Page 157 of The Witch Queen

“Well, you’re correct about one thing,” she says. “I’m not a witch. Not likeyou,Ayleth.”

Every muscle in my body stills as those gray eyes lock with mine. That place on my left ribs shivers. Beside me, Jacquetta moves closer.

“Aren’t you going to deny it?” Margaret continues. “Tell me it’s just a rumor? That was clever of you, I admit. Allowing such gossip to circulate. Disguising the truth in plain sight. Sooner or later, though, it catches up with you.”

The fire crackles in the silence. I clench my fists, my heartbeat thudding in my palms.

“If your plan is to expose me to the court, go ahead,” I say. “No one will believe you. Not once they learn of your own involvement with the creature.”

I expect her to argue—or even to beg for my mercy. But Margaret merely throws back her head andlaughs.It’s a haunting, grating sound that raises the hairs on my neck.

“Myinvolvement?” she asks. “My dear, if I could have summoned that creature, I would have done so years ago. Simply for the pleasure of razing this palace to the ground.”

My brow furrows. “Razingit?”

“That’s right.” She crosses to a sideboard and pours herself a glass of wine. “Your theory about my so-called banishment is entertaining, but somewhat muddled. Would you like to hear what really happened,Your Majesty?”

Instinct warns me that this is a trap, but my curiosity wins out.

“Fine,” I relent. “But don’t waste my time.”

“To the point, as ever.” She raises her glass to me, then drains it in one gulp. “I imagine you’re both aware by now that my brothers were largely useless. Honestly, the realm was fortunate when Arthur died. He would have been awful—so serious and obsessed with the Order. Tiergan would have been fun, at least. But he was an idiot. And there would have been dozens of royal bastards running around making a mess of the succession.”

Margaret pauses. Refills her glass.

“And then there was Callen.” Her voice drips with disdain. “Selfish. Hateful. No more capable of running Riven than a rabid dog. Papa understood that. He always said thatIhad the sharper mind. The stronger spine. That if I’d only been born a man…”

Her jaw works and she takes a deep drink of her wine.

“But I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she continues. “Papa wouldn’t hear of namingmehis heir instead of my brother. And so I decided to force his hand. Forge an alliance of my own. It couldn’t be through the normal channels, of course. But I knew of a group of people who wanted revenge against the White King as much as I did.”

Understanding hits. I exchange a look with Jacquetta.

“Do you mean…thecovens?”

“You’re cleverer than I assumed,” she comments. “And yes. It seemed the most obvious solution. If the witches were the cause of the war, I reasoned that they could be the cure. And I despised the Order, especially that scheming and slippery High Priest. It would have given megreatpleasure to knock him down. I suppose I should thank you for doing me that service.”

Margaret raises her glass in my direction again. I don’t react.

“So I struck a deal,” she says. “I would gather information for thecovens. Recruit my own forces. Together, we would depose my father and putmeon the throne. In return, I would overturn the edict, allowing witches to remain in Riven. It would have been a new age. AndIwould have been agloriousqueen.”

She stares off into the distance, her gray eyes glittering. It’s a bold plot, one I’m not at all surprised to hear that Margaret invented. Except…she isn’t on the throne.

“What went wrong?” I ask.

“What always goes wrong?” She deals us a rueful smile. “Men got involved. My father discovered my plans. They usedmyinformation to track down the witches who allied with me. Raided their Sanctums. Killed them, I’m sure. And then I was shipped off to marry that decrepit bore in Darryn.”

Lightning flashes, painting the room in white.

I sort through the pieces of her story. If the Hunt used Margaret’s information, and the Heirs were involved, then the duchess is very likely the reason Selene lost her home. Perhaps Della and the other Heirs as well. And I realize something else—Mother must not have agreed to the plan to ally with Margaret. Perhaps that’s why the others were so resentful about Stonehaven. Not just because they disagreed with our disguise, but because their own plan had so thoroughly failed.

“So you see,” Margaret goes on, “I’m not a witch. But I have very much wished otherwise.”

Unwelcome sympathy knocks through me. She reminds me of Marion, the courtier Callen cast aside as soon as it suited him. Punished for reaching too high. For trying to survive in a world built to shut her out.

“But all this was twenty years ago,” Jacquetta remarks. “Have you been communicating with the covens the whole time?”

“No,” Margaret replies. “In fact, given what happened, I assumed they were all dead. Imagine my surprise when Selene and the others turned up in Rycinthia. Even more so when my brother suffered his mysterious accident and then my niece came knocking on my door.”