Page 168 of The Witch Queen

“The penalty for treason,” Master Parnell supplies smoothly, “has always been death.”

Callen smirks, daring me to argue. That connection between us throbs and I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone. He knows it. He’senjoyingit.

“Whatever you decide,” I force myself to say.

“Good,” he says. “Then build it, Parnell. And make it a large one. I have a feeling we’re going to root out more than one person in this palace who deserves to face the flames.”

With that, he raises his glass to me and drinks deeply, his lips slick with red.

Like blood.

—

I’m out the doors as soon as the council meeting ends, struggling to keep my pace even when every instinct is screaming at me to sprint down the corridors. News of Callen has evidently spread. The halls are packed with courtiers, all talking and laughing. Several of them offer me their congratulations, or smirk at me with vindictive glee. I ignore them all, weaving my way through the press of bodies, keeping my ears pricked for the sound of Callen’s pursuit. For the guards. But there’s nothing, which only intensifies my anxiety.

“Jacquetta?” I call, as I shove through my chamber doors.

There’s no answer. The meager thread of my power shivers. Something is wrong. The silence is too thick, too ominous. All the curtains are drawn and the fire is nearly dead, embers casting an eerie glowagainst the furnishings. As my eyes adjust to the dimness, I’m able to make out a shadowy figure on the other side of the room.

“Jacquetta.” Relief whooshes through me. “Jacquetta, I…”

The rest falls away when she turns. It’s not Jacquetta at all. It’sMargaret.Her eyes meet mine and my blood congeals. Because they’re not the gray of tempered steel, as they should be. They’resilver.Like mirrors. Like—

“She won’t help you.”

I whirl around. The dying firelight gleams on the white slash of Callen’s smile. My senses rush back to me. I may not command the shadows, but Icanfight back. A silver blade waits on a nearby table. I snatch it up and lunge at Callen. Seams pop as it pierces his doublet and sinks into his side. I hear the tear of flesh. Feel the scrape of the knife against bone. But Callen just stands there. He doesn’t even cry out.

“And I’m afraidthat,” he says, “is a trick that only works once.”

He shoves me away and slides the knife from his body. His doublet is slashed, but there’s no blood staining the velvet—or even on the blade. I stare at him in horror. What is goingon?

“You were right,” Callen calls over his shoulder. “This body is nearly invincible.”

Another figure steps from the shadows. Pale-skinned, with a long, hooked nose. His beady black eyes gleam, robes billowing around him like smoke. Master Parnell.

“What are you…” I start.

“Do keep up, my dear,” Callen says. “Parnell has been here from the beginning. Or do you not recall Ignatius’s chambers?”

Understanding hits me like a bolt of lightning. Parnell accompanied the king and his guards on the night I killed the High Priest. I thought the steward left when Callen dismissed them all. But hehadn’t.Cold certainty prickles down my spine, the same feeling I imagine a rabbit feels when it’s caught in a snare.

“You saw,” I say, numb.

The insidious, crow-like man smiles. “Yes, Majesty. I did.”

I envision him there, lurking in the shadows, watching me carve outCallen’s heart and place it in the mirror. Watching the crown of Bloodstones form above my head. A thousand tiny pieces click into place at once and I curse myself for being so careless as to miss them.

“And it’s a good thing,” Callen adds, still inspecting himself. “Otherwise I’d never be out of that mirror. Remarkable, Parnell, truly. I don’t even have a scratch.”

“Thank you, Sire,” he says, inclining his chin.

“No,” I say, as if denying this situation could somehow make it less real. “Your heart cannot leave the mirror alive.”

“That’s correct,” Parnell agrees, his tone even and confident, as if we’re engaging in scholarly discussion. “The king’s heart is bound. However, I realized that—in theory—his body was an extension of the mirror itself. Therefore, it stood to reason that I might be able to replace the heart with another. It didn’t work at first. I had a dreadful time of experimentation. Ignatius’s notes got me only so far.”

His notes? But then it hits—the texts in Ignatius’s lair. Parnell had been sneaking in there. Studying the grimoires and journals. BooksIleft.

Another mistake,that voice whispers.