The Crimson Crown, page 35
“Do you know what will happen to her?” I ask quietly.
The queen doesn’t ask who I mean. “There won’t be a trial. She’s to be sent away.”
For her part, Queen Sybil doesn’t appear particularly sympathetic to Marion’s plight. It’s no surprise, given their history. But the queen doesn’t strike me as vindictive either. She’s more…resigned. As though she expected something like this would happen.
“And the former countess’s departure is the reason I needed to speak with you.” The queen folds her hands over her bodice, and I notice now that the fabric is embroidered with tiny renderings of Meira’s Eye. I’ve never known the queen to wear the symbol of the false goddess. “Marion’s rooms are now vacant. They will soon be reassigned to someone else within my household.”
What does this have to do with me? “I don’t understand.”
“You’re a clever woman, Ayleth. Think.”
The queen’s dark gaze locks with mine. In its depth, an answer forms. Slowly, like a beast rising from the deep.
“You mean…me?” I whisper, praying to every Spirit that I’m wrong.
Queen Sybil nods and it seems that the barren walls edge inward.
“Your belongings are being relocated as we speak,” she says. “Officially, the rooms are a gift from me—in gratitude for your service, both yours and Jacquetta’s. But as I said, you’re a clever woman. You can probably guess who wants you there.”
Dread pools in my belly. My mind flashes back to the hedge maze—the king’s hand at my throat—and that soft spot between my collarbones throbs. This is his doing. He wants me caged, like one of the pets in the princess’s menagerie. He wants to possess me. Own me.
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t want new rooms. Please, let me remain where I am.”
Queen Sybil smiles sadly. “I’m afraid my influence has waned somewhat of late.”
My gaze flits to her gown again, at the countless embroidered Eyes. The queen is being caged as well, I realize. Forced to conform.
“Your Majesty, I can’t—”
She reaches out, cupping the side of my face in the palm of her hand, a gesture so like what Mother used to do when I was a witchling that my chest aches.
“You will learn, as I did—to be smarter. Harder. To use the resources at your disposal.”
“I won’t,” I insist. “I’m not like you. I don’t belong here.”
Because I’m a witch. Soon they’ll all know. And then I will burn. I’ll never see Rhea again. I dig my fingernails into my palms, into our marks, wishing I could reach my sister.
The queen tilts my face to meet her gaze. “And yet you are here, Ayleth. And you will find your way. All you have to do is trust this.”
She places a gentle fingertip on my chest, directly above my heart.
That, the voice in my mind whispers, is the last thing you should trust.
“And I will tell you something more—a lesson it took me years to learn.” The queen’s attention travels back to the empty walls. “If you ever find yourself with the opportunity to strike, do so. But do not miss.”
* * *
—
Jacquetta is as horrified as I am to learn of the change in our placement. By some stroke of luck, no one else seems informed, not even Joan. We take advantage of their ignorance, slipping away from the queens’ rooms early in order to enter the suite unnoticed. It will be the last time we escape such notice, though. The rest of the court will soon discover what’s happened—likely by the end of vespers—which will only increase the attention surrounding us.
For now, Jacquetta and I stand like statues just inside the former countess’s rooms. If I listen closely, I can almost hear Marion’s laughter drifting from deeper in the chambers. A hint of her oleander perfume lingers, like the ghost of the courtier is still drifting around us.
“We should check everything,” Jacquetta determines, giving herself a shake. “Make sure there aren’t any obvious places where they could be spying on us.”
Together, we scour the chamber, peering behind the tapestries and lifting rugs, hunting for hidden doors or holes drilled in the wall. I feel like a thief—or a grave robber—rooting around like this. Like someone will barge in at any moment and arrest us for trespassing. I half wish that they would, for at least then we wouldn’t have to stay here.
Eventually, we wind up in one of the two bedchambers. Marion’s. The mountainous bed looms like a beast in the dimness. Shadows flicker in the corners. A shape flutters in my peripheral vision and I whirl, but it’s only my own reflection in the long mirror, the same one where Marion tried to murder me with the corset.
Look in the mirror, the courtier’s words from the dungeon resurface.
Like a spell, I find myself drawn to the glass.
My face is even thinner than it was before, cheekbones more pronounced—a combination of gnawing anxiety and sleepless nights. My dark eyes are stark against the white of my face. There’s an almost frenzied light to them, almost like…
Marion’s.
Under my horrified gaze, my reflection shimmers, replaced with that of the fallen countess. She wears my clothes, but her expression is wild and desperate. Marion’s lips move and a single word reverberates in my mind: RUN!
I yelp and leap away from the mirror, pulse thrumming.
“What’s wrong?” Jacquetta pauses where she’s poking through the massive wardrobe.
The vision of Marion vanishes. It wasn’t real, I tell myself, forcing down one breath and then another. I’m hallucinating.
“Nothing,” I tell her. “It’s just this place. These rooms. We shouldn’t be here.”
Wood clicks as Jacquetta closes the wardrobe. “You can still leave.”
Some reckless part of me wants to ask her to leave with me, but I remember what happened last time.
Close off your heart, that voice warns.
“No.” I smooth my dress. “I have to stay.”
A long moment of quiet passes.
“All right,” Jacquetta finally allows. “But—”
A low growl interrupts her. Jacquetta and I both jump, but the sound was too small to have come from a Nevenwolf or any other creature lurking beyond the Veil. It starts again and I track it to the front of the bed. I kneel to check underneath and am greeted by the white slash of bared teeth. Fitz.
“Is that…the dog?” Jacquetta asks, joining me.
He barks in answer.
“I suppose no one thought to put him with someone else.”
And terror though he is, the poor thing must be confused and afraid. Marion was arrested days ago. When was the last time he’d eaten? There’s a pitcher on a table beside the bed. I pour some water into the basin and cart it back.
“What are you doing?” Jacquetta asks as I slide the basin toward Fitz. “He can’t stay.”
“Where else is he going to go?”
I click my tongue, attempting to coax him out, but Fitz snaps.
“I told you.” Jacquetta jerks her chin at him. “He’ll wreck everything, including our clothes, and likely bite your fingers off.”
“Maybe,” I allow. “But he reminds me of when I first found Nettle.”
She’d only been a kitten when I rescued her from the forest, but she’d hissed and clawed at me with everything she had. She wriggled her way out of any enclosure I could design, shredding countless pairs of stockings and shattering entire jugs of cream and wreaking general havoc on all of us.
“Is that supposed to be a character reference?” Jacquetta asks.
I laugh. “He might surprise you.”
Nettle did, in the end. It took time and patience, but she became mine. Fitz huffs a bark, as if he can read my thoughts and is letting me know in no uncertain terms that such an outcome will not be what develops between us.
“He’s your problem, then,” Jacquetta determines, retreating into the main chamber. “Don’t ask me to help.”
“You know,” I whisper to the dog, “I suspect that the two of you are going to get along just fine.”
He snorts.
News does, indeed, travel quickly. Whispers swell like waves as soon as we set foot out of our rooms the following day, worse than they ever were, because Jacquetta and I are no longer simply amusing curiosities. We’re Order girls who now inhabit the former chambers of a disgraced countess.
They revel in the crunch of bones.
Marion’s words chase me like the call of a crow, haunting and sinister.
The worst part is that, with Marion gone, we’ve lost any lead on who might have planted her comb—and who might be hiding the Bloodstones. Jacquetta and I spent our first night in our new quarters tossing out potential strategies, each more implausible than the last. For her part, Jacquetta is convinced that whoever planted the comb will strike again. I can’t decide if I want her to be right. On the one hand, another incident like Marion’s might provide the clues we desperately need. On the other, we might be the next targets. Even if we aren’t, how many more women will be rolled up and tucked away like the tapestries on the queen’s walls? In the end, we decide that it’s better for us to lie low for the time being. Watch and listen, until the attention around us settles.
Lying low, however, is easier said than done. Conversation ceases as soon as we arrive in the queen’s chambers. Judgmental scowls and barely concealed mutterings land like so many darts against my skin. My nerves jitter.
“Well, if it isn’t our guests.” A woman peels herself from the rest. I recognize her as being part of Marion’s former cadre—one of the few who had been in the room when we were being fitted for our costumes. “Enjoy your chambers while you can, Mistress.”
She hisses the last word and heat floods my face, of both embarrassment and frustration. I want nothing to do with the king. Then again, I suppose Marion didn’t either.
“Marion was right about you,” the woman goes on. “You’re a snake. Soon enough, everyone will see the truth.”
They will see right through you, that voice in my mind supplies.
“This is intolerable,” Jacquetta mutters as the woman returns to her group.
That’s an understatement. “Let’s just—”
“There you two are.” Joan hurries up to us. Even her usual bright composure is dampened. “I suppose I don’t have to warn you that everyone is talking.”
Someone else passes, dealing us a glare like the edge of a blade. We should have stayed in our rooms.
“Come.” Joan steers us to a more secluded corner of the chamber. “Is it true? You’ve been given Marion’s chambers?”
“Unfortunately.” I rub at my temples, pressure already building in my skull.
“I’m so sorry.” Joan shakes her head. “I wish I could promise that things would get easier but…”
They won’t. Even now, I sense the others watching me. How does the queen live under such scrutiny every day? I look to where Queen Sybil is sitting with a few other women at the front of the chamber. It was only yesterday that we spoke, but she appears worse. Her skin is almost sallow, and even her hair has lost some of its luster. The white roses threaded into her braid are bright against its dull sheen.
“Is something wrong with the queen?” I ask Joan.
She checks around us and leans closer. “The king was here not an hour ago. It wasn’t a pleasant visit.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure.” Joan gestures at the doors to the queen’s bedchamber. “He stormed in and took the queen in there. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear that he was shouting. The queen came back out afterward, but she hasn’t been the same.”
Indeed, Queen’s Sybil’s usual grace and patience are noticeably absent. She stabs at her embroidery, her mouth drawn into a tight line. What had been said between the royal couple? Was it something about us? Me?
“I want you to know,” Joan says, reaching for the two of us, “I’m here for you. We’re outsiders together, don’t forget.”
After the strain of the last days, such support is a welcome balm. Even Jacquetta might appreciate it. She doesn’t pull away from Joan’s touch.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “And—”
The chamber doors open, cutting me off. I steel myself for the pull of the king’s presence, but it doesn’t come. Instead, a different man strides into the chamber, black robes rippling like smoke. He has a strong, beaklike nose and dark, piercing eyes, made all the more striking by the paleness of his white skin.
“Who is that?” Jacquetta asks.
“Master Parnell,” Joan whispers. “The steward of the High Priest.”
Foreboding taps at the base of my skull.
“Can I help you?” the queen asks as the steward bows.
“Indeed, Your Majesty. I’m looking for—” His attention scans the room and I hold my breath. But Master Parnell’s obsidian gaze mercifully doesn’t fall on me. “Lady Compton. If you would accompany me, please.”
It’s the woman who had baited us when we first arrived.
The color drains from her face. “I’ve already spoken with His Illuminance.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid there are some additional details we need to clarify. Nothing to worry about, so long as the Light shines in your heart.”
He smiles, wolfish, suggesting that Lady Compton has everything to worry about. But she pulls herself together and follows the swell of his black robes, her fear so palpable that it lingers as the doors snick shut behind them.
Deep in my bones, I know it won’t be long before we’re next.
* * *
—
The following week is the longest of my life.
Master Parnell flits about the palace like a crow in human form, collecting courtiers for his endless rounds of interrogation. By some miracle, Jacquetta and I continue to be spared, but that does nothing to ease our own nerves. We barely sleep and hardly eat. Our plan to watch and listen crumbles around us. We’re the ones being watched. I’ve not encountered the king again, but I find myself bracing for his gray eyes every time I turn a corner or hear a set of footsteps approaching.
If the atmosphere at the palace weren’t bad enough, the queen’s illness takes a sharp turn and she shuts herself in her rooms, banishing all but her closest ladies. With nothing else to do, Jacquetta and I wander the halls, listening in on snippets of conversations in hopes of discovering something about who might have framed Marion, but it’s useless.
“Maybe we should go back to the archives,” Jacquetta suggests after yet another fruitless afternoon spent lurking in corridors.
“Blodwyn or not, I doubt the Keepers would let us set foot in there, given the circumstances,” I point out. “Even if they did, they might tell someone we visited.”
She lets out a frustrated breath. “We have to do something more than eavesdrop on rounds of Castles.”
“What do you suggest—burn the palace down?”
She deals me a pointed look. “That’s not a bad—”
The rest falls away as we enter our chamber and find Nettle perched on top of a table. Fruit is strewn around her, the wide bowl upended. Fitz is growling at her from beneath a chair, his ears back and hackles raised.
“How did you get in here?” I ask my cat, dumbfounded.
In answer, Nettle simply licks her paw. Fitz barks what is an unmistakable complaint.
“Wonderful.” Jacquetta crosses her arms. “Now there are two of them.”
I should probably be annoyed, but I haven’t seen my cat since the last time I visited the princess’s chambers. That seems like ages ago now—too long. Nettle hops from the table and lopes toward me.
“Hello you.” I bend to scratch between her ears, grateful for her company, even if she did make a mess. She starts to purr. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited.”
She meows and winds her way over to Jacquetta.
“Stop that,” the other witch scolds as my cat rubs against her ankles.
“That means she likes you.”
“Yes, well, I’ve received enough affection from this cat to last a lifetime.”
A smile twitches at my lips, recalling the incident at the Sanctum when Nettle clawed Jacquetta’s linens to ribbons.
“No more of this,” I tell Nettle, picking up the pieces of fruit and putting them back into the bowl. “And be nice to the dog.”
She trills in what is anything but agreement. Fitz growls.
“Can’t you train her to do something useful instead of making trouble?” Jacquetta asks, scooping up an apple. “Like, find the Bloodstones?”
That would be a good idea. “Nettle does what she wants, I’m afraid.”
She’s currently lying on her back in a spot of sunlight, swatting at Fitz for her own amusement.
“I thought familiars were supposed to be obedient.”
“She’s not bound,” I explain.
Jacquetta pauses in gathering several strawberries. “Really?”
I dump the last few pieces of fruit back into the bowl. “I didn’t want her to stay with me because she was compelled by magic.”
Mathilde’s words flow back to me: Choice is a magic in and of itself.
Jacquetta looks at me, intent, like she’s realizing something. She starts to speak, but a knock at the door interrupts her, followed by the whisper of parchment being slipped through the crack. Fitz trots over to inspect it. Dread winds between my ribs when I see the seal—bright-red wax stamped with a crowned apple. My hands tremble slightly as I pick up the message.
Come to the mews tomorrow morning.
—C
“It’s from the king,” I say softly. “He’s summoned me.”
Jacquetta presses her lips together, her gaze carrying that same fire it did when I told her about the hedge maze. “Will you go?”
