Page 32 of The Witch Queen

“What are you—”

“Let me out of this prison,” he says. “It will solve all your problems.”

I snort a laugh. Isthatwhat he was getting at?

“And create about a hundred others,” I argue. “Besides, your heart is bound. Even if I wanted to release you, which I don’t, you can’t survive without the glass.”

“You believe yourself a clever witch,” he says, twisting the compliment. “I imagine that you could devise a way. And then we could get rid of Margaret together. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Oh yes.” I roll my eyes. “Right up until you arrest me again.”

Nettle meows her agreement, her tail swishing.

“No, no,” Callen insists. “We understand each other now.”

“Understand? You and I are nothing alike.”

He laughs, low in his throat. “Let me assure you, wife, we areexactlythe same.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh no? How many witches have you killed?”

“I don’t kill them.”

“Perhaps not outright,” he allows. “But you leave them wishing they were dead. And how many villages have you gutted with that abominable power of yours? How many Followers have been felled byyourcommand?”

I recall what I’d seen on the way to the Mines. The half-starved young girl with the accusing gaze. That old thorn of guilt stings in my conscience.

She is not your concern,the shadows whisper.

“They did it to themselves,” I insist. “They deserved it, all of them.”

“What a coincidence,” Callen remarks. “That’s precisely what I used to say about witches.”

Rage crackles in my wrists. “You areneverleaving that mirror. Even if there were a way to reverse the spell, I would rather fling myself upon a pyre than do it.”

“Careful,wife,” Callen sneers. “The trials won’t last forever. In a few weeks’ time, that might be exactly what happens.”

A log in the fire collapses.

You will burn,Mother’s warning rears its head.

From what I’ve observed thus far, Blodwyn may light the flames herself.

—

By dinner, the Great Hall hums with chatter and speculation regarding Blodwyn’s announcement, the court—as ever—eager for another excuse to dance and drink.

Eager for a new queen,that small voice prods at me.

I drown it in a swallow of wine, which isn’t a good idea, considering my empty stomach. But seeing as this is their welcome dinner, we can’t start eating until Margaret and Blodwyn arrive. I suspect they’re being late on purpose, just to make us wait. From the direction of the mirrors, I swear that I can detect Callen’s laughter.

Weston has wasted no time in beginning his promised entertainments. Music plays from the upper-story gallery. The Lord of Misrule and his entourage are masked and dancing down the aisles. But I cantake no pleasure in the festivity. I’ve spent the last hours pacing my chambers and wracking my brain for a solution to my current predicament, but I’ve only tangled myself in more knots. And I can feel my control over this situation slipping away with each minute.

“I don’t understand,” Joan says, “why insist on the trials now? They never hinted about doing so in their letters? Not even Blodwyn?”

“She wrote to me of archery and riding,” I say, signaling to the servants to refill my glass. “Not staging a coup.”