The Crimson Crown, page 29
“Like the prince’s body? Really?” Roland rubs his chin. “Don’t suppose you found out what caused that?”
“No.” And it’s maddening. “But they have to be related. I don’t think that thing that was following us in the crypt was coincidence either. I suspect it was the Nevenwolf, trying to break free of the Veil.”
Roland shakes his head. “Dark times, these.”
An understatement. “Why have you come? Did you find anything about where the Bloodstones might have gone?”
“Not specifically,” he says. Disappointment swoops in my belly. “But I did have a thought. One I should have considered before, honestly. We Dwarves keep a record of what comes through the Mines—commissions and such.”
“A record?” I repeat. “You think the Bloodstones might be mentioned there?”
“Should be,” he confirms. “That’s how my brothers knew about the swords. There might even be a mention of the weapons returning to us, and what was done with the Bloodstones—assuming they weren’t outright stolen.”
My mind whirs. This is good news. “Where are the records kept?”
“Here.” Roland waves toward the back of the library. “Guild records are stored in the archives. But you’ll need some luck getting in there. The Keepers are particular about visitors.”
Luck—I’ve never known the meaning of that word. Vaguely, I recall running into the High Priest on my first visit here. He’d mentioned the archives. If Ignatius is the sort of person permitted into that section of the library, I doubt one of the queen’s maidens shares the privilege.
My attention flits to Roland’s set of keys. “Could you—”
“Oh no.” He crosses his arms. “I’m not taking you anywhere. Not after last time.”
“Roland, please.”
“No.” He points at me. “You’re on your own with this errand. It was risky enough taking you to the crypt. If I get caught sneaking you into the archives, I’ll be a head shorter.”
Fair enough, I suppose. Still…the records are right here, and I can’t get to them.
“Don’t go making that face at me. Here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small ring. “It’s enchanted. Put it on and turn it, and I’ll come.”
He drops the ring into my palm. Silver glimmers in the candlelight, illuminating the Dwarves’ crossed-pickaxe symbol etched onto the inside.
“You…want me to have this?” I ask, more than a little surprised that Roland would trust me with something so valuable. “That’s kind of you.”
“Kind has nothing to do with it,” he snaps. “Can’t have you getting caught and telling them about me when they torture you.”
There’s the Roland I know. “I appreciate your confidence.”
“Aye. And I’ll be wanting it back, mind. Don’t go abusing the privilege either. I’m not your personal errand boy.”
“Of course not.” I slip the ring into my pocket. “For what it’s worth, I really do appreciate everything you’ve done to help me. I know it hasn’t been easy.”
Roland grunts, surly as ever, though I detect a faint flush smearing on his deep brown skin. “You’re right there—all this sneaking around, risking my neck. Well, whatever you do, take care, Mistress Witch. Something’s coming. We can sense it in the Mines.”
“Remind me again how you got us into this situation?” Jacquetta grouses as we navigate the halls the following morning. We’d been summoned to Marion’s chambers immediately after breakfast, which is the last place we need to be. But there’s nothing for it. The countess will doubtless devise a worse fate for us if we fail to appear.
“It’s part of the idiotic banquet,” I tell her. “I was hoping Marion would forget.”
“And miss an opportunity to torment us? Unlikely.”
Torment is exactly what’s waiting for us in the courtier’s chambers. “Let’s just get this over with and then we can go back to the library.”
“Yes, I’m sure we’ll have a much better day there.” Jacquetta adjusts her headdress. “I must have skimmed through dozens of books yesterday. There wasn’t even a drawing of the Bloodstones.”
At least I’m not alone in my failure. “If you have a better idea, I’m happy to hear it.”
“I don’t,” she admits. “But…isn’t it odd? You mentioned the Bloodstones were brought to the palace as trophies. Shouldn’t trophies be shown off?”
She has a point. “They were in the royal swords. But now…”
“Exactly,” she says, tugging at her sleeve as she thinks. “What if they didn’t just go missing, but someone is hiding them?”
Assuming they weren’t outright stolen, Roland had said. What if they had been?
“But who would be hiding them?”
Her blue eyes meet mine. “I think that’s what we have to figure out.”
A feat that sounds about as simple as killing a Nevenwolf. I ignore that thought, as we have a bigger problem to face at the moment. We’ve reached Marion’s chambers. Before I even get the chance to knock, a servant answers.
“We’re here for—” I start.
“Right this way,” the girl says, motioning us through. “The countess is expecting you.”
Excellent.
Marion’s thick oleander perfume hits us as soon as we enter the suite. The countess’s rooms are almost as elaborate as the queen’s. Honeyed morning sunlight pours through the stained-glass windows, all of which are decorated with motifs of blossoming apple trees. The furniture is polished and outrageously expensive. Plump chaises upholstered in burgundy silk, mahogany tables held up with legs carved like graceful-necked swans, chests engraved with forest scenes. A bowl overflowing with apples waits on a sideboard.
The servant leads us deeper into the suite, toward the sound of laughter.
“Ah, here they are,” Marion says as we cross into what must be her bedchamber.
Evidently, we’re to have an audience. Three other ladies are seated on cushioned chairs, nibbling on plates of cheese and fruit and observing us with a mix of amusement and curiosity. Fitz, who is perched on the courtier’s lap, lays his ears flat and growls.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invited the others,” Marion says, setting down her own plate of half-eaten fruit. There’s more on a table nearby, but no one invites us to partake. “The additional opinions might prove helpful, given how daunting our task.”
Daunting for us. My attention travels the room. A huge hearth swallows one wall, the marble sculpted to resemble a tree climbing toward the ceiling. The rugs, patterned with apples, are plush beneath our feet. But the bed is the most striking piece. It appears large enough to hold ten people, the mattress piled with a mountain of blankets and pillows. Blue velvet curtains hang from the frame, embroidered in gold to resemble the night sky. An unwelcome image creeps into my mind—Marion and the king in that bed.
“Isn’t it magnificent?” Marion asks, nodding toward the bed. “It was a gift.”
Her lips curl in a smile that suggests she knows exactly where my mind wandered. I curse the flush prickling on my cheeks.
“Let’s not waste any more time.” Fitz complains as Marion shoos him off of her lap. She claps, summoning three servants who descend upon us and begin unlacing our dresses.
“I can do that,” I insist, vainly attempting to fend off their hurried hands.
“No modesty here.” Marion selects a grape from the plate. “There’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”
The others pick at their breakfasts, observing us like we’re players on a stage. To make the experience even better, Fitz decides that our being wrangled out of our uniforms is a game. He zips between us, attacking and pawing at our discarded skirts, his nails likely tearing holes that will earn Duchess Poole’s wrath.
“Every other lady at court will be dressed as a peacock or some such.” Marion walks slowly in front of us after we’ve been stripped down to our corsets and shifts, her dark eyes traveling from the top of our heads to our feet. I have never felt more exposed in my life. “The two of you should wear something more…unique.”
She pauses and tilts her head at Jacquetta. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you? I never can tell what you’re thinking.”
I can. Especially now. If the fire in Jacquetta’s eyes were real, Marion would be nothing but a burnt ember.
“How about”—Marion points at her—“a mouse? Yes. Didn’t Master Foulton direct a production with such costumes last year?”
“That’s right,” another of the ladies agrees. “The players wore masks with pointed noses and whiskers.”
“Perfect. I’ll have him send one over. And we must fashion something to serve as a tail.” She gestures at a servant, who rushes off into another chamber. “And for Mistress Ayleth…”
My muscles tense as Marion adjusts the shoulder of my shift where it fell, the brush of her fingernails like claws against my skin.
“You’re quiet as well. But I sense there’s something…deeper within.”
Darker, that voice whispers.
“I’ll make you…a snake,” Marion determines. “Fitting, I think.”
She deals me that dazzling smile, and that deep urge from the menagerie rises up again, goading me to fight back. Show her what I really am. But I smother it. Whatever that feeling is, it’s too close to Malum to trust. And lashing out at Marion won’t do me any good right now.
“Come.” Marion grips my upper arm. “We’ll need to tighten that corset.”
She steers me to face a full-length mirror on the other side of the room. The last time I’ve really looked at myself was at Stonehaven, when Selene gifted me the witch’s mirror, and I flinch at my own reflection. Has it really only been weeks since I left? I appear so much older. My sleepless nights show on my face. Dark rings smudge under my eyes and my white skin is paler than it should be, especially next to the healthy glow of Marion’s. What’s happening to me here? Is it Malum, slowly eating me away?
“I recall when I first arrived at court,” Marion tells me, giving my laces a swift tug. “It was all a glittering blur, especially whenever the king was near. But I suppose that’s to be expected. It’s said that when His Majesty looks at you, it feels like standing in the sun.”
The corset creaks as she tightens the stays again. I wince, one hand going to my stomach. “I think that’s enough.”
“Not quite.” Marion draws the laces even tighter. My next breath hitches.
Relax, I tell myself.
“But should the king look away,” Marion continues, “I’ve heard it is like the darkest, coldest night.”
She yanks hard enough to squeeze my ribs. My lungs constrict, and I can’t get enough air. In the mirror, my reflection swims. For an instant, I’m sure that it’s not me but Rhea. Her lips are moving, like they were in the fire.
It must be undone.
“What?” The word croaks. Rhea starts to fade away. “Wait. Don’t…”
“I, for one,” Marion’s voice is strangely distorted, “will not be left out in the cold.”
Another cinch of the laces sends a wave of dizziness over me. My knees buckle.
“You’re hurting her!”
A pair of arms catches me as the floor rises. Something scrabbles at my back and, an instant later, air whooshes mercifully into my lungs. I suck down breath after grateful breath, inhaling the scent of juniper.
“By the Light, I had no idea she was in such a state.” Marion presses a hand to her chest. “I assumed she would be accustomed to a snug corset.”
“That was more than snug,” Jacquetta snaps. “And she told you to stop.”
She’s still kneeling next to me, her hands bracing my shoulders. The heat of her travels through me, warming my blood.
“I’m fine,” I manage. My focus, still a bit blurry, shifts to the mirror. Had it really been Rhea? Or was I hallucinating?
The silk of Marion’s dressing gown whispers as she crosses to the plate of fruit.
“Perhaps, in future, it’s better if you remember what you can and cannot handle. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She takes a bite of a strawberry, the juice smearing on her lips.
Like blood.
* * *
—
“What is wrong with that woman?” Jacquetta seethes as soon as we escape from the countess. “And that dog. I’m going to hear it barking in my sleep.”
I press at my sides, which are still slightly tender after the vise of the corset. “It’s my own fault. I baited her at the card game.”
“Whatever you said, I’m sure she earned it.” Jacquetta throws a stony glare in the direction of Marion’s rooms. “She might have killed you.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time she tried,” I comment.
Jacquetta raises an eyebrow. “Have you decided to stop blaming me for the wine?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, ignoring my flush of embarrassment at the mention of the poison. “A man followed me during the hunt. I’m fairly certain Marion sent him.”
“Followed you? Is that why you were up in that damn tree?” I nod and her eyes flash. “Why didn’t you say something?”
She reaches out, but stops herself before her hand touches my arm. My pulse flutters at her nearness and at what might be genuine concern written on her expression.
No, that voice says. It’s dangerous.
“I didn’t exactly get the chance,” I say, “seeing as I was avoiding being skewered by someone else’s arrow.”
This time, Jacquetta flushes. The rise in color suits her, highlighting the elegant angles of her cheekbones and the curve of her neck. She starts to reply, but a blotch of brown skitters past me. A pair of footsteps quickly follows.
“Crumbs!” the princess calls. “Crumbs, wait!”
Blodwyn barrels down the corridor, a storm of burgundy skirts and unbound ebony hair.
“Oh hello, Ayleth!” She waves over her shoulder. “I’m afraid I can’t stop.”
A small army of ladies and servants chases the princess, clucking and fussing like the hens in Stonehaven’s cloister. I stare after them, utterly bewildered. Blodwyn is the unlikeliest princess I’ve ever met. She could run this whole realm if given half the chance. She certainly runs her corner of the palace, what with her secret excursions through the passages and ordering the Keepers about in the library.
The library.
An idea strikes, one I should have thought of before.
I know exactly how we’re going to get into the archives.
“The archives? That’s an unusual request from you, Princess.”
The Keeper studies Blodwyn from over his half-moon spectacles. Jacquetta and I stand behind the princess, doing our best to appear nonchalant. I’m just grateful that it didn’t take much to convince Blodwyn to want to visit this place. As soon as she heard there were forbidden books within reach, the princess practically bolted out of her chambers.
“Perhaps,” she allows. “But I’d like to go. Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
The Keeper’s frown deepens. “Not explicitly, but…”
“This is the royal library, isn’t it?” She crosses her arms. “And I am royal?”
I have never admired this girl more. Honestly, I wish I had an ounce of her brazen confidence. Beside me, Jacquetta ducks her head to conceal what I suspect is a smirk. The Keeper, to my amazement, smiles as well.
“You are, indeed.” Amusement gleams in his eyes and he sweeps a bow. “Follow me.”
“That child could take on a Nevenwolf,” Jacquetta murmurs as the Keeper weaves his way through the tree-like stacks. “It’s somewhat terrifying.”
“I know,” I agree. “I love it.”
The Keeper halts us at a pair of huge mahogany doors deep in the library. On one side of the paneling, there’s a rendering of Braxos sitting under his apple tree. On the other, Meira holds out his crown.
“Let me know when you’ve finished,” he says, unhooking a brass ring of keys from his belt. “And no tarts in there, I’m afraid. These books are too rare to risk any mishaps.”
Blodwyn scowls, disappointed, but she doesn’t argue as the Keeper unlocks the door and motions us through.
The smell of old books and papers is thick as we enter the chamber. Two torches are lit near the door, and Jacquetta and I each remove one from its holder. Rows of stacks and stone columns come into focus in the glow of our light. Tables are littered throughout the space, the wood worn and cracked. A draft winnows through my clothes.
“Which of these are the books I’m not supposed to read?” Blodwyn asks, lighting her own torch and heading off into the dimness. “I hope they contain lots of beheadings.”
“Wait,” I call after her, having no desire to have to explain that we lost a twelve-year-old princess in a restricted part of the library.
“Let her go,” Jacquetta advises. “Better that she doesn’t know what we’re looking for.”
I suppose that’s true. And Blodwyn will be fine—probably.
Alone, Jacquetta and I wander into the shelves. The archives aren’t as expansive as the main library, but still large enough that I’m beginning to regret leaving the Keeper behind. We could spend days searching here and never locate what we need.
“Where did you hear about this place again?” Jacquetta asks.
“The…High Priest mentioned it,” I fumble, still judging that it’s better to keep Roland’s involvement a secret. “I thought there might be records here from the Mines.”
Jacquetta nods. “Good idea.”
That same warmth from the last time she complimented me blooms in my chest. I didn’t realize how much it would mean to have my ideas respected instead of questioned. Now that I think of it, even those closest to me, like Eden, rarely took me seriously. Even when I tried to share my fears with her on the night of my Ascension, she wouldn’t hear them. At the time, I assumed she couldn’t understand my feelings. But perhaps she simply didn’t want to understand. It was never like that with Jacquetta. She was the one witch who never judged me for my lack of interest in the craft. She never once compared me to Rhea.
