Page 65 of The Witch Queen

“Just me,” I assure her.

She frowns, a crease digging between her brows, but then lets it go. “All right. Well, I’m glad I caught you alone. I need to talk to you. About Margaret.”

“Was there something useful in the archives?” I ask, hopeful.

After the spectacular failure of the hunt, I would give almost anything to bring the duchess to heel. Especially after Margaret’s needling questions relating to Nox. I haven’t seen the Nevenwolf since the forest and instructed Shade to keep him out of sight until the Hunt abandons their search for him.

“Perhaps,” Joan says. “I found a brief mention of a scandal involving the duchess. I assumed it was a forbidden romance or the like. For almost immediately after the incident occurred, Princess Margaret was betrothed to the duke and packed away to Darryn.”

Given what I know of Margaret, a tryst wouldn’t surprise me at all.

“Did you determine who it was with? They might prove helpful.”

Especially if things didn’t end well between them.

“I tried to,” Joan tells me. “But when I returned to the archives today, all of those documents had been removed. Along with my own family records.AndAnora’s.”

“Your records? Who would have…” Joan deals me a meaningful look and comprehension dawns. “Margaret.”

“That’s my guess,” she agrees. “I assume the duchess learned that I’m looking into her past and is warning me away.”

And if Margaret is digging through the royal archives, what else is she searching for?

From the direction of my mirror, I hear the faint echo of Callen’s laughter.

“I’ll handle it,” I say, cursing the day I permitted Margaret to set foot in Riven.

“Be careful,” Joan warns. “With Blodwyn’s victory, the duchess will only feel more entitled. Things are getting dangerous.”

Malum expands behind my sternum.

Margaret mayconsiderherself a danger, but she has no idea whatI’mcapable of.

—

A storm threatens by the time I locate the duchess. A line of bruise-colored clouds trudges in from the west, matching my foul mood. Such weather would drive most of the court indoors, but Margaret, Weston, and a handful of other courtiers are clustered in a ring around a huge, black-winged falcon, which is secured on a wooden perch. Thunder growls in the distance as I stalk across the yard to join them, my shadows billowing behind me like a cloak.

“Margaret,” I call when I’m within earshot. “A word.”

“Ah—Ayleth.” The duchess beams at me. “What a pleasure to have your company. Come and see my falcon.”

The bird flaps its wings. And I notice that the ground around the falcon’s perch is littered with pieces of what looks to be raw meat.

“He’s beautiful,” I comment, though I could not possibly care less. “If you would—”

“She,actually,” the duchess corrects. “I much prefer female falcons. They have such sharp instincts. In fact, I’ve named this one Vengeance.”

The bird locks eyes with me and shrieks.

“Oh, don’t let her frighten you,” Margaret goes on. “Weston, why don’t you show the queen our little game?”

“Me?” he complains, “I just went and nearly lost a finger for it.”

He holds up his hand, where his index finger is indeed wrapped in a handkerchief. Several other courtiers in the group are sporting their own injuries. But Margaret is unbothered.

“Don’t be so spineless,” she chides him. “Go on.”

Weston grimaces, but swigs deeply from his flask, then fishes a piece of raw meat from the bucket. The falcon’s attention remains pinned to the courtier’s approach.