Page 42 of The Witch Queen

“Yes, you’re good at that, aren’t you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She huffs a laugh. “Are we really going to pretend with each other? Like last time?”

“Last time? What—”

“Iknow,Ayleth.”

Blodwyn finally faces me. Tendrils of her dark hair frame her face, her lips the color of a witch’s cloak. A crow calls overhead, its shadow skimming the yard.

“You know,” I start, my pulse kicking up, “what?”

She doesn’t answer right away and with each passing second, my muscles tense. The shadows creep closer, readying themselves.

“You were never my friend,” Blodwyn says at last, spitting each word. “You only pretended to care for me because you wanted Papa. And to take my mother’s place.”

Some of the tension in my chest loosens. She might hate me, but she didn’t call me a witch. “Blodwyn, that’s not—”

“Then why did you send me away?” she hurls the question like a blow. “Why didn’t you invite me to the wedding when you married myfather? I was right here—in the palace. And were you ever going to call me back from Darryn? Or were you just going to abandon me at Aunt Margaret’s estate for the rest of my life?”

“You were ill,” I remind her. “I washelpingyou. Ensuring your safety. And you never complained about your life there. Your aunt is the one who put those other ideas in your head. She—”

“Don’t you dare talk about Aunt Margaret,” Blodwyn snaps. “Shecaresfor me, which is more than I can say for you.”

I flinch. “I do care. We were friends.”

Blodwyn laughs low in her throat. “Until you got what you came here for. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I couldn’t see right through your pathetic attempt to steal my mother’s throne? To takeeverythingthat was mine?”

They’ll see right through you,that voice hisses.

The last thread of my patience unravels.

“And what about your own lies?” I throw back at her. “Including your scheme with your aunt. Wasthathonest? Is it something your mother would have been proud of?”

Blodwyn visibly recoils. I tell myself to pull back. That this is too far. But I don’t.

Hurt her,that old instinct drives me on.Wound her.

“In case you’ve forgotten, while you were off in Darryn, riding and practicing your archery, I washere.” I gesture to the palace. “Dealing with the business of the realm. With your father’s condition. How often have you even been to see him? Just the once?”

“That’s not—”

“Fair? You’re one to talk. Punish me if you like, but the truth of the matter is that you could have asked to come home. Why didn’t you?” I tilt my head at her. “Perhaps because you were content to let me act in your stead. Happy to let me do what, deep down, youknowyou can’t: rule.”

The words thrum between us. A tear tracks down Blodwyn’s face, shining in the torchlight.

“I hate you,” she spits.

And then she picks up her skirts and stalks away.

I watch her go, ignoring every instinct screaming at me to go after her.

Chapter Twelve

Blodwyn

Wood cracks as I send my ball flying. It sails through the air and lands with a violent bounce near several unsuspecting courtiers, who startle like flocks of brightly plumed birds.