Chapter Forty-Six Ayleth #2
She stops short when she spots us. And the look on her face is all the confirmation I need that my theory is the right one—or at least near enough.
“Your Majesty,” Margaret says, dropping the papers and rising. “You’ve returned.”
“Are you surprised?” I ask. “Perhaps you assumed your creature had slaughtered us by now.”
“My creature?” she asks. Margaret is a good actress, I’ll give her that. But not good enough. Not anymore.
“You remember,” I go on, “from the ball? And at the hunt? When you summoned it.”
She scoffs. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Ayleth. I don’t—”
“I know,” I say, stepping closer. “I know your secret. The reason you were banished from the palace. Why every trace of you was scrubbed from the royal records. You may not be a witch, but you were dabbling in some form of power. You used it to bring the creature here. Planned to use it to kill me, the witches, even Blodwyn. All so you could take the throne.”
Margaret just stands there, the wheels behind her eyes spinning.
“The witches,” she says at last, “are dead. All of them?”
All? What does she mean by that? I glance at Jacquetta, but she just shakes her head.
“Probably,” I reply. “We didn’t stay to keep count. Why does it matter?”
A muscle in Margaret’s jaw feathers. Thunder claps outside. The duchess goes to the fire, backlit by the glow of the flames.
“Well, you’re correct about one thing,” she says. “I’m not a witch. Not like you, Ayleth.”
Every muscle in my body stills as those gray eyes lock with mine. That place on my left ribs shivers. Beside me, Jacquetta moves closer.
“Aren’t you going to deny it?” Margaret continues. “Tell me it’s just a rumor? That was clever of you, I admit. Allowing such gossip to circulate. Disguising the truth in plain sight. Sooner or later, though, it catches up with you.”
The fire crackles in the silence. I clench my fists, my heartbeat thudding in my palms.
“If your plan is to expose me to the court, go ahead,” I say. “No one will believe you. Not once they learn of your own involvement with the creature.”
I expect her to argue—or even to beg for my mercy. But Margaret merely throws back her head and laughs. It’s a haunting, grating sound that raises the hairs on my neck.
“My involvement?” she asks. “My dear, if I could have summoned that creature, I would have done so years ago. Simply for the pleasure of razing this palace to the ground.”
My brow furrows. “Razing it?”
“That’s right.” She crosses to a sideboard and pours herself a glass of wine. “Your theory about my so-called banishment is entertaining, but somewhat muddled. Would you like to hear what really happened, Your Majesty?”
Instinct warns me that this is a trap, but my curiosity wins out.
“Fine,” I relent. “But don’t waste my time.”
“To the point, as ever.” She raises her glass to me, then drains it in one gulp.
“I imagine you’re both aware by now that my brothers were largely useless.
Honestly, the realm was fortunate when Arthur died.
He would have been awful—so serious and obsessed with the Order.
Tiergan would have been fun, at least. But he was an idiot.
And there would have been dozens of royal bastards running around making a mess of the succession. ”
Margaret pauses. Refills her glass.
“And then there was Callen.” Her voice drips with disdain. “Selfish. Hateful. No more capable of running Riven than a rabid dog. Papa understood that. He always said that I had the sharper mind. The stronger spine. That if I’d only been born a man…”
Her jaw works and she takes a deep drink of her wine.
“But I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she continues.
“Papa wouldn’t hear of naming me his heir instead of my brother.
And so I decided to force his hand. Forge an alliance of my own.
It couldn’t be through the normal channels, of course.
But I knew of a group of people who wanted revenge against the White King as much as I did. ”
Understanding hits. I exchange a look with Jacquetta.
“Do you mean…the covens?”
“You’re cleverer than I assumed,” she comments.
“And yes. It seemed the most obvious solution. If the witches were the cause of the war, I reasoned that they could be the cure. And I despised the Order, especially that scheming and slippery High Priest. It would have given me great pleasure to knock him down. I suppose I should thank you for doing me that service.”
Margaret raises her glass in my direction again. I don’t react.
“So I struck a deal,” she says. “I would gather information for the covens. Recruit my own forces. Together, we would depose my father and put me on the throne. In return, I would overturn the edict, allowing witches to remain in Riven. It would have been a new age. And I would have been a glorious queen.”
She stares off into the distance, her gray eyes glittering. It’s a bold plot, one I’m not at all surprised to hear that Margaret invented. Except…she isn’t on the throne.
“What went wrong?” I ask.
“What always goes wrong?” She deals us a rueful smile. “Men got involved. My father discovered my plans. They used my information to track down the witches who allied with me. Raided their Sanctums. Killed them, I’m sure. And then I was shipped off to marry that decrepit bore in Darryn.”
Lightning flashes, painting the room in white.
I sort through the pieces of her story. If the Hunt used Margaret’s information, and the Heirs were involved, then the duchess is very likely the reason Selene lost her home.
Perhaps Della and the other Heirs as well.
And I realize something else—Mother must not have agreed to the plan to ally with Margaret.
Perhaps that’s why the others were so resentful about Stonehaven.
Not just because they disagreed with our disguise, but because their own plan had so thoroughly failed.
“So you see,” Margaret goes on, “I’m not a witch. But I have very much wished otherwise.”
Unwelcome sympathy knocks through me. She reminds me of Marion, the courtier Callen cast aside as soon as it suited him. Punished for reaching too high. For trying to survive in a world built to shut her out.
“But all this was twenty years ago,” Jacquetta remarks. “Have you been communicating with the covens the whole time?”
“No,” Margaret replies. “In fact, given what happened, I assumed they were all dead. Imagine my surprise when Selene and the others turned up in Rycinthia. Even more so when my brother suffered his mysterious accident and then my niece came knocking on my door.”
All events I set into motion.
You always make mistakes, that voice goads.
“But the Heirs allied with Rycinthia,” I counter. “How does that help you? Did you assume that King Frances would simply hand you Riven’s throne if he wins this war?”
“Of course not,” Margaret says with a shrug. “But this war of yours has been useful in depleting the Rycinthian army. Once I got what I wanted, my own forces would have easily finished the job. And ideally, the witches would have regained their power by then.”
Which is what Margaret was really hoping for when we met with the covens.
Not to kill me—or not only that. But that the witches would reclaim the Bloodstones and reforge the Veil.
Use their power to fight beside her. Another oily ribbon of dread winds around my bones. What a complete fool I’ve been.
“And Blodwyn?” I ask. “How much of this did she learn? Is that why she fled?”
Margaret pauses. Adjusts one of her rings.
“She’s my niece,” she says. “Despite what you think, I do care about her.”
“But you care about yourself more.”
She’s no better than Mother, using the princess like a pawn.
“Don’t act noble with me,” Margaret scoffs. “I’ve always seen you for what you are. Getting close with her. Gaining her friendship to wiggle your way into Callen’s bed.”
I bristle. “I never wanted any of this.”
Margaret laughs again.
“Everyone wants it. Entire wars are fought over thrones, including this one.” She gestures wildly around her. “Because everyone wants the crown. But only one person can wear it.”
Thunder cracks, shaking the palace.
“Well, it won’t be you,” I say.
“I suppose we’ll see,” Margaret replies.
Even now, challenge shines in her gaze. “Say what you like about me: Not a single person in this court will stand for my execution. And don’t forget about my army.
They will march on the palace. If you’re smart, you’ll realize that I’m the only one who can get you out of this mess. ”
It’s exactly what Callen said and I hate Margaret for it. Hate the part of myself that worries she might be right. But, even now, I refuse to let her see it.
“You’ll remain here until I decide what to do with you,” I tell her. “If you attempt to escape, or to move against me, I’ll put you in the dungeons, damn the court’s opinion.”
Margaret just raises her eyebrows.
“As you wish. But decide quickly.” She swirls her wineglass. “I know what you are, Ayleth. If I fall, I’m dragging you down with me.”