Page 173 of The Witch Queen

Ayleth

By dusk the next day, the sound of hammering fills my chamber as workers erect the stake and start stacking piles of bundled wood for the pyre Callen promised.

You will burn.Mother’s warning circles like a crow in my mind.

“Damn everything!” I cry out, slamming my hand against the entrance to the old servants’ passages.

But it, along with all other escape routes—including the windows—are blocked. Not that it would matter too much if I discovered a way out. I can hear the guards talking on the other side of the doors. Without my shadows, I’ll never be able to slip past them. I’ve tried to summon the shadows more times than I can count, but they still stubbornly refuse me. As does Nox, if he’s nearby. Even Nettle has apparently abandoned me.

“Margaret,” I say, returning to the duchess.

She hasn’t moved since Callen left us, still seated in her chair, her silver eyes staring out into the distance. Much as I’ve hated this woman, it’s sad to see her like this. All her fire and energy snuffed out like a candle flame. But she has to be in there somewhere. After all, if Callen was able to fight his way back into his body at times, surely Margaret—with all her obstinance—can manage it.

“Come on,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of her face. “Wake up. Callen is going to kill us both unless we get out of here.”

For an instant, Margaret sits up straighter. She reaches out to me, cold fingertips brushing the side of my face.

“Fairest,” she says in her strange, hollow voice. “Fairest of them all.”

Is that motto the only thing Margaret remembers about me? Or had Callen instructed her to mock me with it? If so, it works. Shame scalds the ridges of my ears. For so long, all I thought I wanted was to bring justice to the White Court. To the covens. Even now, that old desire surges up, demanding more. But now I wonder whether it could ever be sated. Or whether, in truth, it was always consumingme.

A dull scraping noise snags my attention and I whirl around, sure that Callen has come to demand my answer or drag me to the flames. But the doors to my chambers remain closed. Instead, one of the tapestries on the far wall billows inward. A familiar meow emanates from behind the fabric and then Nettle saunters into the chamber, her tail swishing.

“Nettle!” I hurry over to her. “Where have you been? And—”

Someone else follows after my cat. Her blue eyes meet mine.

“Jacquetta.” Relief hits me in a rush. I leave Nettle and throw my arms around the other witch, inhaling her scent of juniper. “Callen told me they were holding you in the dungeons.”

“They were,” Jacquetta confirms, pulling back and grimacing. “I have to say, I’m gettingverytired of that place.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “How did you escape?”

“Her.” Jacquetta motions to where someone else has entered from the passage beyond.

My mouth drops open. It’s…Joan.

“Hello, Ayleth,” she says, granting me a tight smile.

“You’re here,” is all I can manage in reply. “I thought you were gone.”

“I kept to my rooms, but I didn’t leave the palace,” she explains. “Something told me that I shouldn’t go far. When Nettle came to fetch me, I knew I was right.”

My cat preens. I don’t deserve either of them.

“Well done,” I tell Nettle, bending to scratch beneath her chin. She winds herself around my ankles. “And thank you, Joan. I never expected your help. Especially after I…”

I trail off, the memory of our last conversation hanging between us. I’d been so callous. So unimaginably stupid.

“I’m your friend, Ayleth,” she replies. “I’ll always be your friend.”

Her loyalty puts me to shame. I start to tell her how wrong I was for being such a reckless fool, but Joan’s attention pivots to the other side of the room.

“Is that…theduchess?”

Jacquetta looks to me, alarmed, and follows Joan to where Margaret is still slumped in her chair. Joan waves her hand in front of Margaret’s face, but the duchess doesn’t respond.

“What’s wrong with her?”