Chapter Forty-Three Ayleth
Chapter Forty-Three
Ayleth
You should not go alone, my queen, Shade rasps.
It’s the night before we’re set to leave to meet the covens, which means it’s my last chance to sleep in a warm bed before we travel. But I’m far too restless, instead pacing in front of the fire and combing over every detail of the plan with my Huntsman.
“I won’t be alone,” I remind him. “I’ll have a full legion of the Hunt. Which is exactly why you can’t come. I can’t take the Heirs’ magic in full view of everyone.”
Much as I might want to.
It is too much of a risk, Shade replies. The witches will have their own scheme.
The same warning he’s repeated since we first discussed this plan.
Initially, Shade was thrilled to learn that I agreed to use Jacquetta to capture the Heirs.
But my Huntsman has grown impatient, arguing that if we don’t deal with the witches immediately, we give them an opportunity to retaliate.
Worse, that capture might be precisely what the covens are counting upon.
It’s a fair point. Selene and the others have spent the last three years evading me.
If they agreed to the meeting with Jacquetta, it’s safe to assume that they have their own agenda.
“It’s a gamble we’ll have to take,” I tell Shade. “Besides, Nox will be nearby if anything goes awry.”
The Nevenwolf chuffs, as if to agree. He’s curled in a far corner, Nettle pouncing among his shadows.
“In any case, I need you here, watching the palace in my absence,” I add. “Margaret will doubtless be hatching plots of her own while I’m gone. And Blodwyn…”
I haven’t seen or spoken to the princess again since our argument and I have no idea what’s going through her mind.
Let me take care of the girl, Shade presses.
Perhaps I should finally listen. Blodwyn is a loose end. She could destroy everything with a single word. My gaze twitches over to the drawer where I keep the mirror’s knife. The dark path that waits for me, should I take it.
Don’t be afraid of who you are, that voice slinks through my mind.
“Not yet,” I tell Shade. “Just…watch her.”
He nods, though I can sense his dissatisfaction in the agitated tempo of his shadows.
When will you return? he asks.
“Hopefully in a few days,” I reply. “Callen says he spotted the covens’ party within Riven’s borders. We should arrive at the Sanctum before they do and set our trap. Once we apprehend the witches, we’ll bring them back here.”
And then the Heirs will be ours. Mine, at long last. It feels like I’ve waited a hundred years for this day.
I expected that it would feel larger now that it’s here.
More triumphant. But I cannot escape the hum of dread in my veins.
I remove my crown from my head. Deep within its craggy jewels, I glimpse the pulse of magic.
I can feel it withering, Jacquetta said of her own power. Dying. Like pieces of myself are just…decaying.
After what happened, I shouldn’t care about her pain. Still…
“If this works,” I say to Shade, “and after we take the last of the witches’ power…will they feel the way you did during those years behind the Veil?”
He pauses a moment. Then, Is that not the purpose, my queen?
“Yes,” I agree. “It’s only…”
I trail off, recalling a time when I chased a different purpose. A world without factions or divisions. One in which Jacquetta and I could just be two witches, our hands and hearts joined forever. If I go through with this plan, that world will never exist.
Do not doubt yourself, Shade rasps. We are so close.
He’s right. There’s little use in mourning an imaginary world. The shadows are real. As is Shade, who is standing beside me now, just as he’s always done since I broke the Veil. Jacquetta can’t say the same. And she never will.
“Here,” I say, taking the crown to my Huntsman. “Keep this with you. I don’t want to take the chance of the Heirs getting it.”
Shade bows, his shadowy fingers curling around the Bloodstones.
It will be safe with me, my queen, he promises. And I look forward to your return. The start of a new age.
His crimson eyes glitter.
I try to let his confidence fill me up. Lean into the destiny stretching before me, close enough to touch. But as Shade dissolves into the darkness, I turn my palm up, tracing the three faint lines of my sister’s mark.
And I wonder yet again what Rhea would say if she could see the world I built.
—
The day of our departure dawns gray and rainy.
I wait with the rest of the party in the courtyard as guards inspect every crack and crevice of the wagons and carriages.
Jacquetta hasn’t been brought out yet. I think they’re saving her for last, which is fine with me.
Given her connection to the covens, it was necessary for the other witch to join us during some of the planning meetings.
But we’ve not spoken alone. I considered going to the dungeons to visit her before we left, but what’s the point?
What could she possibly have to say to me after her betrayal?
Still, I recall the pain in her gaze in the throne room.
Why hasn’t she named me a witch? Is this all part of her plan? Or is there another, deeper reason?
“Your Majesty,” Master Parnell brings me back into the present, his black robes rippling like smoke as he cuts through the throng of onlookers.
“Everything is prepared. The scouts sent word that they sighted the witches’ party about a day and a half from the meeting site.
That should give us plenty of time to prepare for their arrival. ”
I nod. Callen gave me a similar report earlier this morning. It’s good news, I tell myself. Everything is going according to plan. Even so, I can’t shake the restless feeling that I’m missing something. But that’s probably Callen’s fault.
Good luck, he drawled before I left. I’m certain this endeavor will turn out about as well as all your others.
Perhaps once the witches are defeated, I’ll finally be able to smash that mirror.
“I must caution Your Majesty again regarding the danger of this journey,” Parnell continues. “There’s no need for you to join the party. The Hunt is perfectly capable of bringing the witches back to the palace on their own.”
“It’s better that I go,” I insist.
Because I’m not letting Jacquetta out of my sight for an instant.
“Yes, don’t try to dissuade her, Parnell,” another voice chimes in, one I’d honestly—and perhaps foolishly—hoped to avoid before I left. “When the queen makes up her mind, it’s quite settled. Isn’t that right, Ayleth?”
Margaret glides over, one of her courtier’s smiles plastered to her face.
“You didn’t need to see me off,” I tell her, meaning it.
“Nonsense,” she replies. “You’re family. And don’t worry. I’ll keep the palace in good order during your absence.”
The back of my neck prickles. Leaving her alone here is perhaps the most dangerous aspect of this plan. But Shade won’t be far, I remind myself. He’ll keep Margaret reigned in, if it comes to that. Nearby shadows shimmer, as if in reassurance.
“And I’m so sorry the princess can’t be here to wish you luck before you go,” Margaret continues, frowning. “I sent for her, but I don’t know where she is.”
Avoiding me, likely. I glance up at the library windows and think I might see someone peering down at me. But the face just as quickly vanishes.
“What about Joan?” I ask Margaret. “Have you seen her?”
“The marquess? I’m afraid not.”
“I heard she may be leaving court,” Parnell supplies.
That shouldn’t surprise me, either, given our last conversation. But Joan’s evident rejection still stings.
It doesn’t matter, that voice insists. She was never truly your friend.
“Majesty?” a guard calls. “We should go if we’re to arrive at our stopping point by dark.”
I nod and head for the carriages.
“Take care,” Margaret says, following me across the courtyard. “We’ll finish the arrangements for the final trial before your return.”
I don’t bother to respond. Because there won’t be a final trial. Not if I can help it.
A slight commotion stirs the courtyard as someone else is brought out of the palace. Jacquetta, escorted by her ring of guards. Her eyes meet mine and I sense a question churning in their depths, one that might even be a plea.
A crow calls overhead, its shadow skimming over the courtyard.
That old rhyme resurfaces: One for sorrow.
—
That night, we make camp in a clearing just off the road.
Guards patrol the area, their torches bright through the canvas of my tent.
I should attempt to get some sleep, but I’m restless, my mind spinning with all the ways this plan can fail.
My shadows keep close and I can sense Nox nearby—sometimes even catching the shine of his eye in the darkness.
But, for the first time since I broke the Veil, I crave the comfort of light.
Aside from the guards, most of the camp is still and quiet when I push out into the night, heading for the campfire. Too late, I realize I’m not alone. Someone turns at my approach, backlit by the glow of the flames. Jacquetta.
I freeze. “What are you doing out here?”
“Oh, was I supposed to be chained inside the carriage for the duration of the journey?”
Maybe, I think bitterly. I certainly don’t want her free to roam the camp. But Jacquetta doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere. In fact, there’s an open bottle at her feet.
“Is that wine?” I ask, nodding at it.
“Perhaps,” she answers. “Want some?”
More than life itself. I don’t want to take it from her, though.
“No. I was just…”
She holds out the bottle and shakes it temptingly. The last of my resolve withers. I cross over to her and swipe it from her grasp.
“Where did you get this, anyway?” I ask, settling myself as far from her as possible on the short log serving as a bench.
“Guards had it,” Jacquetta replies with a shrug. “I threatened to hex them if they didn’t hand it over.”
That sounds about right. I take a long drink. The liquid burns like fire down my throat, so unexpectedly harsh that I choke, coughing half of it up.
“And it’s not wine,” Jacquetta adds with a smirk.
“You might have warned me,” I croak out, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Even though my tastebuds are seared off from the drink, I can still detect a faint hint of roses in my mouth. Of her.
“Oh, are we warning each other now?” she asks.
I bristle and start to answer back, but then register that her words were a little slurred. And she’s swaying slightly in her seat. “Are you drunk?”
“Trying to be,” she says, lurching over and yanking the bottle out of my hands. “Thought I might as well enjoy my last hours.”
I roll my eyes. “They wouldn’t be your last hours if it weren’t for that stunt you pulled.”
“Stunt? That’s funny. I seem to recall someone else”—she points the bottle at me and liquid spills out—“proposing the plan to capture and kill the witches. Including me.”
The nearby shadows lengthen.
“What else was I supposed to do? You went to Margaret.”
“Because you wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“I wouldn’t give up my power,” I retort. “And neither would you, were you in my position. You made that very clear.”
Jacquetta crosses her arms. “Well, then there’s nothing left for us to say, is there?”
No, there isn’t.
So I snatch the bottle back and take another long drink, grimacing as the alcohol sears down my throat.
In the sullen silence that follows, night creatures hoot and chirrup.
I might be able to spot the shine of Nox’s crimson eye through the trees.
I’m half tempted to call the Nevenwolf—let him deal with Jacquetta.
Then again, with how my luck has been faring, Nox would probably take her side.
Besides, there’s something else that’s bothering me.
And Jacquetta is drunk enough that I just might get a truthful answer.
“Why didn’t you tell Margaret about me?” I ask.
Jacquetta stiffens. She’s quiet for so long that I’m not sure she’s going to answer. Then, “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”
Wind pushes in around us, stirring the fire. Is that the whole reason? Or is there more? Even with the alcohol, I can’t read the truth in Jacquetta’s expression.
It doesn’t matter, that voice reminds me. She betrayed you.
“I doubt the Heirs will feel the same, though,” Jacquetta continues. “Especially not once they’re locked in your dungeons.”
The same thought already crossed my mind. And not just mine. Shade also warned that the Heirs might expose my secret—one of the many reasons why he insisted that we take the witches’ power immediately. But I want the trial and the show. Want to watch them kneel before me and beg.
“I’ll handle them,” I tell Jacquetta, swigging from the bottle.
“Oh, I’m sure,” she drawls. “Let me guess. First you’ll have your shadow pet steal our power and then you’ll feed us to the flames?”
I shiver in the next gust of wind. And I should tell her yes. That she earned this fate. But perhaps the liquor is working its way through my own blood because when I look at Jacquetta, the firelight bringing out the silver in her eyes, the words don’t come.
“It doesn’t have to be that way for you,” I tell her instead. “You can still choose Malum.”
Choose me.
Jacquetta reaches for the bottle and takes another drink, her lips slick with the liquor. And I must be getting drunk, because all I can think about is how those lips used to feel against mine. How they used to taste. Maybe Jacquetta is remembering the same thing, for she leans closer. Starts to—
“No,” she says, near enough that the word brushes my face. “Whatever you do to the others tomorrow, you’re going to have to do to me. And you’ll have to live with it.”
Her rejection, swift and final, cuts deeper than any blade. But I refuse to let her see it. I yank the bottle from her hands and hurl it into the fire. It bursts among the flames, angry sparks erupting into the night.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening. As you said, it’s likely your last.”
And then I turn on my heel and stalk back to my tent, ignoring the sound of what might be a muffled sob behind me.