The Crimson Crown, page 43
“Ayleth.” She puts her hands up as I approach. “I came here to talk.”
“You’ve said all you need to say.” I press the blade to her throat. “What was it again—I’m sorry?”
She blanches. “I am sorry.”
I dig the knife into her skin. A thin line of blood blooms on her neck. The pulse at her throat beats harder. Good. Let her be afraid.
“Sorry for what? Having me arrested? Leaving me to burn? Or are you sorry for using me so that you could come here and kill my mother and the Heirs?”
Storm-charged wind whistles around us.
“We were never going to harm them.”
But she was going to do something. I can see it in her expression. By the Spirits, I was right. I hadn’t realized that there was still some small, broken part of me that wanted to be wrong until this moment, as it shrivels and dies.
“You’re as bad as the Hunt,” I seethe. “How can you even call yourself a witch?”
Her eyes flash, sapphires beneath the heavy clouds of the coming storm. “Me? What about the Heirs? Why do they get to decide who holds power and who doesn’t?”
“I’m holding the power now,” I snarl.
Hurt her, that deep urge screams. Hurt her the way she hurt you.
My heart slams against my sternum. I want to hurt her. I want to destroy her. Carve out her heart and grind it to dust, exactly like she did to mine. But this close, I smell the tang of the forest mixed with juniper. The phantom taste of roses fills my mouth and I hate myself for the desire that ignites in my veins.
“Please, Ayleth.” Hesitant, Jacquetta’s hand covers my own around the knife’s hilt. The rhythm of her pulse hums beneath her skin, furious and terrified—just like mine.
More, the dark instinct thrums. Push harder.
Blood trickles down her neck, a slick garnet against the white of her skin. She deserves this. Worse, even. And yet…my hand trembles.
I can’t do it. Curse my feckless heart, I can’t.
A cry of rage and frustration bursts out of me, and I wheel away from Jacquetta, despising my own weakness. Have I learned nothing?
“What are you doing here?” I shout at her, throwing my arms wide. “They’re gone. What’s left? Have you come to finish me off because you failed with the others?”
Nettle hisses, her muscles coiled and ready to spring.
“I came to talk.” Jacquetta touches the cut at her neck. Red smears her fingers. I’m not sorry. “You deserve to know what happened.”
“Oh, do I?” I laugh, bitter. “And when were you planning on telling me? After I was made to dance in a pair of hot iron shoes?”
A crow calls overhead. Cornelius? Maybe he’ll come back and peck out Jacquetta’s eyes.
“I knew you’d make it out of the palace,” she says, as if it weren’t sheer luck and Roland’s kindness that saved me from her trap.
“I see.” I tilt my head at her. “And how would you have known that?”
“Because you’re smart. And…” Jacquetta flushes. “I’ve been…keeping up with you.”
Keeping up. The same way Mother did? I imagine Jacquetta watching me wallow in the dungeon while she was safe with her own coven. My anger burns hotter.
“I was entertainment, then? Is that why you left me there? So you could all gather around your mirror to—”
“No,” she says, cutting me off. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t use a mirror. I sensed you, like I do with other magic. It’s difficult to explain, but I could tell you were safe—even pinpoint where you were on a map if I felt the connection strongly enough. It happens with those I…”
Love. The word shimmers between us. But I will not be fooled by it again.
“Enough with your pretty speeches. What do you want? I can smell Nerissa’s bidding on you, Second that you are.”
“I’m not—” But she stops. Inhales a visible breath. “Are you going to let me explain?”
Thunder rolls, closer now.
There’s nothing she can possibly say that will make a difference at this point. I should tell her to leave and never come back. But I notice that her cloak is streaked with mud. She looks hungry—like she hasn’t seen a decent meal in days. How long has she been traveling? And why is she here alone? That’s not my problem. She isn’t my problem—not anymore. Still, I want to know just how far this plan stretched, if only to understand the depth of my own stupidity.
“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “Start talking.”
Jacquetta settles herself on an upturned bucket and Fitz trots up to her, snuffling around her skirts. He, apparently, harbors no recollection of being abandoned. Traitor.
“The Heirs were never part of any plan,” Jacquetta begins, absently petting the dog’s head. “Neither were you. Not at first anyway. When we met at the Sanctum, I was as surprised as you were. And I was there to kill the king.”
More lies. “No, you weren’t.”
“Yes, Ayleth,” she insists, holding my gaze. “I was. It’s as I said—Mother wanted to end the war without the Heirs. My coven made a deal with Rycinthia. If they sent their army, we’d help them secure Riven’s throne. Recognize their leadership.”
That gives me pause. Similar arrangements had been bandied about at Stonehaven, but Mother never acted on them, unwilling to rely on the loyalty of mortal rulers. After what I’d witnessed at the White Palace, I don’t blame her.
“But Rycinthia didn’t attack,” I point out.
“No,” Jacquetta agrees. “They wouldn’t. Not unless we struck first—and hard.”
If you ever find yourself with the opportunity to strike…do not miss. The queen’s words float back to me beneath the biting wind. I shiver.
“We would kill the king,” Jacquetta goes on. “Pave the way for Rycinthia to invade.”
There’s no trace of deceit in the hard lines of her expression. And what she says makes sense, save for one detail. “Then what were you doing at the Sanctum? Praying to the false goddess that the White King would visit so that you could flatten him with a statue?”
She ignores my sarcasm. “I tried to go to the palace first, but I couldn’t even secure a position as a scullery maid. The Sanctum was my only option if I wanted to remain in the city. I decided I’d figure things out from there.”
It’s the same reasoning that led me to the Sanctum. But that doesn’t mean I believe her.
“You were there for weeks, though,” I press. “What took you so long?”
“Now you sound like my mother,” she comments, bitter. I don’t take it back. “But you’re right. Once I was inside the Sanctum, I realized how difficult it was to leave. And I had no idea how to find my way to the king. When the High Priest came, I thought his death might be enough for Rycinthia, but…”
But I’d ruined that. I cross my arms. “If you want an apology, you’ll be disappointed.”
“I don’t,” she says tightly. “And it didn’t matter. I finally got the opportunity I needed at the pageant. When you were offered the position with the queen.”
Her blue eyes lock with mine and my pulse jumps.
“So that’s when it started?” I ask. “You used me to get into the White Palace.”
She doesn’t deny it. “I expected that to be the end of our interaction. I thought I’d be gone in a matter of days, helping with the Rycinthian invasion.”
“What stopped you?”
“I told you—my power wasn’t working properly.”
Because of you, that voice whispers.
I shake it away, thinking back to our early days serving the queen. Jacquetta was always skulking around on her secret errands—always returning frustrated and sullen. She could have been trying to kill the king, as she claims. But I’m still not sure.
“Even if that’s true, I watched you stalk the king in the forest. He’d be dead if you’d loosed that arrow. But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t because…” she pauses. Her jaw works. “I couldn’t.”
I stare at her. “You expect me to believe that? You nearly crushed Ignatius.”
“But I didn’t, did I? And if I’m telling the truth…I was relieved when you interfered.”
“Relieved?” I echo, arching an eyebrow. “That’s not how it seemed when you pulled me aside and threatened to gut me for meddling.”
“Because I was angry at myself. I shouldn’t have been relieved. And you…” Twin spots of pink bloom on her cheeks. “You saw me. Even then, you knew who I was underneath everything. I didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t want to be weak.”
She spits the word, and I know exactly where it came from—Nerissa. How often had my own mother made me feel precisely the same way? Useless. Nothing. As Jacquetta sits there, the storm rolling in above us, I’m reminded of the witch I saw on the balcony, screaming into her hands. A scream that resonated in the marrow of my bones.
“You weren’t weak.”
Jacquetta swallows. “Then why didn’t I walk away? I could have. Should have. Especially when Mother…”
Leaves skitter over the ground.
“When she what?”
“After I failed to kill the king at the Hunt, Mother was furious,” Jacquetta continues, halting. Fitz whines at her feet. “We argued, worse than we ever have before, and I wound up telling her about you—that you were at the palace.”
My brow furrows. “You hadn’t before?”
She shakes her head. “I wanted…I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter. I told Mother what I tried to believe myself—that what happened in the forest with the king was your fault. I said that I was helping you find the Bloodstones so that you would leave. Then I could finish things. But Mother was fixated on you. She decided that if I couldn’t get close enough to kill the king, then I should get close to you. Earn your trust—so that we could learn more about what the Heirs were planning. She wanted to be one step ahead of them.”
Numbness bleeds over me, even though I’d guessed the truth. There’s absolutely no satisfaction at hearing her confirm my suspicions, only shame. My traitorous mind dredges up our nights together—our promises. It was nothing. Meant nothing. I blink back the infernal tears stinging in my eyes, refusing to let Jacquetta see how deeply she’s wounded me.
“What a good Second you are,” I grind out. “Did your mother give instruction as to how to earn that trust? Or were you just having fun with the assignment? Toying with your food?”
Nettle growls, her tail twitching.
Jacquetta’s fists clench. “You know I wasn’t.”
“Oh, I don’t know anything.” I jab the knife at her. “You’ve made sure of that.”
“What I felt was real, Ayleth,” Jacquetta insists, her voice rough. “The more time I spent with you, the more I—”
Love. There it is again, fragile as spider’s silk.
Ignore it, that voice whispers, it’s just another lie.
“Regardless of how you felt, you left,” I throw back. “What changed?”
Jacquetta stares off into the distance, at the line of clouds building, a thick swell of black. The wind whips around us, our cloaks flapping in the storm-scented air.
“Without the king’s death, we couldn’t rely on Rycinthia. We needed a new plan. Our plan.” She looks at me. “I didn’t lie about that. I persuaded Mother to go along with it—convene with the Heirs and develop a way to mend the Veil. Restructure the covens.”
My brow furrows. “Then why was I arrested?”
Jacquetta hesitates. “Because Mother didn’t trust that the Heirs could be so easily convinced. She decided to put…assurances in place.”
Another peal of thunder rolls over us. “What assurances?”
She tugs at her sleeve. “An Heir’s Second—the last of an Ancient’s line—in a dungeon.”
Cold comprehension oozes down my spine. If I died, Mother would be the last remaining witch with a link to Millicent’s Bloodstone. Once she was gone, its power would sputter out. Probably the Veil itself would collapse, releasing Malum back into the realm.
“I was leverage,” I whisper.
Of course I was—that’s all I’ve ever been, a pawn to be pushed around by Mother and the king and now Jacquetta. A mirror that reflects everyone’s face but my own.
“I didn’t know until the night of our scrying,” Jacquetta says, as if that’s of any consequence. “I begged Mother to reconsider—to let you come back with me. But she insisted.”
“And you listened,” I say quietly. “You left me there.”
Jacquetta’s eyes shine. “I stayed close, making sure you were safe. As soon as the Heirs agreed to Mother’s plan, I was to get you out.”
But they wouldn’t have agreed. I look back at the Sanctum, cast in shadow from the coming storm. Bloodline or not, Mother would have let me die. I was dead to her already. I’m not sure how she plans to continue Millicent’s lineage, but it’s not through me.
And I suppose that’s one bright spot to this situation. Mother didn’t just leave me—she left everything. A smile twists my lips as I picture the shock on Nerissa’s face when she discovered that all her careful plans were thwarted. Perhaps this is why Mother broke her mirror, in case anyone was using the connection to follow her.
“But there was no agreement, was there?” I ask, smirking. “There wasn’t even a meeting. Is that why you’re here? Are you running from your failure? Or have you come to fetch me back like a prize?”
“I came for you,” she says, the words quickening my blood.
They don’t mean anything, that voice warns. Don’t let her close.
“Then why did I walk out of the White Palace alone?”
She flinches. “You weren’t alone. I hid nearby until I knew you’d escaped. And I didn’t find out that your coven had gone until Mother sent a raven. I was on my way back to my own coven by then, but I could have gone after you. I could have told Mother you were free—but I didn’t.”
“And do you expect my gratitude for that? You abandoned me.” I brandish the knife at the Sanctum. “Just like they did.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, what isn’t fair is that you kept me in the dark.” I step closer. “You could have told me about your mother’s plans. We could have found a solution together. But you betrayed me. Worse, you went back to Nerissa after—”
“And where are you?” She rises swiftly enough that Fitz barks. “You could have gone anywhere after you left the White Palace, but you came here—again.”
“Because of you! Because I thought you were going to murder my coven. My family.”
“If they’re your family, then why aren’t they here? Mother says they must have left right before the queen’s funeral. Just after we scried. After Cassandra promised to welcome you home.”
Shame scalds my chest. I’ve had enough of this. Enough of her.
“Leave,” I tell her. “You shouldn’t have come here at all.”
She doesn’t move. “I broke every promise I ever made to you. I know that. And whether you believe it or not, I am sorry.”
It’s empty currency, no more valuable than the coins tossed around at the White Palace. “What do you want me to do with that?”
“I want you to live.” She throws her arm toward the gates. “It took every ounce of strength not to ride after you when I learned what happened here. But I didn’t because I wanted you to get away. I kept checking on you, waiting for you to move on—do something. But you just stayed here.”
My knife glints as I point the blade at her. “Don’t you dare judge me.”
“No one knows where you are,” Jacquetta goes on, heedless of the threat. “No one is looking for you. Go—make a life somewhere else.”
Despite my rage, my attention travels to the gates and the forest beyond. Leaving is exactly what Mathilde encouraged me to do. But where would I go? That place behind my left ribs twinges. “What kind of life would that be? Have you forgotten the war? Malum?”
Thunder rumbles between us.
“There’s nothing like that inside of you.” Jacquetta’s hand twitches, like she wants to reach for me, but she stops herself. “You’re not broken, Ayleth. You never have been.”
She’s wrong. I’m shattered inside—nothing but shards of glass.
“And you?”
Cold raindrops begin to fall.
She hesitates. Her scent of juniper tangles with the charge of the storm. Jacquetta’s gaze flits to my lips and, even though I know it would be the worst mistake I could make, I want her to kiss me. Choose me.
“I have to go back.”
The words land like a blow. Jacquetta turns, the space between us like a widening chasm.
Let her leave, that voice inside me urges. Fool that I am, I can’t.
“You said you loved me,” I call after her. “What’s more important than that?”
She pauses, her shoulders stiff.
Say it back, I scream in my mind. If she would just say it back…
“I told you who I am, Ayleth,” she replies instead. “A coward.”
How many times can a heart break before it kills you? As I stand there, rain stinging my face as I watch her mount her horse, I think I might discover the answer.
Fitz whines as Jacquetta gallops away through the portcullis. She doesn’t look back. Not even once—like I’m nothing more than a discarded cloak stuffed into a chest.
The storm hits not long after that. Rain pummels the Sanctum, pooling on the floor inside. I listen to it howl, all my old wounds bleeding afresh. What is it about me that makes people leave? Is it that same dark place Malum found in me—tender and easy to sink its hooks into? As if in answer, that force shivers. It won’t be long until the Veil breaks. I wish it would happen now. Let a Nevenwolf or some other sinister force swallow me up. At least then I would be free of this fury and hatred. And I do hate—Jacquetta and Mother. Nerissa and the covens and the Ancients themselves. I even hate the Bloodstones. They’re what led me to the White Palace. To Jacquetta. In fact, if I held those stones now, I would…
