Chapter Fifty-Seven Ayleth #2
I’ve wielded that motto like a weapon to justify my own cruelty. But what justice comes from violence? In claiming the Bloodstones for myself, I was no better than the covens, hoarding power to keep it from others.
And suddenly I understand what we need to do.
“The crown,” I say. “We have to destroy the crown.”
The others gape at me.
“Crown?” Jacquetta asks carefully. “You mean the Bloodstones?”
“Yes,” I agree, my own certainty building as the idea stitches itself together in my mind.
“The witches created the Veil to contain Malum. But I used the crown. It’s like a Veil of its own, holding the covens’ power inside it.
Keeping Malum and magic apart. But if we destroy the crown, we can release the magic. Restore the balance of power.”
“Absolutely not,” Sindony snaps. “The Ancients died to forge the Bloodstones. They belong to us.”
“The Ancients did die for the Bloodstones,” I agree. “And so did your mother. And mine, near enough.”
“Mine as well,” Jacquetta adds quietly.
The rest of the witches shift in their seats, their own losses evident on their faces.
“How many others will die?” I ask them. “Will we just keep repeating the same mistakes? Drawing the same lines and crossing them? We can choose another path.”
The silence stretches on. Even after everything that’s happened, I expect Sindony to refuse. To cling to the past as her mother did, as well as hundreds of witches before her. She meets my gaze, the wheels spinning behind her green eyes. And something else, too. Grief, perhaps.
“All right,” she says.
“Sindony, we can’t—” another witch starts.
She holds up her hand, staying them. “We’ll go so far as retrieving the crown. After that, we’ll decide what’s to be done.”
It’s not the outcome I hoped for, but it’s better than nothing.
“Right,” Roland chimes in. “Just one tiny problem with this plan. Last I checked, the crown is gone. Think that mother of yours will be keen to hand it over?”
Not in the least. A grisly image of Mother biting through raw flesh resurfaces, blood running down her chin. How long until she returns for Blodwyn’s heart?
“We’ll have to take it from her,” I say, then look to Sindony. “Would Rycinthia help?”
“I’m not sure. The alliance was,” she pauses, “tenuous at best. It will be even more strained now that my mother is gone.”
It isn’t good news, but it’s not a surprise, given the details Jacquetta shared regarding the witches’ treatment in the Rycinthian court.
“What about your army?” Sindony asks. “Can’t you muster them? Isn’t that the whole point of you being queen?”
I huff a rueful laugh at that, yet another of my failings.
“I’m not queen anymore,” I say. “Or not enough of one. Callen—the king is awake.”
“Papa is awake?” Blodwyn asks, aghast. “How did that happen?”
I hesitate, as I would very much like to avoid this conversation, but it’s going to have to come out sometime. The other witches should be informed as well.
“It’s…a long story,” I begin. “But the short of it is that I bound his heart to a mirror. That’s how I’ve been controlling him.”
Blodwyn looks at me like she might be ready to strangle me. But she holds herself back—for now. Sindony and the others appear similarly horrified. Or perhaps impressed.
“If you’re controlling him,” Sindony starts. “Can’t you—”
“He’s beyond my reach,” I interrupt, bitter. “Callen and another courtier schemed to release him from the glass and he’s now fully in command of the palace—and the army.”
“So you’ve wrecked this, too,” Sindony comments dryly. “How typical.”
She’s right, that voice needles me. You could never have succeeded.
I clench my fists against it.
“But the mirror…” This time it’s Joan who speaks. She’s been quiet for so long that I nearly forgot she was with us. “At the palace, you said the king is still tied to it. What happens if it breaks? Would he die?”
“That’s what should happen,” I confirm. “Why?”
Joan beams. “Because if we have the mirror, then the king will have to cooperate with us. We can force him to use the army to defeat Cassandra.”
“Spirits,” Jacquetta mutters. “She’s right.”
She is. Leave it to Joan to be the one to solve everything. Except…
“The mirror is still at the palace,” I point out. “How can we—”
I look to Roland, who instantly guesses my thoughts.
“Oh aye,” he huffs, sulking. “Me again, is it? Just ask Roland. He doesn’t mind sticking out his own neck for a witch’s insane plans. He enjoys a good whiff of death now and then.”
“Please,” I beg. “There’s no other way.”
“Well, you best think of one,” he says. “Because I’m not going back there. Not with the king awake and—”
“I’ll go.”
All attention pivots to Blodwyn.
“No,” I say at once. “It’s far too dangerous. If Callen finds you—”
“He’s not looking for me,” she says. There’s a touch of resentment in her words. “And I know the servants’ passages better than anyone. I can retrieve the mirror while the rest of you prepare to seize the palace.”
Every scrap of my common sense rebels against this plan, and not only because it risks Blodwyn’s life. Despite how far I’ve come with the princess, doubts still swarm in my mind.
She will betray you, that incessant voice echoes.
I recall what Mother said about the prophecy. That Blodwyn will be my death, or I hers. Will she send me to the pyre? I might, if I were in her position. But what if she doesn’t? What if we really can restore an ancient balance? Not just of magic, but of trust?
There’s only one way to find out.