Page 36 of The Witch Queen

Four other witches are clustered around her, their teeth bared and their hair wild as it whips across their faces. But it’s their feet that I can’t stop staring at: five pairs of iron shoes that, even on the parchment, blaze red with heat. Thunder rumbles overhead, rattling the panes of my menagerie’s glass ceiling.

The witches’ curse.

The words loop in my mind like crows, as they have since I was old enough to hear the whispers circulating through the palace. Old enough to understand that there was something different about me. Somethingwrong.

I thumb the edge of the drawing, the page brittle and yellowed with age. I discovered the book in the library years ago, after both Mother and my ladies refused to explain what the curse entailed. I’ve read the story so many times by now that I practically have it memorized. According to this, at the start of the Covens’ War, five witches—the reigning Heirs—were dragged to the palace and executed. With their dying breaths, they levied a curse against my family. All the White King’s sons would die, they vowed. The line itself would end, as repayment for the violence against the witches.

“Curses have only the power that you give them,” Mother always insisted.

I want to believe her, but it’s difficult when so much of the evidence points otherwise. Difficult when, nearly half a century later, the court is still convinced it’s true.

Not just King Callen,someone had said last night.But his father before him. The other princes…

They were right. Uncle Arthur died in the war, slain by the witches themselves. Uncle Tiergan was rumored to go mad. I overheard some of my ladies say that he was found running down the halls of the palace, screaming that something was chasing him. And then there’s Papa. Dread coils tight in my belly when I think of him lying in bed—the glassy sheen to his eyes and the garish scar carved into his marble-cold skin. All because of an accident, Ayleth claimed. But what if it wasn’t? If it was something far more sinister? And if my family really is cursed, how long before it findsme?

Another crash of thunder shakes the palace, lightning flaring white against the drawing of the witches. For an instant, the red-hot iron shoes gleam brighter. The witches seem to move on the page, their skirts whipping around their legs. The expressions on their faces screw into snarls.

Blodwyn,I swear I hear beneath the howling of the wind outside.Pay the price.

A blur of black leaps from amid the potted plants and I yelp, certain that it’s one of the monsters from my nightmares come to life. Instead, a pair of golden eyes blinks up at me. Recognition hits me in a rush.

“Nettle!” I exclaim, my heart still racing. The cat meows, evidently thoroughly amused at having given me the fright of my life. “Is that your idea of a greeting?”

She trills in what I interpret as confirmation. I glower at her, but then relent and scratch beneath her chin, which is still her favorite place, given that she immediately starts purring. My attention returns to the book, but there’s nothing strange about the illustration now—just ink and parchment. That’s all it ever was, I tell myself, feeling foolish for allowing my imagination to get the better of me.

“Blodwyn? Are you here?”

The sound of Aunt Margaret’s voice carries through the menagerie. I slam the book closed, then shove it back into its hiding place before my aunt can see it.

“Well,” she says, rounding the corner. “Thiswasn’t here when I inhabited these rooms.”

“Papa had it built for me,” I explain. “After—”

“Oh!” Aunt Margaret cries. “A rat! Get away!”

She lifts her skirts and I spot something spiky and brown zooming around her feet. Nettle chirrups in what could be a laugh.

“Careful!” I hurry to scoop the creature up before Aunt Margaret steps on him. “That’s just Crumbs. He’s a hedgehog, not a rat.”

Crumbs lifts his quivery pink nose, beady eyes peering up at me.

“A hedgehog,” Aunt Margaret repeats, smoothing her skirts. “Yes, that sounds like a perfectly reasonable thing to have.”

He’s not a thing,I almost correct.

“I should have warned you,” I say instead. “Honestly, I’m surprised he’s still here. All of them, really. I assumed Ayleth would have boarded this place up a long time ago.”

As soon as I left, in fact. But the menagerie and all its residents are noticeably well tended. The doe, Marigold, twitches her ears at me from where she’s half-hidden among the potted trees. There’s a family of rabbits who boasts decidedly more members than I recall. Even my tortoise, Lucille, is lounging beneath the large fronds of a fern, snapping at blackberries. The juice and pulp smear over her face, making a gruesome mess. WhydidAyleth keep this place up? But I suppose it doesn’t matter now.

“Yes, well,” Aunt Margaret continues. A hummingbird flies near her and she shoos it away. “Then the queen has surprised us both. Especially after last night.”

I’d been so wrapped up with reading about the curse that I’d nearly forgotten the other disaster at dinner. Another version of the council meeting, only worse. Because this time, it was like I didn’t exist at all.No one even seemed to remember my name, just the fact that I’m not a prince. Not what was wanted. Not…

Gavin.

I can still picture the young man standing before the court. His broad shoulders and strong jaw. The candlelight luminous against his light brown skin and shining on his dark hair where it fell across his forehead. I suppose some might consider him handsome, but I certainly don’t. Not when he’s trying to erase my family from Riven. Fresh anger licks my insides. How could anyone be so haughty and arrogant and—

Right,a small voice inside me supplies.What if he’s right about you?