Page 189 of The Witch Queen

“How do you know about that?”

In answer, she gestures to the chair near the fire. “Sit. Hear me, Blodwyn. This will be your only chance to do so.”

The flames snap in the silence. No matter what this woman claims, I have no idea of her true identity—or her intentions. And I’ve made so many mistakes recently. Still, where else am I going to go? If she’s right, I’m already half dead.

Grudgingly, I settle myself in the chair. Matilda draws a handkerchief from her sleeve and I notice that a raven is stitched in the corner. Mother used to embroider ravens.

“Is that my mother’s?” I ask.

A soft smile tugs at Matilda’s lips. “No. It belonged to my own mother. She—like yours—was certain that Riven needed a queen tolead it into a new age. There were legends back then about an ancient magic. One that ran like veins through Riven itself. My mother made a wish on that magic. She dropped her blood into the snow and begged for the daughter who would change the world.”

Ravens. Blood. Snow.

A shiver runs down my spine.

“You?” I say.

“It might have been,” she replies, though I detect a hint of resentment in her words. “When my father called his contest, I believed it was my chance to prove myself. I would win and show them all. Become the queen my mother knew I could be.”

“But they didn’t let you,” I say, recalling her story.

“No,” she agrees, running the handkerchief through her fingers. “Father would have. Despite what you may have read, he fully intended to pass the throne to me. It was his council who wouldn’t hear of my ascension.Theyschemed to crown Braxos in my stead. In the end, Father decided that my marriage to the apple farmer was close enough to my ruling in my own right.”

From the stiffness in her body, it’s obvious that she doesn’t agree. And I don’t blame her. After all, I know what it’s like to be passed over because I’m a princess and not a prince. To be underestimated and ignored.

“So you ran away?”

“Not exactly,” she says. “When I was locked up here alone, I remembered my mother’s wish. Wondered if I might call on that same magic. And so I spilled my own blood on the snow and made a promise: If that ancient force would come to my aid, I would dedicate my life to its service. And then, as a show of my devotion, I jumped.”

“From here?” I ask, glancing out the window. It’s a dizzying drop to the ground. “You can’t have survived.”

“But I did,” she replies, smiling. “The magic protected me. Had a purpose for me.”

“What purpose? You weren’t queen.”

“No. And my initial disappointment was devastating. When Isummoned the magic, I assumed it would force Braxos and the council to recognize my sovereignty. But I soon learned that magic does little to compel others. Not for long, at least. It’s what you do with ityourselfthat holds the true power.”

That resonates in a place deep inside me. I think of Gavin’s mother and her efforts to help those around her with her makeshift spells. Of Ayleth’s actions, which were nowhere near as altruistic.

“So what did you do?” I ask.

“Nothing at first,” she admits. “For a long time, I remained in hiding, attempting to understand my path. But then I found others like me. Witches and women who were weary of being overlooked. Taught to hide their gifts. They helped me realize that my destiny wasnotto sit on a throne. Rather, I would be a different sort of queen. Together, we formed the first coven.”

Coven.Her meaning registers.

“But those are witches who forged the Veil.”

“Indeed,” she says. “I was born Matilda, but IbecameMillicent. One of the Five.”

A breeze wafts in through the window, smelling of snow.

“You’re…” I start, recalling my history. “AnAncient?”

Matilda—Millicent—makes a face. “I did so hate when they started calling us that. It makes me sound like a crone.”

“You were born over a thousand years ago.”

She waves me off. “And now I’m dead, yes. Thank you. Which means it took me quite a bit of trouble to be here.”