Page 8 of The Witch Queen

My queen,a low voice whispers, one that could only belong to one creature: Shade.

“Tomorrow,” I say to Parnell. “And we’ll discuss the rest later.”

Because if my Huntsman is calling, it means he has found someone.

Chapter Two

Ayleth

The clamor of the banquet dulls behind me as I return to my chambers.

Though I’ve lived in the palace for the last three years, I still haven’t grown accustomed to its staggering display of wealth. Stonehaven was drafty and austere. Due to our remote location, and the fact that we were witches pretending to be Sisters of the Order, deliveries from the outside world were all but impossible. Everything we owned was functional and usually constructed by our own hands. Here, functionality trails a distant second to ornamentation. The halls are lined with stone columns fashioned to appear as towering trees, their branches arching in an intricate lattice above my head. Gilt-framed paintings and expensive tapestries take up most of the walls, their rich colors bathed in the amber glow emanating from the Dwarvian, apple-shaped light fixtures.

But my favorite adornments in the palace are its scars.

Pale places in the wood or stone where Meira’s Eyes or Illuminations were pried out and burned on a pyre like those that were built to burn witches. The carpenters and stonemasons repeatedly offered to correct the spots, likely concerned that they would be accused of shoddy craftsmanship if they left such unsightly patches behind. But I neverallowed them to change a thing. I wanted to be reminded every day of howIwas the one to tear down the Order. That this ismyrealm. Now, instead of the Order’s Eyes or Illuminations, my own crest watches me from the eaves and alcoves. A single strongAencircled by a crown. Shadows swirl around the letter in a pattern of movement I’ve come to interpret as affection.

Fairest,I hear them murmur, the sound like rushing water.Fairest of them all.

—

A low growl greets me when I enter my rooms.

Claws click on the floor as Nox prowls out of the darkness. The Nevenwolf spends most of his time with Shade, the two of them traversing the realm in search of witches. But Nox and I have shared a bond since I shattered the Bloodstones and released him from Ignatius’s thrall. Sometimes, I sense the Nevenwolf’s presence in the empty corridors, or glimpse the sheen of his single crimson eye in the dimness of my chamber, and know that he’s still here, protecting me.

“Hello,” I say as the Nevenwolf approaches, his ears pricked in interest. “I didn’t forget.”

I unwrap the cut of venison I’d taken from the banquet and toss it to him. Nox devours it in two snaps of his jaws, then licks his chops and sits before me, expectant.

“That’s all I have,” I tell him with a laugh, showing him my empty hands.

Nox snorts, petulant. But he nudges his head against my torso and allows me to scratch between his ears. The massive beast’s paws are the size of my face, his teeth sharp enough to rend my flesh to ribbons, but his tail swishes in unmistakable pleasure.

“You know,” I tease, “sometimes I think you’re more cat than Nevenwolf.”

On cue, Nettle lopes out from another room. She trills her greeting, then trots over to swat playfully at Nox’s snout.

“Be careful,” I warn her. “He’s bigger than you are.”

Nettle just meows dismissively, as if to argue that she and the Nevenwolf are exactly the same size. Nox paws at my cat and Nettle pounces, then darts out of his way, promptly careening into a table.

“Watch that,” I scold, catching the pile of books before they topple over. “These are—”

The fire gutters. Shadows slither from the fringes of the room, stitching themselves together into a figure that has become as familiar to me as my own reflection.

“Shade.”

My queen,he rasps, pressing his fist to his chest as he bows.

Malum expands behind my sternum at my Huntsman’s nearness, like calling to like. Since he first appeared to me, Shade has become the most valuable member of this court. It’s through Shade that I learned that Malum is a living force, the shadows as alive as Nettle—which is precisely the reason I initially struggled to harness my abilities. I was attempting to treat my newfound power the way the covens use magic. To bend the shadows to my will. But Malum is different. Intuitive. I don’t require spells or rituals to control that dark force. In fact, I can’t control it at all. Malum chooses to serve me. Because on the night I broke the Veil, it sensed the desire in my heart, one twin to its own: to create a world comprised ofsolelyMalum. And to do that, there cannot be a drop of coven power remaining in Riven.

Malum rumbles behind my sternum.

“Did you find another?” I ask Shade.

In answer, my Huntsman reaches into the shadowy folds of his body and withdraws a crimson orb. He passes it to me, and the Bloodstone crown begins to hum softly on my head, just like it did with Mother’s magic on the eve of my coronation. Just like it does for every other heart my Huntsman fetches me.

“Whose is it?” I ask.