Chapter Sixty Ayleth #2
I expect Callen to lash out at her for that, but he merely smiles. “But I could earn that trust. We’re the same now, the two of us. Touched by power. Let’s test it together.”
“You’ve never been interested in me before,” she throws back, bitter. “All you’ve ever wanted is a son.”
“Yes,” he says, thoughtful. “But at least I was honest about that. Unlike her. All those years of lies and deceit. Think about who she is, Blodwyn. All that she’s done to you. What she will do if given the chance. We can stop her. Now.”
The seconds stretch out, long and thick. I’m barely aware of the rest of the court, still clustered behind me. Callen removes the knife from the box and nudges it into Blodwyn’s hand.
“Be my heir,” he tells her. “Better than any son could ever be.”
At that, her gaze snaps to his and I know that I’ve lost. How often had I hoped my own mother would utter the same words to me?
Blodwyn grips the knife so hard that her knuckles whiten.
Perhaps Mother was right all along, I register dully.
This is the prophecy. Blodwyn will be my death.
Maybe it’s a fitting end for me, after everything.
A beat passes. Two. I grit my back teeth, bracing for her blow.
The mark on my hand blazes.
I gasp, looking down at my palm. The three lines of Rhea’s triangle burn bright gold. Blodwyn stares at her own hand, then back to me. Something seems to click in her mind. She draws herself up and squares her shoulders.
“No,” she says, firm and clear. “I won’t do it. I won’t take her heart—not hers or anyone else’s.”
A few courtiers cry out in relief. But Callen visibly stiffens.
“Consider this carefully, Daughter,” he says. “If you refuse, the White Palace will cease to be your home. You’ll be stripped of your title. I’ll treat you like the witch that you are. You’ll be nothing.”
Nothing. The same fate I’d been running from for so long.
I was so afraid of being unwanted that I wasted most of my life contorting myself to fit the roles others created for me.
Even this one—the wicked queen bent on vengeance.
Blodwyn, however, is different. Stronger and braver than I ever was.
She looks her father straight in the eyes and says:
“I’d rather be nothing than whatever you are.”
Rage rolls off Callen in waves. He lunges for Blodwyn. She swings, the mirror’s knife glinting as it arcs toward him. Callen leaps out of the way, avoiding the blow, and the blade sinks into Parnell’s chest instead. It strikes true, as it was runed to do—straight into the steward’s rotten heart.
Slick red blooms around the knife’s hilt. Parnell gapes at it, as though unsure what’s happening, and then stumbles to his knees. He coughs, blood limning his lips, and then falls to the ground, his black eyes open and empty.
Blodwyn stares, stunned, at the pool of crimson spreading from beneath the dead man. But Callen wastes no time. He yanks the knife from Parnell’s chest and brandishes it at the princess. Parnell’s blood glistens red on the blade.
“No!” I shout. This time, the guards are too shocked to stop me as I rush forward to put myself in front of Blodwyn. “Don’t touch her!”
Callen bares his teeth. “Then I’ll take your heart first. Mirror or not.”
He draws his arm back to strike.
“Run, Blodwyn!” I shout. “Go!”
A loud thud rattles the throne room doors.
Callen’s attention whips to the right. Another slam is enough to crack the bolt.
The doors crash inward. Bodies pour into the chamber, steel flashing.
Glass shatters as the guards drop their mirrors to engage against the attackers.
The courtiers flee, shoving their way through the chaos and into the hall beyond.
An arrow whizzes past us. It grazes Callen’s arm and he curses, releasing the knife, which clatters to the ground.
Blodwyn snatches it up and points it at him.
He hesitates a beat longer, weighing his options, then turns on his heel, snatches Margaret’s wrist, and darts in the other direction. I don’t bother to go after them.
“Are you all right?” I ask Blodwyn, taking her shoulders.
She nods, breathless. “Yes, I—”
“Blodwyn!” A young woman rushes up to us.
The princess reaches for her. “Verity! Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she says, waving her off. “But we should leave. Now. I can take you to my chambers.”
“It’s better than here,” I reason.
Verity nods and starts to guide us away. But then—
“Ayleth!”
Someone fights their way out of the fray and my heart leaps.
“Jacquetta!” I meet her halfway and pull her to me. “I thought you were captured.”
Or worse.
“They certainly tried,” she says, briefly returning my embrace. “But we had help. Look!”
She indicates the doors, where yet more people are charging into the throne room.
Most are wearing colors I don’t recognize, but I spot Sindony and a few other witches.
And then…the Dwarves. There are at least a dozen of them, gemstone-colored eyes blazing as they hack and swing with their enchanted weapons.
“Mistress Witch!” Roland fights his way over to us. Joan is with him, carrying an axe of her own. “Not dead, I see.”
As usual, I can’t decide if he’s happy about that.
“Not yet,” I agree, nodding a quick greeting at Joan and the rest. “What are you doing here? You said the Dwarves didn’t want to be involved.”
“Aye, well. Turns out, some of them did,” he explains gruffly. “Tilda convinced them. They showed up just after you were fool enough to get arrested. Along with that one.”
He jerks his chin toward the battle, where a young man is deflecting a palace guard.
“Gavin?” Blodwyn gasps.
He turns. Finishes with the guard and rushes over. “Blodwyn! You’re here. I thought—”
“I’m fine,” she says. “What are you doing here? Verity said you left.”
“I did,” he agrees. “But I sent word ahead and had my men meet me halfway to the palace. We were on our way back when we ran into the others.”
Blodwyn crosses her arms. “On your way back? To stage a coup?”
“No, of course not. Blodwyn, I’m so sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I never should have listened to my father. Should have told you what was going on. I’m an idiot.”
I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about and share a puzzled look with Jacquetta, who merely shrugs. Verity nudges Blodwyn and they exchange a silent conversation.
“All right,” Blodwyn says at last.
His brow furrows. “You…forgive me?”
“That’s not what I said,” she replies. “But I’ve made enough of my own mistakes of late to understand yours.”
She glances at me. The mark on my palm prickles and I notice her clench her fist as well, as though she might be able to feel it.
“Right,” Roland says. “I hate to interrupt whatever this”—he circles his hand around our group—“is, but there does seem to be more pressing matters at the moment. Such as the king?”
Damn everything. I look back in the direction Callen had fled. “He ran off as soon you arrived. He could be anywhere by now.”
“We have to go after him,” Gavin says.
“Oh aye. Just search the whole palace, shall we?” Roland grouses. “That sounds like a good idea. Why don’t we—”
A deafening crash splits the throne room. Screams erupt as glass bursts inward, the enormous windows exploding. I duck, pulling Jacquetta down with me before we’re sliced to ribbons.
“What the hell was that?” she asks when the room settles.
I shake my head, my ears still ringing from the blast. “Whatever it was, it came from out there.”
We hurry over to look outside. The massive gates surrounding the courtyard have been completely destroyed. A figure strides through the wreckage, her cloak snapping in the wind.
“Is that…” Jacquetta starts.
“Mother,” I whisper.
And an army of shadow creatures pours in after her.