Page 146 of The Witch Queen

Wind pushes in around us, stirring the fire. Is that the whole reason? Or is there more? Even with the alcohol, I can’t read the truth in Jacquetta’s expression.

It doesn’t matter,that voice reminds me.She betrayed you.

“I doubt the Heirs will feel the same, though,” Jacquetta continues. “Especially not once they’re locked in your dungeons.”

The same thought already crossed my mind. And not just mine. Shade also warned that the Heirs might expose my secret—one of themany reasons why he insisted that we take the witches’ power immediately. But I want the trial and the show. Want to watch them kneel before me andbeg.

“I’ll handle them,” I tell Jacquetta, swigging from the bottle.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she drawls. “Let me guess. First you’ll have your shadow pet steal our power and then you’ll feed us to the flames?”

I shiver in the next gust of wind. And I should tell her yes. That she earned this fate. But perhaps the liquor is working its way through my own blood because when I look at Jacquetta, the firelight bringing out the silver in her eyes, the words don’t come.

“It doesn’t have to be that way for you,” I tell her instead. “You can still choose Malum.”

Choose me.

Jacquetta reaches for the bottle and takes another drink, her lips slick with the liquor. And I must be getting drunk, because all I can think about is how those lips used to feel against mine. How they used to taste. Maybe Jacquetta is remembering the same thing, for she leans closer. Starts to—

“No,” she says, near enough that the word brushes my face. “Whatever you do to the others tomorrow, you’re going to have to do to me. And you’ll have to live with it.”

Her rejection, swift and final, cuts deeper than any blade. But I refuse to let her see it. I yank the bottle from her hands and hurl it into the fire. It bursts among the flames, angry sparks erupting into the night.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening. As you said, it’s likely your last.”

And then I turn on my heel and stalk back to my tent, ignoring the sound of what might be a muffled sob behind me.

Chapter Forty-Four

Blodwyn

The glow of my candle lights my way through the servants’ passages.

Gavin and I decided it was safer to wait until nightfall before meeting at the stables. I should be headed there, but I have one more errand to complete. There are two letters in my satchel—one for Aunt Margaret and one for Ayleth. I debated writing them, as I don’t want anyone sending a search party for us too soon. But I haven’t revealed where I’m going. Only that I’ve left the palace and that I’ll return once they’re willing to listen. Verity will write to us at Gavin’s estate with updates, letting us know when it’s safe to return.

Ayleth’s rooms are first and I press my ear to the panel before pushing my way inside. Aside from the night I discovered Ayleth’s secret, I’ve not visited these rooms since Mother’s death, a fact that drums against my skull as I cross through into the main chamber. Everything is different. The bright colors Mother loved are replaced with crimson and black. Mother’s pomegranate crest is now Ayleth’s crownedA, which is embroidered on curtains and pillows. And it’s not just the furnishings that have been altered. When Mother was alive, these rooms were filled with music and laughter and warmth. Now the cold eats through my woolen dress, raising gooseflesh on my skin. Shadowsseem to stretch in the corners of the room, and I can’t shake the ominous sensation that I’m being observed.

But I push that away. The rooms are empty. And there’s no sign of any servants. Still, I should be quick. I set my satchel down and dig the letter out of it. A nearby table is littered with books and partially unrolled maps. I bury the letter with those, hopefully buying myself some time before Ayleth discovers it. But as I start back the way I came, I notice another set of curtains. The thick fabric ripples, as if stirred by a draft. My brow furrows. That’s an inner wall, which means there can’t be an outside window behind them.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I peel back the curtain to investigate. I was right. Instead of a window, I discover a large mirror hidden behind the fabric. Judging from the craftsmanship, it’s Dwarvian. Its frame appears to be fashioned of dark bramble, with scarlet-eyed crows nestled into the branches, which are dotted with garnet gems cut to resemble apples. But the glass is the most striking element. It almost appears liquid, like the surface is still water. A strange pull begins behind my sternum, like a tether drawing me toward the glass. My hand lifts, obeying an almost overpowering urge to—

Princess,a voice rasps.

I whirl around, dropping the curtain, my heart hammering in my chest. Across the room, the shadows seem to move, slithering toward me. Twin spots of crimson glimmer, like a set of eyes in the dimness. Panic climbs up my throat. Is that the creature? Has she—

“Blodwyn?”

The shape in the distance instantly vanishes, the shadows of the room receding. Had it ever been there at all? Or am I losing my mind? But those questions fade away as someone else enters the chamber. Someone I wasnotsupposed to run into tonight.

“Aunt Margaret,” I blurt, my pulse humming. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” she replies. Then pauses, studying me. “And is that a servants’ uniform?”

“Oh,” I say, cursing myself. “I just…”

“Didn’t want to be recognized?” she asks slyly. “While you’re sneaking in to explore your new chambers?”

Relief crashes into me. Of course that’s what Aunt Margaret guesses I came to do. I latch onto the excuse. “Yes. That’s it.”