Page 89 of The Witch Queen

I feel rather than see her eyes slide in my direction.

“Well,” I say, “things change.”

“Indeed,” Margaret agrees. She leans closer to me, and I resist the urge to flinch away. “And has anything changed for you? Have you given more thought to our discussion? There are still a few days before the ball. Plenty of time for you to discourage the other claimants. I’m sure the princess would appreciate your efforts on her behalf.”

After what I witnessed with Blodwyn, I’m not convinced the duchess knows as much about her niece as she assumes. I shouldn’t stir the subject, but my pride gets the better of me.

“Would she?” I ask. “Have you asked her?”

From the slight stiffening of her jaw, I can tell that she hasn’t. And that my guess was correct—there was some falling out between them. Fitz growls again, baring his tiny teeth. Margaret’s attention shifts to the dog.

“You know,” she says, gesturing at him. “I once had a little dog who looked just like that. Did Callen ever tell you of him?”

“No,” I reply, steeling myself for another of Margaret’s anecdotes.

“That’s not surprising,” she continues, making a face. “I doubt my brother even remembers the creature. I called him Pourquoi, for his little face always appeared as though he was asking a question.” She laughs. “But Callen, as ever, was jealous. He complained about wanting my dear Pourquoi for himself—loudly and long enough that our mother ordered me to share the dog. I did so, out of the kindness of my heart. But when the day came for Callen to return Pourquoi, he refused. Do you know what he did instead?”

She pauses. Hooves thunder on the ground as the riders charge.

“Callen waited until I came to fetch the dog,” she tells me, bending close to be heard above the clamor of the crowd. “And then, as I watched, my brother tossed Pourquoi out the window. He killed my beloved dog just to keep him from me.”

Lances splinter as the riders meet. The rest of the box leaps up, cheering. But Margaret remains where she is. Grips my arm, her fingers like talons.

“I urge you not to repeat Callen’s mistake,” she warns. “Do not let Riven go to ruin simply because you do not want someone else to have a stake in it.”

Margaret’s gray eyes glitter and that phantom tether tugs behind my left ribs. Malum strains within me, pulsing in time to my own heartbeat. Shadows mass around me and I’d love nothing more than to use them to send a lance straight into the duchess’s face. To—

A crease digs between Margaret’s brows. She glances to either side of me, like she’s looking at something. Like…she canseethe shadows. Panic rings in my mind and I send them scattering as far from me as possible.

“Margaret!” Sir Weston’s voice floats up from the yard. “I beg your favor.”

The duchess blinks and gives herself a small shake before turning her attention to the Lord of Misrule. I release a breath and take stock of the rest of the audience. Joan and Anora are still absorbed in their conversation, oblivious—just like everyone else. My racing pulse slows. Margaret couldn’t have seen the shadows, I reason. Shecan’tknow what I am. Still…

You will burn,Mother had promised.

A crow calls overhead, its shadow skimming the tiltyard.

“Ayleth!”

I startle at the sound of my own name and twist in my seat. Jacquetta is hovering near the entrance of the box. The last of my anxiety is instantly overtaken by annoyance. What isshedoing here? With a quick glance to make sure Margaret and Joan are still occupied, I hurry over to the other witch.

“Come on,” I say, tugging Jacquetta down the stairs to the deserted area below the stands. “I said we should meettonight.There’s far too many people here.”

“My apologies.” She yanks her arm out of my grasp. “Am I interrupting your afternoon with your friends?”

“They’re not my—”

There’s a series of sharp barks, followed by a blur of brown fur that zooms toward us.Fitz.The dog races around Jacquetta, whining with impatience until she scoops him up. He wriggles excitedly in her arms, licking her face. Jacquetta laughs, struggling to hold him. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh in…years, I realize. It softens her features. Lights up her eyes. And that traitorous part of my heart shivers awake.

“Hello, you,” she says, scratching beneath Fitz’s chin.

I tell myself that the twinge in my chest is definitelynotjealousy at seeing her greet him so warmly after having literally shot me in the forest.

“Whyare you here?” I demand, crossing my arms.

“I have an update if you’re not too busy,” she says, dryly. “You were right about the older servants. A few of them do recall the duchess. She was evidently difficult to forget. They all have stories about her running around the palace and wreaking general havoc.”

“Sounds familiar,” I reply.