Page 94 of The Witch Queen

A pang of sympathy knocks through me, picturing this ancient princess, alone and looking out over what would become the White City. Knowing that the throne she earned would be occupied by someone who didn’t deserve it.

On the morning of the ceremony, King Alfred went to fetch his daughter. But the princess’s room was empty. The palace was searched, but there was no sign of Princess Matilda. The only thing ever discovered of her was a spot of blood beneath her window.

Thunder booms outside.

“Shejumped?” I whisper, earning a meow from Nettle.

Some believe the princess escaped the palace—or was perhaps rescued in order to raise an army of her own. But such a force never marched upon Riven. And the princess was never seen again. Heartbroken, King Alfred boarded up the tower room and forbade anyone to so much as utter his daughter’s name. But years after the old king’s death, the tower was reopened. A single message was enscribed on the walls:

I have paid the price of blood and snow. Let the true queen rise.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ayleth

A drizzly haze clings to the palace on the day of the Remembrance Ball. The halls hum with activity as servants scurry about, completing final preparations. By late afternoon, I’m already dressed and ready for Jacquetta. As I wait for her to arrive, I pace in front of my mirror, going over the night’s details with Callen.

“And don’t forget to send the crows to—”

“Patrol the grounds,” the imprisoned king replies, exasperated. “Yes, I heard you the first dozen times.”

Nettle swats at him from her perch. But I ignore them both, lacking the energy to banter. Memories of the hunt, the attacks in the forest, have nipped at me all day. I can’t afford another mishap. Security aside, tonight may be our only chance to get information about Margaret. I even asked Callen to help me determine which of the courtiers might be most useful for Jacquetta to interrogate. I just pray it’s enough.

“If anything goes wrong, you will alert me at once,” I go on.

“Yes, yes,” he drawls. “Who are you supposed to be, anyway?”

I pause, just able to glimpse the outline of my own reflection behind Callen’s face. As tradition dictates, everyone except the claimants wears black, and so my gown is a rich midnight-colored brocade, covered in intricate patterns of vines and roses. The neckline is square-cut,but the back collar is higher than is currently fashionable. It rises above my head, onyx jewels dangling from the pointed ends. The sleeves are gauzy and loose, flowing around me like wings.

“Queen Gwenllian,” I tell Callen. Then, at his confused expression, “She led Riven’s troops into battle during the king’s absence.”

“Ohher,” Callen says. “That’s right. An interesting choice, given the outcome.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’tknow?” he asks. “Poor Gwenllian didn’t meet a good end. She was either poisoned or went mad. I can’t remember which.”

You will burn,Mother’s warning resounds in my ears.

“But don’t fret,” Callen adds. “I’m sure that’s not what will happen to you.”

“Just—”

A soft thumping comes from behind the nearest tapestry. Jacquetta, entering from the old servants’ passages.

“Leave,” I tell Callen.

“So soon? Don’t you want to introduce me to yourfriend?” he asks, grinning at me. “We have so much to discuss: How you pined for her all those years. Whispered her name into the night. Such longing.”

“Go,” I order, yanking the curtain closed against his laughter.

An instant later, Jacquetta fights her way from behind the heavy fabric of the tapestry.

“It’s about time you—” I start.

The smell of charred wood and ash hits me. Sweat glistens on Jacquetta’s face and there are streaks of soot on her hands and uniform. Even the strands of hair poking out from her cap appear singed.

“You look awful!” I exclaim. “You were supposed to come ready to be dressed.”