Chapter Fifty-Seven Ayleth
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Ayleth
A deafening crack splits the cloister.
The ground trembles. I shield Blodwyn as logs roll out of the fire and broken bits of the Sanctum rain down on top of us.
When everything finally settles, I lift my head, taking in the wreckage.
Shards of glass and fractured pieces of stone litter the ground.
Sindony and the other witches are sprawled where they fell.
But Mother and Shade are missing. They must have fled.
“What’s happened?”
My breath catches, instantly recognizing the voice. It’s Blodwyn’s.
“You’re…alive,” I say, overwhelmed by shock and relief.
And she’s better than alive. By some miracle, the purple veins that were showing through Blodwyn’s skin have vanished.
Healthy color blooms in her cheeks. But Blodwyn doesn’t seem to notice any of that.
She pushes herself up to sit and studies her hand.
The three crossed lines on her palm glisten red against her white skin.
Is that what brought her back? Rhea’s magic?
I press my thumb into my own mark, sending silent gratitude to my sister.
“I’m sorry for that,” I tell Blodwyn, indicating the triangle. “It was the only thing I could think to try to wake you. I wasn’t even sure it would work.”
She looks at me, a crease digging between her brows. “What are you talking about?”
“The triangle,” I clarify. “It’s the same rune my sister gave me and I hoped—”
“You didn’t do this,” she tells me. “I did.”
I just shake my head. “Blodwyn, you couldn’t have. You were unconscious.”
“I know that,” she replies. “But I made the mark. It’s Millicent’s.”
“Millicent?” I repeat, bewildered.
“The Ancient,” she says, her dark gaze holding mine. “She showed me what to do. And then she gave me her power.”
—
If possible, Blodwyn’s announcement causes more of a stir than Mother and the shadows.
After an initial storm of questions and threats being shouted at one another from across the cloister, we reach a temporary—and tenuous—truce with Sindony and the other witches.
We, along with Roland, Joan, and Blodwyn, gather in what remains of Stonehaven’s Great Hall, our astonished attention pinned to the princess as she recounts her story.
It’s even more fantastical than one of Willa’s tales.
Blodwyn describes stumbling upon the lost princess in the abandoned tower.
Millicent. The Ancient’s journey to become one of the Five who forged the Veil.
Queen Sybil’s past and the ritual she completed, one that tied Blodwyn to the Ancient herself.
Silence descends when the princess is finished, filled only with the howl of the wind outside.
“I’m sorry.” Sindony is the first to speak. “But do any of you actually believe this?”
The witches exchange wary glances, evidently sharing Sindony’s skepticism. Even I have to admit that Blodwyn’s story is a lot to absorb.
“What reason do I have to lie?” Blodwyn throws back. “And how else do you explain why I survived?”
“Ayleth gave you the antidote,” Sindony answers with a shrug. “Maybe it worked. And the poison probably caused whatever bizarre hallucination you experienced.”
“It wasn’t a hallucination,” Blodwyn insists.
Sindony rolls her eyes. “So a mortal princess who lived a thousand years ago just randomly became a witch? An Ancient? Even if that were possible—which it isn’t—if Millicent decided to pop through the Veil for a visit, don’t you think she’d choose one of us?”
“There isn’t a Veil anymore,” Blodwyn replies, clipped. “And perhaps Millicent didn’t bother with you because she knew you wouldn’t listen. Or she just didn’t like you. I can’t imagine why that might be.”
Roland grunts, as if to second her opinion. Sindony glares at both of them.
“There’s a simple way to prove this,” she says, crossing her arms. “If Millicent gifted you her power, then let’s see it.”
The princess blinks at her. “What?”
“You heard me, little witch,” she says in her grating, superior tone. “I want to see a demonstration of your alleged abilities.”
She tilts her head at Blodwyn, expectant.
“I…don’t know how,” the princess admits.
“That I believe,” Sindony says wryly.
Blodwyn deflates, the same way I did during my lessons with Mother. Every time I proved myself inadequate and disappointing.
“That’s enough,” I warn Sindony. “Leave her alone.”
Sindony arches an eyebrow. “Why should I? Unless…don’t tell me that you think any of this nonsense is true.”
Blodwyn fixes me with a hard stare. I want to side with her, I do. But how can I? The idea of a mortal transforming into a witch is surreal enough, but an Ancient gifting Blodwyn her power? Does magic even work like that?
“I don’t know what to believe,” I admit at last. Sindony smirks and Blodwyn fumes. “But I don’t think you’re lying.”
“You don’t think I’m telling the truth, either,” Blodwyn retorts.
“Who would?” Sindony asks. “A word of advice, Princess: If you’re going to concoct a story about an Ancient, you should have picked a better one. Everyone knows Millicent was useless. The whole line is tainted.”
That is the last straw. Anger surges through my veins and I lunge for Sindony. Jacquetta catches me around the waist, holding me back, but I fight against her. I may not have my power, but I can wrap my hands around Sindony’s neck and—
“Stop!” Blodwyn slams her hands on the table. “This is precisely what Millicent was talking about. The arguing and infighting. It’s what destroyed everything in the first place.”
Shame scalds the ridges of my ears. Even Sindony appears chastised, but not by much.
“She’s not wrong,” I relent. “And, while I don’t understand everything about Blodwyn’s story, some of it makes sense. The realm is dying. We’ve witnessed that for ourselves.”
“Aye,” Roland agrees. “Mines are only getting worse.”
And not just those. I think of the forest with bleeding trees. The lakes stained crimson.
“And whose fault is that?” Sindony drawls, gesturing in my direction. “If someone hadn’t released Malum on the realm, we wouldn’t be here.”
“And if someone else—” I start.
“Millicent said it isn’t all because of Malum,” Blodwyn interrupts. “The real problem in Riven is the imbalance of power. She said that Malum and magic are two halves of a whole. That they need to be reunited.”
Two halves of a whole? The words ripple around the table, witches visibly flinching against them. The idea that magic and Malum could be related goes against everything the covens taught us. I share a look with Jacquetta, who seems as perplexed as I am.
“Nonsense,” Sindony scoffs. “I don’t recall Riven being plagued by disaster when the Veil was in place.”
“Because you benefitted from it,” I counter. “But there are plenty of others who didn’t. Like Shade and the others?”
My former Huntsman may have deserted me, but that doesn’t mean I’m unsympathetic to what he has endured. Not to mention Nox and the rest.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. The Veil protected us from such danger.” She points at me. “From creatures like you.”
A few other witches nod their agreement. The dregs of my power buzz in my chest. Is that all I’ll ever be to these witches? A threat? A monster?
“Watch yourself,” Jacquetta warns Sindony.
She only laughs. “Still on her side? How predictable. Mother always claimed that you and Nerissa were half-Wayward.”
“Better Wayward than obsessed with a handful of magical rocks.”
Another argument flares up, but Roland heads it off.
“Stop your squabbling!” he barks. “I don’t know what happened with the princess and the…
whatever it was, but I do know of another witch who is very much alive.
And she’ll be coming back here before long.
The king as well, likely. I, for one, would prefer to live out the rest of my days with my head on my shoulders. ”
He’s right. Mother might be licking her wounds for now, but she will certainly attack again. And Callen probably has the whole of the Hunt scouring the realm in search of me. I’m not sure which of them is more dangerous.
You will burn, Mother’s warning resonates beneath the whine of the wind.
“I don’t suppose that your good friend Millicent gave you any ideas about getting out of this mess?” Sindony asks Blodwyn.
The princess just glowers at her.
“Millicent couldn’t tell me anything specific,” she admits, earning a derisive snort. “But she did say that the balance of power needed to be restored. That the only way to save Riven is to undo the mistake the Ancients made.”
Undo. The word strikes like an arrow.
“Millicent said that?” I ask. “That exact word?”
“Yes,” Blodwyn replies. “Why?”
It must be undone.
Rhea’s words roll around in my skull. I can almost see my sister again, standing across the hall as she was on the night Ignatius brought her out of the mirror. Her cold hand clamped in mine as she urged me on.
“It’s the same thing my sister said,” I tell them. “When she crossed from beyond the Veil.”
The other witches murmur, trading furtive looks. All except Sindony, of course.
“Oh, wonderful,” she says, sniffing. “Another ghost story. How many of these do you expect me to endure?”
“It’s not a story,” I retort. “Rhea was real. And she told me that it must be undone. At the time, I assumed she meant the Bloodstones and the Veil. Perhaps she did. But maybe there was more to her message.”
A message from Millicent herself. And one I’ve been too stubborn to heed. I look at the princess, her dark eyes like depthless pools. I’m still not sure what to make of her story, but this much I know in my bones is true.
“Blodwyn is right,” I say. “We do as Millicent says. Restore the balance of power.”
Sindony just sighs. “And how do you propose we do that? There’s scarcely anything left in this realm but Malum, thanks to you.”
I can’t argue with her. For so long, that’s what I thought I wanted: a world comprised solely of Malum. The world I was destined to lead.
Fairest of them all.