Page 82 of The Witch Queen

“For example,” she continues, “it’s come to my attention that you’re spending a good deal of time with a fewnewmembers of court.”

I stiffen. I hadn’t been keeping my meetings with Verity and Gavin a secret, but I wasn’t aware that Aunt Margaret noticed. Or cared.

“You told me to make friends.”

“With therightpeople,” Aunt Margaret clarifies. The corset strains as she tightens it again. “I’m sure you can understand how the boy who challenged your position isn’t the most suitable prospect.”

“Gavin.” Aunt Margaret arches an eyebrow at my use of his name. “We barely know each other. And Verity has been nothing but kind to me.”

“I’m sure it appears that way,” Aunt Margaret says. “But remember: Most of the people at court were appointed by the queen. Their loyalties lie with her. You cannot take anything here at face value. Or anyone.”

“You’re at court,” I point out. “Wouldn’t that meanyouas well?”

Her hands still on my laces and she comes around to face me. Lightning flashes.

“My darling niece,” she says. Her words are soft, but I sense the steel beneath them. “I welcomed you into my home when you were ill. Nursed you with my own hands. Kept you safe from the war raging here in Riven. Pledged my army to help you reclaim your throne. Are you really going to trust some courtier you just met, or anyone else, over me?”

White-hot shame instantly pierces my anger. Aunt Margaret did take me in when no one else wanted me. She’s stood by me when the whole court is eager to see me fail.

“It’s just—”

“Trust inme,Blodwyn,” Aunt Margaret says. “Remember our shared destiny. I would not steer you wrong. And I know what I’m doing. If these people are truly your friends, they’ll support you no matter what.”

A bitter taste cuts between my teeth. But what can I say? Aunt Margaret has far more experience with court life than I do.

“All right,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to doubt you.”

Aunt Margaret cups my face. “It is already forgotten.”

She goes back to my laces.

With every tug, I feel the walls of my life closing in.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ayleth

The clock on the mantel chimes midnight.

I sigh and rub my eyes, which are gritty from having spent the last few hours poring over endless pages of tiny scrawl. After the incident in the forest, I dredged up every book I could find in the library about magic or Malum. But none contain any information that would help explain the bleeding tree, much less the spells in the forest. The mystery is maddening. As are Jacquetta’s words:

You look ridiculous.

I bristle against them. Jacquetta is the one who looks ridiculous. For years, she insisted that she wanted to upend the hierarchy of the covens—which is whatIdid. But instead of thanking me, Jacquetta is treating me like I’m a monster.They’rethe ones who are the monsters. The covens caged and suppressed my true gifts.I’mthe one with the real power. They’re just too stubborn to admit it.

My attention settles on another book. A thick, well-worn tome with a soft leather cover and yellowed pages. It’s a record of Diviners’ prophecies, one I discovered in the archives shortly after Mother’s visit. How it survived the purge of coven artifacts at the start of the war is beyond me, but I’m grateful that it did. When I open the book, the pages fallinstantly to a section I’ve visited countless times over the years. The faded letters are nearly illegible, but I know them by heart:

Daughter of glass, worth yet unseen,

From the darkness will rise a queen.

But every throne carries a cost,

A price to pay, a heavy loss.

A beating heart must she drown,

If she is to wear the crimson crown.