Chapter Sixty-Four Ayleth
Chapter Sixty-Four
Ayleth
What seems the whole of Riven arrives to celebrate Blodwyn’s coronation.
The White City is teeming with visitors, far more so than the trials boasted, banners flying and celebrations lasting long into the night.
Unlike previous coronations in Riven, Blodwyn invites the people to attend the ceremony.
Visitors cram into the palace courtyard, the line of well-wishers stretching all the way down the side of the mountain.
It’s far more enthusiasm than I received at my own coronation.
But it doesn’t bother me to hear the crowds chanting Blodwyn’s name.
In fact, I’m relieved to be out of the spotlight. As much as I can be, anyway.
There was some debate about whether I should be allowed to attend the ceremony at all.
Some argued that my presence would be distracting.
Others, apparently, want the coronation to double as my execution.
For Blodwyn to sentence me to dance in a pair of hot iron shoes during the feast. The idea is prevalent enough that a few visitors carry banners calling for the event.
I hear some merchants in the city are even selling trinkets—tiny iron shoes painted red.
I don’t care. The world will always crave a villain.
If they want to paint me as such, let them. I’m the one who knows the truth.
“Well,” someone says, taking the place beside me in the front row of the throne room. “I certainly never imagined that I’d be here.”
It’s Sindony. She and the other witches were invited to the coronation, but I wasn’t sure if they would attend. I keep craning my neck, searching for one in particular, but—as far as I can tell—Jacquetta hasn’t arrived. Where is she? And why has she stayed away?
She doesn’t care for you, that voice goads.
Even after everything that’s happened, it still will not leave me alone.
“Why did you come?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It’s better to be involved. See for myself if this so-called Witch Queen will keep her promises.”
“She won’t,” I reply, earning a raised eyebrow. “She’ll do much more.”
Sindony just grunts. “I suppose we’ll see. Her grand visions certainly won’t be easy to accomplish.”
“And I’m sure you’ll be around to tell her exactly what she’s doing wrong,” I add.
“If she asks for my council, I’ll give it,” Sindony answers primly. “But even you must concede that there’s significant history to overcome. Half of the other witches refused to set foot in this place on principle. I don’t blame them.”
At the mention of the others, I stiffen. I tell myself not to ask the next question, but it slips out, anyway. “And Jacquetta?”
Something that might be pity crosses Sindony’s expression.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “I haven’t seen her.”
Much as I try to fight it, disappointment swoops through my belly. But I don’t get long to wallow. Horns blare, echoing over the chamber.
“Presenting the Princess Blodwyn!” one of the heralds announces.
The entire hall rises as Blodwyn enters.
She wears a gown of gold, which only heightens the golden hue beneath her skin.
Her dark hair is done up with pearls and diamonds.
She looks like a star fallen to earth. A goddess among mortals.
She progresses slowly down the aisle and takes the throne. No longer a princess, but a queen.
The true queen—just as the prophecy foretold.
—
After the ceremony concludes, the parties begin.
The Great Hall has been transformed into a scene from a winter forest. Birch trees arch up into the ceiling, dozens of enchanted candles suspended from their limbs.
Blodwyn’s crest flutters from where it’s embroidered on dozens of banners, but there are others as well.
The crossed pickaxes of the Dwarves. Even the seal of the covens, picked out in gleaming thread that shines in the torchlight.
“Well,” someone remarks behind me, “I imagine my brother is rolling in his grave.”
I turn to find Margaret examining one of the Dwarvian ice sculptures.
We haven’t seen much of each other since the events of the courtyard.
The duchess seems entirely recovered from her ordeal.
She wears one of her stunning gowns, but I notice it’s not quite as ostentatious as normal.
Blodwyn’s crest is pinned to her bodice.
“Glass coffin, rather,” she amends. “Honestly, I’m surprised Blodwyn granted him the honor of the crypt. I would have left him in the courtyard. Let the vultures peck out his eyes.”
I see the duchess’s new heart has done nothing to alter her character.
I look back at Blodwyn. She’s seated at the High Table.
Her friend, Verity, is on one side of her.
On the other, one of the lords is rambling on about something.
Blodwyn catches my eye and makes a beleaguered expression. I wave back at her.
“She’s better than that,” I say.
“She is,” Margaret agrees, following my gaze. She straightens the pin on her bodice. “Better than all of us. I was a fool for not seeing it.”
“That makes two of us,” I murmur.
Another courtier peels himself away from the crowd. It’s Weston. He’s dressed in something similar to what he wore when Blodwyn first arrived—silk and ribbons, rings glittering on his fingers. He carries two wineglasses and hands one to Margaret.
“Your Graces,” he greets us, bowing low.
I manage a tight smile. Blodwyn bestowed the title on me when she named me one of her royal advisors, much to the grumbling of her council. I accepted it, but only as a courtesy. It feels as natural as the crown did—not at all.
“Has the duchess shared our good news?” Weston asks, grinning. I shake my head. “We’re to be married.”
Married? I look from Weston to Margaret, who simply nods and shrugs.
“I…congratulations.”
“You see?” Weston stands up taller and puffs out his chest. “I told you that I’d be a duke by the end of this visit.”
“Yes, yes,” Margaret says, patting his arm. “I was quite swept off my feet and unable to resist your charms. Now here—” She drains her wineglass and passes it to him. “Why don’t you go fetch me another of these?”
He plucks the glass from her hands and lifts it in salute. “It would be my pleasure, my future bride.”
Weston grins again, the same proud look Nettle wears when she brings me a mouse, and bustles off into the crowd.
“You’re really going to marry him?” I ask, jerking my chin in the direction he went.
“I don’t see why not,” she replies, bored. “He’s fun. Easily trained. And he’s devoted to me. Besides, after my last marriage, I like the idea of having the upper hand.”
I’ve never heard worse reasons to marry. But they’re certainly Margaret’s.
“He thinks he’s going to be a duke.”
“Oh, let him,” she says, waving me off. “It’s not doing any harm.”
I just laugh and shake my head. “So…is this the end of the visit?”
She arches an eyebrow. “Are you so eager to get rid of me?”
I don’t trust myself to answer that. Margaret just smiles.
“We haven’t been friends,” she says, guessing my thoughts. “How could we have been, I suppose? Both of us clawing for the same thing. For what it’s worth, you were a formidable opponent. I couldn’t have done any better myself.”
It’s a strange compliment, but I take it as high praise coming from her. And it suddenly saddens me that it’s the first compliment Margaret can muster. Because scrabbling to survive is the only thing she understands.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, surprised at how much I mean it. “For what happened to you here. For how you were treated by your family and the court. I wish things had been different for you.”
“You know,” she says, thoughtful, “I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before. And…I suppose I’m sorry for you, too.”
It’s not exactly an apology, but I accept it. I scan the hall again, spotting Sindony and the other witches. Jacquetta still isn’t among them.
“To answer your earlier question,” Margaret goes on. “Yes, I am leaving. Blodwyn asked for my help facilitating a new alliance with Darryn, and I’m happy to do it. What about you?”
This question again. I take a healthy swallow of wine.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Margaret just looks at me. The wheels behind her gray eyes working. “You know, it’s the oddest thing. I seem to have retained some of my abilities from the mirror. Nothing much, but I find it very easy to tell when someone is lying.”
Heat climbs up my neck. “I’m not—”
“I think you know exactly what you want,” Margaret says. “And I think you should go after it. Otherwise, what was all this for?”
She deals me a last knowing look and then someone calls her name and she drifts back into the crowd. But her words linger:
What was all this for?
Honestly, I’m not sure that I know. I’m happy to see Blodwyn thriving. But I assumed that restoring the balance of power would give me some sense of completion. That I would finally understand my path. Instead I feel as lost as ever—perhaps even more so.
The sound of music and laughter is suddenly overwhelming and I take myself out into the evening, letting the cool air bathe my flushed skin.
From what I hear, Riven is reverting back to what it should be—at least near the palace.
The surrounding forests have ceased leaking that strange, crimson substance.
Even the stars are brighter, no longer shrouded in shadow.
My attention lands on one constellation in particular.
The seven stars arranged in the Spirits’ Mirror.
I press my thumb into the place on my palm where Rhea’s mark rests. It’s not just her that might be looking down from those stars now, but Mother, too. What would they think of all this?
“Here you are.”