The Crimson Crown, page 34
“I know,” I say. “But you can guess how it will look if we visit her. They might suspect us. We’re lucky they haven’t already.”
He points at me. “And I’m lucky to have my head on my shoulders after meeting you.”
A crow calls in the night. I can’t blame Roland for his surliness. I’d probably feel the same if the situation were reversed. But if he doesn’t help us…
“Ayleth explained what really happened with the Guilds,” Jacquetta attempts. “I’m sorry. The king has no right to treat you like property.”
Roland jerks his chin at her. “Aye? And what are you going to do about it?”
“There’s nothing I can do,” she says simply. “But there is something strange happening here at the palace. I think you sense it too. I’d like to know what it is. If we can find out, maybe we can also find a way to help the Guilds.”
I blink at her. She’s good at this.
Roland rubs his chin, considering. “What does the dungeon woman have to do with it?”
“She was framed,” I explain. “With a runed comb.”
That gets his attention. “Runed? You think it was one of your kind?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Marion might know who framed her—and that person might lead us to the Bloodstones.”
He frowns. “That’s a lot of mights, Mistress Witch.”
An owl hoots in the distance.
“It’s the only plan we have. And we’re running out of time.”
Roland hesitates a moment longer.
“You witches,” he grumbles. “It’s a wonder the covens lasted as long as they did. Fine. But if you get yourselves caught, you’re on your own.”
Relief swoops through my belly. At least something went right today.
“Is he always this friendly?” Jacquetta asks under her breath as Roland yanks his ring of keys from his belt and summons another door.
I nod. “You get used to it.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
* * *
—
“This is incredible,” Jacquetta says as Roland guides us through the dark of his tunnels. “How do these passages work?”
“Oh, I’m carving them myself as we walk,” Roland answers dryly. “Can’t you see my pickaxe? It’s magic. Surely you’ve heard of it.”
Jacquetta looks to me, beleaguered. I just shrug, happy to have someone else bear witness to Roland’s prickly temperament.
“But why is your magic working and ours isn’t?” Jacquetta continues.
Shit.
Roland slows, lantern light swinging in the dark. “What do you mean yours isn’t?”
“It hasn’t since we got here. Didn’t Ayleth tell you?”
The expression Roland deals me could melt stone. “No. You did not tell me that bit, Mistress Witch. Descendant of Millicent.”
Nor did I tell him that I don’t have power at all. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?” he echoes. “How are you going to fix the Veil, change things, without magic?”
“I’ll take the Bloodstones back to—wait…Jacquetta is right. Why does your power work when hers—ours—doesn’t?”
“How am I to know?” Roland snaps back. “You two are the witches, not that it shows. Dwarvian magic comes from the Mines.”
And not from the Spirits, that’s right. And I feel foolish for forgetting that. For assuming, yet again, that our power is the only kind of magic in the world.
“Maybe that’s what it is,” Jacquetta guesses. “The thinning of the Veil affects us more because we’re witches.”
“Soon enough, it will be affecting us all,” Roland mutters.
The darkness around us seems to thicken. In the distance, I swear that I can hear the click of claws against stone. That place behind my left ribs shivers.
“No, it won’t,” I tell Roland, banishing the feeling. “We’ll mend the Veil. It will be even stronger than before.”
Roland grunts. “Road to ruin is paved with promises.”
Jacquetta suppresses what I suspect is a smirk. I ignore them both.
“All right, here we are—the dungeon.” Roland stops, detaches the ring of keys from his belt, and conjures another door. “I’ll wait here but be quick. And if you do get caught, scream loudly, so that I know to leave.”
Of all the Dwarves in Riven…
“You have my word,” I tell Roland, giving him a swift pinch as we step out of the tunnel.
The cold is different below the palace, saturated with damp and rot. Water drips in the distance and the stones are slick beneath my feet. The torchlight casts ghoulish shadows in the corners, resurrecting the memory of the presence that followed me in the crypt—the Nevenwolf. I keep my focus trained on the rows of cells. Cells, I realize, that are strangely empty.
“Does the White King not keep prisoners?” Jacquetta asks quietly.
I shake my head. “At least we don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us.”
“Yes, but where is Marion?”
A faint rustling noise echoes in the silence. I jerk my chin in its direction. It doesn’t take long to locate Marion. It’s odd, though. Not only does the former courtier appear to be the sole prisoner housed in this area but there aren’t even any guards stationed nearby to watch her. Why?
“Who’s there?” Marion calls out.
The disgraced countess is huddled in the far corner of her narrow cell. It’s painfully sparse—no bench or pot or even a pile of straw. Such surroundings are a far cry from the lavish apartments the courtier enjoyed mere days ago. Again, the speed with which the White Court turned on her is dizzying.
“It’s Ayleth.” I step into the light of the torches flanking her cell. “And Jacquetta.”
Marion emerges from the gloom like a wraith. The sight of her halts my breath. Her dark, lustrous hair is matted. Dirt smears over her light-brown skin. Her clothes are ripped and ragged. She grips the bars of her cell, knuckles white. And it’s then that I know Marion is never leaving this place. If there’s a trial, it will be a farce. They will burn her.
“Have you brought anything?” Her desperate gaze flits between us. “Food?”
“No.” Though I should have thought of it. “I’m sorry.”
Her cracked lips twist into a sneer. “Come to gawp at me, have you? See how far the countess has fallen?”
“No. We—”
Marion barks a gravelly laugh. “Please. You expect me to believe you came here out of the goodness of your hearts? Did he send you?”
I press closer to her cell. “Who?”
“You know who.” Marion leers at me. “Do you consider me a fool? I’ve known what’s been going on since the pageant. Even then, I could see him choosing you—his newest pet.”
She means the king, then. “Marion, you’re wrong. I don’t want him to—”
“Do you think that matters?” She laughs again. “You think I wanted him? I saw the way he treated the queen and the other women before me.”
My brow furrows. Marion seemed to revel in her life as the king’s mistress. “Then why did you stay with him?”
The thin fabric of her shift slips down her arm. “He doesn’t take no for an answer. You’ll learn that soon enough. His pursuit is constant. Exhausting. Eventually, I…”
She trails away, sounding so tired. So sad. A new side of Marion comes into focus beneath the torchlight. Yes, she was cruel and petty, cunning as a fox. But foxes have good reason to be cunning, don’t they? The White Court is filled with wolves, and I imagine that Marion was always being chased. It doesn’t excuse what she did, or how she treated others, but I do wonder what kind of person the courtier might have been under different circumstances.
“Marion.” Jacquetta steps nearer to the cell. “We’re here about the comb. Did you—”
“I’m not a witch,” she snaps. “Is that why they sent you here? Two Order girls come on behalf of the goddess to pry out a confession?”
Torches flicker in the draft.
“We don’t think you’re a witch,” I assure her. “But do you have any clue as to who put that comb in your hair, or where it might have come from?”
Marion studies me, her dark eyes depthless. For a heartbeat, I think she might actually name someone. But then—
“Why are you here, Ayleth?” She tilts her head at me. “Is it because you’re afraid of winding up like me? You should be afraid. I thought I could hold the king—or at least make a comfortable life for myself. Look where it got me.”
Marion steps back and throws out her arms, as if twirling in the Great Hall. She smiles at me and her dry lips crack. Blood shines scarlet in the dimness.
“Marion, please,” I attempt. “I’m not here to—”
“Oh yes, you are,” she says, cutting me off. “You want to know what fatal mistake I made, in order to avoid it yourself. Well, here it is: I gave him everything.”
A chill tingles down my spine.
“Callen uses people up,” Marion goes on. “He consumes us, like we’re dishes at a feast. And then, when he’s sucked the marrow from your bones, he tosses you away. He puts you somewhere so that no one—especially not him—can witness the damage he’s wrought. As soon as I said yes, I was doomed.”
A memory from the hedge maze rises up—the king’s hand around my throat.
Choose me, Ayleth, he’d said. Even I had known the price.
“Just tell us who might have planted the comb,” Jacquetta says.
“Were you not listening to me? He did this. They all did. Every single member of that wretched court.” She points at me. “And they will do the same to you. Because the higher you rise, the further you have to fall. And no one will catch you. They revel in the crunch of bone.”
The darkness thickens. My pulse races. I need a name. A clue.
“Please,” I beg. “The comb, Marion.”
“Poor little Ayleth. Do you want to know who did this to me? The reason for my fall?” Marion’s hand slips through the bars of her cell, fingertips brushing my cheek. I flinch. “Look in the mirror.”
She sneers, blood staining her teeth. Another draft winds around us, far colder than it was a moment ago. Every hair on my body rises.
No, I think. Not again.
Beneath the dripping of water, I hear the tap of claws against stone. That place behind my left ribs shudders.
“We need to go,” Jacquetta tugs at me. “Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice. Forgetting Marion and the comb, I sprint after Jacquetta, my feet slapping against the grimy floor.
“Run, Ayleth!” Marion calls behind me. “Run!”
Her cackling laughter follows us until she disappears into the dark.
* * *
—
By the time Roland guides us back to our chamber, it’s six bells. Neither of us can think of sleep, though. We huddle together on my bed, the curtains drawn. In the dimness, I can still picture Marion’s eyes. The pop of embers in the fire is too much like the click of claws.
“Why did it come back?” Jacquetta asks. “And why there?”
Because of you, that voice slithers through my mind.
It’s right. Whatever creature lurks beyond the Veil, it’s looking for me. Hunting me. Jacquetta should leave while she still can. But I’m too much of a coward to tell her that.
“I don’t know,” I lie. “What about Marion? Do you think she knew who framed her?”
“It doesn’t make sense for her to keep it back,” Jacquetta reasons. “And it didn’t seem like she was aware of much anyway. Seeing her like that…the way she spoke of the king and the court…the woman deserves a lot of things, but even that fate was cruel.”
“Says the witch who tried to murder the High Priest and the king,” I point out.
She hugs a pillow to her chest. “That was different.”
“Or maybe it’s like I said before—you’re not a murderer.”
Another ember pops in the hearth. Jacquetta picks at the fringe on her pillow. Whether it’s the low light, or the strain of the last few days, she appears younger. More like the witch I knew in the forest, or the one I saw on the balcony, screaming into her hands. Perhaps Marion isn’t the only one at court who’s hiding her true self.
“Jacquetta,” I say, shifting on the bed. “I’ve meant to tell you…I had no right to listen in on your raven or the…scrying.”
Shame scalds the back of my neck as I recall how I’d rubbed the other witch’s rejection in Jacquetta’s face. It’s something Mother would have done.
“And I’m sorry things ended between you and whoever it was,” I add, shoving down the splinter of jealousy that twinges in my chest.
Jacquetta is quiet for a few moments.
“We never would have lasted long,” she admits, a touch of bitterness in the words. And then, “For what it’s worth, I probably would have listened in on your raven, too.”
She smirks at me and I toss a pillow at her.
“I’m sorry, as well,” she says, sobering. “I should never have spoken of Rhea that way and I…”
The seconds drag out. Will she tell me she didn’t mean what she said? That she wasn’t relieved to have walked away? My feckless heart beats harder.
“I said things I shouldn’t have,” Jacquetta finishes at last.
My stomach sinks. Things she shouldn’t have said—not things she didn’t mean.
“It’s over now.” I draw the blanket closer, pretending it doesn’t matter. “We need to think about our next step. Marion was our only lead.”
And they’re probably going to kill her. They’ll kill us next, if we’re not careful.
Wind moans down the chimney. The shadows of the room seem to thicken.
“Ayleth.” Jacquetta reaches over, her hand stopping just short of touching mine. “What Marion said about the king and how he uses people…no matter what happens, I’m not going to let him do the same to you. I promise you that.”
I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are on the bed. The smell of juniper fills the small space. It might be my imagination, but Jacquetta’s gaze flicks down to my lips. Her pulse beats in the hollow between her collarbones, a cadence that matches mine.
“We should try to get some sleep,” she says abruptly.
And then she vanishes through the slit in the curtains—leaving me tangled in the dangerous webs of my own thoughts.
Court, or some semblance of it, resumes later that day. Marion’s arrest hangs like a cloud over the palace. Tension hums in the halls, the air of suspicion thick enough to cut. Guards are stationed at seemingly every corner, the High Priest’s inquest evidently far from over.
“Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any worse,” Jacquetta mutters.
Judging from the lines around her eyes and mouth, I doubt she was able to get any sleep after she’d left me. I certainly hadn’t managed it, and not just because of what’s happening with Marion. Whenever I started to drift off, all I could see was the blue of Jacquetta’s gaze when she promised to protect me against the king.
She breaks promises, that voice insists.
There was something different about this one, though. Just like there was something different when Jacquetta learned what had happened with the king in the hedge maze. Sparks jolt through my blood at the memory—the ferocity of her expression—but I shake them away.
“What on—”
Jacquetta stops short as soon as we enter the queen’s suite. It takes me a moment to understand what has her so confused, but then I see it. The walls, which were previously filled with tapestries and portraits of the warrior queens, are bare. Their absence darkens the chamber. Makes it colder, like the dungeon. Foreboding taps at the base of my skull.
“What happened?” Jacquetta asks, staring at the paneled wood.
I have a guess. The king’s presence slinks along the empty walls like a poisonous weed choking a garden. “It was—”
“It was time for a change,” a voice interrupts.
The queen emerges from a door on the other side of the room. At first glance, she appears as regal and elegant as ever. But as she approaches, I notice faint circles ringing her lower eyelids. Her white skin is paler than it should be. This is more than the strain of the ongoing investigation.
“Would you grant me a moment alone with Ayleth?” the queen asks Jacquetta.
Jacquetta glances at me, questioning, and I nod. She bobs a swift curtsy and veers off toward the main chamber.
Queen Sybil drifts to the walls, tracing the barely perceptible outlines on the paneling where the tapestries and portrait frames used to hang. “I brought those pieces with me when I married the king. I hoped they would inspire me to become the sort of ruler this realm needed.”
She is that queen, though. Her armor is simply invisible. And even though she is a mortal and I’m a witch, it pains me to see her so distraught. I know how it feels to be erased. Removed.
“I’m so sorry” is all I can think to say. It’s nowhere near enough.
“So am I.”
From her tone, I’m not certain if the queen means that she’s sorry about the portraits, or the simple fact that she married the king. Both, probably.
“But don’t waste your pity on me,” the queen says. “I’ve lived at court since I was younger than you are now. Long enough to understand the workings of this palace. I’m much more concerned for my daughter.”
“Is the princess in danger?”
The queen’s slender fingers curl away from the ghosts of the portraits. “Everyone is in danger here, Ayleth. Surely you’re aware of that by now.”
A draft snakes down the hallway, carrying the phantom echo of Marion’s screams. Regardless of how much I despised the former courtier, I still feel sorry for her. Sorrier for the queen and every other woman in this treacherous court.
He points at me. “And I’m lucky to have my head on my shoulders after meeting you.”
A crow calls in the night. I can’t blame Roland for his surliness. I’d probably feel the same if the situation were reversed. But if he doesn’t help us…
“Ayleth explained what really happened with the Guilds,” Jacquetta attempts. “I’m sorry. The king has no right to treat you like property.”
Roland jerks his chin at her. “Aye? And what are you going to do about it?”
“There’s nothing I can do,” she says simply. “But there is something strange happening here at the palace. I think you sense it too. I’d like to know what it is. If we can find out, maybe we can also find a way to help the Guilds.”
I blink at her. She’s good at this.
Roland rubs his chin, considering. “What does the dungeon woman have to do with it?”
“She was framed,” I explain. “With a runed comb.”
That gets his attention. “Runed? You think it was one of your kind?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Marion might know who framed her—and that person might lead us to the Bloodstones.”
He frowns. “That’s a lot of mights, Mistress Witch.”
An owl hoots in the distance.
“It’s the only plan we have. And we’re running out of time.”
Roland hesitates a moment longer.
“You witches,” he grumbles. “It’s a wonder the covens lasted as long as they did. Fine. But if you get yourselves caught, you’re on your own.”
Relief swoops through my belly. At least something went right today.
“Is he always this friendly?” Jacquetta asks under her breath as Roland yanks his ring of keys from his belt and summons another door.
I nod. “You get used to it.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
* * *
—
“This is incredible,” Jacquetta says as Roland guides us through the dark of his tunnels. “How do these passages work?”
“Oh, I’m carving them myself as we walk,” Roland answers dryly. “Can’t you see my pickaxe? It’s magic. Surely you’ve heard of it.”
Jacquetta looks to me, beleaguered. I just shrug, happy to have someone else bear witness to Roland’s prickly temperament.
“But why is your magic working and ours isn’t?” Jacquetta continues.
Shit.
Roland slows, lantern light swinging in the dark. “What do you mean yours isn’t?”
“It hasn’t since we got here. Didn’t Ayleth tell you?”
The expression Roland deals me could melt stone. “No. You did not tell me that bit, Mistress Witch. Descendant of Millicent.”
Nor did I tell him that I don’t have power at all. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?” he echoes. “How are you going to fix the Veil, change things, without magic?”
“I’ll take the Bloodstones back to—wait…Jacquetta is right. Why does your power work when hers—ours—doesn’t?”
“How am I to know?” Roland snaps back. “You two are the witches, not that it shows. Dwarvian magic comes from the Mines.”
And not from the Spirits, that’s right. And I feel foolish for forgetting that. For assuming, yet again, that our power is the only kind of magic in the world.
“Maybe that’s what it is,” Jacquetta guesses. “The thinning of the Veil affects us more because we’re witches.”
“Soon enough, it will be affecting us all,” Roland mutters.
The darkness around us seems to thicken. In the distance, I swear that I can hear the click of claws against stone. That place behind my left ribs shivers.
“No, it won’t,” I tell Roland, banishing the feeling. “We’ll mend the Veil. It will be even stronger than before.”
Roland grunts. “Road to ruin is paved with promises.”
Jacquetta suppresses what I suspect is a smirk. I ignore them both.
“All right, here we are—the dungeon.” Roland stops, detaches the ring of keys from his belt, and conjures another door. “I’ll wait here but be quick. And if you do get caught, scream loudly, so that I know to leave.”
Of all the Dwarves in Riven…
“You have my word,” I tell Roland, giving him a swift pinch as we step out of the tunnel.
The cold is different below the palace, saturated with damp and rot. Water drips in the distance and the stones are slick beneath my feet. The torchlight casts ghoulish shadows in the corners, resurrecting the memory of the presence that followed me in the crypt—the Nevenwolf. I keep my focus trained on the rows of cells. Cells, I realize, that are strangely empty.
“Does the White King not keep prisoners?” Jacquetta asks quietly.
I shake my head. “At least we don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us.”
“Yes, but where is Marion?”
A faint rustling noise echoes in the silence. I jerk my chin in its direction. It doesn’t take long to locate Marion. It’s odd, though. Not only does the former courtier appear to be the sole prisoner housed in this area but there aren’t even any guards stationed nearby to watch her. Why?
“Who’s there?” Marion calls out.
The disgraced countess is huddled in the far corner of her narrow cell. It’s painfully sparse—no bench or pot or even a pile of straw. Such surroundings are a far cry from the lavish apartments the courtier enjoyed mere days ago. Again, the speed with which the White Court turned on her is dizzying.
“It’s Ayleth.” I step into the light of the torches flanking her cell. “And Jacquetta.”
Marion emerges from the gloom like a wraith. The sight of her halts my breath. Her dark, lustrous hair is matted. Dirt smears over her light-brown skin. Her clothes are ripped and ragged. She grips the bars of her cell, knuckles white. And it’s then that I know Marion is never leaving this place. If there’s a trial, it will be a farce. They will burn her.
“Have you brought anything?” Her desperate gaze flits between us. “Food?”
“No.” Though I should have thought of it. “I’m sorry.”
Her cracked lips twist into a sneer. “Come to gawp at me, have you? See how far the countess has fallen?”
“No. We—”
Marion barks a gravelly laugh. “Please. You expect me to believe you came here out of the goodness of your hearts? Did he send you?”
I press closer to her cell. “Who?”
“You know who.” Marion leers at me. “Do you consider me a fool? I’ve known what’s been going on since the pageant. Even then, I could see him choosing you—his newest pet.”
She means the king, then. “Marion, you’re wrong. I don’t want him to—”
“Do you think that matters?” She laughs again. “You think I wanted him? I saw the way he treated the queen and the other women before me.”
My brow furrows. Marion seemed to revel in her life as the king’s mistress. “Then why did you stay with him?”
The thin fabric of her shift slips down her arm. “He doesn’t take no for an answer. You’ll learn that soon enough. His pursuit is constant. Exhausting. Eventually, I…”
She trails away, sounding so tired. So sad. A new side of Marion comes into focus beneath the torchlight. Yes, she was cruel and petty, cunning as a fox. But foxes have good reason to be cunning, don’t they? The White Court is filled with wolves, and I imagine that Marion was always being chased. It doesn’t excuse what she did, or how she treated others, but I do wonder what kind of person the courtier might have been under different circumstances.
“Marion.” Jacquetta steps nearer to the cell. “We’re here about the comb. Did you—”
“I’m not a witch,” she snaps. “Is that why they sent you here? Two Order girls come on behalf of the goddess to pry out a confession?”
Torches flicker in the draft.
“We don’t think you’re a witch,” I assure her. “But do you have any clue as to who put that comb in your hair, or where it might have come from?”
Marion studies me, her dark eyes depthless. For a heartbeat, I think she might actually name someone. But then—
“Why are you here, Ayleth?” She tilts her head at me. “Is it because you’re afraid of winding up like me? You should be afraid. I thought I could hold the king—or at least make a comfortable life for myself. Look where it got me.”
Marion steps back and throws out her arms, as if twirling in the Great Hall. She smiles at me and her dry lips crack. Blood shines scarlet in the dimness.
“Marion, please,” I attempt. “I’m not here to—”
“Oh yes, you are,” she says, cutting me off. “You want to know what fatal mistake I made, in order to avoid it yourself. Well, here it is: I gave him everything.”
A chill tingles down my spine.
“Callen uses people up,” Marion goes on. “He consumes us, like we’re dishes at a feast. And then, when he’s sucked the marrow from your bones, he tosses you away. He puts you somewhere so that no one—especially not him—can witness the damage he’s wrought. As soon as I said yes, I was doomed.”
A memory from the hedge maze rises up—the king’s hand around my throat.
Choose me, Ayleth, he’d said. Even I had known the price.
“Just tell us who might have planted the comb,” Jacquetta says.
“Were you not listening to me? He did this. They all did. Every single member of that wretched court.” She points at me. “And they will do the same to you. Because the higher you rise, the further you have to fall. And no one will catch you. They revel in the crunch of bone.”
The darkness thickens. My pulse races. I need a name. A clue.
“Please,” I beg. “The comb, Marion.”
“Poor little Ayleth. Do you want to know who did this to me? The reason for my fall?” Marion’s hand slips through the bars of her cell, fingertips brushing my cheek. I flinch. “Look in the mirror.”
She sneers, blood staining her teeth. Another draft winds around us, far colder than it was a moment ago. Every hair on my body rises.
No, I think. Not again.
Beneath the dripping of water, I hear the tap of claws against stone. That place behind my left ribs shudders.
“We need to go,” Jacquetta tugs at me. “Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice. Forgetting Marion and the comb, I sprint after Jacquetta, my feet slapping against the grimy floor.
“Run, Ayleth!” Marion calls behind me. “Run!”
Her cackling laughter follows us until she disappears into the dark.
* * *
—
By the time Roland guides us back to our chamber, it’s six bells. Neither of us can think of sleep, though. We huddle together on my bed, the curtains drawn. In the dimness, I can still picture Marion’s eyes. The pop of embers in the fire is too much like the click of claws.
“Why did it come back?” Jacquetta asks. “And why there?”
Because of you, that voice slithers through my mind.
It’s right. Whatever creature lurks beyond the Veil, it’s looking for me. Hunting me. Jacquetta should leave while she still can. But I’m too much of a coward to tell her that.
“I don’t know,” I lie. “What about Marion? Do you think she knew who framed her?”
“It doesn’t make sense for her to keep it back,” Jacquetta reasons. “And it didn’t seem like she was aware of much anyway. Seeing her like that…the way she spoke of the king and the court…the woman deserves a lot of things, but even that fate was cruel.”
“Says the witch who tried to murder the High Priest and the king,” I point out.
She hugs a pillow to her chest. “That was different.”
“Or maybe it’s like I said before—you’re not a murderer.”
Another ember pops in the hearth. Jacquetta picks at the fringe on her pillow. Whether it’s the low light, or the strain of the last few days, she appears younger. More like the witch I knew in the forest, or the one I saw on the balcony, screaming into her hands. Perhaps Marion isn’t the only one at court who’s hiding her true self.
“Jacquetta,” I say, shifting on the bed. “I’ve meant to tell you…I had no right to listen in on your raven or the…scrying.”
Shame scalds the back of my neck as I recall how I’d rubbed the other witch’s rejection in Jacquetta’s face. It’s something Mother would have done.
“And I’m sorry things ended between you and whoever it was,” I add, shoving down the splinter of jealousy that twinges in my chest.
Jacquetta is quiet for a few moments.
“We never would have lasted long,” she admits, a touch of bitterness in the words. And then, “For what it’s worth, I probably would have listened in on your raven, too.”
She smirks at me and I toss a pillow at her.
“I’m sorry, as well,” she says, sobering. “I should never have spoken of Rhea that way and I…”
The seconds drag out. Will she tell me she didn’t mean what she said? That she wasn’t relieved to have walked away? My feckless heart beats harder.
“I said things I shouldn’t have,” Jacquetta finishes at last.
My stomach sinks. Things she shouldn’t have said—not things she didn’t mean.
“It’s over now.” I draw the blanket closer, pretending it doesn’t matter. “We need to think about our next step. Marion was our only lead.”
And they’re probably going to kill her. They’ll kill us next, if we’re not careful.
Wind moans down the chimney. The shadows of the room seem to thicken.
“Ayleth.” Jacquetta reaches over, her hand stopping just short of touching mine. “What Marion said about the king and how he uses people…no matter what happens, I’m not going to let him do the same to you. I promise you that.”
I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are on the bed. The smell of juniper fills the small space. It might be my imagination, but Jacquetta’s gaze flicks down to my lips. Her pulse beats in the hollow between her collarbones, a cadence that matches mine.
“We should try to get some sleep,” she says abruptly.
And then she vanishes through the slit in the curtains—leaving me tangled in the dangerous webs of my own thoughts.
Court, or some semblance of it, resumes later that day. Marion’s arrest hangs like a cloud over the palace. Tension hums in the halls, the air of suspicion thick enough to cut. Guards are stationed at seemingly every corner, the High Priest’s inquest evidently far from over.
“Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any worse,” Jacquetta mutters.
Judging from the lines around her eyes and mouth, I doubt she was able to get any sleep after she’d left me. I certainly hadn’t managed it, and not just because of what’s happening with Marion. Whenever I started to drift off, all I could see was the blue of Jacquetta’s gaze when she promised to protect me against the king.
She breaks promises, that voice insists.
There was something different about this one, though. Just like there was something different when Jacquetta learned what had happened with the king in the hedge maze. Sparks jolt through my blood at the memory—the ferocity of her expression—but I shake them away.
“What on—”
Jacquetta stops short as soon as we enter the queen’s suite. It takes me a moment to understand what has her so confused, but then I see it. The walls, which were previously filled with tapestries and portraits of the warrior queens, are bare. Their absence darkens the chamber. Makes it colder, like the dungeon. Foreboding taps at the base of my skull.
“What happened?” Jacquetta asks, staring at the paneled wood.
I have a guess. The king’s presence slinks along the empty walls like a poisonous weed choking a garden. “It was—”
“It was time for a change,” a voice interrupts.
The queen emerges from a door on the other side of the room. At first glance, she appears as regal and elegant as ever. But as she approaches, I notice faint circles ringing her lower eyelids. Her white skin is paler than it should be. This is more than the strain of the ongoing investigation.
“Would you grant me a moment alone with Ayleth?” the queen asks Jacquetta.
Jacquetta glances at me, questioning, and I nod. She bobs a swift curtsy and veers off toward the main chamber.
Queen Sybil drifts to the walls, tracing the barely perceptible outlines on the paneling where the tapestries and portrait frames used to hang. “I brought those pieces with me when I married the king. I hoped they would inspire me to become the sort of ruler this realm needed.”
She is that queen, though. Her armor is simply invisible. And even though she is a mortal and I’m a witch, it pains me to see her so distraught. I know how it feels to be erased. Removed.
“I’m so sorry” is all I can think to say. It’s nowhere near enough.
“So am I.”
From her tone, I’m not certain if the queen means that she’s sorry about the portraits, or the simple fact that she married the king. Both, probably.
“But don’t waste your pity on me,” the queen says. “I’ve lived at court since I was younger than you are now. Long enough to understand the workings of this palace. I’m much more concerned for my daughter.”
“Is the princess in danger?”
The queen’s slender fingers curl away from the ghosts of the portraits. “Everyone is in danger here, Ayleth. Surely you’re aware of that by now.”
A draft snakes down the hallway, carrying the phantom echo of Marion’s screams. Regardless of how much I despised the former courtier, I still feel sorry for her. Sorrier for the queen and every other woman in this treacherous court.
