Page 33 of The Witch Queen

“It’s not exactly a coup,” Joan reasons. “The princessisthe heir.”

“Margaret isn’t,” I reply, irritated. “The duchess is the one behind all of this. She poisoned Blodwyn against me. Did you see the way the princess was looking at me in the courtyard? It was worse in the council chamber.”

“You don’t think…” Joan halts, then leans closer and drops her voice. “Could theyknow? About…”

She trails off, but I guess her meaning. Aboutme.

“No,” I say, as much to myself as to Joan. “If they did, I doubt they would have left Margaret’s army behind.”

At least, that’s what I’ve told myself since the council meeting. Joan nods, accepting the answer, but I see the doubt written on her expression. The same doubt churning in my own mind.

The heralds blast their horns, diverting our attention to the front of the hall.

“Finally,” I mutter.

A storm of hushed chatter erupts as Blodwyn enters. But if the attention bothers her, she doesn’t show it. The princess’s face is a mask of stoicism. Even her gown is the color of tempered steel, like she’s wearing armor. Margaret, however, is the complete opposite. The duchess sails through the doors like she’s leading her own parade, all smiles and waves. She’s dressed in white, the fabric studded with tiny pearls and glass beads, so that she sparkles with each movement. Every eye in the room is drawn to her, like moths to a flame.

“What a beauty,” I hear someone remark.

“Certainly looks regal.”

A true queen,that voice in my mind jeers.

“Our apologies for the delay,” Margaret says in the least apologetic manner possible once she reaches the High Table. “It was a bit of a challenge to settle into my rooms. They’re so quaint.”

The duchess’s suite once belonged to Marion, Callen’s former mistress. It’s one of the largest, and most lavish, in the palace. But I ignore Margaret’s barb and plaster on a smile.

“What about your chambers?” I ask Blodwyn. “Is everything well?”

It should be. I took great pains to have Blodwyn’s rooms freshened and her menagerie cleaned. All her animals were well attended in her absence. But Blodwyn merely shrugs.

“Well enough.”

With that, she moves to take her place at the table. Given her rank, it’s the one beside mine. But Blodwyn eyes the chair like it’s a snake and then chooses the next one down, leaving Margaret to sit between us. Wonderful.

“She’ll come around,” Joan murmurs as we take our own places.

I very much doubt that and signal for more wine.

“I’m so glad we have a chance to talk more privately,” Margaret continues. The smell of her perfume—something overly floral—is strong enough to sting in my nostrils. “I want to know all about you.”

“There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid,” I say, pulling my shadows closer and hoping their presence will shorten Margaret’s interest.

“Nonsense,” Margaret insists. “Blodwyn informs me that you lived in a Sanctum before you came to court. Is that right?”

“That’s what shesaid,” I hear Blodwyn comment.

I sip from my glass. “Yes, I did.”

“Howinteresting.” Margaret adjusts one of her rings. “I confess that I was never much drawn to the faith. That treacherous High Priest—Ignatius, was it?—always seemed suspect to me. Perhaps I could sense that he was hiding something.”

The smile she turns on me might as well be a knife.

“I’d love to hear more about your time at the duchess’s estate,Blodwyn,” I say, desperate to change the subject. “You mentioned archery in your letters?”

“If you read my letters, then you’re already aware of my activities,” she replies without so much as a glance in my direction.

I told you so,I mouth to Joan, who frowns helplessly back at me.