Chapter Thirty-Seven Blodwyn
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Blodwyn
Mother’s cryptic words remain with me long after I leave the High Priest’s secret chambers, circling in my mind like crows:
I have paid the price of blood and snow.
A message eerily similar to that found in Princess Matilda’s rooms. Did Mother know about the lost princess?
And what price did she mean? I comb through the journal dozens of times over the course of the night, desperate for answers.
But all I find are more questions. Ambiguous stories about how Mother came to be with child.
Something about a raven and drops of blood on the snow.
Her theories about a conspiracy concerning a person she calls the imposter, who I assume is the former High Priest. How she plotted to reveal him and begin a new age in Riven.
In my bones, I can already sense the dawn coming, she wrote.
But what does that mean?
Desperate for answers, I go to the library the very next morning, hoping that Mother left other writings that might provide some insight.
I’m in luck. Master William discovers several more volumes in the archives.
I feel foolish for not having searched for them ages ago.
Reading Mother’s words is like magic—like I’m getting to spend time with her through the pages.
I can hear her voice in my head, her laughter and even her pain.
The entries span all the way back to when Mother first arrived in Riven as a princess, not much older than I am now.
She was intended to wed Papa’s older brother, Uncle Arthur, but he died in battle.
Mother mourned publicly, but the tone of her writing suggests that she wasn’t particularly heartbroken about the loss.
In fact, she seemed more distraught about what occurred next: Mother’s family couldn’t pay the rest of her dowry and so the old king, my grandfather, planned to send her away.
But with her homeland recently impoverished and at war, Mother knew that she couldn’t return.
Instead, she writes of everything she did to persuade Papa to marry her instead—all her plans and countermoves.
Those made not for love, but for survival.
Though I’m loath to admit it, Mother’s story reminds me of what Verity said about Ayleth’s path to the throne.
That her apparent scheming may not have been based entirely on greed, but necessity.
I’m still furious with Ayleth for her years of deception.
But even I sympathized with her—if only slightly—after hearing her story in Ignatius’s lair.
And then there’s the Covens’ War, one instigated by my own grandfather.
After reading Mother’s journals, I cannot help but wonder if she might have done the same if she were in Ayleth’s position.
If so, what would Mother want me to do now? What price would she have me pay?
The questions tangle in my mind, so frustrating that I’m desperate for an escape from the palace—to pretend that none of this is happening at all.
There’s only one place I can think to go where I’ll avoid the needling attention of the court.
And so, at my first opportunity, I sneak off to the stables.
It’s been too long since I visited Barnabas, and I’m looking forward to seeing his progress.
But as soon as I round the corner toward his pen, decidedly angry voices reach my ears.
“Are you telling me that you would prefer to muck horseshit and clean saddles than promote the interests of this family?” a man barks.
I immediately duck into the nearest empty stall and peer through the slats in the wood, just able to discern Lord Warbeck’s towering form. Which means the person he’s berating must be—
“It’s not a horse,” Gavin replies tightly. “It’s a stag.”
Barnabas chuffs, as if to agree.
“I don’t give a shit what you call the beast,” Lord Warbeck counters. “I’m tired of these antics. Skipping court functions. Dancing with the princess. She’s your competition, boy. You should have let that creature have her.”
The words hit like a slap. I knew people felt that way, of course, especially since the ball. But hearing the sentiment hurled out like that, with such conviction…
No one wants you here, that voice sneers.
“Blodwyn may be my competition,” Gavin starts, “but that doesn’t mean she’s—”
“Blodwyn, is it?” Lord Warbeck spits. “Don’t tell me you’ve been stupid enough to fall for her. That’s probably just what she wants. Or that meddling aunt of hers. She’ll dangle herself in front of you while she—”
“She isn’t like that,” Gavin interrupts. “And I didn’t call these trials to—”
A sharp crack echoes in the stables. I flinch. Hear Barnabas paw at the ground, agitated.
“You didn’t call the trials,” Lord Warbeck all but growls. “I did. Because you’re my son. And even if a crown rests on that empty head of yours, you will still be mine. Do you understand?”
A beat passes. Two. I dig my fingernails into my palms, my own furious heartbeat pounding in my veins. Wishing I could do something other than stand here.
“Yes, sir,” Gavin grinds out at last.
“Good. Now clean yourself up. I will not find you out here again.” He pauses. Lowers his voice. “And if you think to defy me, consider your mother.”
Lord Warbeck’s boots thud on the packed earth as he stalks away.
I sink farther into the shadows until he’s gone, then check around the door of the stall.
If it were me in Gavin’s place, I’d be smashing everything in sight.
Taking out my rage on whatever objects I could get my hands on.
Instead, Gavin is sitting down. A red welt blooms on his cheek, which glistens with silent tears.
Barnabas is looking over the door, concerned.
“Gavin,” I say quietly.
Horror flashes across his features. He stands at once, swiping his face with his sleeve. “Blodwyn. I was just—”
“I heard everything,” I say. He looks away, ashamed. But he doesn’t have anything to be ashamed about. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“It’s”—he swallows—“nothing I can’t handle.”
That makes it even worse. Barnabas snorts in what I take to be agreement.
“Why don’t you leave?” I ask. “Get away from him?”
“And go where?” Gavin lifts a shoulder. “Leaving Father means abandoning the responsibilities of the estate. And I made a promise to…”
He trails off, but I recognize his pained expression from my own years of mourning.
“A promise to your mother?” I ask. He nods. And I recall what Lord Warbeck said. “What…did your father mean when he mentioned her?”
Gavin stiffens. I expect him to tell me that it’s none of my business. He’d be right. But then—
“When I told you that she died of plague,” he begins, running a hand through his hair, “that wasn’t the whole truth.
My mother…she grew up near a Sanctum. It was before the war reached its height, so a coven of witches lived there.
Mother used to visit them. She said she sometimes even learned from them. ”
“She learned?” I ask.
“Mother wasn’t a witch,” he says firmly, guessing my thoughts. “But she…knew things. Blessings. Tinctures. She used to visit our tenants on certain days of the year, drawing wards to strengthen their lands. Brewing remedies to stave off illness.”
“But if she wasn’t a witch, how did any of that work?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” he admits. “And don’t mistake me. We still endured our share of poor harvests or sickness. But what Mother did…it helped. Until Father found out.”
The call of a crow echoes from outside. Barnabas snorts, twitching his ears.
“He didn’t agree,” I say.
Gavin huffs a laugh. “An understatement. He forbade Mother from dabbling in her sorcery. Burned all her books, smashed her jars of ingredients. He even instructed the gardeners to dig up her herbs.” He pauses.
“I begged Mother to heed him. We all knew his temper. For a while, she seemed to comply. There were no more stories or strange plants. Mother prayed to the Light like everyone else. But then…”
A muscle in his jaw feathers.
“Plague swept our lands,” he continues. “And I fell ill. The fever burned so hot inside me that I was certain I would die. But Mother remained at my bedside. Spooned tinctures into my mouth. Whatever she did, it worked. I lived.”
Gavin clenches his fists. And I know without asking that this story does not end well. Even Barnabas lets out a low keen.
“When Father discovered what Mother did, he was beyond livid. His shouting alone was enough to shake the whole house.”
I cringe, recalling similar arguments I’d overheard between my own parents. The scars they left behind Mother’s eyes.
“What happened to her?”
“That’s the thing,” Gavin goes on. “The next morning, Mother was shut away in her rooms, said to have contracted the plague. The day after that, she was dead.”
The words shudder through me, along with Lord Warbeck’s:
If you defy me, consider your mother.
“You think…” I trail off, not daring to speak the words out loud.
“That my father killed her?” he asks, easily enough that I know the question has crossed his mind a thousand times. “I don’t know. But I do know that he would have if he felt it was warranted.”
And he would harm Gavin as well. Rage crackles through my blood. Barnabas paws at the ground, as if even he is ready to charge at Lord Warbeck.
“I’ll have him sent from court immediately,” I say. “Stripped of his title. He—”
“Can do as he likes,” Gavin finishes for me. “I appreciate your concern. But trust me when I say that Father will never go anywhere quietly. He’ll only make things a thousand times worse.”
Much as I hate it, I know that Gavin is right.
“Is that why you’ve done all this, then?” I ask. “The trials? Because of him?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Father doesn’t have that much power over me.
Don’t get me wrong, he was thrilled at the idea.
But I joined the trials because of Mother.
The promise I made to her: to keep up her work.
Not the things she learned from the witches.
But to try to help the people around us.
Upholding that promise is the least I can do after…
” He hesitates. “Well, after I’m the one who killed her. ”
I stare at him. “Gavin, you can’t believe that.”
“Can’t I?” He shrugs. “If I hadn’t been sick, Mother wouldn’t have resorted to such measures. She might still be here.”
“Her death is not your fault,” I say, squeezing his arm. “I may not have known her, but I’m certain she wouldn’t blame you. And you shouldn’t blame yourself.”
Though that’s exactly what I’ve done when it comes to my own mother. Why is it so much easier to say these words to Gavin than accept them myself?
“That’s kind of you,” he says, “but—”
“But nothing,” I interrupt. “You deserve to be here.”
He looks at me a long moment.
“So do you, Blodwyn,” he says at last.
The weight of his gaze is uncomfortable and I focus on something else.
“The rest of the court doesn’t agree. Not after the ball.” And it suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t seen Gavin since that night. “And I never thanked you for your actions. That wasn’t the first time you intervened on my behalf.”
Barnabas snorts, as if annoyed at being excluded. I fish a sugar cube from a pail and offer it to him. He lips it from the palm of my hand.
“It was nothing,” Gavin replies. “Competition or not, I couldn’t leave you to that…whatever it was. And I’ve heard what the court has been saying. Ignore them. They’re all idiots.”
“So you don’t think I’m cursed?” I ask wryly.
“No,” he says. “I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with you.”
Gavin meets my gaze again, the gold flecks glimmering in his eyes. I inhale his scent of cedar and forest. And, for a few heartbeats, I think he might start to lean in. That I might even want him to, which is far more terrifying.
Don’t, a small voice inside me warns. Don’t let him close.
Footsteps sound nearby.
“You should go,” I say, hardly able to tell if I’m relieved or disappointed. “That might be your father.”
Gavin pauses. Runs a hand through his hair. And I think he might say something else. But then he nods and rises.
“Until later, then,” he says.
“Later.”
The footsteps are closer now. Gavin glances in that direction and then hurries off, leaving me spinning in the tempest of my own feelings.
Feelings I cannot have.
Especially not for him. Much as I despise Lord Warbeck, he’s right about one thing: Gavin and I are competitors.
Even if we weren’t, I’ve made up my mind that I’ll never fall in love.
Never allow myself to be caught in Mother’s position.
Her journals have only proved my opinions correct.
Real love doesn’t exist. Not here. Probably not anywhere.
Still…the memory of Gavin’s nearness lingers. His words:
I never thought there was anything wrong with you.
Everyone else in this court is ready to hand me over to the lost princess. But Gavin saved my life—twice now. Does that mean I can trust him? Or will he only let me down?
“What am I going to do?” I whisper.
Barnabas just chuffs and blinks, as though even he can see what a fool I am.