Page 49 of The Witch Queen

“Just…be her friend. Show her that you’re the same Ayleth she remembers.”

I hum my reply. Because I cannot be the Ayleth that Blodwyn remembers. That witch is dead. I shed her skin the moment I accepted my true power. And I’d do it again, a thousand times over. Malum swells inside me, shadows playing around my skirts.

A flurry of laughter and movement distracts me as a gaggle of courtiers enters the courtyard, Margaret at their head. The duchess is wearing yet another stunning outfit. It’s a deep gold color, embroidered in shimmering bronze thread and studded with seed pearls. She breezes past me without a glance, engrossed with her flock of admirers.

She is so very popular, isn’t she?One of Callen’s unwelcome observations from the past week echoes in my mind.

I shake it away, focusing instead on the last person to arrive: Blodwyn. Her riding habit is a deep burgundy, trimmed in sable fur, whichonly accentuates the rich black of her hair and the red of her lips. She looks every inch a queen.

The true queen.

A crow calls overhead.

“Blodwyn,” I say, putting myself in her path.

She pins me with one of her frosty glares. “Is there something you need?”

“I wanted to apologize,” I begin. “About the other night. My behavior was inexcusable. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Blodwyn just stands there, sullen as a wet cat. And it soon becomes clear that she has no intention of apologizing for the thingsshesaid tome.Fine, then.

“Here,” I say, holding out the box. “This is for you. For the hunt.”

She looks at my offering like it’s something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. But her curiosity must win out, for she deigns to unlatch the fastenings and lift the lid. Dull sunlight gleams on the polished wooden bow, a reddish yew, which is engraved with foliage and animals chasing themselves along the weapon’s curve.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, running her fingertips along the details.

“It’s Dwarvian,” I explain, smiling at finally having impressed her. “I had it brought from the Mines in honor of the occasion. Because I do support you, Blodwyn.”

She looks up, her seemingly permanent scowl softened in the slightest. “This is—”

“What alovelypiece.” Margaret’s voice slices between us.

Malum pulses behind my sternum. How does this woman always seem to guess the precise moment to show up and spoil everything?

“And did I hear you say that it’sDwarvian?”

“That’s right,” I reply tightly.

“How generous. It’s only…” Margaret frowns, looking at me like I’m a witchling still learning her wards. “On any other hunt, this would be a fine weapon. But enchantments are forbidden during the trials.”

“It’s not—”

“Master Roderick”—Margaret beckons—“would you inspect this bow?”

“I’m sure that won’t be—” I start.

But the weapon’s master has already arrived, trailed by a few other courtiers who are lured by the exchange. Master Roderick picks up the weapon, tilting it so that he can see the inside of the bow’s curve.

“Ah, yes. Here,” he says, indicating several markings. “A rune for speed. And one for strength. I’m afraid Her Grace is correct. This weapon isn’t permitted.”

My cheeks burn. “I didn’t realize…”

“But of course you didn’t,” Margaret croons. “No one here thinks youdeliberatelygave the princess an enchanted weapon.”

The crowd has thickened, suspicious looks grazing my skin. Murmurs chase themselves around the courtyard, suspicious looks grazing my skin. Shadows undulate, slinking nearer.

“Wait.” A crease forms between Blodwyn’s brows. “Isthat why you gave this to me? Because you knew I’d be disqualified if I used it?”