Chapter Fifty-Six Blodwyn
Chapter Fifty-Six
Blodwyn
The palace is cold and empty.
Everything appears murky, like I’m viewing it from underwater.
The faces in the portraits are warped. The scenes in the tapestries shift and change in odd patterns.
I can barely feel my feet padding through the endless, deserted corridors.
Eventually, I reach a part of the palace I don’t recognize.
It reminds me of the abandoned Order’s wing.
Cobwebs drape down from the ceiling, and a thick layer of dust carpets the floor.
An ancient staircase waits in the distance and I obey the strange impulse to climb it, discovering a door at the top, its wood grayed and worn with age.
Inside, there’s a narrow chamber, one entirely incongruous to the rest of the wing.
The curtains on the bed appear new and are embroidered with an unfamiliar family crest. The other furnishings are polished and shining.
And the fire in the grate is lit, casting a warm glow over the room.
“Hello, Blodwyn.”
I startle at the voice, spoken by a woman sitting in a chair by the window. Her long, black hair is bound in a braid that reaches her waist. Her obsidian eyes study me intensely. My brow furrows. Because there’s something oddly familiar about her. Like we’ve met before.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
She smiles softly. “In a way. We’re acquainted through the pages of my story.”
Her story? Understanding reaches through the fog of my mind.
“You’re…Matilda?”
Princess Matilda. The lost princess. But that means…
Pay the price, the ominous words echo beneath the crackle of the fire.
If this is the lost princess, then I know exactly what she wants. I turn on my heel, desperate to escape, but the door has closed behind me. And locked, apparently. I shove my shoulder against it, rattling the hinges, but it won’t budge.
“You needn’t fear me,” Matilda says. “I will not harm you.”
“Yes, it seemed that way at the ball,” I retort, shoving the door again. The stubborn thing refuses to give.
“I did not attend the ball,” Matilda says in her strange, calm manner. “The creature you saw was a witch. Someone we must both work to fight against.”
A witch? That gives me pause. I turn around, searching Matilda’s face for any traces of deceit. Not that I consider myself particularly skilled at recognizing it.
“A witch?” I ask. “You mean Ayleth?”
“No. Not the queen.” A pensive, almost sad look crosses her face. “Come. I will explain. But we don’t have much time.”
Time. I’m suddenly very aware of the hazy, dreamlike quality of this place. Of the fact that if this is Princess Matilda, she’s not a rotting corpse. Which means…
“Am I dead?”
“No,” Matilda replies with a small laugh. “Not yet, at least.”
This does nothing to assuage my nerves. “What does that mean?”
“Think,” she says, patient. “Call it back.”
I do as she instructs, my mind wading through my muddy thoughts. Gradually, images begin to form: The cottage in the woods. The apple.
“Poison,” I whisper. “Verity…”
But no, it wasn’t her. The memory sharpens, showing me another face. An old woman.
“It was her,” I breathe. “The creature.”
“Yes,” Matilda agrees. “The witch who would consume your heart.”
Panic flares bright again.
“But she hasn’t…” I start. “You said I’m not…”
“The poison is holding you between worlds,” Matilda explains. “I didn’t give you the apple, but I am taking advantage of the situation. I have been trying to communicate with you for quite some time.”
“Trying?”
“Your fever was my first attempt,” she admits. “Though you were stronger than I anticipated. And there have been others. The book you found. The dreams.”
Wind pushes against the tower, carrying the call of a crow and a rasping voice.
Pay the price of blood and snow.
“All that was you?” Anger swiftly outpaces my shock. “I thought I was dying. That I was losing my mind. The hallucinations. The nightmares. Is this what you do for fun?”
“Please.” She puts up her hands in surrender. “I understand your frustration, but you must listen. And I know you’re curious about the other book you discovered. The one belonging to Sybil.”
Mother’s journal.
“How do you know about that?”
In answer, she gestures to the chair near the fire. “Sit. Hear me, Blodwyn. This will be your only chance to do so.”
The flames snap in the silence. No matter what this woman claims, I have no idea of her true identity—or her intentions. And I’ve made so many mistakes recently. Still, where else am I going to go? If she’s right, I’m already half dead.
Grudgingly, I settle myself in the chair. Matilda draws a handkerchief from her sleeve and I notice that a raven is stitched in the corner. Mother used to embroider ravens.
“Is that my mother’s?” I ask.
A soft smile tugs at Matilda’s lips. “No. It belonged to my own mother. She—like yours—was certain that Riven needed a queen to lead it into a new age. There were legends back then about an ancient magic. One that ran like veins through Riven itself. My mother made a wish on that magic. She dropped her blood into the snow and begged for the daughter who would change the world.”
Ravens. Blood. Snow.
A shiver runs down my spine.
“You?” I say.
“It might have been,” she replies, though I detect a hint of resentment in her words. “When my father called his contest, I believed it was my chance to prove myself. I would win and show them all. Become the queen my mother knew I could be.”
“But they didn’t let you,” I say, recalling her story.
“No,” she agrees, running the handkerchief through her fingers.
“Father would have. Despite what you may have read, he fully intended to pass the throne to me. It was his council who wouldn’t hear of my ascension.
They schemed to crown Braxos in my stead.
In the end, Father decided that my marriage to the apple farmer was close enough to my ruling in my own right. ”
From the stiffness in her body, it’s obvious that she doesn’t agree. And I don’t blame her. After all, I know what it’s like to be passed over because I’m a princess and not a prince. To be underestimated and ignored.
“So you ran away?”
“Not exactly,” she says. “When I was locked up here alone, I remembered my mother’s wish.
Wondered if I might call on that same magic.
And so I spilled my own blood on the snow and made a promise: If that ancient force would come to my aid, I would dedicate my life to its service.
And then, as a show of my devotion, I jumped. ”
“From here?” I ask, glancing out the window. It’s a dizzying drop to the ground. “You can’t have survived.”
“But I did,” she replies, smiling. “The magic protected me. Had a purpose for me.”
“What purpose? You weren’t queen.”
“No. And my initial disappointment was devastating. When I summoned the magic, I assumed it would force Braxos and the council to recognize my sovereignty. But I soon learned that magic does little to compel others. Not for long, at least. It’s what you do with it yourself that holds the true power. ”
That resonates in a place deep inside me. I think of Gavin’s mother and her efforts to help those around her with her makeshift spells. Of Ayleth’s actions, which were nowhere near as altruistic.
“So what did you do?” I ask.
“Nothing at first,” she admits. “For a long time, I remained in hiding, attempting to understand my path. But then I found others like me. Witches and women who were weary of being overlooked. Taught to hide their gifts. They helped me realize that my destiny was not to sit on a throne. Rather, I would be a different sort of queen. Together, we formed the first coven.”
Coven. Her meaning registers.
“But those are witches who forged the Veil.”
“Indeed,” she says. “I was born Matilda, but I became Millicent. One of the Five.”
A breeze wafts in through the window, smelling of snow.
“You’re…” I start, recalling my history. “An Ancient?”
Matilda—Millicent—makes a face. “I did so hate when they started calling us that. It makes me sound like a crone.”
“You were born over a thousand years ago.”
She waves me off. “And now I’m dead, yes. Thank you. Which means it took me quite a bit of trouble to be here.”
“Why are you here?” I press. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
Because I’m starting to suspect that the poison has reached my brain. Perhaps all this is nothing but a hallucination. The room starts to swim, blurring around the edges.
“Blodwyn.” Millicent’s voice warps and distorts. “Stay with me.”
She grips my arm, her touch like ice, and the shock of it brings me back to the present.
“We don’t have much longer,” she says, urgent. “Listen to me. We five formed the covens as a way to grant women and witches the power they deserved. But we became too entrenched in our own hierarchies. Corrupted by infighting and greed.”
“That’s what Ayleth said,” I say softly.
“Yes.” That same look from earlier, like regret, crosses her expression. “For a time, I thought she might help me. But I’m afraid I’ve done her more harm than good.”
I huff a laugh. “Ayleth is the one causing harm. She only cares about her own power.”
“Perhaps,” Millicent allows. “But she was right to break the Veil. We made a terrible mistake to forge it in the first place.”
“Mistake? The Veil was the only thing holding Malum back.”
“That’s what we believed as well,” Millicent says.
“But the truth is that we created the Veil out of fear. We didn’t understand Malum and so we removed it.
We disrupted an ancient balance. Stoppered the very power that rescued me from this place all those years ago.
You’ve witnessed the proof of that yourself: the blight and disease. Riven is collapsing.”
I shake my head. All this is too much.
“But…what’s happening in Riven is because of Malum, isn’t it?”
Millicent reaches for me again. “Hear what I’m saying, Blodwyn. Magic and Malum are the same force. Two halves of an ancient power. They must be reunited. The mistake we made must be undone.”
“How?”
“I cannot tell you that,” she says, regretful.
“Only this: Near the end of my life, I realized our error. That I could not be the one to fix it. And so I once again spilled my blood upon the snow. Called on the roots of that buried power. I promised the remainder of my gift to the true queen, whoever that might be. For she was the one to lead Riven out of the darkness. Not the darkness of Malum, but of ignorance. And the person who summoned that power would be the one to carry on my work.”
Gooseflesh breaks between my shoulder blades, the words of Mother’s journal resurfacing.
Ravens. Blood. Snow.
“Mother’s writings…”
“Yes, Blodwyn.” Millicent nods. “Your mother discovered my story. My real story. She offered her own blood to seal the bargain.”
My heart slams against my chest. “But—Mother wasn’t a witch.”
“No.” Millicent smiles. “And that is what made her act so important. Because she wanted none of my power for herself. She paid the price for you.”
The price of blood and snow.
My throat tightens. Could it be possible?
Could the words I’ve feared for so long actually be a blessing—one from Mother herself?
There’s no question in my mind that Mother would have done such a thing.
She was adamant that I become queen. Always encouraging me to take after the women from her tapestries, strong and fearless.
Beneath the scent of the fire, I swear I can detect the soft and floral scent Mother used to wear.
But it doesn’t help. In fact, it only makes me feel worse.
“I don’t know how to be queen,” I admit, helpless. “I don’t know anything about magic or even Malum. I’m not like you.”
“You are,” Millicent presses. “Don’t forget that I was a princess, too.
Taught to be small and unassuming. To be quiet and to stay out of the way.
But that was not my destiny and it isn’t yours, Blodwyn.
Do not be afraid to be loud. To be powerful.
That is all it means to be a witch. To know your worth and to claim it. The rest will follow.”
Every scrap of sense I possess rebels against this idea. But there’s another part, tiny and fragile, that reaches toward it. Yearns for it.
“What do I have to do?” I ask softly.
From the pocket of her gown, Millicent withdraws a small knife. Its blade gleams in the firelight. “The same thing I did. And your mother before you. Call on that magic. Invite it in. Use it to restore the balance of power before it’s too late.”
Fear skitters down my spine.
“And if I fail?”
She brushes one of her ice-cold fingers down the curve of my cheek. “Then at least you will have tried. That is all any of us can do.”
With a trembling hand, I take the knife Millicent offers. The tower groans again, listing dangerously to one side.
Come on, I hear beneath the whine of the wind. I know you’re still there.
The room blurs and I have to fight the next wave of dizziness.
“Hurry,” Millicent urges. “Here—like this. The same mark I made: past, present, future. A promise to honor the magic within. In all its forms.”
She extends her hand, palm up. There, just below her left ring finger, three faint lines cross in a triangle.
You can’t leave us yet, that voice again.
My heart beats harder, the tower swaying. I look out into the night. Moonlight gleams against the fresh-fallen snow. And then, just as Millicent did, I drag the blade against the skin of my palm, carving the triangle. Calling the magic.
Three drops of my blood fall into the snow, crimson against white.
And then the tower crumbles around me.