The Crimson Crown, page 30
And yet she still left you, that voice whispers.
I grip my torch tighter.
“The books must be arranged by subject,” Jacquetta says, reading the spines. “These are all military history.”
“Hopefully the Dwarvian records aren’t far,” I say, shivering. “This place is massive. And it’s freezing.”
“Better than Marion’s chambers.”
True enough. “The costumes she sends us are going to be hideous.”
“We could skip the banquet,” she suggests, turning down another aisle.
“Tempting,” I allow. “But they’d look for us. Marion is clearly counting on a show.”
“Too bad we can’t return the favor. Wait—” She pauses. Her blue gaze glitters in the torchlight. “Do you happen to remember the recipe for contortion powder?”
A laugh escapes me. “Oh yes, that would go over well. No one would suspect anything if Marion showed up wearing the face of a lizard.”
Jacquetta blinks innocently. “What? The theme of the banquet is a menagerie. Marion would blend right in. And I was thinking less lizard and more…rodent. Like we did with that one witch. What was her name? She’d caught us sneaking out and made us scrub pots.”
“Gert.” I laugh again, picturing the other witch’s face transformed by the potion. Her small pink nose and long whiskers.
“That’s right. It lasted for what, three days?”
Jacquetta laughs, and I realize that it’s the first time I’ve heard her do so in years. I used to hear it every day, filling the south tower or ringing through the trees. I’d forgotten how contagious it is. How it lets sparks loose in my veins.
“We never got caught, though,” Jacquetta goes on, still grinning. “Because Rhea—”
A wave of cold douses me.
Jacquetta instantly sobers. “I’m so sorry, Ayleth. I didn’t think…”
I clench my fists against the triangles etched below my ring fingers. As much as the pain of my grief sears through me, irritation swiftly follows. All it took was the mention of Rhea’s name to ruin the moment—send me spiraling back into the sadness of her death. I pull myself up, refusing to let myself be dragged down by it.
“Rhea said she’d done it,” I say, fighting the hitch in my voice. “She said it was some accident in the workroom.”
The stiffness in Jacquetta’s shoulders relaxes. “She was always covering for you.”
She was. She still is, for that matter. I press my thumb into the mark on my left palm, two lines drifting apart and then coming back together. That’s us, she’d said. It might be my imagination, but the triangles prickle faintly.
“I was jealous of you sometimes,” Jacquetta admits softly.
“Jealous?” I repeat, surprised.
“What you and Rhea shared was special,” she says, not taking her focus from the books. “I wanted a sister.”
I never knew she felt that way. “You and your mother seemed to get along well enough.”
We turn down another aisle. Judging from their titles, these books seem to be related to the first White Kings—journals and such.
“We do,” Jacquetta allows. “But it’s different. Mother and I…”
My torch snaps in the draft. “What?”
Jacquetta’s fingertip pauses in traveling along the row of books. “Sometimes I think she wants more from me than I can give. That I’m not enough as I am.”
That resonates in a place deep inside me. A sudden urge bubbles up from the pit of my stomach—to confide in her about my relationship with my own mother. I’m desperate to talk about it, especially with someone who understands. But a sharp, insistent instinct restrains me.
No matter how it may seem, this isn’t Jacquetta from the forest. And I’m letting myself get far too close. I’m falling back into habits that will be my undoing.
“I’m sorry” is all I allow myself to say, throat tightening.
So quick I almost miss it, Jacquetta flinches. Had I wounded her?
Good, that voice whispers. Keep her away.
Awkward silence settles between us, broken only by the crackle of torches and the shuffle of Blodwyn’s distant footsteps. Time passes, but, with no windows or bells, it’s impossible to discern if it’s been minutes or hours. I start to worry that we won’t locate the records, or that the Keeper will come back and force us to leave, and quicken my pace.
As I round the next shelf, torchlight glimmers against the gold foil of an emblem stamped into the book spines. It’s a crossed pickaxe symbol, exactly like the one on Roland’s cap. My heart beats harder. The Dwarvian records.
“Jacquetta.” I nudge her. “This is it.”
I snatch a book off the shelf. The pages are filled with neat rows of dates and names and objects.
Gilded Mace, commissioned by King Reston, Age of the Covens 350
“Age of the Covens,” Jacquetta reads, tapping the page. “These go back before the war. They weren’t burned.”
Which means they should mention the Bloodstones. Exchanging a hopeful glance, Jacquetta and I yank stacks of ledgers off the shelves and dive into them.
Enchanted Mirror, commissioned by High Witch, Coven Ravenwood, Age of the Covens 1113
Glass Coffin, commissioned on behalf of King Archibald, Age of the Covens 1536
That’s where my book ends. I reach for another, but then—
“Ayleth.”
Something in Jacquetta’s tone sends alarm bells ringing in my mind. Her fingertip hovers over the middle of her book. And then I see it. Short, ragged edges run down the inner spine, where several pages have obviously been ripped out. Dread pools in my belly.
“Tell me it’s not…”
But the line of her mouth is tight and when I read the dates on the remaining pages, I understand why—
Age of the Covens 2999. The last year before the war.
Age of the Light 3. The third year of the new age.
The years in between are missing. Years in which the royal swords, set with the Bloodstones, would have been commissioned.
“We don’t know what was recorded there,” Jacquetta says, guessing my thoughts.
But I do. I know it in my bones. I flip through the rest of the book, frantically searching for some mention of the stones being returned to the Mines, but there’s nothing. Of course there isn’t. The only record of the Bloodstones was written on the pages that were stolen. I grip the sides of the book, torn between throwing it and setting it on fire. Burn this whole palace down.
“Who would have taken those pages?” I shake the book. “And why those records and not anything else?”
Jacquetta shakes her head. “Perhaps it’s the same person who’s hiding the stones—maybe this is how they found them.”
But who is they? And why do they want the stones? “I don’t—”
My torch flame gutters in a draft, one far colder than it should be.
“Blodwyn?” I call, peering into the dimness.
Silence answers. The chill deepens enough that my breath frosts in front of my face. And then, just barely, I detect a faint clicking noise, one I’ve heard before—in the crypt.
No, I think. It’s not possible. I killed the Nevenwolf. But the sound starts again, gaining strength. That place behind my left ribs, where that ominous force dwells, thrums.
“We need to go,” I tell Jacquetta. “Now!”
She doesn’t argue. Abandoning the books, we race through the aisles.
“Blodwyn?” I call. “Where are you?”
There’s no reply. I can’t leave her here. Not with some…whatever it is stalking the archives. A shock of frigid air whooshes past us, and we drop the torches. The flames sputter out on the stone floor, throwing us into darkness.
“What was that?” Jacquetta whispers.
A Nevenwolf, the voice in my mind whispers. Malum, reeling you in.
It’s trying—I can feel it inside me, lengthening and reaching like a tether, pulling me toward the Veil. There’s a pattern to the sensation, almost like…footsteps. The thing is getting closer. We need to move.
A glimmer of light in the distance snags my attention, but it quickly disappears.
“There!” I call to Jacquetta “That must be Blodwyn.”
Blindly, we feel our way toward the direction where I’d seen the light. A low moan resonates deeper in the chamber, one that sounds frighteningly close to laughter.
“Hurry!” Jacquetta urges.
Our footsteps slap against stone as we break into a clumsy run. The clicking of claws matches our pace, louder with every panicked heartbeat. Whatever is haunting this palace, haunting me, is about to pounce. The force behind my rib cage strains against the underside of my skin. I’m not going to be able to hold it back. I’ll wind up just like the dead prince and—
I round a corner and collide with something solid.
“By the Light, what are you doing?” The glow of the princess’s torch washes over us.
“Did you hear that?” I ask, wheeling around. “Did you see anything?”
But the sound of the claws has abruptly vanished. The invisible tether attached to my left ribs slackens.
“What are you talking about?” The princess peers into the shadows. “Wait, did you see a ghost? I’ll be so upset if I missed it. I knew this place was haunted.”
Jacquetta’s fingers tremble as she straightens her dress. “That wasn’t a ghost.”
No. It was Malum. But why had it stopped chasing me? Did the light scare it off? Or is the beast simply toying with me? I press my hand to my side. And I pray that it’s my imagination, but I think I feel a slight rumble between my bones, as if whatever is living inside me is laughing.
“I don’t understand.” Jacquetta paces the balcony later that night, after Joan and the other girl have fallen asleep. “You killed the Nevenwolf.”
The moon is high and full above us, and it’s ringed in a halo—a sign of trouble coming, though I can’t imagine how matters could be worse than they are now.
“It must be another,” I say, envisioning an entire pack of crimson-eyed Nevenwolves straining to break free of the Veil.
To drag you back through it, that voice whispers.
The wind picks up, stirring the bare-branched trees. The brittle clacking of wood sounds enough like the click of claws on stone that I shiver. But, by some miracle, I don’t sense the force behind my left ribs. It’s been quiet since the archives.
But it will come back, that voice again.
Much as I try to ignore it, I know that it’s right. How much longer do I have before something else escapes the Veil, drawn by the dregs of Malum inside me? Days? Hours?
“Did you ever see a Nevenwolf near Stonehaven?” Jacquetta asks, breaking me out of my questions. She leans against the railing as she looks out over the gardens. A fountain flows in the center of the manicured paths, the water silvery in the night.
“I don’t think so,” I lie, banishing the memory of the red eyes in the forest. “Why?”
“Because I never saw one, either, and we traveled half the realm. I’ve never felt the Veil as thin as it is here.” She tugs at her sleeve. “I told you before—something strange is going on in this palace.”
I’m the strangeness Jacquetta senses—the reason behind every stroke of ill luck or looming shadow. Yet again, some reckless part of me wants to confess. But then what? At my Ascension, even the whisper of Malum had been enough to drive witches I’d known my whole life away from me.
Because they saw the truth, that voice again.
A crow calls in the distance.
“We find the Bloodstones and it all goes away,” I say, as much to myself as to Jacquetta. “Everything will be as it was before.”
And I’ll have my sister.
Jacquetta turns around. Moonlight brightens her nightdress and gleams against the exposed olive skin of her shoulder. “Maybe the way things were before is the problem.”
“What do you mean?” My brow furrows. “I thought you wanted to find the Bloodstones—stop yourself from getting torn apart by a Nevenwolf.”
“I do,” she agrees. “But are you so certain that five magical rocks are the answer?”
Magical rocks. I cross my arms. “You’re clearly not. Please—enlighten me. How else might we construct a barrier between our worlds? One strong enough to hold back Malum?”
A faint flush blooms on her cheeks. “I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s a first.”
She glares at me. “You don’t know either.”
“Because there’s nothing to know,” I throw back. “The stones hold the Veil—it’s always been that way.”
“Yes, which is exactly what the covens want.” Jacquetta points at me. “They’ve staked their whole existence on those stones, on their precious bloodlines and hierarchy. And look where it got them in the end. Look where it got you.”
Me? Anger crackles in my wrists. “Look at yourself. You take such pride in having sworn your ‘special’ vow, when it’s the Veil—the Ancients themselves—protecting you. Or are you counting on the stars to swoop in and rescue you from another Nevenwolf?”
Her eyes blaze. “And where are your all-powerful Ancients now? Funny, you were never concerned about bloodlines or position before. When did you stop thinking for yourself?”
The jab lands as intended and I flinch. Because she’s right—I never wanted to become a Second or lead a coven. I still don’t. But what else could I have done? And I hate Jacquetta for suggesting that I had a choice, or at least an easy one.
“What do you care?” I grind out. “You walked away.”
She lifts her chin. “At least I didn’t go running back to a life I despised.”
Rage smolders in my belly. How dare she judge me for what happened? This is the real Jacquetta, the one my sisters warned me about but whom I was always too blind to see. I see her now, though—selfish and arrogant, treating everyone around her like witchlings to be instructed.
“Oh really?” I tilt my head at her. “How different is your own life from Stonehaven? Is Nerissa the High Witch of your coven?”
Jacquetta’s jaw tightens, which is all the confirmation I need. A bitter laugh climbs up my throat.
“That’s what I thought. You blame the Ancients and Heirs and Seconds for this war, but you’re exactly the same.”
Her nostrils flare. “No, I’m not. I would never be part of something that consumes its own. Just look at Rhea.”
This time, there’s no hesitation or guilt at uttering my sister’s name. In fact, Jacquetta wields it like a blade—like Mother does.
The wind picks up, the chill eating through my nightdress.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Or do you just not like what I’m saying?” Jacquetta advances. “I might have left Stonehaven, but I heard the rumors about Rhea’s power being too weak to mend the wards on the night of the raid. My mother thinks it’s true. That there was too much pressure on her, being a Second. It drained her. The covens drained her.”
You drained her, she doesn’t say.
Another crow calls in the night.
One for sorrow.
“That’s not what happened.”
“Are you certain?” she asks, a cruel twist to her mouth. “Maybe Rhea even welcomed the iron poisoning. Because then she was finally free.”
A sob rises and I fight it down, along with the memory of the night Rhea died. She hadn’t cried, not a single tear. In fact, she’d smiled.
No, I want to scream. Rhea wouldn’t have abandoned me on purpose—and she didn’t. She came back.
It must be undone.
I dig my fingernails into the triangles etched on my palms—two lines drifting apart and back together. Twin promises. Jacquetta wouldn’t know anything about such promises. All she does is leave. All she cares about is herself.
That deep, dark impulse rises inside me.
Hurt her, it urges. Hurt her like she’s hurt you.
This time, I don’t care where it comes from.
“What do you know about freedom?” I all but growl. “I saw you out here, screaming into your hands after that raven came. You’re not free. You’re a Second, desperate to prove yourself. And you’re failing.”
Her face shades paler. A small voice whispers that this is too far. I ignore it.
“And I heard you scrying with that other witch at the Sanctum.” Wind billows my nightdress. “Your lover, I take it? Or ex-lover. I’m tired of waiting, isn’t that what she said? Even she could see that you’re not worth it.”
A long moment stretches between us. The pulse between Jacquetta’s collarbones is rabbit-quick. She steps closer and the smell of juniper burns in my lungs.
“And what are you worth?” she asks, her voice low and lethal. “Do you know what I felt when I walked away that night in the forest? Away from you? Relief.”
The word plunges in and out of my chest like a hot blade.
Jacquetta doesn’t stay to watch me bleed. She stalks back into the chamber and slams the door, leaving my foolish, wretched heart nothing but a smoldering pulp.
* * *
—
The days before the banquet pass in a blur of frustration and anger.
My nights are filled with dreams of writhing flames and swirling darkness. And Rhea. Just like at my Ascension, my sister reaches for me through the fire, her lips moving in words I can’t hear. Rust-colored veins snake up her neck as the iron poisoning claims her.
