Page 81 of The Witch Queen

“It’s theRemembranceBall, of course,” Gwen goes on, stepping closer. “All about honoring the dead. My friend says that some of those dead might even join the party.”

“Those are just stories,” I say, shaking my head.

“But itcouldbe true, couldn’t it?” she presses. “Since the Veil is gone, there’s nothing keeping the Spirits away. So if they execute the prisoners beforehand…those souls might return. Might want their revenge.”

Every hair on my body rises, thinking of the shadows. The Nevenwolf. The witches on the page of my book, their faces warping before my eyes.

Blodwyn,I think I hear beneath the crackle of the fire.Pay the price.

“That will be quite enough.”

Gwen leaps at the sight of Aunt Margaret standing in the doorway.

“S-sorry, Your Highness.” The girl turns the color of a ripe strawberry. “I didn’t—”

“You may address me as Your Grace,” Aunt Margaret corrects. “And I won’t have you filling my niece’s head with nonsense.”

“No, of course not. I’ll just…go and fetch my mistress.” She bobs a clumsy curtsy and scurries out of the room like her skirts are on fire.

Aunt Margaret watches her leave like a hawk who has decided not to devour a mouse.

“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you to ignore the servants’ gossip,” my aunt says, coming up behind me.

“No. It was just silliness, anyway.”

But Gwen’s story clings to me, as does the memory of last night. The fire dances again.

“You look glorious.” Aunt Margaret adjusts part of my gown. But I flinch at the brush of her fingers and she notices. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.” I try to smile, but it’s forced.

Aunt Margaret studies me another moment.

“This corset isn’t fastened properly,” she says at last. “Let me help.”

She moves behind me again to work on the laces. I grit my teeth as she pulls them tighter.

“I heard you asking questions about the prisoner,” she comments.

Gooseflesh breaks out between my shoulder blades. How long had she been listening?

“I was curious.”

“And I noticed you didn’t participate during the entertainment,” she adds, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Is there a reason for that?”

I hesitate, instinct warning me to invent an excuse. Avoid a conflict. But why? I’ve always been able to talk to Aunt Margaret. Maybe she doesn’t realize how the incident appeared.

“Because itwasn’tentertainment,” I reply. “Or it shouldn’t have been. That woman was humiliated in front of everyone.”

Aunt Margaret gives my laces a swift yank. “She would have treated you far worse. In fact, were it left up to her, you’d be dead.”

“Still…shouldn’t we have some decency? Show mercy?”

Like Mother would have done. Aunt Margaret is quiet for a few moments.

“I appreciate your sentiment, my dear,” she says at last. “But court is a delicate balance. Though mercy has its uses, people need to be reminded of their place. Of how far they can fall.”

Thunder booms again.