“And now? Does it change anything?”
The seconds stretch on as I wait for her reply. Jacquetta looks at me, her blue eyes bright in the moonlight.
“I don’t know,” she says at last.
It shatters the hope I was fool enough to let form in my heart. Because of course nothing has changed. Nothing will change. Jacquetta is a coven witch now. She always will be.
“As I said, we’re wasting time out here.” And then I push myself up to stand and leave the garden, ignoring the hollow ache in my chest. A void that I worry not even the shadows can fill.