Page 220 of The Witch Queen

“I needed you just as much,” I tell her. I take her hand and press our marks together. “And we don’t need lines to connect us. We’re sisters now. Always.”

Blodwyn’s eyes shine. She nods.

Around us, the garden bursts into bloom.

Chapter Sixty-Four

Ayleth

What seems the whole of Riven arrives to celebrate Blodwyn’s coronation.

The White City is teeming with visitors, far more so than the trials boasted, banners flying and celebrations lasting long into the night. Unlike previous coronations in Riven, Blodwyn invites the people to attend the ceremony. Visitors cram into the palace courtyard, the line of well-wishers stretching all the way down the side of the mountain. It’s far more enthusiasm than I received at my own coronation. But it doesn’t bother me to hear the crowds chanting Blodwyn’s name. In fact, I’m relieved to be out of the spotlight. As much as I can be, anyway.

There was some debate about whether I should be allowed to attend the ceremony at all. Some argued that my presence would be distracting. Others, apparently, want the coronation to double as my execution. For Blodwyn to sentence me to dance in a pair of hot iron shoes during the feast. The idea is prevalent enough that a few visitors carry banners calling for the event. I hear some merchants in the city are even selling trinkets—tiny iron shoes painted red. I don’t care. The world will always crave a villain. If they want to paint me as such, let them. I’m the one who knows the truth.

“Well,” someone says, taking the place beside me in the front row of the throne room. “I certainly never imagined that I’d behere.”

It’s Sindony. She and the other witches were invited to the coronation, but I wasn’t sure if they would attend. I keep craning my neck, searching for one in particular, but—as far as I can tell—Jacquetta hasn’t arrived. Whereisshe? And why has she stayed away?

She doesn’t care for you,that voice goads.

Even after everything that’s happened, it still will not leave me alone.

“Why did you come?” I ask.

She shrugs. “It’s better to be involved. See for myself if this so-called Witch Queen will keep her promises.”

“She won’t,” I reply, earning a raised eyebrow. “She’ll do much more.”

Sindony just grunts. “I suppose we’ll see. Her grand visions certainly won’t be easy to accomplish.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be around to tell her exactly what she’s doing wrong,” I add.

“If she asks for my council, I’ll give it,” Sindony answers primly. “But even you must concede that there’s significant history to overcome. Half of the other witches refused to set foot in this place on principle. I don’t blame them.”

At the mention of the others, I stiffen. I tell myself not to ask the next question, but it slips out, anyway. “And Jacquetta?”

Something that might be pity crosses Sindony’s expression.

“I’m not sure,” she says. “I haven’t seen her.”

Much as I try to fight it, disappointment swoops through my belly. But I don’t get long to wallow. Horns blare, echoing over the chamber.

“Presenting the Princess Blodwyn!” one of the heralds announces.

The entire hall rises as Blodwyn enters. She wears a gown of gold, which only heightens the golden hue beneath her skin. Her dark hair is done up with pearls and diamonds. She looks like a star fallen to earth. A goddess among mortals. She progresses slowly down the aisle and takes the throne. No longer a princess, but a queen.

Thetruequeen—just as the prophecy foretold.

—

After the ceremony concludes, the parties begin. The Great Hall has been transformed into a scene from a winter forest. Birch trees arch up into the ceiling, dozens of enchanted candles suspended from their limbs. Blodwyn’s crest flutters from where it’s embroidered on dozens of banners, but there are others as well. The crossed pickaxes of the Dwarves. Even the seal of the covens, picked out in gleaming thread that shines in the torchlight.

“Well,” someone remarks behind me, “I imagine my brother is rolling in his grave.”

I turn to find Margaret examining one of the Dwarvian ice sculptures. We haven’t seen much of each other since the events of the courtyard. The duchess seems entirely recovered from her ordeal. She wears one of her stunning gowns, but I notice it’s not quite as ostentatious as normal. Blodwyn’s crest is pinned to her bodice.

“Glass coffin, rather,” she amends. “Honestly, I’m surprised Blodwyn granted him the honor of the crypt. I would have left him in the courtyard. Let the vultures peck out his eyes.”