Page 41 of The Witch Queen

By the middle of the following week, well over fifty young men have arrived to stake their claim in the trials. The White City is teeming with visitors. The glow of their celebrations is visible from the windows on the west side of the palace. At times, I can even hear the strains of music floating up the mountainside. In the palace, the mood is similarly jubilant. Whispers eddy through court. The anticipation of anew Braxosabout to rise. Some are even saying that this could be the end of the war. The end of Malum.

The end ofyou,that old voice jeers.

“Sir Dudley, Your Majesty.” Parnell’s voice interrupts my warring thoughts.

My steward indicates the young man kneeling in front of me. He appears to be in his early twenties, with black skin and deep brown eyes. His hair is braided in rows down his head.

“Robert, Your Majesty,” he says, dipping his chin.

Each claimant must formally present themselves to be considered for the trials and I’ve lost count of the number I’ve received over the past few days.

“Welcome to the White Court,” I say vaguely, gesturing him away.

The man rises and veers off to join the others. With just two days before the first trial, Weston has organized a party to celebrate the claimants. But numbers have swelled so much that the Great Hall is deemed too small for the event and he has moved the festivities outside to the palace gardens. Ice sculptures gleam silver in the light of the torches, and there’s a game of pall-mall organized on the lawn. Ornate metal wickets stick up from the earth, with brightly colored wooden balls strewn about the grounds. A high laugh catches my attention: Margaret.

Much to my annoyance, the duchess has slipped seamlessly back into her place at court. She hosts her own parties in her rooms each night, always surrounded by an orbit of sycophants. How anyone can stand more than a few moments in the duchess’s company is beyond my comprehension. I hoped that Joan would have uncovered someinformation I could use as leverage by now, but she hasn’t sent word. The mystery is maddening.

“What do you know about the duchess?” I ask Master Parnell, nodding in Margaret’s direction.

“Not much, I’m afraid, Your Majesty,” he replies. “Her Grace’s time at the palace concluded well before I arrived at court. Is there something specific I can inquire about?”

Tempting as it is to utilize Parnell’s network of spies, I have no doubt such methods would circle back to Margaret. Joan’s investigation is dangerous enough as it is.

“No,” I say. “I just want to become better acquainted with her, given her long absence.”

“Indeed,” Parnell continues. “Though I will say, it doesn’t seem that so much time has passed. The court has certainly welcomed the duchess home with open arms.”

Margaret takes a shot. Her ball sails expertly through one of the metal wickets and she claps in delight, the rest of her cohort cheering.

“And you, Parnell?”

He inclines his chin. “I am loyal to Your Majesty, of course.”

For now. But I can sense the sand shifting beneath my feet. The minutes counting down. A few weeks and all this might be gone forever. It won’t be, I try to tell myself. I’ve climbed my way to the top of this court once before. Nothing is going to drag me down. Malum expands behind my sternum, but I can take no comfort in its presence. Instead, I’m stifled. The same way I used to feel at Stonehaven, when it seemed the very walls of the Sanctum were inching in around me.

“I’ve had enough of this for one night,” I say, pushing up from my chair. “Handle the rest yourself.”

Before Parnell can object, I snatch up my cloak and start striding back toward the palace. Halfway across the grounds, I spot someone familiar: Blodwyn. She stands at the edge of the pall-mall game, observing the players.Alone.

I pause, considering. I’ve attempted to speak with the princess several times over the last few days. But each note I wrote to her wasanswered by one from Margaret herself, informing me that Blodwyn was busy preparing for her trials, or otherwise occupied. Blodwyn even stopped taking her meals in the Great Hall, presumably to remain as far away from me as possible. But now…I glance back at Margaret, who is still engrossed with her own court. Which means this is my opportunity.

Blodwyn looks up at the crunch of my footsteps. Torchlight washes gold over her features, highlighting the angles of her face. But any softness in her expression abruptly hardens when she registers that it’s me.

“Hello,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I’m glad to see you here. I’ve been hoping for the chance to talk.”

She returns her attention to the game. “I didn’t realize we had anything to discuss. You expressed yourself perfectly at dinner.”

So this is how it’s going to be. I hold back a sigh. Remind myself to be patient.

“It wasn’t my intention to—”

“Encourage everyone to fight against me?”

“I didn’tencourageanyone,” I reply, sharper than I’d intended. “In fact, I said I thought you were entirely capable of proving yourself.”

Blodwyn just snorts. A group of nearby courtiers cheers.

“Perhaps I wasn’t as sensitive as I could have been,” I allow, changing tactics. “But this is a complicated matter. How do you imagine the court would have reacted if I refused their request? I did what was necessary.”