Page 121 of The Witch Queen

“Precisely,” Aunt Margaret agrees. “And regardless of what occurred during the first trials, it wasBraxoswho wound up sitting on the throne. One way or another,ourfamily claimed the crown. And that’s why I’ve brought you here today—as a reminder of that fact.”

The crow calls above our heads again.

“The third trial, for justice, will be here before you know it,” Aunt Margaret goes on. “It is by far the most important challenge, and not only because it’s the last. During the trial, you will be given a judgment to decide: a disagreement over a land boundary, a squabble between nobles, it’s of little consequence. But the majority of the court must accept your ruling. They must side with you, Blodwyn. And we all saw what happened when they were given that choice before.”

Her gray eyes glitter in the winter light. And I know without question that I was correct about the ball. Aunt Margaret had been pitting me against the court on purpose, just to prove her point.

And she was right,that voice supplies, colder than the wind.They chose her and not you.

“You need me, Blodwyn,” Aunt Margaret says. “We might have our differences, but I think we can both agree that we should put those aside and focus on what’s important.”

“And that’s the trials?” I huff a laugh. “From what I’ve come to understand, they’re scarcely better than a popularity contest and—”

“The trials areeverything.” Aunt Margaret grips my wrist, her longfingers like a vise. “We are standing at the cusp of a new age, Blodwyn. If you succeed, we can invent our own rules. But if we lose the crown, we willneverget it back. And then all this will have been for nothing.”

Fire blazes within her gray eyes and I know then, without a shadow of a doubt, that—should I lose—Iwill be nothing, too.

The crow circles overhead, its sinister cry like laughter.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Ayleth

The Order’s wing is deserted and tomb-like.

Jacquetta, Blodwyn, and I creep through the empty corridors, the only light coming from the glow of our candles. Cobwebs drape down from the eaves and dust carpets the once-glorious amber-veined floor. Forgotten shards of the false goddess are scattered within empty alcoves. Lighter spots mark the places on the paneling where the Order’s despicable Eye or Illuminations have been pried out and burned. But I can still sense them pressing down on me, like the ghost of the false goddess continues to haunt this place, watching us.

“Let me get this right,” Jacquetta says. She hasn’t stopped her barrage of questions since I told them where we were going. “Ignatius summonedRhea?”

I nod, pressing my thumb into the faint remnants of my sister’s mark.

“I’ll explain more when we get there, but yes. That’s why we’re going to his rooms.”

“I thought you said you didn’t bring your sister back,” Blodwyn adds, significantly less impressed with this development. “That breaking the Veil and seizing the throne were more important than your own family.”

Unsurprisingly, any friendliness between the princess and me has abruptly shriveled. She’s reverted to her stony silences and barbed comments. If that weren’t bad enough, each moment in her presence is a stark reminder of what she knows. Of how thoroughly she could destroy me.

Destroy her first,that voice urges.

The shadows undulate around us.

“Ididn’tbring Rhea back,” I say. “Ignatius did. And if we can determine how he summoned Rhea, we might be able to do the opposite in order to banish the princess. I hope.”

“Youhope?” Blodwyn echoes.

I clench my fists and will myself to be patient. “It’s the best I can do for now. Unless you have another idea.”

Blodwyn just stalks down the corridor.

“This should be fun,” Jacquetta mutters.

That’s an understatement.

—

At long last, we find our way into the dilapidated remains of Ignatius’s rooms. I lead the others through to the back—the High Priest’s bedchamber. The hangings around the bed are torn and tattered, billowing in the draft like ghosts. The wardrobe in the far corner is closed and locked, but I use my shadows to open it, revealing the hidden compartment behind the moth-eaten clothes. It slides open and a cold draft brushes our faces from the room below.

“What on earth?” Jacquetta asks, wide-eyed.