Page 38 of The Witch Queen

Aunt Margaret studies me a long while.

“Have you ever known me to lose at cards?” she asks at last.

That’s an odd question. But I mentally comb back over the years. There must have been dozens of parties at Aunt Margaret’s estate. Hundreds of card games. And Aunt Margaretwasalways sitting with the largest pile of coin in front of her.

“I…suppose not.”

“You haven’t,” she confirms, matter-of-factly. “Because Idon’tlose at cards. I don’t lose at anything, ever. I used to. All the time. Do you know how I managed to improve my luck?”

I shake my head. Lightning flashes through the window.

“I finally learned how to play the hand I was dealt,” she explains. “To only engage in the battles I was certain that I would win. And if Ibelieved that there was the slightest chance that we would lose this particular battle, I wouldn’t be here. And neither would you.”

Her faith in me should bolster my confidence, but it doesn’t.

“This isn’t cards,” I reason. “And I’ve heard what everyone is saying. Now that the trials are open, there will be more claimants. A lot more.”

“Yes,” Aunt Margaret says, unbothered. “Vermin typically crawl out of the woodwork when the opportunity presents itself. But alltheywant is to play at being king. You have something more.”

My brow furrows. “What?”

“Hunger,” she replies. “I’ve seen it in you. Because I have it as well. A deep anger driving you on. It’s far deadlier than any of their expensive blades—if you wield it properly.”

That anger stirs inside me again, like a beast stretching in its den.

“You and I are very similar,” Aunt Margaret continues. “Both unwanted princesses, packed off and sent away. There’s a reason we were brought together. A shared destiny between the two of us. And if thereisa curse on this family, it’s clearly only on its sons. Perhaps it’s time for us daughters to have a go.”

That finally tempts a smile. And I let myself relax slightly. Aunt Margaret has never steered me wrong before. If it weren’t for her, I might still be locked in my rooms. Or worse…

“All right,” I say, nodding. “I’ll try.”

“That’s my future queen,” she says, patting my hand. “I’ll call the servants back. And shut that window before we catch our death.”

I hold in a groan, mentally preparing myself to be poked and prodded within an inch of my life. But just as I start to close the window, something smacks into the panes so hard that the glass cracks. I gasp and jerk away, staring at a splotch of black stuck to the opposite side.

“What onearthwas that?” Aunt Margaret asks, horrified.

“It’s a…bird.”

A crow, I realize. And it collided with the window so violently that its beak is embedded in the pane. After a few seconds, the creature finally dislodges, blood smearing as it slides away. A stark crimson blossom amid the jagged fissures on the glass.

“How awful,” Aunt Margaret says. “It must have gotten lost in the storm.”

Maybe. But I study the hole where the crow’s beak had punctured the pane. It must have been flying straight-on to do that, like it was heading right for me. Like it was…

Looking for you,a small voice in the back of my mind whispers.

Chapter Eleven

Ayleth

Before sunrise the next day, Weston, who I assumed never rose before noon, is at my door with plans to transform the upcoming challenges to accommodate the additional participants. A number that seems to be growing by the hour.

“These arrived this morning,” Joan says, brandishing a stack of letters as she walks into my chamber the following afternoon. “New claimants.”

Fitz trots in alongside her. Nettle rouses herself and stretches, then lopes over to start pestering him.

“Already?” I ask as Joan hands me the pile.