Page 167 of The Witch Queen

“My sister,” Callen supplies.

So, he knows about Margaret. Of course he does. He must have been watching when we confronted the duchess. My mind reels, trying to guess everything else Callen might know. What he’ll do with that information.

“Margaret?” Weston echoes, baffled. “Are you certain?”

“Quite,” Callen replies. “She’s been scheming for my throne for some time now. We’ll deal with her later.”

And you,his expression says, gray eyes glittering as he studies me over the rim of his wineglass. I grip the arms of my chair tighter.

“Indeed, Sire,” Parnell continues. He moves a few more markers on the map. “For now, I’ve received intelligence that Rycinthian forces are growing. Ten thousand, by last count. And the duchess’s troops fromDarryn are amassing at the border, no doubt planning to join them and march on the palace.”

My stomach sinks. I really have made a mess of things.

“Let them come.”

All attention pivots to Callen, who is lounging in his chair as though we’re discussing an upcoming party and not the sack of Riven.

“Majesty?” Parnell asks.

“You heard me,” Callen repeats. “I said let them come. We will stand against them.”

“As much as I agree with the sentiment, Sire,” Parnell continues, cautious, “things have changed since you last joined us. We no longer have the resources to fend off such an assault.”

“I think we’ll figure something out.” He waves the problem away. “For now, we need to discuss the traitor in our midst.”

“Traitor?” Weston asks. “You mean Margaret?”

“No.” Callen’s attention returns to me. “The witch.”

Dread hums a constant rhythm in my chest. He’s going to tell them. Going to—

“What’s her name, my dear? Jacqueline?”

I release a breath, relieved that he didn’t implicate me. But it’s instantly overtaken by panic when I realize who he does mean.

“Jacquetta wasn’t involved with the covens,” I insist.

Callen clicks his tongue. “And how do you know that? Because shetoldyou?”

More low laughter. Idespisethese men.

“She didn’t have to,” I say.

“Sweet wife,” Callen says, his voice dripping with condescension, “I do admire your compassion, but I’m afraid you’re tooinvolvedto see what’s right in front of you.”

Involved. Heat flames in my cheeks. Had Callen been watching us last night?

“I’m not—”

“It’s my understanding that this witch was a member of the covensbefore she turned up here, isn’t that true?” he asks, drumming his fingers lazily on the table. “Surely you’re not taking her side.”

I press my lips together, recognizing the line Callen has drawn. If I defend Jacquetta, I’ll be accused alongside her.

“No,” I manage.

“Then you agree,” Callen presses. “The witch deserves the pyre.”

“Thepyre?”