《Treacherous Witch》


 1.1. Captured

    ¡°A girl is given the blessing of the silvertree when she becomes a woman. It¡¯s a privilege we grant only to the best of us. She must be bright, competent, and in possession of an iron will.¡±


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    It was Valerie¡¯s first time in a dungeon, so she didn¡¯t have anything to compare to, but she thought this one must be particularly dark and dank. Her breath billowed out in small chilly puffs. The torches hanging in brackets on the walls cast flickering shadows. Chained by the ankle, dirt sticking to her bare feet, she paced around the cell as far as she could, reluctant to sit down in case of scorpions. They liked to lurk in dark corners.


    Still, scorpions were the least of her concerns. Her head snapped up when footsteps descended the steps into the dungeon. She swallowed her fear. Hands clasped behind his back, her interrogator moved with a slow, deliberate stride, shoulders bent, and once his eyes settled on her, they did not look away. He was dressed in the fine clothes of a Drakonian nobleman, the waistcoat embroidered with dark green thread, and a silk cape that caught the dancing firelight. His long hair was tied back and streaked with grey.


    ¡°Valerie,¡± he said.


    She stopped pacing and faced him, refusing to tremble.


    ¡°What¡¯s your full name?¡±


    They didn¡¯t know who she was. Good. She didn¡¯t answer.


    He touched the silver brooch clasped to his waistcoat. ¡°I am Lord Gideon, Master of Justice. Your family must be worried about you. We need your name if we¡¯re to let them know where you are.¡±


    His nostrils were oddly large. Perhaps he liked to sniff at anyone he considered beneath him, she thought. That would explain their exceptional size.


    ¡°Then again, you Maskamery do everything as a family. Perhaps they¡¯re traitors too. Are you related to the prince?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    There was a pause as he regarded her, eyes narrowed. The Drakonian justice system was a peculiar one. They didn¡¯t hang their criminals like any decent society would. They put them to work, man, woman or child. Except, of course, for witches.


    ¡°The Empire always offers mercy before justice. All you have to do is swear your allegiance.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll have to decline.¡±


    No hesitation. She was cold and unblinking. A small smile spread over Gideon¡¯s face, deepening the wrinkles on his cheeks.


    ¡°Well, I expected nothing less.¡±


    He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the water trough standing in the middle of the cell, the iron chain cutting into her ankle. She screamed and thrashed but his grip was powerful, and then he plunged her head into the trough and the icy cold engulfed her¨C


    She couldn¡¯t breathe¨C


    The rest of her body jerked like a puppet. The force on the back of her skull was inescapable, the water dulling all sensation except for panic, desperate, clawing panic.


    Then, just as darkness crept into the edge of her vision, just as her muscles burned and her limbs ached and she could fight no longer, the force pushing her down became a pull instead. Gideon yanked her by the hair, and she gulped in much-needed air, her entire body shuddering, coughing, gasping¨C


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    He pushed her down again. She closed her eyes and shut her mouth, and the water filled her.


    There was no time to think. She was not a rational person in this moment; she had no sense of time or place or self. She was a drowning animal.


    ¡°Is that enough?¡± Gideon¡¯s lips were at her ear. He pulled her back after the third, perhaps the fourth, round, and she was a trembling mess, barely standing. Gideon held her upright against him. ¡°Speak.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she choked out.


    He turned her around, pinning her against the trough.


    She became aware that her hair was dripping wet and that the water had seeped through the upper half of her shift so that it clung against her skin. He lifted her hair up and over her shoulder and looked her up and down, a foul smirk playing on his lips. She shuddered in disgust¡ªhow dare he.


    ¡°This can stop as soon as you acquiesce. Where is the prince?¡±


    By force did the Empire demand obedience from all those it conquered. This was no different. Did he think she would give in so easily?


    ¡°You¡¯re a very ugly man.¡±


    She caught a flicker of disquiet. Then he leaned in close enough to smell his revolting breath. The stone trough dug into her back.


    ¡°You¡¯ll fetch an excellent price at auction. I¡¯m half-tempted to keep you myself.¡±


    ¡°Maska curse you!¡±


    His hand went to her throat and squeezed, and this time as her body gasped for air, she could look her enemy in the eye. His gaze was implacable. Rage seemed to radiate out from him and into his hand, the fingers clenched tight around her neck. The rest of him was poised with an awful control, lips thin, nostrils flared. He had done this before.


    Black spots danced in front of her eyes. The pain blotted out everything else. Her limbs dulled. Her lungs burned. How long? One last stray thought wormed its way through her head. How long could she take this?


    ¡°My lord!¡±


    He let go, and she collapsed, gasping, against the stone. She was dimly aware of air wafting through the dungeon. A new source of light came from above.


    ¡°What?¡± Gideon snapped, looking up.


    ¡°Lord Avon requests your presence at once, my lord. He wants to see the traitors.¡±


    ¡°Now?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lord.¡±


    It was a young voice, she thought. A boy from Jairah they had conscripted into the Drakonian army. She recognised the accent.


    ¡°Hmph,¡± said Gideon.


    He didn¡¯t look happy to be interrupted, but he had no choice. He took a bronze key from the pouch at his waist and bent down to release her. She got to her feet, careful of her sore ankle, but didn¡¯t dare heal it in case he noticed. Gideon took her arm.


    ¡°Move!¡±


    Fear had a saturation point. She could hold no more. And so it was with a strange kind of detachment that she climbed the steps with the young soldier ahead of her and Gideon behind, walked past the upper cells, and then another flight of stairs, and then, finally, into the mess hall of the fortress. Here she glimpsed the night sky through the thin arrow-slits that served as windows.


    Drakonian soldiers guarded every entrance, muskets in hand. They wore black. She and Markus had mocked those uniforms, so badly designed for summer climes where the sun beat down and the black soaked it all up. And black was the colour of evil, the colour of death. It was as if they wanted to be hated.


    The room was dominated by a long wooden table where the officers would take their meals. It was empty now. Gideon shoved her forward, placing her in front of the table.


    ¡°Give me your hands.¡±


    She lifted her hands silently and did not object to them being cuffed.


    ¡°Do not move,¡± he told her. ¡°Do not speak. Answer only when you are addressed directly.¡±


    He stepped away, clasping his hands behind his back. Footsteps approached from the other staircase. Heavy footsteps, those of men in armour, and lighter steps too. Two Drakonian soldiers.


    Then¡ª her heart leapt¡ªMarkus! She had just been thinking of him, and there he was, with his distinctive thatch of straw-coloured hair, his tunic dirty and torn but no worse than when she had last seen him. Markus¡¯s eyes lit up when he saw her. She wanted badly to call out to him, to run to him. But she remembered Gideon¡¯s warning. Don¡¯t move.


    The soldiers placed them side by side. She glanced at Markus, who was radiating guilt and barely concealed rage, and tried a small smile. It soon faded, however, as the hall fell silent, and a new set of footsteps echoed between the pillars. The young soldier had given his order. She shouldn¡¯t be surprised. But there was something about seeing him in the flesh, close up...


    Lord James Avon stopped in the middle of the hall to face them, and every soldier stood at attention. Gideon bowed deeply. It was as if the room held its breath.


    ¡°At ease,¡± said Avon, and she felt the tension ebb. But not in herself, nor in her companion.


    Because this was the man they had tried to kill.

 1.2. Infiltrating the Palace

    "Queendom: A land ruled by a female tyrant (a "queen") where power is passed down through her bloodline. Maskamere was the only known example before being embraced by the Empire."


    Clement Pyridge''s History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II


    The assassination was Prince Bakra''s idea.


    At first, he wanted to do it. "I''ll cut the bastard down myself!"


    "How?" she asked.


    "I''ll go into the palace¡ª"


    A clamour of protests shut him up. It was said that the royals had the countenance of hawks, ever watchful, ever fierce. With his boyish face and weak chin, Bakra reminded her of a juvenile with its feathers fluffed up, squawking and flailing about. Two years of exile and dwindling support outside the north had left him with a palpable sense of desperation.


    At least he had surrounded himself with competent advisers for this mission. They were a small group, six of them. The prince''s second-in-command, Quintus Viper, Captain of the Royal Guard, spoke up first.


    "Your Highness, you are our leader. We cannot afford to risk you being captured."


    They were hidden in the back room of an apothecary, odd as that might seem, but there were few places in the city for a prince to hide and the owners were sympathetic to their cause. Strange smells drifted here and there. She caught the scent of rosemary and glanced over at her friend Iora, who smiled and held a dried flower to her nose.


    "I know the palace better than anyone," Bakra argued. "I could find the royal chambers in my sleep."


    "So could I," Quintus countered. "Let me go, Your Highness."


    "And both of you highly recognisable to those in the palace," said Malkoha, who was another of the survivors from the palace, a Steward who had taught Bakra as a boy. "Half the household remain from our time, Your Highness, and we require someone who can slip in unnoticed..."


    "The staff won''t give me away," said Bakra. "I am their prince; they owe me their loyalty."


    Malkoha shook his head. "It would be dangerous to rely on that."


    The three of them were huddled around the table in the middle of the room, which Iora had cleared of its usual clutter. Markus stood watch by the door to the apothecary in case of intruders. Meanwhile Valerie had perched awkwardly on a cabinet next to Iora, since it seemed that every other available surface was covered in potions, poultices, dried herbs, flowers, mortars and pestles.


    Still, this was the first time they''d let her into one of these meetings. She''d take an uncomfortable seat if it meant she was in the room.


    She cleared her throat.


    The group continued talking.


    "Then we must infiltrate the palace without detection," Bakra was saying.


    "Could we find a sympathiser in the palace?"


    Markus had heard her; he cocked his head. "What?" he mouthed.


    "I could do it," said Valerie.


    "It comes down again to who you can trust," said Malkoha, "and we can''t know which of the palace staff are trustworthy. All the families in Jairah are pledged to the Empire."


    Malkoha was almost seventy with ears as bushy as his hair, so perhaps he could be forgiven for not hearing. It still rankled.


    "I said, I could do it," she repeated, louder, and stepped into Bakra''s line of sight.


    Malkoha frowned at her. "Your magic will aid in the task, but for the deed itself we require a professional. Perhaps a mercenary¡ª"


    "I know the palace," said Valerie. "They''ll let me in."


    Finally, she had their attention. The others stared at her. Iora leaned forward, swinging her legs.


    "That''s right," said Bakra. "Of course, and the staff would not suspect you."


    "Forgive me," said Quintus. "Valerie may practise some petty magic, but she is no assassin."


    There was the faintest note of disapproval in his voice at the words ''petty magic''. As captain of the guard, he would have dealt with petty sorcerers, hedge witches and the like, those who had escaped the attention of the priesthood. He''d never believed that her blessing was legitimate.


    Markus stepped forward and she felt a spark of gratitude when he spoke up. "She doesn''t have to be. We only need someone who can lead us to Avon. I''ll cut the bastard down."


    "Two of us?" said Iora, glancing at the prince. "Is that enough?"


    "It''s an assassination, not an invasion," said Malkoha. "If Valerie can get Markus in..."


    "Why risk both of us? Give me a knife and I''ll do it myself."


    Markus shot her a look. "Val, come on. You don''t want blood on your hands. Let me do my job."


    "We shan''t risk you in a fight," said Bakra. "Markus is our best shot. I only wish I could be there too."


    She bit her tongue. Frankly, she thought she had a better chance than any of them but Bakra still clung to the idea that he and his men were responsible for winning this war.


    Valerie nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."


    It would have to do. She might not strike the killing blow herself, but she would be instrumental in taking down Lord Avon and bringing them one step closer to the restoration of Maskamere.


    *


    On the eve of the assassination, Valerie boarded a boat to the palace and headed to the servants'' quarters. Here she claimed to be delivering a dress that had been ordered by the dead queen. That much was true: three years ago, Queen Shikra had requested a dress to be made for Maska''s millennium jubilee. But the jubilee celebrations never happened, nor did she ever see the dress, for she had perished at the feast of the harvest along with the rest of the royal family.


    When she''d discovered the half-finished dress at the back of her uncle Koel''s workshop¡ªhe hadn''t the heart to finish it, he said¡ªshe had asked if she could work on it in her spare time. The shape of the gown was there, but it was missing the detail, and embroidery was Valerie''s speciality.


    Now she had finished it, and she had poured her heart and soul into this gown, wishing that somehow it could bring the queen back, though of course that was impossible. Made of the finest porcelain silk, it was cut precisely to Queen Shikra''s measurements, with a halterneck that left the midriff bare in the Maskamery style, and an ankle-length skirt with a slit on either side up to the thigh. She''d had half a mind to present it to Prince Bakra when she was done, in memory of his dear sister. Maybe she still could. When Avon was dead, when Bakra had mustered his forces and retaken the capital, then he could hold a proper vigil for his sister. Maskamere had never gotten to truly mourn, not in public.


    The palace steward, however, seemed not to care for her efforts. "What are you bringing us this for? The queen is dead. She''s hardly going to need it, is she?"


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    He glanced over the roses that she had so painstakingly embroidered from collar to hem¡ªher personal signature¡ªand showed not one whit of appreciation for the deep red of the petals studded with real rubies or the golden leaves and stems. Red and gold: the royal colours.


    "I know, sir," she said, "but Master Koel agreed to make the dress and we felt obliged to deliver it to the palace, as requested. I''m very sorry that it''s so late."


    The steward snorted. "Aren''t we all."


    "It''s Crescent-made," she said. "Look."


    She showed him the crescent moon embroidered in silver thread on the collar. Her family sigil.


    "Yes, well, in that case I''ve half a mind to trade it myself. That''s what you should have done."


    "I didn''t think that would be respectful to the queen." She had to be careful and keep her temper. If she sounded too fond of the Maskamery royal family, he might think her a traitor. "Everything that belonged to the crown now belongs to his Lordship, so... I thought we shouldn''t keep it."


    "I see," said the steward. "Then I''ll have it delivered. Give Master Koel my regards."


    His eyes softened for only a moment, but she caught it. Valerie bowed her head and retreated. The steward turned away. She was but one girl, a trader like many others who had business at the palace. She walked into the staff quarters and no one stopped her.


    This was no accident. Valerie had another trick: invisibility.


    Well, not exactly invisibility. Valerie had woven a spell into her own clothes, a spell to go unnoticed, to become so unremarkable that she wouldn''t catch anyone''s attention unless she approached them directly. She had protected Markus with the same magic too.


    She passed through the entrance hall and was forced to take a right turn instead of going straight ahead to avoid the guards at the double doors. The spell wasn''t foolproof. She had to be careful of anyone who was especially vigilant, and the guards might question her if she attempted to enter a restricted area.


    Instead, she found herself entering the palace temple. Instantly, she felt calmed by the high stone walls and the smell of incense. How long had it been since she had set foot in a place like this? Most were now only rubble. But not here. There were flowers laid at Maska''s altar, and the braziers were lit with a soft golden light.


    There were also voices. Two men speaking. Valerie inched her way along one side of the temple, keeping her head bowed, and peeked around from behind a pillar when she got close.


    The two men were Drakonian lords, she could tell that from their attire. They were standing at the top of some stone steps that led down she didn''t know where.


    "My lord, with a reward like that, we''ll get nothing but beggars and charlatans flocking to our gates. For every hedge witch hiding her potions, there are ten making their coin from smoke and mirrors."


    "Then devise a test." The second man turned slightly, revealing a hawkish profile, and with a shock she recognised him. Lord Avon. "Punish the charlatans and make it clear that lying won''t be tolerated."


    "With respect, my lord, the true sorcerers will be reluctant to come forward. Since the purge..."


    "My father''s purge was a shortsighted folly that has deprived us of half the value of this land," Avon snapped. "Promise the sorcerers they won''t be harmed. Promise lifelong immunity for them and their families¡ªtheir entire village if necessary. We only need one on our side."


    During this conversation, Valerie was shaking. Lord Avon, their target, the most hated man in Maskamere, was right there, only feet away. Her knife was hidden beneath her dress. How easy it would be to slit his throat!


    And then the other man would catch her, the guards would rush in, and she''d be dead before Avon''s body turned cold. Besides, she was enraptured by their conversation. He was looking for a sorcerer? Why?


    The other man bowed. "I''ll see it done, my lord."


    "Good man."


    Valerie shrank back behind her pillar as the two men walked past to exit the temple. Her heart raced. She was half-tempted to go down the steps to see what lay underneath the temple¡ªwas that where the two men had come from?¡ªbut reminded herself to focus on her mission.


    A small side door led out to a different corridor at the back of the temple. She made her way around to the gallery she had been originally trying to get to, then down the back steps and outside towards the river. She had thought that the river was impossible to reach from this side, but Bakra had told her otherwise. There was a rarely used door on the far side of the walled garden, and the key to this door was hidden beneath a stone frog by the pond. The statue by the pond was of a naked young man playing a lute. Water spouted from the end of the lute.


    She wondered if one of the royals had been a sculptor, or if the statue was a gift from another family attempting to curry favour. Probably the latter. But she took the key and opened the door. There was a small fishing hut by the river, just as Bakra had said. She hid herself in the reeds next to the hut, watched, and waited.


    Night fell and her backside was aching. Her stomach rumbled. She had not, she realised, thought about when and what she was going to eat during this mission. Her thoughts kept returning to the encounter with Lord Avon and the other lord. What did he want with a sorcerer? What more could he do to people like her?


    But Markus arrived on cue in a small fishing boat, and the two of them slipped through the garden door and into the palace grounds. They made it all the way to the royal chambers before they were caught. It was quite good really. She''d done her part¡ªshe hadn''t screwed up.


    Markus had.


    *


    She didn''t blame Markus. It was his fault¡ªshe''d sneaked away to the south entrance to wait for him when the bell sounded to raise the alarm, and she''d later learned that Markus had been spotted by one of the guards¡ªbut there was no point in making a fuss. Markus blamed himself enough for both of them. He stared at Avon with such abject hatred, she wondered that the Chancellor didn''t react. Avon''s gaze swept over each of them in turn, detached, assessing. He turned his eyes on her after regarding Markus, and she shivered.


    He was an imposing man, tall, broad-shouldered, straight-backed. His features might best be described as striking, with a strong nose and jutting jaw, the sweep of dark hair throwing his face into sharp relief. But it was his eyes that struck her, blue and piercing. His gaze seemed to pin her where she stood, not cruel or dark, but perceptive, searching, like the beam of a lighthouse over the sea. He saw her. She didn''t know what he made of her, but he saw her.


    Then his gaze moved on and she looked down at her feet, heart thundering.


    "I''m not surprised," said Lord Avon, "that you should try to kill me. I don''t blame you for your loyalty to queen and country. Nevertheless, you are traitors. Were Maskamery justice to be delivered, you would both hang. Fortunately, you live under Drakonian rule. For the crime of treason, you will serve for eighteen years as vassals of the Empire, and then you''ll be given another chance to live as free citizens."


    Markus snorted loudly at this, but a single look from Avon quelled him.


    "At any time, you may choose to repent and your term may be reduced. You may tell us the location of the prince or any of his accomplices. You may provide the names of others in the resistance. You may tell us of their plans." There was a pause. "Would anyone like to speak?"


    She didn''t need to look at Markus. There was only one answer to that. Valerie stared back at Avon in defiance, and neither of them spoke. After a second or two, Markus spat on the floor.


    "You''ll get nothing from us. Don''t waste your time."


    Avon smiled. "Lord Gideon, how have you been getting on?"


    "I''m performing the interrogations as you requested, my lord." Gideon''s voice was very different when addressing Avon. It took on an oily, obsequious tone. She realised suddenly that he had been the other lord talking to Avon in the temple. "It''s only a matter of time before I extract the necessary confessions."


    "Or perhaps we can extract them now," said Avon. He turned back to Valerie and Markus. "We have one more crime to account for. Which one of you is a witch?"


    Valerie suppressed a gasp. He knew! How could he know? She stared at her feet, hoping that she hadn''t given the game away.


    "The penalty for witchcraft is to be burned at the stake. Of course, if neither of you come forward, I''ll have to assume that you''re both guilty."


    Markus let out a strangled cry, struggling with his cuffs, but the guards reacted at once. There was a brief scuffle before the dull, heavy sound of fists crunching into flesh. He doubled over.


    "If you want to kill us, kill us!" he gasped. "Neither of us are witches."


    "My lord?" Gideon looked at Avon, who nodded.


    "Get him up."


    The guards dragged Markus to his feet, a third coming for her, and she thought, no, he''s bluffing, he has to be¡ª


    "Wait!" she cried.


    They all stopped. Markus was being restrained by Drakonian soldiers. Gideon watched the proceedings with an unpleasant leer. As for Avon, she again felt the intensity of his eyes on her.


    She took a deep breath.


    "It''s me," she said. "I''m the witch."


    "Val, don''t¡ª"


    Avon approached her. She stood resolute, meeting his gaze. But she couldn''t stop her mouth from trembling.


    "Have you interrogated this one?"


    He wasn''t talking to her, though he was looking at her. She frowned, unsure of how to respond, and Gideon answered for her.


    "I had just begun when you called for us, my lord."


    Avon lifted a lock of her hair and she flinched. Her hair was still damp. She prayed that her shift was not. It felt like it was drying, her clothes no longer stuck to her, but she didn''t dare look down in case she drew his attention. He released the lock of hair and she let out a breath, but he was still inches away from her.


    "The girl comes with me," he said, and she could have sworn that her heart stopped. "Return the boy to his cell."


    She stood frozen in shock.


    "No!" Markus started towards her and was yanked back. "You bastard, leave her alone!"


    He bellowed as his guard stabbed a blade into his ankle, and then there were two, three of them on him, grabbing his arms, pulling him back.


    "My lord, I must protest¡ª" Gideon''s voice was weedy and easily drowned out. Avon ignored him.


    "Take him away," he said.


    Markus was bleeding because of her. She found her voice. "Stop! Don''t fight them! I''ll be fine, I promise!"


    He stared at her, his cheek bruised, confusion clouding his eyes. "Val?"


    "Trust me."


    She tried to convey as much as she could just with her face, silently begging him to believe her. Then Avon waved his hand, and the guards dragged Markus away.

 1.3. The Cleansing

    "The false priestesses of Maskamere were wicked witches who cursed men and turned away from the Divine, knowing they were beyond salvation."


    Bishop Eugene Thorne''s Notes on a Mission in Maskamere


    In the dark of the prison carriage, shackled to the wall, Valerie thought of all that had happened in the two years since the happiest and worst day of her life. All that she had lost: the village, the convent, her family... Her mother.


    A tear formed at the corner of her eye; she blinked it away.


    They had taken everything from her¡ªeverything, that is, except the gift she had received that night: the blessing of the silvertree. In a Maskamere where her powers were forbidden and the ashes of the silvertrees were all that remained of the priesthood, it had taken two years to hone her craft and prove her worth to the resistance. Finally, she had been given a chance to do something¡ªto fight back.


    Was she going to her death? Or was Lord Avon so desperate for a sorcerer that he would accept help from a traitor?


    She''d gambled her life on the latter.


    The carriage halted. Guards flung the doors open and sunlight flooded in, making her squint. They unshackled her and dragged her out with hands cuffed behind her back.


    She imagined stepping into the city square and onto a bonfire like the one that had burned at the feast of the blessing. The crowd that watched her fate this time would be neither quiet nor reverential. They would scream and call her names. Witch. Whore. Demon. Drakonian words for a city afflicted by their ugliness, where every day the Maskamery spirit sank further into the dirt.


    But when her eyes adjusted, there was no bonfire. There was a courtyard, stone steps leading up to a set of double doors, and a man in Drakonian black livery guarding it. They''d taken her back to the palace. The splendid white stone was a little less splendid at the servants'' entrance but still recognisable.


    The girl comes with me, Lord Avon had said. She guessed that he meant to interrogate her himself.


    Her assumptions were proven wrong when the guards escorted her through the servants'' quarters and into a bath chamber. Colourful ceramic tiles patterned the floor and walls. A standing bathtub glimmered with magic. She blinked.


    They weren''t alone. A stout old woman with arms like clubs took one look at her and clicked her tongue.


    "What are those chains for?"


    "Tried to kill his Lordship, didn''t she," the guard said. "She''s one of the rebels who snuck into the palace the other night."


    "And his Lordship sees fit to bring her back again. Those Drakonians are a perverse lot. I can''t clean her up with chains on her. You''ll have to take them off."


    There was some grumbling, but the guards did as they were told. Valerie rubbed her wrists where the handcuffs had bitten her skin. Behind the stout old woman, two younger maids were filling up the bathtub with hot water. Steam quickly filled the air.


    "Gonna be all right with this one, Dinah?" the guard asked. "Vicious little thing, stabbed Grenald the other night. You might want an extra eye on her."


    "A wandering eye, I expect, which is no use to me¡ªgo on! We''re perfectly fine here. She''ll be no trouble."


    The guard looked at her as if to invite trouble, but Valerie had no desire to give them cause to linger. She put on the politest expression she could muster and the guards left.


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    "You''re not gonna be awkward now, are you?" Dinah said in a tone that was less a question and more an imperative.


    She shook her head, too confused to speak.


    Dinah pointed at the steaming bath. "In." When she hesitated, the old woman clicked her tongue. "Have you never seen a bath before? In."


    Valerie complied, taking off her dirty white shift and immersing herself in the tub. She sensed its magic: a spell to heat and maintain the water''s temperature.


    Who cast that spell?


    But she had little chance to wonder once Dinah and her maids began their work. Her skin was scrubbed, her hair washed and conditioned twice over. Once out of the bath, Dinah set about untangling the knots in her hair while the two maids towelled her dry. Next, they removed any trace of body hair using hot wax that had her gasping in pain. They then applied an oil from head to toe so that her skin shone and a different sort of oil in her hair to make that shine too.


    Throughout it all, her overwhelming feeling was that of discomfort. Lying down on a stone slab, she was forced to endure each and every scrape, no matter how rough. But the pain in her body was eclipsed by a growing sense of unease in her mind. Why was all of this happening? Were these Avon''s orders?


    The one saving grace was Dinah, the stout old woman, who kept up a constant stream of one-sided conversation that helped her to feel a little more human. She was the palace matron, which meant she had the steely eyes and stern tongue of a school headmistress.


    "That''s not too rough? Good, stay right there. Nails next. The Drakonians call this a cleansing. If we did it properly, you''d have fasted all day too and taken a herbal tea to flush out your bowels. I''ll spare you that. How long is your term?"


    "Term?"


    "Your repentance. The years the state has to do whatever they want with you."


    Her stomach dropped. "Eighteen years."


    Dinah whistled. "Well, makes sense. You''re not the first, what do they call them, fallen woman to come here. Can''t say I''ve prepped a girl who tried to kill anyone though. Have you ever been with child?"


    The question caught her off-guard. "What? No."


    "Are you with child now?"


    "No! Why are you asking?"


    "His Lordship wouldn''t want you bearing a child that wasn''t his. I''ll tell him we checked."


    "His Lordship? Oh¡ªno, that''s not why I''m..."


    She trailed off. It was hard to sound convincing when she was flat on her back while the maids perfumed her body until she smelled like roses.


    "No?" said Dinah. "Then why are you here?"


    She felt a stab of uncertainty. What were his intentions? All she knew was that he needed a sorcerer, and she had told him that she was one. Now she was being washed and pampered like some princess in the palace. She couldn''t tell Dinah. Under Drakonian law, witchcraft was the only crime punishable by death.


    "I don''t know. But if he wants to know my history, he can ask me himself."


    Dinah pursed her lips. "All right. Maybe he''ll put you to a different use. Just don''t give him cause to think you unfit."


    The previous question had angered her. This comment enraged her. "Do you think I chose to be here? I''m his prisoner!"


    "I know. I''m giving advice, not casting judgement. I don''t know why Lord Avon took a fancy to you¡ªit''s not typical for him to pick up Maskamery girls, let alone one of the rebels. Stand up."


    She obeyed, and the maids led her into an adjoining dressing room where a set of clothes had been laid out for her. They took her measurements, and Valerie watched one of the maids adjusting the gown with needle and thread with a little pang.


    Dinah measured her height and then her weight, then held a thermometer to her tongue and declared that she was satisfied with Valerie''s health. The maid pulled an under-dress over her head, finally covering her.


    "Any history of disease? Any recent problems?"


    "No... I got stomachache from eating bad eggs a few weeks ago."


    "You''re in remarkable condition. Maybe that''s why he picked you. It''s not usually that complicated where men are concerned."


    She didn''t have a retort. One of the maids was tightening her corset, and she was trying to breathe. The other was putting the finishing touches to her face: blush on the cheeks, a hint of colour to lighten the eyelids and balm on the lips. Then they stood back, and Valerie frowned at her reflection in the mirror.


    They''d dressed her like a lady of the court. Drakonian, not Maskamery. She knew their fashions intimately because it was her livelihood, making dresses for the royal court. Both shared a love for complex embroidery, but unlike the flowing garments preferred by the Maskamery, Drakonian ladies wore long gowns pinched in at the waist, their hair pinned up in curls.


    Why would Lord Avon have her dressed like this?


    I''m his enemy. That''s what he should think¡ªthere''s a scorpion in his house.


    She was in the palace. Avon would send for her. Perhaps this was an opportunity.


    Whatever he was planning to do with her, sooner or later she''d make him regret his decision.

 1.4. Negotiation

    "Knowledge is power. That''s why we don''t give it up freely."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    Valerie''s courage wavered when the guards reappeared. Walking down the opulent hallways, she became acutely aware of how vulnerable she was. No weapons, nothing she might defend herself with. They hadn''t even given her proper shoes, only thin slippers. Her feet sank into the rich soft carpet with every step, and the turquoise blue gown they''d put her in was no good for running with its layers of skirt. In the sun she''d overheat; in the rain she would be sodden. Even walking across gravel would be a struggle. She''d injure her feet in no time if she had to navigate the cobblestones of the city proper.


    It was one way to keep someone prisoner, she thought. Give them no protection against the elements or the outside world. Inside the palace, the air was pleasantly cool. Less pleasant were the bayonets of the guards glinting as they marched on either side of her.


    They stopped outside a set of ornate wooden doors, and she recognised the insignia on the door handle, carved into the head of a kestrel. The royal bird. Two men in armour gazed at her suspiciously from behind their helmets.


    "In," one of the guards grunted, nudging her forward with the butt of his rifle.


    In she went, to a set of rooms that had once been the royal quarters, now sullied by Lord Avon''s presence. Without warning, fear suffused her. She trembled with every step.


    And there he was, Lord Avon himself, looking up from his desk as she approached. His ceremonial armour stood empty nearby, and he was wearing a loose cotton shirt and breeches. He wasn''t armed. She scanned the room: an ornate spear hung from a bracket above the suit of armour, and on a nearby table a carving knife impaled the remains of a half-eaten chicken alongside a plate of fruit, bread and cheese. She''d go for the knife, if she had to...


    "You look better," said Lord Avon by way of greeting. "I trust your service so far has been respectful?"


    She frowned. What did he care if the servants treated her with respect?


    "Have you been fed? Watered?"


    He gestured over at the supper table, but though she hadn''t eaten more than a few pieces of fruit since being brought to the palace, the food didn''t look appetising. She felt sick.


    "Yes," she said, "thank you."


    "I want to commend you," he said, "for speaking up back at the fortress. That was very courageous."


    She said nothing.


    "I would like proof, however," he went on, "that you are what you say you are before we go any further."


    He set a paper down on the desk and moved around towards her. Valerie''s instinct was to flinch away. She held her ground.


    "What''s your name?"


    So close, she thought. We were so close to killing him. What price was she going to pay for their failure? Was it worth gambling her life for the cause?


    She took in a breath. "Why am I here?" She gestured at her gown. "Why did you dress me up?"


    He smiled. Not a real smile, but rather the curl of a lip and glimpse of teeth that one might expect from a predator. A wolfish smile.


    "You will address me as Lord Avon or my lord. As for your attire, I could hardly bring you into the palace as you were. Say hello to the witch who tried to kill me! No. You''re the lucky Maskamery girl who caught the eye of the Chancellor. I''ve brought you into my entourage to serve as my consort, and for that I expect your gratitude."


    "I''m overwhelmed with it, my lord."


    She was sure that he didn''t miss the sarcasm, but he chose to ignore it.


    "But," he continued, "that''s not the real reason you''re here. It so happens that I have a task to perform that can only be done by a sorceress. Help me perform it, and I won''t have you burned at the stake."


    She did her best to look surprised. "What task?"


    "What task, my lord. Your companion called you Val. Is that your name, Val?"


    Was there any point in hiding it? He must have heard it already from Lord Gideon.


    "Valerie," she answered, and then a second too late added, "my lord."


    "Valerie." He said it with a certain satisfaction. "And your family name?"


    She said nothing.


    "How long have you been a member of the resistance?"


    "I thought you wanted proof of my sorcery, my lord."


    Avon raised his eyebrows. After a moment, he walked over to ring a bell on the wall. Within seconds, a manservant entered pushing a trolley table. On the table''s metallic surface were an array of objects, but her eyes were drawn to one: a sword. Valerie was no expert in swords, so she couldn''t say whether this was a well-made weapon, but she knew one thing: it held power. A faint light emanated from it, a magical pulse.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "These ten objects," Avon began.


    "The sword," she interrupted before he could explain, and he blinked at her. She hadn''t even looked at the other items¡ªthey ranged from a silver goblet to a pair of boots. All mundane. "The sword has power, my lord. Shall I tell you what it does?"


    He nodded, impressed. She needed to touch it to learn more, so she approached the trolley and laid her hand on the hilt. The manservant almost stopped her, but Avon shook his head.


    "It''s... powerful," she said in some surprise. She hadn''t expected that with its faint aura, but the magic in the blade was potent. She had only encountered one other object more powerful than this before, and that had been one of the crown jewels, Prince Bakra''s most prized possession. "A curse-breaker. It can protect against any harmful magic... I think it could even cut a magical entity. Is this from the palace vault?"


    "No," said Avon. "That sword belongs to me." Her eyes went wide and he explained: "It was given to me by my grandfather, who was an ambassador to Maskamere."


    Valerie contemplated this as the servant departed with the ten items on the trolley. Avon''s family had history in Maskamere. She hadn''t known that, nor had she expected him to be in possession of a magical object when his own laws forbade it.


    "Let me show you one more thing."


    He held out his hand. His fingers were long, and he wore a silver ring on his middle finger that she felt sure was significant in Drakon, but she couldn''t recall what that significance might be.


    She stepped past him instead, clasping her hands in front of her. He took her meaning and let his hand drop, turning away to show her into the next room.


    "The royal bedchamber," Avon said as she stepped inside. "A bed for a king."


    It looked like it. Posts and headboard carved in¡ªshe almost gasped¡ªthe wood of a silvertree, while the bed covers themselves were red and gold silk. Curtains fluttered in the breeze from the open window, casting an amber light over the entire chamber.


    "You recognise it?" He ran his hand over one of the posts, carved with roses growing from root to stem.


    She nodded mutely.


    "There''s enough silverwood here to fashion staves for a small army of sorcerers. And the king warmed his back on it. They warned me when I first arrived that to sleep in this bed would not only be sacrilegious, it would also be dangerous. The silvertree would not bear the weight of a foreigner, a Drakonian, let alone one who had played a part in the murder of the queen. What do you think?"


    Her heart was beating fast. She could feel the thrum of power emanating from the silverwood. Valerie approached the opposite post and set her hand on it, the swirl of magic warming her palm.


    "You''re right, my lord," she said. "This magic won''t hurt anyone. It''s a spell for a good night''s sleep."


    "As I thought. All these threats and superstitions. Maskamere was never as powerful as it liked to believe."


    Was that meant as a warning? She stared at him, glad for the magic in the bedpost calming her nerves.


    "How did you know? I mean, that one of us was a sorcerer."


    "We have a way of detecting magic."


    There was no chance he would tell her what that was. She stepped away from the bed.


    "I thought the Drakonians wanted to destroy all the silvertrees. You tried, at least."


    They''d uprooted or burned hundreds of them, purging the land of magic and rendering the priestesses powerless as a result. The worst fighting had been here in the capital city, Jairah, where magic still lingered. Hundreds of priestesses had died, and sorcerers of every stripe: healers, hedge witches, armourers, beastmasters, warlocks...


    Yet she had already encountered three magical objects in the palace. The Drakonians had either failed to find them or chosen not to destroy them. Strange.


    "Don''t be insolent," he said. "What kind of magic do you practise?"


    "I''m a dressmaker, my lord. I weave magic into garments¡ª"


    "Where?"


    She pressed her lips together. Answering that question would get her family into trouble. Valerie might only be a distant relative¡ªAurelia, the family matriarch, was her great grandmother''s sister¡ªbut they were Crescents, and they''d taken her in.


    Avon stalked from one end of the bed to the other. "No doubt you''re an asset to the resistance. I need you to swear your allegiance to me."


    "But you haven''t even told me what this task is¡ª"


    "Swear it," he said. "Do you think I''d allow a rogue sorceress into my home without a guarantee?"


    She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Think! High Priestess Glynda had always said that there was power in promises. That once a priestess made an oath, she held to it.


    "If you want a guarantee," she said slowly, "then I want one too. Promise me that you''ll do me no harm, nor command anyone else to do me harm, and that you''ll set me and my friend free. In return, I''ll grant you one spell... my lord."


    He stared at her and she met his gaze, determined not to blink first. What was that gleam in his eyes? He looked fascinated, as if he were admiring a prize specimen, one of the royal kestrels or a great cat from the jungle.


    "You''re quite the negotiator," Avon said softly. "You do realise that I could have your friend killed. Perhaps you should mind his life before you overstep your place here."


    "I understand, my lord. It''s your choice."


    "Hmm. Very well. You will perform the spell I ask when I ask. Until then I won''t harm you, nor will I order any harm to come to you, and when the task is done your life will be spared."


    Her heart hammered. "What about freeing us?"


    "That you''ll have to convince me you deserve. It wouldn''t be wise to release a convicted traitor, would it?"


    It''s not exactly wise to keep one by your side either, she thought.


    She nodded. "Thank you, my lord."


    He had twisted her words¡ªonly promising that she wouldn''t be harmed until she had performed a spell for him, but if nothing else that would buy her some time. It was the best she could do.


    "This way."


    He ushered her out of the bedchamber, back through his quarters and into¡ªshe didn''t know what she had expected¡ªanother equally lavish set of royal quarters. An embroidered couch took pride of place in front of the coffee table and fireplace. By the bay window, a golden harp stood untouched next to a small dining table and two chairs. Its strings glimmered with a magical hue. An open door led to the bedchamber. She didn''t know where to look first.


    "These were the queen''s quarters," said Avon, and a chill ran through her.


    The queen! Queen Shikra, who had been dead for over two years now, and yet this place looked as if she might return to her favourite seat at any moment. Queen Shikra, who had been the most powerful woman in the queendom, Maska''s direct descendant and sole possessor of the goldentree''s blessing. Valerie had never seen her face, let alone met her. But she had listened to Bakra''s stories, and she had imagined the queen dancing in a splendid ballroom, a vision of scarlet beauty, in those long hours she had toiled away on that rose-red gown.


    She had never imagined sleeping in the dead queen''s bed.


    "Sleep here for now," Avon went on. "Let the servants know if you need anything. We''ll meet for breakfast in the morning."


    "Thank you, my lord," she said, because she didn''t know what else to say.


    "Good night."


    He nodded at her, and she didn''t quite manage to nod back before he turned away, closing the door behind him. A long moment passed. Valerie stood still, breathing in and out. She had saved herself, maybe, for one night at least. She had promised to perform a task that she had no idea whether she could perform, because she had no idea what it was. And she was going to sleep in the bed of a queen, in a room next to the Chancellor she had plotted to assassinate.


    It could be worse, she thought, and almost laughed at the absurdity of it.


    Yes, it could be worse. What on earth was she supposed to do now?

 1.5. The Locked Door

    "True magic is performed in a state of flow. The flow-state is known to any master craftswoman or artist. It is a state of pure creation, undistracted by the passage of time."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    The next morning, a maid woke her, one of the girls who had helped to prepare her the previous night. The girl introduced herself as Priska, her lady-in-waiting.


    She had to ask. "Waiting for what?"


    "For you, my lady. Anything you need."


    "What did you do before?"


    "Served Lady Rose, ma''am."


    "No... before."


    But Priska looked away. Her hair was pulled into a bun, her hands clasped over the dull grey frock and apron they made all the women servants wear, as if they didn''t deserve nice clothes.


    "We''d best get you ready for breakfast, ma''am."


    Breakfast was at eight, and Priska warned her that Lord Avon didn''t like to be late. This didn''t surprise her. Valerie let herself be washed and dressed with a bemused air, caught between the nerves cramping her stomach and the strange, pampered situation she found herself in. Today''s gown was pale as primrose with delicate cross patterning and short ruffled sleeves. The skirt was lovely, but she longed to adjust the too-frilly neckline.


    While Priska fussed with her hair, she looked around the bedchamber properly, taking everything in. Like the king''s chamber, the queen''s bed was made of silverwood. And like the king''s bed, it was imbued with a spell. She had slept well thanks to its magic.


    "Is there a picture missing?"


    One thing she had noticed about the royal palace was that there were paintings everywhere. Most were portraits, presumably of the royal family and their hangers-on, with the occasional landscape of picturesque villages, farms or palm trees dotted around.


    "A picture?" Priska asked. "Where, my lady?"


    "Above the mantelpiece."


    The bedchamber had a fireplace and above that a mantelpiece, and above that was a space where it looked like a painting should hang. In fact, it looked like a painting had been there. The wallpaper was less faded, and there were holes in the wall for the hooks.


    "Oh¡ªI don''t know, ma''am. I haven''t been in the queen''s rooms before."


    "Do you think they removed it?"


    "I don''t know, ma''am."


    Odd, when everything else in the queen''s quarters, from individual books down to a gold-lined pad of paper and pens on the writing desk, had been so perfectly preserved. She''d discovered more magical items that the Drakonians had missed. The harp remembered music that it had played before, and there was a golden pen on the desk that would only write the truth.


    Had the painting been removed because it contained a curse or some other harmful magic? She couldn''t be sure and so filed that mystery away for later.


    At exactly eight o'' clock, she entered the breakfast room (an entire room for breakfast). She settled into the chair that Lord Avon held out for her with what she hoped was a graceful air. It was a small, bright room, the windows opening on to a wide balcony from which she fancied she could catch a hint of the sea breeze. A selection of cold meats, fruit and pastries had already been set out on the table. His manservant poured them tea.


    Avon took the seat opposite her. "I imagine this must be quite strange."


    "Yes, my lord," she said. "I''ve always dressed myself."


    "Introduce yourself to the ladies of the court after breakfast. You''ll learn a great deal."


    The ladies of the court? She hadn''t expected this at all. "I thought I..."


    He looked at her. "What did you think?"


    "I''m here to perform a spell."


    "Only a few of my most trusted servants know the true reason you''re here. You will say nothing about it, do you understand?"


    Interesting. Perhaps even he didn''t dare reveal that he was employing the services of a sorcerer.


    But all she said was, "I understand."


    For a few seconds there was nothing but the sound of their knives and forks clattering, while Valerie pondered whether the secret of her abilities might give her any leverage. If she threatened to reveal it... But who would she tell? Most likely she''d get herself killed, which meant she had more to lose than he did.


    And she didn''t only have herself to think about. Any outright disobedience could hurt Markus too.


    She looked up. Avon had finished his tea. He set aside his napkin and leaned back in his chair, regarding her with undisguised appreciation.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "My friend," she said carefully, "does he know I''m alive? Can you tell me where he is, my lord?"


    "The ladies will be able to teach you the manners of court," said Avon. "For example, that you do not speak to a lord unless spoken to."


    "What if I have something important to say?"


    "Lord Gideon used a version of the test you performed last night to evaluate near fifty would-be sorcerers who have come to our gates in the past few days." Avon stood up, the manservant pulling back his chair. "We whittled them down to one. I''d like you to meet."


    *


    Everything was happening so quickly. The moment she finished breakfast, she found herself being escorted through the palace, Lord Avon at her side. This was nothing like sneaking around in her unnoticeable garb. Despite being accompanied by servants, she felt seen by everyone. Heads turned. Whispers followed. There wasn''t a single guard, servant, lord or lady they passed who didn''t take notice.


    It was because of Lord Avon, she told herself. He was the Chancellor; of course, everyone''s eyes were on him. He must be used to such attention, and he walked at a brisk enough pace that nobody tried approaching him.


    Still. She didn''t like it. She felt better when they entered the temple, which was empty, the scent of incense once again soothing her nerves.


    Then she realised that they were heading towards the steps, the ones she had wondered about before when eavesdropping on Avon and Gideon. She put one foot on the first step and nearly choked.


    This was power. Forget the sword, forget the crown jewels. She was approaching a magical presence the like of which she had never encountered before. She didn''t know whether to reach out in rapture or cower away from its presence. What is it? What''s down there? She breathed it in¡ªthe hair on the back of her neck and her arms prickled with every step¡ªa golden haze, the scent of roses, as they descended into the dark.


    Her slippers touched the stone floor. It was only a short flight after all, perhaps twelve steps, and the chamber below was lit by two standing braziers. In front of her was a stone door. It was circular, a great heavy block of rock set into the wall. A seashell pattern was carved into the stone surface. But dancing on the rock¡ªor in the rock¡ªwas a light show of magic: the azure blue of the sea, the green of a palm tree, the soft yellow of sand and stone, the burnished orange of a kestrel''s wing, the gold of a crown, and every now and then a shimmer of red, pink or purple like roses blooming in the blazing summer heat.


    She was mesmerised.


    "Lady Valerie, this is Caius. Valerie?"


    Avon was talking. She blinked, snapping out of her reverie. "I''m sorry?"


    "This is Caius. I understand you claim to be a hedge witch."


    "Yes, my lord," Caius answered. He looked at Valerie. "I know."


    She stared at him, twisting her mouth. He was an older man, perhaps in his fifties, dressed in rough travelling robes. The magical light danced on his shaved head. If he was what he claimed to be, then he was a vagabond, a thief¡ªone who had stolen the blessing of the silvertree without permission from the priesthood. That his kind still lingered while nearly all the priestesses had perished was a travesty to Maska.


    If Caius read any of her feelings on her face, he said nothing.


    "We believe this stone wall to carry a magical seal of some sort," said Avon. "We haven''t been able to open it by any physical means. I''d like to consider a magical solution."


    "You don''t see it?" she said, incredulous. She was fighting the impulse to dash against the stone wall.


    He frowned. "See what?"


    "It''s pretty bloody obvious," Caius offered cheerfully.


    Avon glanced over at one of his comrades. "Gideon?"


    Valerie gave a little start. She''d been so preoccupied by Caius and the magical door that she hadn''t noticed Lord Gideon was also present in the chamber. In fact, as she looked around, it became clear that no one else could see the light show she and Caius were being subjected to. The guards were all milling around oblivious.


    Gideon cleared his throat. "Caius claimed to see the seal as well, my lord. But let''s test the girl first before we compare notes."


    Avon beckoned her. "Go ahead."


    She glanced at Caius first, feeling nervous, but he gave her a nod. He must have done this already. The magic in the stone was not welcoming. It wanted her to either bash her head or turn and run. With a deep breath, she controlled herself, reaching out a hand as she stepped towards the door...


    Her fingers touched the surface of the rock.


    Wind rushed through her, a thrum of magic. It shook back her curls, but the pins held. Other than that, the magic was surprisingly gentle. It wasn''t a curse and so could not hurt her. It was, as Avon had guessed, a magical seal, forbidding access to whatever lay beyond the stone door. Then what would break the seal?


    "A woman," she said, the seal offering the answer even as she posed the question in her mind. "Only a woman can break the seal."


    Gideon grunted. "That''s what the hedge witch said too, my lord."


    "Can you break it?" Avon asked.


    Could she? The magic offered no further answers, only a complicated swirl of power. There was something in the pattern¡ªthe roses, the palm trees, the sea¡ªshe was sure of it, but it was beyond her. She let go of the stone, staggering back.


    "Valerie." Avon was next to her at once, steadying her with a hand on her back. "Can you break it?"


    "I¡ªI don''t know."


    His hand on her was disconcerting. She stepped away.


    "She''s lying," said Gideon. "Let me¡ª"


    "No," said Avon. "I don''t think she is."


    Caius spoke. "Do you know who made this seal, my lord?"


    Avon shook his head. "Do you?"


    "Magic that powerful could only be the work of one person. The queen herself."


    "The queen is dead," said Gideon. "The bloody seal wouldn''t be there if it was her work."


    "No, that''s where you''re wrong," said Caius. "Spells can linger after their caster dies. They fade quickly, usually in a few days... but not this one. I reckon this one could take years, maybe even centuries. Just a hunch."


    "The seal can only be broken by a woman," said Avon thoughtfully. "What would it take for Valerie to break it?"


    "I couldn''t say," said Caius. "But if you don''t mind another hunch... A powerful seal needs a powerful sorcerer to break it. Me, I''m just a hedge witch. I don''t know about your girl there, but she looks a bit wet behind the ears. Shame you murdered all the High Priestesses, eh? They probably could''ve helped."


    "Yes, thank you," said Avon.


    "Can I get my reward now, my lord?"


    Gideon snorted. "Insolent wretch! You''ve done nothing for us! We wanted the door open, and neither you nor this girl have managed it."


    "Come now, Gideon," said Avon. "Clearly Caius is unable to assist us any further, but his information has been useful. Give him half the reward we offered and safe passage out of the city."


    Caius scowled at that, but he was in no position to argue. Gideon escorted him out with his guards, leaving Valerie alone with Avon and one other guard. During the conversation she''d been silent, half stunned by what had happened, half trying to think while the seal''s power pressed at the edge of her vision.


    She couldn''t break the seal. She had no clue where to even start¡ªand it wasn''t as if she''d been taught any of this. The night she had been blessed by the silvertree was the same night the Drakonian army invaded her home. The spells she weaved into her work were of her own making, born of wishes and hopes, and the beauty of concentration that came only when completely absorbed in a task.


    The real question was, how was she going to explain any of this to Lord Avon?


    "I''ll have to think on this," he said, to her relief. "We''ll talk again tonight."

 1.6. Ladies of the Court

    "To make a favourable first impression at court, one need only remember three simple rules. Be presentable, delicate, and unassuming in manner. Remember that a lord has many important matters on his mind; always let him speak first. Above all: smile, smile, smile!"


    Lady Briony Bretton''s Guide to Court Etiquette for Promising Young Ladies


    She was glad to leave the chamber below the temple. The seal''s power made it almost impossible to focus on anything else. What she hadn''t reckoned on was how overwhelming the rest of the day would be.


    First, there were the ladies of the court. As Lord Avon had instructed, Priska took her to meet them. The ladies were gathered by a lovely summer house in the walled garden, fanning themselves under their parasols. They stood up when she approached, and she had never seen smiles fade so fast, as if she carried a bad smell.


    What had she done wrong?


    "You must be Lady Valerie," one trilled. "Gosh, you''re Maskamery? What a lovely surprise!"


    Ah.


    One of the five ladies was also Maskamery. Valerie gave her a desperate look in hope of solidarity, and she got what she thought was an acknowledging look back, but she''d have to confirm that later. She thought the other four were Drakonian until one proudly informed her that she was from Enyr. Valerie only knew of it from schoolbooks and Prince Bakra who had spent some of his time in exile there. This was going to be tough.


    The first lady who had spoken introduced herself as Lady Melody, consort of Lord Gideon. She had dark hair, strong brows, and a beautiful liquid voice. Valerie wondered if her mother had predicted her singing ability when she named her. Lord Gideon though? Does she know what he does to his prisoners?


    Next was Lady Rose, consort of Lord Merlon, the Treasurer, who possessed a joyful smile and the radiance of youth. Then Lady Mona of Enyr, consort of Lord Sandford, the Master of Foreign Affairs. Lady Amilia, consort of Lord Warren, Master of Home Affairs. And finally, her fellow Maskamery, Lady Flavia, consort of Lord Thorne, the palace''s resident bishop. No family names given. Perhaps they didn''t consider that important.


    "Sit," Melody invited her.


    She did so a little awkwardly, joining the ladies perched on the wooden benches arranged around the summer house.


    "We''ve heard so much about you," said Rose, making her wonder how fast news had travelled when she had barely been here for a day, "you must tell us how much of it is true!"


    "Well," she said, "what have you heard?"


    "That you''re a consort of Lord Avon," said Rose.


    "I am."


    Her cover story was already out there. All she had to do was go with it.


    "I can''t believe he finally chose a companion and you''re Maskamery," said Amilia. "We''ve all been throwing ourselves at him for weeks."


    "Oh..."


    "No, it makes sense," said Mona, who seemed to be the oldest of the group and the most poised. "He wants to ingratiate himself with the locals. What better way to do that than have a Maskamery woman on his arm?"


    "I heard that he asked to have breakfast with you alone this morning," said Rose. "He must be smitten¡ªis that true?"


    "Well, I heard that she''s a criminal who agreed to come to court to repent," said Amilia, "is that true?"


    "Amilia," Melody scolded her. "Don''t ask such things."


    Maska help me, she thought. These women were remarkably well-informed.


    "Actually, Lord Avon asked me to meet with you so that you could help me learn about life at court," she said. "I don''t really know how a Drakonian court works..."


    She looked at Flavia as she said this, hoping for some sympathy. Melody noticed and shook her head.


    "Oh, no, no, no, don''t ask Flavia. She''s new at this too, you''ll be flailing around like two lost puppies. She was shocked to learn that two of us are married."


    "You''re what?"


    Melody laughed, showing a silver ring on her finger. It''s a marriage ring, Valerie thought. Then Lord Avon is married too?


    "Amilia and I are army wives. I haven''t seen my husband in six months. We Drakonian ladies have a saying: Only stupid women are only wives."


    Valerie had no idea what any of this meant. "Is that unusual?"


    "Maskamery don''t marry," Flavia reminded the group. "The marriage rite is still new to us."


    "Rite," Melody repeated, amused. "Of course. Never mind. Lord Avon chose you, and he has good judgement, so I assume you''re more than just a pretty face. What can you do?"


    "I''m not sure what you mean."


    She hoped her face wasn''t going red. If she let slip her magic on her very first day at court, Lord Avon wouldn''t be best pleased.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Well, do you sing?" asked Melody. "Dance? Play an instrument?"


    "No..."


    "Gardening? Painting? I assume you''re not a witty conversationalist judging by our talk so far."


    Valerie blinked. If she hadn''t been blushing before, she definitely was now.


    "What did you do before you joined us, Valerie?" Mona asked. "Your family business?"


    "I''m¡ªI was a dressmaker."


    "Sewing!" Melody clapped her hands. "Well, that''s something. We can work with that."


    "Actually," she said, finding her confidence again, "I made that dress you''re wearing, Amilia."


    Amilia looked down at her gown, a pale cream affair with delicate ribbing, a pink sash, and a subtle embroidery of pink roses and white lilies along the hem and sleeves.


    "Oh!" she said. "Really? Gosh..."


    "That''s so exciting!" said Rose. "It''s such a beautiful dress too. Do you know where it came from, Amilia?"


    Amilia shook her head. "It was a gift from Lord Warren."


    "That dress was made to order," said Valerie. "I worked on it for two months. It''s hand-sewn, made to fit your exact specifications, and my own unique design. You won''t find another one like it."


    Amilia looked immensely pleased at this, which she had guessed would be the case. What she hadn''t anticipated was the torrent of requests that then followed from each of the ladies who would love to get their own gowns made or perhaps altered, or perhaps a new necktie, and did she also make children''s clothes...?


    She held up her hand. "I''d love to continue my dressmaking here, but I don''t have any of my tools..."


    Her skills would be wasted on these ladies. Then again, trade was all about making alliances. If she ended up stuck here for a while, she ought to consider it.


    "Oh," said Melody, "we''re forgetting ourselves. Lord Avon asked us to help Valerie settle in. Shall I give you the tour?"


    Melody rose, holding her hand out to Valerie, and she guessed this wasn''t an offer she could refuse.


    "Good," said Melody brightly. "Ladies, we''ll see you at dinner."


    The other ladies bid their farewells, and Melody took her arm with a firm grasp.


    "I''ll show you around the entire grounds and the palace," she said. "It''s quite large but not so bad once you get to know a few shortcuts."


    ''Quite large'' turned out to be an underestimation. There were over five hundred rooms in the palace, Melody was pleased to tell her, including accommodations for all the lords and ladies and their servants. She would see only a fraction of them. First the entrance hall, then the gallery, the ballroom, the library, various parlour rooms, a nod towards the residential quarters and the offices where the lords spent their hours during the day...


    "And the kitchens?" she asked, thinking that at least she had seen part of the servants'' quarters before.


    Melody laughed. "The kitchens? Are you planning to cook?"


    Lords and servants, Valerie reminded herself. The lords ran everything, the servants did everything, and as far as she could tell the ladies contributed nothing of value. They flitted around the grounds like a small flock of birds, pretty to look at but otherwise inconsequential.


    "You asked about my sewing," said Valerie. "So it''s fine for me to sew but not to cook?"


    "Oh, you really don''t know anything. Well, then..."


    Melody sat her down in the parlour for what she called a luncheon of tea and tiny triangular sandwiches with the crusts cut off. There she patiently explained the basics of court etiquette, a baffling set of rules that seemed designed by a petulant tyrant.


    "Why can''t we look around ourselves?"


    "It would be inappropriate."


    "Why?"


    "You''d be assumed to be sneaking off. Your virtue might come into question if you were discovered wandering around unaccompanied."


    "Virtue? As in, moral character?"


    "Darling, I know you have so many questions, but if you question everything we''ll be here for hours..."


    After that, she gave up trying to understand. She was a prisoner, and this place was designed to keep her trapped. That was explanation enough.


    Finally, to her relief, Melody suggested that they go for a walk. Her pinched-in corset was starting to feel uncomfortable.


    The late afternoon sun cast a golden light over the hedges as they strolled through the rose garden.


    "It''s prettier when the roses are in bloom," said Melody, "but still quite lovely, don''t you think?"


    It was. She fancied she could smell the rose petals, even while the plants weren''t in bloom. They passed through an archway where the vines and thorns made for a prickly cover before crossing into the water garden.


    "How long have you lived here?" Valerie asked.


    "Almost two years now. I was one of the first to arrive with Gideon when the palace became ours."


    Invaders, Valerie thought. The palace was never yours! But she controlled herself and said nothing.


    "What do you think of Lord Avon?" Melody asked.


    "I... barely know him. Is he married too?"


    "I''m glad you asked. No, he was, but his wife passed away. I wouldn''t advise you bring it up."


    A sore subject? She filed that one away for later too. Anything that might hurt Avon was useful, even if the only damage it inflicted was emotional.


    "Do you know why you''re here, Valerie?"


    She blinked, collecting herself. "What do you mean?"


    "Lord Avon is the Emperor''s son. He may be a little less attractive now he has a son of his own, but there are still many ladies who would be envious of your position. Why aren''t you happier to be here?"


    "I..." Melody really knew how to ask a question. She shook her head, swallowing. "Did you say Lord Avon has a son?"


    Had she known this? She couldn''t recall. It wasn''t a relevant fact for a rebel group plotting to take down the foreign invader occupying their land. So, he''d had a wife and he had a son. All the makings of a happy Drakonian family.


    "You didn''t know?"


    "I''ve never seen him."


    "Well, of course you wouldn''t, he''s in Drakon. Lord Avon was planning to bring him over to visit, but that awful assassination attempt has set all our plans back. It''s just not safe. Half the court has already gone. I hope it''ll pick up in the summer, but there are only so many times I can wax lyrical about the balmy weather..."


    "I hope it picks up too."


    "No, you don''t."


    Valerie once again floundered for a response. Melody gave her a piercing stare.


    "You''re Maskamery," Melody said. "You hated every word I just said, didn''t you?"


    She felt like she was taking a test and failing. What was she supposed to say?


    "Was Flavia like this too?"


    "Sit."


    Melody gestured at the grass beneath the shade of a willow tree. They''d reached the river¡ªin fact, they were quite close to the place where she''d hidden in wait for Markus. Valerie sat down uncomfortably, not liking the grass tickling through her dress.


    "I don''t hate you," said Melody, "even if you hate me. It''s my duty as a Drakonian to civilise the nations we take under our wing. The Maskamery court isn''t going to survive without Maskamery ladies and gentlemen. Just tell me one thing. If you could go back to your family instead of starting a new life here, would you?"


    Valerie was clutching some torn blades of grass so tightly her fingernails left marks in her palms.


    "Yes," she said.


    "I understand. Your choices were limited. I won''t pry into why they were limited, but it does happen. The best piece of advice I can give you is that you have to find a way to accept that. You could have a nice life here, a good life. You''ll want for nothing. But you won''t enjoy any of it if you hold resentment in your heart."


    Perhaps in other circumstances those might have been wise words. In her current circumstances, she begged to differ. Still...


    She looked up at Melody. "Are you speaking from experience?"


    Melody looked away. "Not exactly. That''s a story for another time. Shall we get ready for dinner?"

 1.7. Flavia

    "My great task is to establish a way of life that will last for all future generations. A way of life where the people and the silvertrees flourish in equal measure, for we are dependent on each other."


    Maska''s Testimonium, I:VII


    Dinner in the Crescent household was a lively affair. Her aunt Kamila and uncle Koel ruled the kitchen with the energy of a pair of old Drakonian dictators. Valerie and her younger cousin Elissa set out the table in the courtyard. All in all, nine adults and six children, including the infant at her cousin Lavinia''s lap, jostled around to share fresh-caught mullet with roasted vegetables, yoghurt and pita bread.


    At the head of the table, Aurelia, the family matriarch, settled into her wicker chair with a satisfied creak. The afternoon sun caught the pale wisps of her hair and bony cheeks. She clasped her hand to her breast.


    "Let us give thanks for Maska''s bounty."


    Valerie bowed her head. "We give thanks."


    Murmurs followed. Saying prayer at dinner was an old tradition, one that had fallen out of fashion before the war. But this was life under occupation, and evening prayer was the one small act of defiance they could all agree on.


    They didn''t agree on much else.


    "Heard a complaint from the Fishers today," said Kamila, whose beady eyes were fixed on Markus. "They know you vandalised their boats the other night."


    Markus flushed. "It was only paint. We didn''t break anything and no one was caught."


    "Well, they said it was you and they''re right, aren''t they? So now they''re insisting that we pay them in coin if we want to have fish for dinner again."


    "Coin?" Valerie was aghast, and she wasn''t the only one.


    "That''s why we did it!" said Markus. "They''re collaborators!"


    "Then everyone''s a collaborator," Kamila snapped. "Take it up at the community meeting."


    "The community meetings run by the Drakonians?" She gave Kamila a withering look. "Sure, that''ll work."


    "But we can manage, can''t we?" said Lavinia, who had three children and a perpetual frown. "The Drakonians pay us in coin. We have to make the switch sooner or later."


    The introduction of money was one of many changes the Empire had imposed to control the population and exploit their labour. Up until a year ago, Koel had refused point-blank to accept any coin in the Crescent store. That had soon fallen away. But until recently, most Maskamery families had maintained their long-standing trade agreements, using coin only when they dealt with the Drakonians.


    "No," said Valerie, "don''t you see? It''s a trick. Drakonians want to make all the men work for coin. I make a dress and what do I get? Nothing. They''re taking everything we do away from us."


    "That''s not how it works," said Koel. "Any coin we make is ours. We keep the proceeds¡ª"


    "You keep the proceeds. You own the house. What''s next, they sell us off too?"


    That was another of the Drakonians'' stupid laws. Every Maskamery household had to select a head, the eldest male. He owned what the Drakonians called the property and any money brought in by its inhabitants. To any decent Maskamery man this arrangement was a source of great embarrassment, but she''d already heard worrying rumours of those who had embraced the new order.


    Lavinia looked disturbed. "They wouldn''t do that."


    "That''s what they do in Drakon. I understand why Koel doesn''t care, but why don''t you? You should be out there protesting with us."


    "I did not say I didn''t care." Koel shot her a dirty look. "But we shouldn''t stoop to their level¡ªwe used to talk these things out."


    "We can''t ask them nicely, Koel. How isn''t this obvious to you?"


    She was getting hostile looks from all quarters now. Her aunt Kamila, of course, and the other mothers at the table. Even Lavinia. Didn''t they realise how short-sighted they were being? Did they want their children to grow up in the shadow of the Empire?


    "But we have to eat," said Aurelia.


    Silence fell. Valerie swallowed her retort.


    "We take care of family first," Aurelia went on, and though her voice was soft and raspy, it cut through the warm evening air. "We are not out to make enemies, do you understand?"


    "Yes, Grandma," said Valerie softly.


    Aurelia''s sharp gaze fell on Markus. "You too."


    "Yes, Grandma," Markus echoed.


    Aurelia had asked them to call her grandmother from the moment she and Markus had arrived, devastated and alone, in the wake of the invasion. Now was not the time to argue, even though she was bursting with protests.


    Valerie returned to her plate, and the conversation moved on.


    She glanced at Markus, who nodded back at her. At least she had his support. He had never wavered in his disgust for the Drakonians. He saw their lies for what they were, and she admired him for that.


    But he was one of a few. More and more she saw signs of apathy and worse, resignation. People picking up their lives, adjusting. The younger children repeating Drakonian words and phrases, parroting values contrary to Maska''s teachings.


    The end of civilisation wasn''t marked by military defeat but by the slow death of ideas.


    The rebellion was failing.


    *


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    Dinner at the palace was a very different experience to the Crescent household. It started with hours of preparation: a bath, changing into an evening gown, hair and make-up. Priska did everything. She felt almost guilty watching the maid painstakingly pin up her hair¡ªwhat had she done to deserve this?


    Tried to kill the Chancellor.


    Oh, the irony.


    This evening was, in Melody''s words, an opportunity for her to practise the social conventions of court. Melody had given what she was sure was a lot of very sound and practical advice during their tour of the palace, but she was just glad that she remembered which knife and fork to use.


    Twenty lords and ladies sat down to dine in the hall, every one of them splendid in their jackets and tails or gowns. Servants poured them wine and set out a feast of pork belly, lamb chops and larks'' tongues. The chatter of the guests and their clinking glasses soon filled the air.


    Next to her, Rose helpfully identified the lords and their consorts¡ªsome women, some men¡ªbut when Valerie asked her to explain the difference between a wife and a courtesan, she only laughed and said, "A courtesan is not a wife."


    Lord Avon was absent. She wondered if that was normal.


    "Oh, he rarely joins us," said Rose. "He''s got a war to fight."


    That much was true. Despite two years of Drakonian occupation, they hadn''t yet conquered the entire country. The northwest border of Maskamere was mountainous and covered with thick forest, defying all attempts by the Empire to impose order. Its stronghold was the northern city of Bolebund, which refused to recognise the Empire''s rule. It had survived three siege attempts thanks to its leader, the Abbess Sopphora.


    Here on the south coast in Jairah, the opposite was true. The Empire''s hold was strongest here in the seat of their power, there were more Drakonian guards than any other city, and many Drakonians had moved here to enjoy the "balmy" climate.


    Valerie wondered if they appreciated how much had been destroyed before they got here. The towns and villages ransacked, the silvertrees burned, thousands of lives lost...


    A red-faced lord peered at her over his wine glass. Lord Warren, if she recalled correctly. "So you''re Avon''s new girl. Rather lovely. I must congratulate him. I hear Lady Melody put you through your paces today, eh?"


    He chuckled and nudged Lord Gideon next to him. She smiled and nodded. After that, the entire evening was a barrage of inane questions.


    "How are you finding the palace so far?"


    "And the food? Isn''t it delightful?"


    "Aren''t you a beauty?"


    "Personally, I''ve always found Maskamery women rather coarse. But good fun if you want an argument."


    "Who on earth would want that?"


    She responded in kind. Tonight she was the star attraction, Lord Avon''s new consort, lucky her. But no one asked about her personal history or brought up anything political, which she recalled was not the done thing at large social gatherings. As Melody had put it, either topic might lead to unsavoury conversation, and no one wanted that at dinner.


    Those kinds of conversations happened in private, behind closed doors. It was the kind of conversation she was going to have with Avon later tonight.


    As dessert rolled around, and Valerie contemplated flinging herself in the sticky toffee pudding if only to escape Lord Warren''s wobbling jowls, Lady Flavia came over. "Lady Valerie, shall I walk you back to your quarters? I know it can be tricky finding your way around."


    Valerie met her eyes and understood at once. She nodded, and the pair of them slipped away.


    *


    Back in her chambers, she kicked off her slippers and threw herself down on the bed. Flavia laughed, looking around.


    "I''m sorry we didn''t get a chance to talk before," she said. "I''ve never been in these rooms... What a beautiful suite."


    Flavia herself was beautiful, Valerie thought, the pins in her hair failing to tame her natural dark curls. Her dainty features gave her a charming, wide-eyed look, with sea-green eyes that were cherished in Maskamere because they typically signified a link with the royal family.


    "I''m exhausted already," said Valerie. "How do you do it?"


    Flavia perched on the end of the bed. "It''s new, that''s all. It''ll get easier. How was your walk with Lady Melody?"


    She made a face. "She said it''s her job to civilise us. Can you believe that?"


    "Drakonian arrogance. They''re all like that. Melody thinks she''s better than everyone, if that helps."


    "But how can you stand to be treated that way? Like some unruly dog?"


    "That''s the job, Valerie. It''s your job to please and make the Drakonians feel good about themselves. I''ve only been at court for two months, but I''ve been around Drakonians a lot longer. The happiest I ever made Lord Thorne was when he converted me."


    Valerie sat up, shocked. "He converted you?"


    "Well, he wouldn''t take me to court unless I did. His whole mission is conversion, I have to set an example. I said the words." She shrugged. "It doesn''t mean anything."


    "But..." She searched for the words to express her outrage. "Flavia, that''s our country. Maska, the goldentree, everything we stand for."


    Maska was the soul of Maskamere: literally, the spirit of the nation, embodied in the goldentree. Every Maskamery vowed to protect and nurture the silvertrees that protected and nurtured the people in turn through the blessings of the priesthood.


    She remembered receiving the silvertree''s blessing, how special it felt.


    She remembered the priestesses dying.


    Flavia shook her head. "I still love Maskamere. But the silvertrees are gone, and the priestesses and the royal family are dead..."


    "Not all of them."


    "The prince is never going to win. He''ll either die in the war or live out his days in exile."


    "You can''t know that. That''s no reason to turn your back on us."


    Flavia recoiled visibly, shuffling away from her. "Who''s ''us''? If you feel that strongly about it, what are you doing here in the first place? No one''s going to praise you for your loyalty sharing Lord Avon''s bed."


    "I''m not¡ª" She stopped, pressing her lips together. Everyone she''d met, she realised, would have assumed that if she hadn''t already slept with Avon, she was going to soon. "I''m sorry. It''s been a long day."


    Flavia rose. "Well, let me know if you want to talk again."


    She tried smiling as Flavia retreated, hoping that she hadn''t ruined the possibility of friendship on her very first day. When the other girl was gone, Valerie let out a big sigh and flopped back down on the bed.


    She''d meant to ask Flavia about her family. Where she''d come from. Instead, she''d scared her off.


    What had she learned? Life in the palace was going to be a huge, huge adjustment. She hadn''t ever imagined that her attempted assassination of the Chancellor would lead to this. She had no plans, no preparations, no knowledge of how to act at court. The knowledge part she could fix. If she had to learn to be a courtesan, then learn to be a courtesan she would, whether she liked it or not. She was learning already.


    It''s your job to please.


    Please him. Not if she could help it. She only had to blend in long enough to plot her escape. Then she could return to the resistance.


    She wondered whether Prince Bakra might attempt to rescue her. Was she important enough to the resistance for him to risk it? She ought to be. And if he didn''t think it was worth it, her family would. They might not have approved of her activities in the resistance, but Aurelia would never abandon her. The question was whether the Crescents would even find out where she and Markus had been imprisoned. And if they did find out, would they be able to help?


    Or would the Drakonians spread the word that she''d been burned at the stake as a witch? Her heart sank at that thought. They might think she was dead, in which case no rescue would be forthcoming.


    Regardless, she couldn''t wait around for someone else to save her. She''d have to figure it out herself.


    There was a soft knock at the door, then her lady-in-waiting entered without prompting. Priska curtsied.


    "Excuse me, my lady, Lady Melody sent you a gift."


    "A gift?"


    She rose, curious, as Priska set the gift down on the writing table. A sewing kit. A little burst of delight bubbled through her as she opened the basket. It didn''t have the full range of tools she used at the Crescent store, of course, nor the many different threads or fabrics. But it was a start.


    She looked at Priska. "Please send my thanks to Lady Melody."


    The girl bobbed her head and left.


    Perhaps Melody intended the sewing kit as a welcoming gesture. Perhaps she had some other motive. It didn''t matter. Valerie had the means to weave magic again and with that, the means to escape.


    She picked the thimble out of the basket, rolling it between finger and thumb, and smiled.

 1.8. Supper with Lord Avon

    "At first, the lack of recognition of the Divine was disconcerting. These people lack spiritual fortitude. Once I realised how far the heretical teachings in the convents held the Maskamery down, I began to see a path forward."


    Bishop Eugene Thorne''s Notes on a Mission in Maskamere


    "His Lordship requests your presence in his chamber."


    Finally. She had expected him to summon her earlier. Valerie had spent the last hour sewing under the lamplight, the back-and-forth of the needlework a comforting familiarity after a strange and exhausting day. It was a simple adjustment to the gown she had worn yesterday: red, pink and green thread to embroider a rose in the hem.


    The rose was almost done when Priska called her. She returned the dress to the oak wardrobe where she had found it and tucked away the sewing kit under the writing desk. She didn''t know whether Lord Avon might inspect her quarters, but she had told him about her spell weaving. No sense risking it.


    His quarters were next door, of course. There were five doors in her rooms. One connected the bedchamber to the sitting room. Another led out into the hallway. Of the two other doors in the bedchamber, only one would open. It led to the bath chamber. The other she had tried and found locked. She had been unable to find a key.


    The last door connected the sitting room to his quarters, and she wondered at that arrangement. Perhaps all the royal quarters were connected. Where had Prince Bakra slept before the invasion?


    These thoughts were distractions. In truth, her heart was hammering. She had forgotten the fear that had pinned her through the course of the day, but it returned in full force now. She took a deep breath and turned the door knob, stepping through into Lord Avon''s chamber.


    A faint scratching sound reached her ears. He was sitting at a desk similar to the one in the queen''s chamber, writing on the palace''s gold-lined paper. While she lingered by the door, he returned the fountain pen to its pot, folded the letter and tucked it into an envelope, which he stamped with a black seal.


    Then he looked up. "How was your day?"


    She closed the door behind her and moved forward, feeling awkward just standing there. "Fine, my lord."


    "Were you introduced to the court?"


    "Yes. Lady Melody took good care of me."


    He rose, gesturing over to the couch by the fireplace. "Sit. Would you like some wine?"


    She perched on the edge of the seat furthest from him, clasping her hands in her lap. "Thank you, my lord."


    She took the wine glass he poured for her. Avon settled in his armchair and drank, and she tried a sip, finding it overly rich. The fire flickered between them.


    "What did you learn?" he asked.


    "Enough to not make a fool of myself at dinner."


    He chuckled.


    "I learned about you too."


    "Did you?"


    Melody had warned her not to bring the topic up, but she wanted to see how he reacted.


    "You had a wife. You have a son."


    His smile disappeared. "Yes."


    "Did she hate you?"


    Avon swirled the wine in his glass before placing it on the side table. "Let''s get down to business. I believe you can help me open that door, and I''m willing to let the terms of our deal stand until you do."


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    Her heart skittered. "But I don''t know how to open it."


    "Lord Gideon believes that you do. He wishes to interrogate you until you comply."


    She swallowed. "I''m not lying, I swear it. On my life, my lord, I promise you I don''t know how to open that door."


    "Then I''d like you to find out. Who taught you to use magic?"


    "No one."


    His eyebrows arched in disbelief. "No one?"


    "I... I went to school at a convent. It was destroyed before I started my training in the priesthood."


    The convent educated girls from the age of twelve in literature, mathematics, history, natural philosophy and theology. All of this was considered necessary preparation to receive the blessing of the silvertree and join the priesthood.


    "Where was this convent?"


    "A village in the north." She shrugged. "You won''t find it anymore. It burned down in the war."


    He was silent for a moment but offered no condolences. He couldn''t, she thought. He wouldn''t, and he couldn''t, when he was waging that same war.


    "If no one taught you, how did you learn to use magic at all?"


    "I''m self-taught."


    "Did you read a book, perhaps?"


    She shook her head. "I didn''t have access to any books." Most had burned along with the convents, but he knew that. "I just... experimented. I learned what worked for me."


    "What if you had someone who could guide you?"


    "Like a teacher?" She blinked. "Who, Caius?"


    "Not Caius. He vanished as soon as we handed over his reward. We have a scholar residing with us in the palace who is an expert in sorcery. I''d like you to meet him."


    "Does he practise magic?"


    If she could learn from someone else... She''d never needed to before, but maybe she''d learn something new. Something that could help the resistance. It was undeniably an attractive prospect, and she found herself leaning forward, eager to learn more.


    "No," said Avon, crushing her hopes with one word, "his interest is purely academic, but perhaps his understanding of the theory could give you the answers you need for your practice."


    Valerie thought this extremely unlikely, and her dubiousness must have shown on her face because Avon cocked his head at her.


    "You disagree?"


    She sipped her wine while she decided how to respond. "I can talk to him, my lord. But I''m not sure how someone who has never practised himself could really hope to guide me."


    Magic, in her experience, was in the doing. In the bones, the fingers, the eyes. In her mind when she focused on the thread weaving patterns in the cloth or wiping calluses from her hands.


    "Talk to him," said Avon. "He may know more than you think."


    Clearly, she wasn''t going to change his mind. Valerie didn''t object. If Avon wanted to go down a rabbit hole, he was only giving her more time. And she was curious about what lay behind the temple door...


    "Is there something else on your mind?"


    Avon was once again observing her. His gaze was unsettling, especially in the firelight.


    "My lord," she said, "what''s on the other side of that door? Why do you want to open it?"


    "I don''t know," said Avon, surprising her. "But the royal family always kept their magical trinkets close. Anything the queen sealed away must be of immense value¡ªand therefore of interest to us."


    "Like the crown jewels?"


    "Perhaps."


    Only one of the crown jewels had made it out of the palace. Prince Bakra had once shown her the Masked Crown, a golden coronet studded with rubies, before he''d sent it off to help with the war effort in the north.


    Burning with curiosity, she had asked the prince what the crown did.


    Bakra had laughed. "It holds the power of creation. But you must be of high rank to wield it."


    Like an Abbess, the highest rank of priestess, or the queen herself. And to her disappointment, Bakra had been right. When she held the crown, she had felt its power as if from a distance, inaccessible.


    If there was treasure locked away in the temple, what could it be? The other two jewels, perhaps, sealed away by the queen in a final act before her death? Or something even more powerful?


    Avon tapped the arm of his chair. "You''ll join me for supper every evening, except on holy days when we''ll have breakfast. We can discuss your progress. I expect it to be swift."


    "Right."


    But her stomach had dropped. Every night she''d have to figure out a way to stall him. And behind the courteous veneer, there was menace in his words.


    Avon gestured to the door. "You may return to your quarters."


    She stood up, barely disguising a relieved sigh. As she was about to scoot past his armchair, Avon rose and blocked her way. Valerie stopped short, fear flooding into her. He stared down at her. For a second, they didn''t move, and she wondered if he was about to renege on his promise or demand something else or¡ª


    His voice was low and dark. "Don''t speak about my wife."


    She nodded, heart pounding. Then Avon stepped aside, and Valerie all but fled.


    Back in the queen''s room¡ªoh, she was so glad she had her own room¡ªit took several minutes to compose herself. She lay on the bed, breathed in and out, and reminded herself that it could have been worse. None of her fears of broken promises had come true. He''d looked for another option.


    And if it gave her the chance to learn more magic, she might get something out of this after all.

 1.9. The Scholar

    "The goldentree is the source of all magic. It''s a transcendent construct that manifests in the silvertrees, the priesthood, and sorcery itself."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    She met the scholar in the garden. Valerie had expected to be taken to a library or study, but instead the guard escorted her to one of the greenhouses where an old man pottered about in the vegetable patch. Her first impression of him was of an old, wide-brimmed hat.


    Then he looked up, and his face cracked into a wide, crinkly smile. "Lady Valerie! Yes? Good morning! What a delight it is¡ªno, an honour¡ªto meet you."


    He shook her hand vigorously, and she couldn''t help smiling back. Patches of white hair poked out beneath his hat. He was wearing a waistcoat and tails like those favoured by the Drakonian lords, but the velvet cloak was distinctly battered and trailing with dirt.


    "Come by the shed," he invited her, and she obliged. The bemused gardener shot both of them a look when the scholar instructed his manservant to pull up folding chairs for the pair of them. The old man''s bones creaked as he sat down and sighed. "Many apologies, my lady, for dragging you over to the tomato vines, but I have an ongoing experiment that couldn''t wait."


    She sat down beside him, folding her hands in her lap. "Experiment?"


    He waved a hand. "Yes, I''m monitoring the temperature and consistency of the soil and conducting a biosurvey inside and outside the greenhouse. The greenhouse is hotter, you see, so I intend to investigate how and whether that affects the lifecycle and population growth of the green-backed beetle."


    "The... green-backed beetle?"


    "A rare species found only in the southern climes of Maskamere. There''s a wonderful population right here, and the gardener keeps squashing them, can you believe! I''ve instructed him to stop that at once so I can monitor the population undisturbed."


    "Don''t they eat the vegetables?"


    "Well, yes, but they must be undisturbed for my work."


    "Lord Avon said you were an expert in magic, not beetles," she said, trying not to smile.


    "Yes! I''m an expert in both. Beetles were my first love, from my days roaming the fields at home as a boy. There are endless varieties. I myself have documented over thirty new species. My search led me to Maskamere, where I came across a silvertree for the first time. It was only a sapling¡ªnatural born, they thought, almost unheard of, but it was extraordinary. Then I learned about the connection between the silvertrees and the priestesses, and, well, I''ve been here ever since." He paused, pushing his glasses up his nose, then seemed to remember something. "I''m Master Anwen. Did I say that?"


    "No¡ªit''s a pleasure to meet you, Master Anwen." She was very curious now. He was Drakonian, but he didn''t speak like any of the other Drakonians she had met. "How long have you lived in Maskamere?"


    "Oh, over thirty years. The beetles are a hobby. I''ve devoted my life to the study of sorcery, its history, its natural mechanisms. I firmly believe it should belong to a branch of the biological sciences."


    "You''re a natural philosopher?"


    He nodded. "I''m writing a book which will be the definitive guide to the natural origins of sorcery for all who may be interested in Drakon. It includes firsthand accounts from local practitioners as well as my own observations, deductions and theories."


    "What about the books written by the priestesses? Have you read those too?"


    At this, Anwen gave her a pained look. "As a man, I was never allowed into a convent. Can you believe it! I''ve scoured the library here, and there''s very little of interest on the topic, even before the purge."


    "So... you''re saying that you''ve ignored over a thousand years of teaching and learning to write your own book even though you''ve never practised magic yourself?"


    He looked taken aback. "Dear me, that''s an unflattering way to put it. No, it isn''t through lack of trying. Most priestesses refused to talk to me, but over the years I''ve conducted dozens of interviews with petty sorcerers of all kinds and gathered a great deal of information."


    "What kind of information?" she asked at once. Here, at last, they might be getting somewhere.


    "Well, that was the problem." He waved his hands. "It was all contradictory. A complete mess. I realised later that some of my interviewees were frauds or lying, but I had no idea who was genuine and who wasn''t. I almost gave up on my book. Then I met her."


    "Met who?"


    "Queen Shikra."


    A shiver ran up her spine. He''d met the queen. Valerie sat up straight. At this point she wanted to know everything, whether or not it would help her.


    "What was she like?"


    "Wonderful. Terrifying. I''ve never seen anyone do what she could do. I remember one spring we had terrible thunderstorms in Jairah. The western quarter was flooded, then one of the temples was struck by lightning and caught fire. The queen was away, I forget why, some royal visit or other, but she came riding back the very next night, and I''ll never forget what I saw."


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Valerie was enraptured, drinking in every word. The old man was misty-eyed as he recounted his tale.


    "She raised her hands and the rain stopped. The heavens cleared. She had a crown on her head, and she was holding a golden sceptre. Well, she pointed that staff at a building that had collapsed on the temple and blasted it to smithereens. Then she rebuilt the temple out of the ruins, raised it up good as new."


    "She built the temple?"


    "Not only that," Anwen answered gravely, "but every single place damaged by the flooding, she rebuilt in one night. Then she walked around and tended to the injured."


    She tried to imagine what it must have been like. This solitary figure, the queen in her silks and crown, wielding the power of the sceptre. The clouds parting. Sunlight touching the bricks and mortar of the city as it was miraculously repaired. The people grateful, eager for a glimpse of the queen as she walked among them to heal their wounds.


    "Every year, the royal family would travel the country to bless the harvest," she said softly. "I wish I''d seen it for myself."


    The queen had visited her village once, when she was a small child. She didn''t remember it.


    "Yes," said Anwen, "and have you noticed that since the queen''s death, the crops have failed? Two poor years in a row, and I''d never seen a bad year before. If we didn''t import food from Drakon, half the country would be suffering a famine. We''ve had heavy snow in the west, flooding in the south. Queen Shikra didn''t just save the capital from disaster. She was central to the entire ecosystem."


    "You think all of that happened because the queen is gone?"


    The scholar shrugged. "We can only speculate. But my prediction is that it will get worse."


    "Then how do we fix it? I thought that if we restored the silvertrees..."


    Then magic would return. She''d visited a town in one of these dead zones once, a part of Maskamere that was bereft of magic. Her cloak of warming had turned into a cloak of shivering, and she''d gotten blisters on her feet from pushing a cart up a muddy hill. She''d suffered with that all day before they got back home. Koel had not been sympathetic.


    "Never again," she''d vowed to Markus, who had laughed at her. Iora hadn''t said much either. Perhaps they thought her spoiled for complaining, but it only made her mad all over again that the Drakonians had so callously destroyed something that improved people''s lives.


    "Hmm?" said Anwen, and she blinked.


    "Sorry. I was wondering if the magic would fade here too."


    "That I don''t know," said Anwen. "Some believe a silvertree still lives in or near Jairah, hidden from mortal eyes, and that is why sorcery is still possible. Others say it is the queen''s influence that lingers, at least for a time. I suspect the former, but we''ve found no evidence that such a tree exists."


    She thought of the door in the temple, the secret chamber that Avon was so desperate to break into. But a tree couldn''t grow underground. Then there were the other magical items in the palace...


    "Are there other sorcerers here? I mean, in the palace?"


    He frowned. "In the palace? No, not that I know of. You are the first to be invited at Lord Avon''s request, and you are fortunate that he takes a more favourable view of magic. The previous Chancellor didn''t want to hear a word, let me tell you."


    "So it must be the queen''s magic."


    It was the only logical conclusion. Caius had claimed that the queen''s spells would survive longer than most. Why would some rogue sorcerer choose to live undetected in the palace and use their powers only to heat bathtubs and record music? These were spells from the time before, a time of peace. The fact that she had encountered most of them in the royal quarters was further evidence that they were the queen''s work.


    Anwen peered at her curiously. "What do you mean?"


    "Lord Avon wants me to break a seal that Queen Shikra made," she said, feeling that she could trust him. "It''s in the temple in the palace. Do you know where it leads?"


    "The palace temple?" He looked surprised. "Well, I can''t be sure, but I do have a strong suspicion. You know the legend of the golden fruit?"


    She nodded. "It''s the most famous story in Maska''s Testimonium."


    The story of how over a thousand years ago, Maska had journeyed across the sea. To the east, all the way to the place where the sun rose, there was a mountain. On top of that mountain stood the goldentree. As tall as the highest tower, its leaves and branches shone pure gold, radiating light. Only one of its branches hung low enough for Maska to reach. From it, she had plucked a glimmering, golden fruit...


    "The golden fruit is an elixir," said Anwen, his eyes shining. "Maska drank from the fruit and received the gift of eternal youth."


    "She brought the fruit back to Maskamere," said Valerie, "and planted its seeds around Jairah. That''s how the first silvertrees were grown."


    "Nonsense, of course," said Anwen. "Pure myth. But there is some truth to it. In my thirty years in Jairah, Queen Shikra never aged a day. She was radiant with youth until the very end. There have always been rumours about the magical treasures hidden in the palace..."


    "You think the elixir is one of them? That''s what''s behind the door?"


    "Perhaps. A chamber that only the royal family can enter, protected for over a thousand years..."


    This was what Avon was after? An elixir of eternal youth, a gift from the goldentree¡ªand the prospect of immortality... Her stomach knotted.


    "Does Lord Avon know?"


    "I''ve shared my theory, of course. I..." The old man was slowly catching on. "He didn''t tell you?"


    "No."


    He''d lied to her. Claimed he didn''t know. But if Avon believed Anwen, if he took the theory seriously... He hoped to drink the elixir himself. And if he did that, if he lived for a hundred years or more, the Drakonian boot would stamp a permanent imprint into the heart and soul of Maskamere. They''d already destroyed the silvertrees. Now he wanted to steal Maska''s own gift.


    She couldn''t let it happen. She couldn''t open that door.


    Bakra would know. He had to know whether Anwen''s theory was fact or fiction. It was more important than ever for Valerie to get back to him.


    "Forgive me," said Anwen, looking troubled for the first time. "Perhaps I''ve talked too much. I understood from Lord Avon that you have a spell to perform, a task that I am to do all I can to assist you with. The seal, yes? Why don''t we talk about that?"


    He asked her to describe in detail everything she knew about the seal: what it looked like, how it felt, what she could sense about it and anything else she could think of. While she talked, he scrawled notes in a battered little notebook. He made an exclamation when she told him that only a woman could break the seal, but offered nothing further other than furious scribbles.


    When she ran out of things to say, he snapped the notebook shut and tipped back his hat with a sigh. "Fascinating. I haven''t a clue, honestly, but I''ve heard of magical locks and the like being placed on all kinds of things¡ªdoors, books, cabinets... I''ll consult my notes and come back to you. Shall we meet again tomorrow?"


    Valerie was hoping they wouldn''t have to meet again tomorrow, because she would finish that rose tonight and make her escape. But she nodded politely and bid him farewell.

 1.10. Hold Fast and Keep the Faith

    "The Royal Palace of Jairah was particularly notable as a trove of magical treasure. Such trinkets lose their power outside of Maskamere, which was how the generals determined that destroying the silvertrees was the first essential step to successful conquest."


    Clement Pyridge''s History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II


    The spell didn''t work.


    She was angry and bewildered. Her magic had never failed since those early days when she first came to Jairah. Maybe she hadn''t worked on the dress for long enough. She''d rushed it in her haste to escape. Or maybe the alteration wasn''t big enough¡ªa single rose on a finished garment, maybe that wasn''t enough for the spell to take. She didn''t know and that infuriated her.


    She tried again, tasking Priska to bring her more thread. She spent hours embroidering a pattern of roses around the hem of the skirt, willing the magic to flow through her fingertips and into the cloth. Even while she laboured, she didn''t think it was working. She''d lost confidence.


    It didn''t help that she had no time to concentrate either¡ªshe could only snatch a few minutes here or there, in between the demands of court. There was breakfast, luncheon, dinner, and all the pampering and preparation before it. There were the social gatherings: picnics, horse riding, croquet, music, a tour of the gallery. Lady Melody seemed determined to fill every minute of her social calendar.


    She drew the line at attending a chapel service, prompting Lord Thorne to spend an entire morning harassing her.


    "Your soul, Lady Valerie! Has Lord Avon not spoken to you of the purification of the Divine?"


    "Not a word," she said. "Perhaps you''d like to ask him?"


    The gallery at least was interesting. They were shown around by the palace archivist, a Maskamery woman who had lived here for over forty years. She was a fount of knowledge about the Maskamery royal family and their history, as well as all the paintings and artists in the gallery. Valerie ignored the coos of the courtiers admiring the unique beauty of Maskamery art. Instead, she spoke to the archivist herself.


    "Was there a painting here?"


    In the largest gallery, the main hall, paintings hung from every wall. They had stopped at every one of them. But at the top of the marble staircase, the wall overlooking the hall was empty.


    "Well-spotted," said the archivist. "Yes, here once hung the frame of the late Queen Shikra. The painting depicted her sitting in her favourite drawing room wearing the baubles of state and with her cat sleeping on her lap. It was removed at the order of Lord Turnbull, Lord Avon''s predecessor."


    "Oh, I remember," said Melody. "He ordered every image of the queen to be taken down and destroyed. He was quite paranoid about it. Jaxon, you attended him at the time, do you recall?"


    The courtier nodded. "He was having bad dreams. He was convinced that the paintings were watching him. He believed the queen had cursed him from beyond the grave."


    A few people sniggered, the courtiers hiding their smiles behind their fans.


    "I wouldn''t assume he was wrong," said Mona, surprising her. "I''ve seen Maskamery sorcery at work. A goblet, cursed to poison all traitors. Killed a man in under a minute."


    "How do you know the drink wasn''t poisoned?" Amilia asked.


    "Because we all drank from the same goblet. The only one who died was the man suspected of being a spy."


    "Well, I''m sure it was for the best that Lord Turnbull returned to Drakon, curse or no curse," said Melody. "He was in a dreadful state by the end."


    "Shall we move on?" the archivist asked, and they did, but Valerie tucked that bit of information away for later.


    At the end of their tour, she lingered, brushing off the calls of the ladies to join them in the garden for refreshments. The archivist noticed her loitering.


    "Can I help, my lady?"


    "I have one more question... Do you know much about the palace temple?"


    "Of course. I can show you around if you like. It''s the oldest temple in Maskamere¡ª"


    "What about the chamber?" she interrupted. "There''s a chamber below the temple and a giant stone door, but it''s blocked. It won''t open."


    The archivist blinked. "The Forbidden Chamber? I''m afraid that''s off-limits to visitors."


    Well, that sounded ominous. "Why is it forbidden?"


    "Only the queen was allowed to enter the chamber. There''s no definitive historical record of why it''s forbidden..."


    "Because it contains the royal family''s treasure?"


    "The treasury contains the royal family''s treasure."


    "Then what''s in there?"


    But the archivist wouldn''t say. She dealt in facts, she claimed, not superstition. Whatever Valerie may have heard, best not to take it seriously.


    Of course, she couldn''t let that lie.


    *


    "The Devourer?" Anwen shook his head. "Well, now that is just a silly story."


    "The matron believes it. And the head cook. The maids whisper about a forbidden magic¡ªa curse."


    She''d joined her fifth session with the scholar pottering about in the vegetable garden. The entire palace, she had learned, was full of rumour and speculation when it came to the royal family and their secrets. Many of them had lived in the palace all their lives and came from families with longstanding ties to the royals. Which made it all the more curious that so little was known about what lay beneath the temple.


    The most popular story was the creature they called the Devourer¡ªsaid to be a spectral reaper or a giant beast that tore up and devoured silvertrees and people alike. According to this tale, Maska had defeated the beast in the early days of her reign and confined it below the palace temple, never to see the light of day again. Others thought the temple contained not a creature but a curse, one that protected the palace but would also kill every person in Jairah if released.


    Anwen peered at her from over his notebook. "The queen never said a word to me about any beast or any curse. I would trust her word over servant gossip."


    That was true. Still... "Did she ever speak to you about the temple at all?"


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "I''m afraid not."


    "Then it was obviously meant to be a secret. Aren''t you worried that there might be something dangerous in there?"


    Even if it wasn''t as ludicrous as some of the stories she''d heard, myths often contained a kernel of truth. That was Anwen''s own theory about the golden fruit, after all. The promise of an elixir of eternal youth was no doubt a more alluring story to the Drakonians than monsters or curses, but that didn''t make it more likely to be true.


    "A weapon, perhaps," said Anwen. "I doubt the queen would keep something dangerous to her own people locked up in the palace. But if you''re concerned, perhaps talk it over with Lord Avon?"


    She said nothing, returning to her notes. It didn''t matter since the door would never be opened. She ought to focus on her spell.


    But her magic continued to fail, to the point that she started to wonder if there was any truth to this curse business. And her sessions with Master Anwen grew less and less edifying. She soon discovered that his "book" was in fact thirty years'' worth of loose papers, notes and transcripts arranged in some manner that was comprehensible to him but surely made no sense to anyone else. He claimed to have cross-checked every reference to magical seals, locks, barriers, etc, in his collection. They pored through them together in the summer house he used as a study, trying to make sense of the often vague and confusing scribbles and, in Valerie''s case, the spidery handwriting.


    On their tenth session, she was especially grumpy. Her third attempt at the invisibility spell had failed. After two weeks of living at or being imprisoned in the royal palace, whatever she felt like calling it, she had achieved nothing other than adding a set of unnecessary flowers to a dress.


    She tossed a notebook onto Anwen''s desk and sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Anwen, this doesn''t help me. All I''ve learned is that you can seal just about anything and they all have different conditions for breaking them. It''s like every lock has a different key. You can''t force it and hope it''ll work. You need the right key, and we don''t know what that is."


    She''d read some outlandish stories and some ridiculous conditions for breaking seals. A treasure chest on a pirate ship that could only be opened under the light of a full moon, in the month of December, and only when sprinkled with the blood of a pig. Several accounts talked about actual keys¡ªnot literal keys, but seals that could only be opened by specific items, usually magical. One interview featured a necromancer who had spoken with relish about how she had cursed her rival with a seal that would castrate any man who touched her. Only true love''s kiss could break it. The true love turned out to be the necromancer herself.


    She was fairly certain that last one was hokum.


    "Well," said Anwen, "that''s not nothing. We need the right key, you say. What do we know about the key?"


    He disappeared behind a pile of books and reemerged with a wooden blackboard and a white stick of chalk. Valerie folded her arms, watching him write on the board.


    The key is a woman.


    "Yes," she said waspishly. "Well done. We knew that already."


    "But," said Anwen, "we also know that the key has to be something more than that. If the seal only required a woman to open it, you could have done that already. What if it requires a specific woman?"


    "You thought the door could only be opened by the royal family, didn''t you? Why did you think that?"


    Anwen shrugged. "Speculation. The Maska faith teaches that only the royal family have the goldentree''s blessing. A barrier only they could enter would achieve that. What if Queen Shikra created a seal that only she could break?"


    "Then this entire task is doomed. It''s impossible."


    "That''s true," Anwen admitted.


    "You met her, didn''t you? Was she an intelligent woman?"


    "Oh, yes¡ªincredibly so. I never met a lady more accomplished."


    "Then she wouldn''t create a seal that could only be broken by her. That''s stupid. If she dies, she cuts off the entire royal family from access to the elixir¡ªor treasure¡ªor whatever''s in there. She had to have a contingency plan. She had to want someone to open it¡ªto continue the royal line."


    Yet they already knew that she''d cut off Bakra. Every day she added more questions for the prince to her list.


    "True," Anwen murmured. "Yes, good thinking."


    She waved a hand. "The rest is guessing. What I don''t understand is why I can''t sense any more than what the seal is already telling me. I feel like there''s more. I feel like there are parts of it I don''t understand. Anwen... can I tell you something in confidence?"


    He put down the chalk and wiped his hands on his shirt, coming over. "Of course. What is it?"


    "My¡ªmy magic isn''t working. Something''s been wrong since I arrived at the palace. I tried to put a simple spell into a dress I was sewing and it didn''t work. I''ve done it plenty of times before. I don''t understand it."


    "Ah," he said. "Now that is interesting. Tell me more."


    *


    Anwen didn''t have answers for her yet, but at least he was focused on the problem she wanted to solve.


    In the meantime, she had to deal with Avon. Every night he summoned her to his quarters, and every night he asked her what she''d learned. He said nothing, but she sensed his growing impatience.


    The night after the most trying day of all, when she''d thrown the useless rose gown back in the wardrobe in frustration, he was later than usual. She entered the chamber to find him in full ceremonial armour, his manservant unbuckling the gauntlets. Avon waved him away when he saw her.


    "Come help me with this."


    She moved forward reluctantly, unsure where to start. Avon removed the gauntlets himself and passed them to her. She worked out the rest with his guidance, carefully unbuckling each piece.


    "How was your day?"


    Always the same question. She blew out a breath through her nose. "Fine, my lord. Busy. Yours too?"


    "A military address," he said. "Hence the armour. I''ll be asking Anwen for a report on your progress tomorrow. I trust he''ll have good news."


    "I hope so, my lord," she said, a lump rising in her throat. Would Anwen get into trouble if they failed to come up with a solution?


    "We also spoke with your uncle, Master Koel."


    Her hands slipped on his plate mail. She looked up. "You¡ªyou did?"


    They''d found her family. Which meant they were all at risk: Aurelia, her children, grandchildren, all of her cousins...


    How had they tracked Koel down? She''d told him nothing other than her first name and occupation and¡ªwell. If the guards scoured every textiles business in the capital and asked for her by name, she supposed that was enough.


    "After a thorough interrogation, I''m satisfied that Master Koel is not involved with the resistance, though he must certainly pay for harbouring a rogue sorceress. He was kind enough to confirm your address and some of the places you frequent. Thanks to you, we have a lead on the rebels."


    Her jaw trembled. Every word was like a blow¡ªpoor Koel. And what could they possibly have turned up that he might call a lead? She kept nothing incriminating in the room she shared above the Crescent shop with her cousins. Maybe the locations themselves were enough. They''d held secret meetings in the apothecary. Iora worked there...


    "What kind of lead?" she managed to ask.


    "You''ll find out soon enough. Or you could save me the trouble and tell me where they are. Do that, and I''ll let you walk away a free woman after you break the seal."


    She finished removing the sabatons, placing them at the feet of the now complete empty suit. Then she rose, meeting his eyes.


    "I don''t know where they are."


    "If you did, would you tell me?"


    "No," she admitted.


    "Perhaps I''ll have my men look again at the Crescent store. New evidence may come to light."


    "I don''t know where they are!" she snapped.


    He let out a breath and stretched his arms, loosening up. "There''s a letter for you. On the desk."


    Valerie stared at him, then walked over to the writing desk. Her footsteps seemed heavy in the quiet of the room. A plain brown envelope lay at the top of the letter tray, unmarked. She turned it over and gave a little start at the seal imprinted on the envelope: a crescent moon. Trembling, Valerie opened it. She unfolded the letter.


    Valerie,


    We heard the news about you and Markus. He''s labouring on a farm out in the country. Have petitioned for release.


    Hold fast and keep the faith.


    Aurelia


    She clutched the letter to her chest, blinking away tears.


    "The petition will be denied," said Avon. His footsteps were slow and deliberate. She felt his breath at her shoulder. "But you may write back if you wish."


    "Thank you," she whispered.


    One day they would drive out the invaders. One day they''d see a silvertree growing in Jairah again.


    She looked up. "Markus... It says he''s out in the country. Does he know I''m alive?"


    "He does."


    Which meant Avon was playing them off against each other. She was playing the obedient witch for fear that Markus would suffer the consequences if she refused. He would have to do the same. Not to mention the threat against her family.


    She''d have to go straight home to warn them when she escaped. Then find Markus...


    "Might I..." She paused. Avon frowned at her. "Is there any chance I might be able to see him, my lord?"


    She turned to face him, one hand resting on the desk, the other still holding the letter. He''d looked no more vulnerable out of his armour until this moment, when his breath caught. Then the briefest flicker of consternation before he shook his head.


    "You know the answer to that."


    She''d get the same response if she asked about her family. No point in that. She looked away. "Well... Thank you anyway."


    "Good night."


    "Good night, my lord."


    She felt his eyes burning into her all the way back to the queen''s quarters.

 1.11. Domain Theory

    "What is power? Power is our ability to shape or influence reality. Sorcery is the manifestation of that power."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    She wrote back to Aurelia in golden ink using the gold-lined paper in the palace. Priska would deliver the letter on her behalf. She could say nothing revealing as the message would no doubt be intercepted, but at least she could reassure her grandmother that she was all right.


    "Wait," said Valerie, as the maid was about to depart. "What''s your family name, Priska?"


    A slight hesitation. "Steward, ma''am."


    They were one of the most well-known and respected families in Jairah. For centuries, the Stewards had been proud to serve the royal family, dealing with all things related to the upkeep of the palace. There was Steward blood in the royals and royal blood in the Stewards. Malkoha was one of them. She wondered how Priska and the old scholar were related.


    Valerie met Priska''s eyes through her vanity mirror. "Crescent."


    "I know it, ma''am. On the High Road?"


    She nodded. "How does it compare? Serving the Drakonians?"


    Priska bit her lip. "I shouldn''t say."


    "You know I won''t say anything."


    "Well... Most of our menfolk died during the war. They kept the women, but they no longer respect us. Our name means nothing."


    There was an unspoken rule in court not to mention the ladies'' family names. The Drakonians could do it if they wished but not the Maskamery. She still hadn''t learned Lady Flavia''s family name, despite repeated hints.


    It was all part of the Drakonian dismantling of the Maskamery way of life, she thought. The things of value to them¡ªfamily, the silvertrees, the priesthood¡ªthey had stripped away. And they were imposing their ideas of social status: masters and servants, husbands and wives, lords and courtesans, on to a culture they didn''t even try to understand.


    "Is there anything I can do?" she asked.


    "It''s... it has gotten better since Lord Avon arrived," Priska said, surprising her. "He has less tolerance for misbehaviour. Perhaps you can influence him."


    "I can try."


    She had her doubts about that, but she thought about it as she made her way through the palace and into the gardens. Was Lord Avon kinder than his predecessor? If so, that was a damning indictment on Lord Turnbull. She hadn''t tried to influence him because she hadn''t expected to be here for long. All her energies had been focused on escaping the palace.


    That, and the task she had been given. She was despairing thinking of how she could prove to Avon that they were making progress in breaking the seal and so avoid getting her family¡ªand herself¡ªinto trouble, but Anwen himself hopped out of the greenhouse and waved a stack of papers at her in glee.


    "I''ve solved it!"


    "You have?"


    "This proves it¡ªwell, not incontrovertible proof, we must test it, of course, but I have a working theory."


    He thrust the papers at her, and she took them in bemusement. Above them, a flock of goldfinches twittered in the trees. It was a beautiful spring day.


    "A theory about what?" she asked.


    "Why your spell isn''t working." He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his sleeve, then returned them to his nose. "Did you bring the items I asked for?"


    "Yes, I..."


    "Then come!"


    She followed him to the summer house. He''d cleared away the books and other clutter from the room. Instead, she found a row of five stools. On three of the stools were three items: a glass of water, a copper coin, and a dead beetle pinned to a sheet of paper.


    Valerie blinked.


    "Your items," said Anwen. "Place them here."


    He gestured at the two empty seats. Confused, she set down the papers on the nearest stack, then deposited the items as he''d requested: one of her slippers and a scrap of cloth from her sewing kit.


    "Now," said Anwen, "I want you to perform a spell on each of these items." He drew out a pocket watch from inside his waistcoat. "First, the water. Can you turn it into wine?"


    She felt like a student being tested by a teacher. Back at the convent, High Priestess Glynda had deigned to show her eager acolytes some magic tricks once or twice. She''d turned water into wine, rearranged the words in a textbook, and given a toy mouse the ability to fly. It had whizzed around the classroom several times to the bemusement of the school cat before plummeting back to the floor in unglamorous fashion.


    "Parlour tricks," Glynda had said. "You''ll see charlatans copying these. They''re good for dazzling a crowd and not much else. Real magic is work. Now, let''s get back to these equations..."


    Parlour tricks. She picked up the glass of water and focused her will. The water turned a deep shade of red.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "Excellent!" said Anwen, already looking at his pocket watch. "Pass it over, let me try it..."


    He drank the wine with great appreciation, smacking his lips, until the liquid turned clear again.


    "Ah¡ªsix seconds. Good, good. Now the coin..."


    For each item he had her perform a different spell. She turned the copper into gold, changed the dye in the cloth from blue to red, the slipper from silk to velvet, and the beetle she couldn''t do anything with. Anwen timed the duration of each spell: two seconds for the coin, nineteen seconds for the slipper, and thirty-three seconds for the cloth.


    The results felt underwhelming. She hadn''t tried much magic like this before, only the occasional trick to amuse her cousins. It wasn''t satisfying in the same way as weaving spells into her needlework; it didn''t last.


    "Fascinating," said Anwen, who had recorded the results on his blackboard. "This is the order I predicted, though it''s interesting that there''s a difference between the coin and the water... Why do you think you performed so much better with the slipper and the cloth?"


    "I don''t know. I''m used to weaving magic into cloth, I suppose."


    Anwen jabbed at the air with his index finger. "Indeed! I had the great privilege of interviewing Queen Shikra shortly before her death. The things she told me were a revelation. Turned all my theories upside down¡ªI scrapped the entire first draft of my book and started again. When you weave your spells, you normally do so in your workshop, correct?"


    She nodded.


    "And you''ve been working there for two years, honing your craft. The same workshop, the same tools? Every dress you''ve made in the same place?"


    "Yes, I..."


    She didn''t understand.


    Anwen beamed. "That''s why it didn''t work here in the palace."


    "What? Because of the place?"


    "Let me explain with a story. Some years ago, I read an historical account of a Maskamery king who went to war. In the capital, there was a hospital where a nurse became very famous for her healing. People flocked from miles around to be treated by her. The king himself thought highly of her because she had saved his nephew''s life after a hunting accident. When the war began, the king ordered the nurse to join the Maskamery army. Yet somehow, on the battlefield, her great healing skills deserted her. She could barely manage the most basic of tasks: dressing a wound, treating a sore. None of the miracles she had performed in the hospital. The war ended in ignominious defeat, and the king had the nurse beheaded as a traitor."


    "But she couldn''t do it. She couldn''t work her magic outside the hospital?"


    "I theorised that the explanation was related to the connection between the silvertrees and sorcery. Every sorcerer is blessed by a particular silvertree, likely near where they grew up. If the war took the nurse away from her homeland, perhaps that was why her magic deserted her. But Queen Shikra told me that the reality was much more complicated. The nurse couldn''t perform her magic during the war because the battlefield wasn''t her domain."


    "Domain?"


    "Yes¡ªdomain. That is the term the priestesses used. Magic is power, and your domain is where you have power."


    "Then it is the place¡ªthe hospital. The workshop."


    "She said to me¡ªah... let me find it..." He grabbed the papers from the stack, shuffling through them until he found the passage he wanted. "Here. Read that."


    It was a transcript of his interview with Queen Shikra. Valerie took the offered paper, squinted at the handwriting, and began to read:


    "A domain is a sphere of influence, embodied in all the ways that people have power over nature, the land, and each other. You have power over anything that belongs to you. The beastmasters have power over their animals. The armourers have power in their smithies. The healers have power in their clinics."


    She put the paper down in her lap, shaking. If only she had known this! If she had trained as a priestess, she would have been taught all this and more.


    "You have power over anything that belongs to you," Anwen said. "You see¡ªthe cloth and the slipper. Your items; therefore, within your sphere of influence. The beetle, on the other hand, represents my area of expertise and is the object least familiar to you. Hence you were unable to spell it."


    "But I..." She swallowed. "None of the magic took. You saw that, it all vanished in under a minute..."


    "You are new to the palace, aren''t you, my lady?" Anwen asked gently.


    She nodded.


    "And do you have power here of any kind? Things you might influence?"


    She suppressed a choked laugh. No, none at all. She was a prisoner, the very opposite of a person with power. She was sleeping in a room that wasn''t hers, wearing clothes that weren''t hers, and serving her sworn enemy. Where could she hope to find any sphere of influence in the royal palace?


    "Well," said Anwen, "that is the problem we have to solve."


    *


    It was progress, at least. She hoped Anwen would report it as such. She''d asked the scholar if she could borrow the transcripts of his interviews with Queen Shikra, and he had happily obliged. Valerie made her excuses to leave early at dinner and spent the rest of the evening in her chamber, poring over every word.


    The queen''s voice. If only I could speak to her. She could have taught me so much.


    The transcripts were illuminating. Power, according to the queen, came from a variety of sources. The least power that anyone could possess was power over themselves. Mothers had power over their children. Commanders had power over their armies. Social status, professional status, ownership and belonging, promises and debts, even something as simple as familiarity with a given space or tool could provide a source of power. All of these things came together in a complex invisible web that determined the abilities of a sorcerer at any given time.


    Anwen had asked the queen about her power: Can you describe your domain?


    She traced the ink of the queen''s response, rereading the words over and over.


    My domain is Maskamere.


    *


    By the time Lord Avon summoned her to his chamber, she had a plan. He invited her to share supper, and she sat down opposite him for a plate of bread, cheese and olives.


    "I spoke to Master Anwen," he said, pouring them wine. "He seems to think he''s discovered the problem."


    Valerie tore a piece of bread and cheese. "I think I have the solution."


    Avon raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"


    "It''s like Caius said, my lord. I''m not strong enough. I need a place of my own to practise my magic, to become used to it here in the palace."


    "You wish to practise sorcery here."


    She knew he wouldn''t like it, but she ploughed on. "My quarters would do. I could turn the sitting room into a workshop and start sewing again. I just need¡ªit has to be mine. My own quarters, tools, fabric¡ª"


    "And how do I know you haven''t already spelled your tools and mean to bring a cursed object into the palace? Or that you intend to magic your way out of here?"


    Well, he was right about one of those things, but she didn''t miss a beat. "The palace is protected against cursed objects, my lord. Or at least it was when Queen Shikra was alive."


    "What does giving you a workshop have to do with breaking the seal?"


    "It gives me power. I need that to work out how to break the seal."


    Avon''s eyes bored into her, but she didn''t look away. He still intimidated her, but¡ªwell. That was another problem: his power over her.


    The answer she had given him corroborated with Anwen''s story. She knew that. They''d come to the same conclusion together. She''d given Avon no reason to object beyond the very reasonable risk that giving a sorcerer power in his own palace might not be a good idea. But if he wanted that door open, he''d have to take the risk.


    Avon exhaled, leaning back in his seat. "Very well. You shall have your workshop."

 1.12. The Queens Gown

    "The ideal young lady possesses five virtues: chastity, humility, patience, kindness, and faith. But never fear. If you are lacking in any such aspect, a little teaching will go a long way."


    Lady Briony Bretton''s Guide to Court Etiquette for Promising Young Ladies


    The transformation took place over the next week. She had the furniture in the sitting room rearranged to make way for the worktable, tools, and clothes rails delivered from the store. She ordered fabrics and new thread too, adding the little sewing kit that Lady Melody had gifted her to the array of equipment. A part of her did feel guilty about it, because she was taking away valuable equipment from the family business, but she squashed that. If that was all the Crescents suffered, and she hoped it was, then it could be worse.


    The change was in the mind as much as anything else, she decided. She had to think of these quarters as hers. Not Queen Shikra''s. Her bedchamber. Her tools. Her fabrics.


    Lord Avon may have helped inadvertently, she thought, by making her a courtesan and not officially a prisoner. She had status in the court. She had to hold her head high about that too.


    "You seem happier," Lady Flavia observed on one of their picnics, Valerie lying on her back watching the clouds scud across the sky.


    "I am," she said. She''d started on a new dress that morning and felt the change at once: the familiarity of the worktable, the measuring tape, the pins. "I know my place here now."


    "What is he like, Lord Avon? You know, in private."


    The other ladies huddled closer, eager to hear. She still thought Lady Melody was a terrible snob, but they were all right in their own way. She wouldn''t miss them, but they''d been kind enough.


    "Not much different to in public," Valerie said, although come to think of it she''d hardly seen him in public. He''d only joined them for dinner on two occasions, and he hadn''t talked much with anyone other than Lord Gideon.


    "She means in the bedchamber, darling," said Melody, looking up from braiding Lady Rose''s hair.


    "Oh." She swallowed. He hadn''t touched her. Of all the reasons she had to hate him, that wasn''t one of them. Still, there was no reason to be kind. "I''d say mediocre. Do Drakonian men tend to be disappointing?"


    Melody laughed. "That depends on the man. Do they compare so badly to the Maskamery?"


    She thought of Markus and flushed. Once upon a time they had been more than friends. After fleeing the ruins of her village, it had been a long and difficult journey to the capital city. They''d found comfort in each other. As things settled down, those feelings had faded, and she''d naturally expected them to fall back into friendship.


    Then he''d told her that he loved her.


    While Valerie tried to wrestle away that particular memory, Flavia answered for her. "In my experience, yes."


    She went on to tell the story of her dreadful first dinner with Lord Thorne and his clumsy attempts at courtship which had the other ladies in fits of laughter. Valerie was grateful for the distraction. She didn''t want to dwell on Markus, who was probably toiling away in some field. She had to trust that Aurelia or the resistance would find some way to help him.


    Right now, all she could see when she thought of him was his face when she''d told him that she didn''t love him back. He''d looked utterly crushed. Then angry, those red spots appearing in his cheeks that signalled a burst of temper. He had demanded to know why, as if such feelings had a rational explanation.


    She had shaken her head. "I was alone and scared. I needed you, but that''s not the same as¡ª"


    He''d interrupted her. "And now you''re with your family, you don''t need me anymore? What am I to you, Val? A bodyguard? A warm body? A dog on a leash?"


    It was the most hurtful thing he''d ever said to her. She''d blinked back tears. "I thought you were my friend."


    "Do you want me to go? Because I''ll go."


    This argument had taken place in a stable. The Crescents kept one horse in a field they shared with two neighbouring families. She remembered clearly how he had pulled at the horse''s reins in the stall, as if he intended to ride off right there and then.


    She''d taken his hands. "No, Markus¡ªthat''s not what I meant. You have a place here, you know you do."


    "But I''m not their blood. I''m nothing without you."


    How could anyone answer that?


    *


    She thought of her family more and more while she worked on the new dress. How much they''d miss her. (Lavinia: a lot. Kamila: not at all.) What they might be doing without her. Her spellwork had become indispensable to them, and the family business would suffer in her absence.


    As her fingers wove needle and thread, she could let her mind wander without losing focus. Messy unrequited love, family ties... In the end, they were only distractions. The goal was all that mattered. She''d never wavered from it, and she wouldn''t waver from it now, no matter how long it took. Restore the silvertrees. Bring back magic to Maskamere.


    A sharp rap at the door startled Valerie out of her reverie.


    Then Lord Avon stalked in and she jumped, dropping the ball of thread which rolled across the floor and almost to his feet.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    He picked it up. "Valerie. I see you''ve wasted no time. May I...?"


    She nodded, taking the ball of thread when he offered it. Then she showed him the half-finished dress. It was being worn by a mannequin, the skirts pinched up and covered in pins. She wasn''t making it from scratch; she''d taken the plainest gown from her wardrobe and adjusted it, ripping off the sleeves and adding another layer of fabric to the skirt.


    Explaining the process to him calmed her nerves. My domain, she reminded herself. He''s the visitor here.


    "Do you have everything you need?" he asked, walking around with his hands clasped behind his back.


    "Yes, my lord."


    "I have a gift for you," he said, and she didn''t know what to make of that. Maybe another sewing kit. "Come with me."


    He beckoned her over to the bedchamber. She followed him, half-uneasy, half-intrigued. Then he reached out, and she saw that he was holding a bronze key. He nodded at the locked door in the bedchamber, the one that she had never been able to open.


    "Open it."


    Cautiously, she took the key and approached the door while Avon stood a little way behind. She opened the door, triggering a soft magical light, and her eyes widened.


    "This was Queen Shikra''s wardrobe," Avon said. "Her gowns of state."


    It was that and more. She could hardly take it in. An entire room for the queen''s clothes: rows and rows of gowns of all colours and styles, from traditional Maskamery to others she didn''t recognise. There was a shelf devoted entirely to shoes, a set of drawers, a full-length mirror, jewellery boxes, headscarfs...


    "It''s yours," said Avon.


    She turned back to him in disbelief. "Mine?"


    "I''d like you to have them. To wear, to work with, as you see fit."


    "But I can''t..." She swallowed. These belonged to the deceased queen. It would be disrespectful. "They may not fit."


    "You''re a seamstress, aren''t you?" He stepped forward, joining her at the entrance to the wardrobe and cast his eyes over its contents. "If you were a queen going to a ball, what would you pick?"


    She looked at him. Was that a serious question? But he beckoned her to go inside, so she did. She ran her hands over the beautiful satin and silk, admiring the craft that had gone into each of these gowns, every one a work of art.


    Her hands tingled. She paused.


    Was that...?


    She stepped around to the other side of the circular clothes rail. A flash of red caught her eye. She pushed two other gowns aside, and her heart stopped.


    The scarlet gown. The dress she had poured her heart and soul into, the elegant halterneck with roses embroidered from collar to hem, each one outlined with goldspun thread and studded with rubies. She had returned it to the palace, and the steward hadn''t traded it after all. He''d returned it to its rightful place. It was a ballgown and a fiercely Maskamery one at that, made in the royal colours and the traditional style.


    Slowly, Valerie picked up the gown. Then, heart thumping, she presented it to Lord Avon. "My lord."


    "Try it on."


    She blinked. "Now?"


    "Yes, now." He paused, and for a horrible moment she thought that he wasn''t going to move, he was going to stand and watch her undress. But then he retreated. "Take your time. Tap on my door when you''re ready."


    She clutched the dress in her fingers and watched him leave, standing there for a good few seconds after he''d gone.


    Try it on.


    She reentered the wardrobe. There she perched on the ottoman in front of the mirror and frowned at her reflection. What did he want? She should have asked him what he was playing at. Did he have some free time to indulge in this game, to dress her up like a pretty pet¡ªand with no thought of respect to the deceased queen either. Her mouth tightened.


    He wanted her to wear the dress, so she would have to wear the dress. It wouldn''t fit, she knew that without trying, because the dress had been made to fit the queen. Sure enough, when she stripped out of her outer garments and attempted to slip into the gown, she found it too tight at the bust and too long. The hem was meant to skim over her ankles, but she was missing a good inch or two of height. She would have to adjust it.


    It was like receiving a two-tiered cake from the finest chef in the land, every inch of it perfectly calibrated for both flavour and aesthetic appeal, and then asking the chef to go back to the kitchen and turn it into a three-tier cake. As if that was easy. As if it didn''t ruin the artistic vision, never mind the bake.


    You''re being dramatic, she told herself. The fit wasn''t that bad. She could do a temporary fix without too much damage by loosening the back and holding it with thread, then turning up the hem. Never mind that she''d embroidered the roses perfectly to the very end of the skirt¡ª


    No, she couldn''t be precious. Avon had said take her time, so she would make him wait.


    He''d probably waited a good half hour by the time she felt ready. She''d adjusted the gown so that it looked decent from the front if not the back. It worked better with a corset and not an underskirt, she found, the fitted corset giving her shape while the skirt flowed over her bare limbs. A little unorthodox, but they weren''t going to a real ball.


    Finally, she stood in front of the mirror fussing again with the top line. She didn''t like the way the corset and silk pinched under her arms, but really, what did it matter? He''d see bare leg and a sharply defined bust and would no doubt approve, and she didn''t care for his approval either way. She frowned, uncurling her hair from its bun to let it spill loose and at least soften her figure.


    Her eyes stared back at her, dark and intense. She''d always meant to change her eyes to green like so many of the priestesses did when they received the blessing. And her hair, dark brown but not quite black, a shade or two away from the perfect raven''s wing she''d dreamed of before the war. She would have put feathers in her hair.


    But she had her mother''s eyes, and green eyes meant witch to the Drakonians. She wouldn''t ever change them now.


    She adjusted the skirt one last time. Then she tapped on Avon''s door before retreating into the middle of the sitting room and waiting for him to come in.


    Lord Avon entered, and his expression changed. She had seen his eyes on her before, often admiring, but never breath taken. He seemed not to know what to say.


    "Do you like it, my lord?" she ventured.


    "Yes," he said after a moment. "I can see you''re an expert in your craft."


    He had absolutely no idea. It was almost funny to watch him floundering.


    "I know, my lord."


    He cleared his throat. "I will be attending a state visit to Enyr next week. I''d like you to come with me."


    "To... to Enyr?"


    "There will, in fact, be a ball. I''d like you to come to that too. Have you ever been to a ball? No, silly question. Can you dance?"


    "Not ballroom dancing."


    "Then I''ll ensure you take lessons. You''ll wear that dress and join me for a waltz."


    She was speechless. Yes, he''d let her play along with the lords and ladies at court. Maskamery though she was, it wasn''t hard to pick up a game of croquet. But being a courtesan in Jairah was one thing. A state visit was quite another.


    "Why?" she said, finding her voice. "None of this helps me break the seal."


    "You''re my consort," he reminded her. "You''re expected to accompany me."


    Said the man who hadn''t joined her for a single stroll around the gardens, any picnics, or even luncheon¡ªall things she''d seen the other lords do from time to time. None of the ladies thought it strange. They all imagined he was too busy and too important to spend actual time with the lady he''d claimed as a lover.


    "What about my magic?" she asked. Anwen had tested her twice more and recorded improvements on all counts except for the beetle, which she still couldn''t spell. "Shouldn''t I focus on my work?"


    "I''m aware," he said. "I have every confidence in your progress. If you''re ready to break the seal before our trip, well, then we''ll have something to celebrate."


    He smiled and lifted her hand to kiss the back of her palm. With that, he departed, leaving her staring after him. No, she thought. No, she didn''t like the sound of that at all.

 1.13. Stab in the Dark

    "There''s no such thing as fate or luck. Those with true power define their own future."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    The dress was complete, and she was confident that the invisibility spell worked. She tested it out first, bidding Priska farewell as usual after breakfast before walking down the staircase past the retinue of ladies she was supposed to join¡ªnot a single wave or flicker¡ªand then into the kitchen in the servants'' quarters where she nabbed a carving knife without protest.


    Success.


    She tucked the knife into a small purse which she''d packed with a few trinkets from Queen Shikra''s wardrobe. She could barter them for a ride on the ferry, find some better footwear, and flee back to the resistance.


    A steward hurried on by; his eyes slid right over her. She continued on her way. Through the laundry room, the stock room... Then the passage she''d sneaked through on her way into the palace on the night of the assassination. Maids and menservants were running back and forth, but no one gave her more than a passing glance.


    There were five potential ways to exit the palace. She''d ruled out attempting to swim the river, which was wide and deep. Nor would she take the ferry from the palace to the city harbour: too crowded, too cramped. The south entrance was the wrong direction and almost never used, which left either the main gates to the royal palace or the servants'' road. Both were guarded. In the end, she decided that the servants'' road was the better choice. It was more likely to have traffic, which meant more chances to slip through.


    She was skipping her session with Master Anwen which she was sorry for. If she ever saw him again, she would have to thank him for his help.


    Valerie paused in the courtyard, lingering by the door while a group of traders unloaded wine barrels from their wagon. She touched the purse at her hip. The point of the knife pressed lightly against the leather. She was tempted, strongly tempted, to go back to her quarters, hide the knife, and await the night to murder Lord Avon. Finish the job as she''d offered to do in that cramped backroom of the apothecary with her head full of smelling salts.


    Wouldn''t it be something to stroll back to the resistance and announce to Prince Bakra that the mission was done? She''d accomplished it, alone.


    I could do it.


    She''d said it as if it was easy. As if she''d ever killed anyone.


    But the guards at her door who hadn''t batted an eye when she''d left with Priska would certainly question her returning alone. Her magic couldn''t stop that. Even if she returned later on, or if Priska accompanied her, Avon was absent during the day and locked the door that joined their quarters at night. She''d checked.


    The traders hopped on their empty wagon and drove away. Letting out a breath, Valerie followed. The information she had on Avon and his plans for the temple was too valuable to risk her life for the sake of her pride. Sooner or later, she''d find the prince, tell him all she had learned, and with any luck she''d have Avon''s head on a spike within the year.


    Well, she was getting ahead of herself. She had to leave the palace first.


    The servants'' road beckoned, the traders'' wagon rolling at a steady pace ahead.


    She walked.


    As she had predicted on her very first day at the palace, her soft slippers did not hold up well. She''d strolled through the gardens or meadows, but the gravel path cut into her feet. Valerie switched to the grass verge instead.


    A horse-driven cart passed by in the other direction. Merchants making their rounds at the palace. Not a word was said.


    She was so close. The Drakonians really had no defence against such simple magic. Their own fault, she thought, for murdering the priestesses.


    Ahead of her was a bridge and beyond that a gate, the final checkpoint at the edge of the palace grounds. She was sweating, hair sticking to her skin. The day was hot, the noon sun beating down. She crossed the bridge. Four palace guards stood at the gatehouse, checking visitors both in and out of an enclosed archway. Her heart quickened. This was the real test.


    She slowed down. The empty wagon had already passed the checkpoint, which meant she had to wait for another vehicle. Sure enough, a few minutes later a tall cart that proudly proclaimed itself a vendor of furniture trundled past. That would do. It was big enough for her to walk along the other side behind the wheels. Then she could slip through the gate as it opened for the traders...


    Valerie''s hands went to her purse, unclasping it. She reached for the knife, which she held loosely against her side, just in case...


    The gate opened. It was narrow for a vehicle, only one able to pass through at a time, but easy for her. She did a little skip forward, hurrying through...


    ...and set off a ringing alarm bell that made her jump out of her skin.


    "Hey! Girl!"


    She ran.


    Running broke the spell; it caught the eye, but it was too late anyway. She ran, and she was free out in the streets of Jairah for all of three seconds before a heavy gauntlet caught her arm.


    "Let me go!"


    She lashed out with the knife. The guard swore as he blocked with his other arm, sparks flying off his armour. He grabbed her wrist and twisted until she dropped the blade with a cry, then yanked her back, turning Valerie around. The cart behind her halted, and a second guard rushed over.


    "What''s all this?"


    "One of the palace ladies. She tried to stab me!"


    "You attacked me first!"


    Her wrist smarted. To add insult to injury, the guard who had caught her was Maskamery. You traitorous dog! I was almost there!


    "Now, my lady," said the second guard, who was Drakonian, his clipped accent setting her teeth on edge, "let''s not have any misunderstandings. What are you doing out on the servants'' road? And what''s a lady doing with a dangerous weapon like that?"


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    "I''m visiting a sick friend," she lied. "She''s very ill, so I had to sneak out without permission to see her quickly. The knife is for my protection."


    "We''re your protection," said the Maskamery guard. "Hey, did you set off the alarm?"


    "How should I know?"


    On the other side of the tall cart, she could hear a similar argument going on between the driver and another guard. Whether she had caused the alarm to go off, she couldn''t be sure. But there was always a chance that they might blame the traders instead of her, or at least that she might be escorted back to the palace without any further consequences.


    Unfortunately, the fourth guard then popped his head out of the gatehouse where the alarm bell was still ringing, and he recognised her.


    His name was Grenald, and she had stabbed him in the leg on the night of the assassination when she''d tried to free Markus.


    Needless to say, she was marched back to the palace in irons.


    *


    The guards threw her down before Doryn, captain of the guard. Her knees knocked painfully on the floor.


    "What is this?"


    She got up. Her head ached either from the sun or a blow from the earlier scuffle. They''d brought her to a study, presumably his, and he was looking down at her with a dubious expression. She had seen Doryn before, from a distance, when he''d attended dinner or marched about the place in his armour. He was craggy-faced, with cropped sandy hair that had turned grey at the temples. She had never seen him smile.


    She let the guards explain.


    "She''s one of the rebels!" Grenald said. "We caught her red-handed, and now his Lordship lets her prance about the palace."


    "The alarm bell sounded," the Maskamery guard added. "She was trying to curse us!"


    "That''s impossible," said Doryn. "I know who she is. Leave us."


    The guards departed, grumbling under their breath. Valerie swayed on her feet. Doryn stepped forward to remove her irons.


    "You understand I must report this to Lord Avon."


    "I thought you might."


    "Why did you try to run?"


    Her mouth twisted. "You know who I am. Isn''t it obvious?"


    "Did you use magic?"


    "No."


    "Then why did the alarm sound?"


    "I don''t know."


    The bell, she thought. Avon had told her they had a way of detecting magic within the palace. She must have set it off.


    Doryn sighed. "Despite your past crimes, you have been given a respectable position. You would do better to abandon any fantasy of victory by the resistance, and consider your own safety."


    "I don''t recall asking for your advice."


    That was plain insolence. Doryn didn''t bother with any more unsolicited advice. He marched her back to her quarters, handcuffed her to the bed, and left.


    *


    The tears finally started flowing when Priska entered her quarters and refused to release her.


    "I can''t, my lady," she said. "I''m sorry."


    Priska undressed her with some difficulty, leaving Valerie in her corset and underwear. The gown she had spelled was torn, the sleeves ripped in two. The maid put down soup, bread and a goblet of water on a tray before leaving.


    By evening she was thoroughly miserable, the irons chafing her wrist. She kept replaying the day''s events in her mind. The invisibility spell had never failed her before. And it had been working; it had almost gotten her out.


    What had gone wrong? Running broke the spell. So did attracting someone''s attention by speaking to them or an unavoidable encounter in an enclosed space. The pinch point of the gatehouse was the most likely place to get caught, to be sure, but slipping by alongside a horse and cart should have worked. It would have worked, she was sure of it, if not for the magical alarm.


    She ought to have remembered what Avon had said, ought to have factored it into her plan. But as she thought about it more, something else occurred to her. On the night of the attempted assassination, they had been caught by the same alarm. Which meant that it wasn''t Markus''s fault after all, nor hers. There was no way they could have avoided such a defence without knowing about it.


    But Bakra should have known.


    She simmered in frustration. Any of their co-conspirators who had lived at the palace¡ªBakra, Viper, Malkoha¡ªthey should have mapped out the palace''s magical defences. Why hadn''t they mentioned it? The alarm bell couldn''t be new; the Drakonians didn''t have the ability to craft it. The only way she would forgive Bakra for this was if they''d relocated the bell from somewhere else.


    But as things stood, the prince''s failure had not only trapped her in the palace in the first place, it had also ruined her best chance of escape. And with a broken promise shattering whatever trust she had managed to gain from Lord Avon, she awaited his return with an overpowering sense of dread.


    The shadows grew longer, and so did the pit in her stomach. When Avon entered, startling her, he did not storm in or shout. He stalked in with a quiet, seething air that had her cowering against the side of the bed.


    He stopped in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back. "I understand you tried to escape."


    She said nothing. She was shaking.


    "When did you get this?"


    He held out the knife she had stolen. Her heart sank.


    "Today," she whispered.


    "Really?"


    She swallowed. "I didn''t try to kill you with it. Doesn''t that count for something?"


    His lip curled. He moved over to the bed, picking up the dress which Priska had left there. "This is the dress you''ve been making. Spelled, I assume?" There was a pregnant pause, then his face darkened. "Answer me."


    "Yes."


    "Spelled with what?"


    "A spell of walking unseen."


    He threw the dress back down. "Clever. I suppose that''s how you infiltrated the palace. It was all a trick, then. I trusted you to practise your magic within these walls and you betrayed me."


    She didn''t know what to say.


    He looked at her, his eyes fathomless. "Have you forgotten your situation? The debt you are repaying? I''ve been nothing but merciful to you. Truly, I don''t know what more I could have done."


    She made a small, strangled sound, half suppressing a laugh. Truly, he was the king of benevolence.


    He cocked his head. "Do you have something to say?"


    "I don''t know what you expected. You picked up a girl from the resistance. What did you think would happen?"


    Something in his face twisted. He crouched down, set the knife aside on the floorboard, then bent forward and freed her of her irons. For a second she was confused. Then he pinned her hand to the floor, and in a flash he had the knife and slammed it down.


    Pain exploded in her hand. A scream tore from her throat. She could hardly process it, the steel blade buried in her flesh, and Avon snarling an inch from her face.


    "What did I think would happen? What did you think, Valerie¡ªdid you think you wouldn''t get caught?"


    "Please," she gasped, tears stinging her eyes. "Please¡ª"


    He dug in, adding more pressure to the blade that had already sliced through her tendons. Blood seeped around her hand in a crimson pool. She sobbed, taking deep, shuddering breaths.


    "I''m sorry!" She couldn''t think. "I''m sorry, my lord, I''m sorry, it won''t happen again."


    "You''re babbling. Look at me."


    She did so, hating the way she could feel his breath on her face.


    "Consider that your actions affect others. Your friends in the resistance. Your family. We''ve yet to arrest any of the Crescents for collaborating with a traitor."


    "No!" she gasped. "They''re innocent! My family have nothing to do with this."


    "I should be happy to leave them alone if you behave. Do you understand?"


    "I understand. I''m sorry, my lord, truly. I won''t forget."


    "You can heal yourself, can''t you?"


    Valerie nodded. She had to act¡ªbefore she passed out.


    Avon yanked the blade out, and a fresh wave of pain lanced through her. At once she snatched her hand to her chest and willed it to heal, closing up the wound in seconds. Reverse the damage. Make it whole. Finally, the pain receded. She was a blotchy mess.


    He wouldn''t let her be. She flinched when he took her hand, examining it from both sides, flexing her fingers. The flesh remained red and sore, her reattached tendons protesting at being made to work so soon.


    "The work of a witch," Avon murmured. "You''re quick when you need to be. Let''s see you apply that vigour to the temple door."


    She didn''t have the energy to contradict him.


    He stood up. "You are not to wear anything you make, nor give it to anyone else."


    "I understand."


    "I expect progress on the seal. You won''t be getting another chance."


    He picked up the spelled dress along with the knife, tucked it over his arm, and departed. The queen''s chamber loomed around her: all of her work, wasted. Her mouth was dry. Her head pounded. Exhausted, she stared at the deep red stain on the floorboards until the darkness of night swallowed it up. Then she crawled into bed and cried.

 1.14. Dancing Lessons

    "The first domain is mastery over the self. That''s the first thing we teach our acolytes when they accept the blessing."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    To her surprise, the dancing lessons continued. Lord Avon wanted her to learn the waltz for their visit to Enyr. She''d had two lessons so far with Jaxon, one of the courtiers, but she had expected her part in the visit to be swiftly curtailed.


    "One day off sick, and you think you should give it up altogether?" Jaxon chided her. "The court won''t wait. You must be ready."


    They''d explained away her absence with a mild intemperance, though she had to wonder whether any of the courtiers knew the truth. They were sharp on gossip in the court, and the entire palace guard had no doubt been instructed to keep a close eye on her.


    In the palace ballroom, which was the largest hall she had ever set foot in, Jaxon placed a hand on her waist. She assumed the hold he had taught her.


    "Now, play."


    Another of the courtiers, Argo, played the opening notes on the grand piano. She had learned that he was not attached to any particular lord and instead enjoyed the patronage of the court thanks to his gifts in music, singing, and poetry.


    The waltz began, Jaxon''s hand on her waist guiding her through it. One, two¡ªshe tried to remember to hold her arm firm¡ªturning about the ballroom, focusing on the steps.


    "You''re looking at your feet," said Jaxon. "Always look into your lord''s eyes during the dance. Look at him as if there''s no one else."


    She looked up. Jaxon''s eyes were warm. He loved the dance, and he was a patient teacher. But in Enyr, she would be dancing with Avon. Looking into his eyes.


    He had broken his promise not to harm her. In that terrifying moment when the blade had plunged into her flesh, she had seen what she had always feared in him. She supposed that she had broken her side of the deal first by trying to run away. Where they stood now, she didn''t know.


    What could she do other than try to escape? What could he do other than trap her further?


    "Stop," said Jaxon, and she blinked, stumbling. Wrong step. "You need to focus."


    She grimaced. "I''m not feeling well."


    It wasn''t even a lie. She let go of Jaxon''s hand, flexing her fingers. No sign of her injury remained except for a phantom pain, the memory of violence.


    "Are you well enough to walk?"


    She nodded.


    "Then you''re well enough to try again."


    Try again.


    There was a question.


    *


    Later that night, Priska delivered another letter from her grandmother.


    Valerie,


    We are hoping to see you. I''ve written to Captain Doryn who says it should be possible to arrange a supervised visit. Please don''t worry about us. Koel grumbles about his missing work tools, but we are alive and well. The family stays strong.


    Hold fast and keep the faith.


    Aurelia


    PS. Markus sends his love.


    She read it twice, then curled up under the bed covers and crumpled the letter against her chest. What awful timing. Any visit that Doryn might have agreed to would no doubt be cancelled. Lord Avon would never approve.


    The one saving grace was that Avon didn''t send for her. She buried her head into the pillow as if to drown out any knock at the door, but it never came. She imagined him sulking in there alone, drinking his wine or writing his silly letters.


    No, he was a practical man. He was probably scheming. Devising new ways to spy on her and ensure she didn''t get a chance to escape again. Which meant that she ought to scheme too. Think of another way out.


    She closed her eyes and set herself the task for her sleeping mind to solve.


    *


    Visiting Anwen was a little awkward.


    "Are you all right, my dear?" he asked. "I was sorry to hear of your malady the other day."


    "I''m fine," she said, trying to smile. "It was a long day."


    "Well, sit, sit. You must tell me how your magic is going. Did it work?"


    It was raining today, so they sat inside the greenhouse. Valerie listened to the gentle pitter-patter of the rain on the roof. The tomato plants were doing well despite Anwen''s insistence on not killing the beetles. She clasped her hands in her lap.


    "Not quite," she lied. "I, um, I accidentally set off a magical alarm. Do you know about that?"


    He peered at her from under his bushy eyebrows. "Alarm? Ah¡ªyou mean the bells?"


    "There''s more than one?"


    "Of course. The queen designed them to protect those of us without magic. Every entrance to the palace has one, so they can alert the guards of any strange sorcery. You were... ah..."


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    He trailed off, and she quickly clarified. "I was taking a stroll in the garden. I must have passed by one of the gatehouses."


    Anwen frowned. "Are you sure you''re all right?"


    "I''m fine. I''ll practise indoors next time."


    She smiled, but her mind was racing. Every entrance to the palace had an alarm? She''d guessed that was how they''d been caught on the night of the assassination, but then why hadn''t an alarm set off when she''d entered the servants'' quarters earlier that day? Why only later?


    There was a way to find out, but it was risky, especially if Avon guessed what she was up to. An idea occurred to her. She made her excuses to Anwen and returned to her quarters.


    In the queen''s chambers, she rang a different, smaller bell. Within minutes, her lady-in-waiting arrived, bobbing her head.


    "You called, ma''am?"


    "Can I trust you, Priska?"


    Priska blinked. "Of course, my lady."


    Valerie perched on the edge of the bed, tracing her fingers over the gold-patterned coverlet. She''d considered this carefully. Priska was Maskamery. A Steward, no less, the right hand of the royal family. She had obeyed all of Valerie''s orders with unfailing discretion. If she had to trust anyone in this Maska forsaken place, she would gamble on Priska.


    "I mean it," she said, sliding off the bed and to her feet. "I need you to do something for me without asking questions or telling anyone. Can you do that?"


    "I¡ªI can try."


    "I want you to find out how many magical alarms there are in the palace and tell me where they are. They''re supposed to be at the exits, but I want to confirm that. Can you do that for me?"


    Priska nodded. "My lady..."


    "What? I''m not like the others, Priska. I want to hear your opinion."


    "It''s true, then? That you''re a witch?"


    "A priestess. Don''t use their language. I received the blessing before the war."


    Priska looked abashed. "I''m sorry, I shouldn''t have¡ª"


    "It''s okay. The Drakonians think we''re all the same. You won''t tell anyone, will you?"


    "No. No, ma''am. If there''s anything else I can do..."


    Valerie set her hand on the other girl''s shoulder. "Thank you."


    The maid departed, and Valerie exhaled. At last she had an ally in this wretched place. Assuming that her instincts were correct. Assuming that Priska succeeded, that Avon didn''t find her out, that she wasn''t betrayed. She''d set things in motion that were beyond her control, and Valerie never liked that.


    And still Avon didn''t summon her.


    *


    The next time she saw him was at her final dancing lesson before the trip to Enyr. Priska had reported back on two magical alarms so far, but she thought there were more. Meanwhile, Valerie hadn''t visited Avon''s chambers since before her escape attempt. She had no visible progress to report on her magic either, and she''d been worried about that¡ªyet she''d heard nothing.


    Meeting him in the ballroom was a surprise she hadn''t prepared for. In retrospect, it made sense: they had to practise the routine together. Jaxon had done all the hard work. Avon was just sweeping in after she had learned all the steps.


    "Over here, my lord!" Jaxon called.


    Her feet seemed to freeze into place as he approached. He did so in a hurry, his black coat and tails giving him the manner of an ill-tempered crow.


    "Music!" said Jaxon, clapping his hands.


    Avon took her into hold. She felt his hand on her waist, his long fingers entwining with hers. But the moment she stared into his icy blue eyes instead of Jaxon''s warm brown gaze, she turned to jelly. She started shaking and lost the thread of the dance, stumbling on the first turn.


    They stopped.


    Avon looked at Jaxon. "Didn''t you teach her the steps?"


    "Could you give us a moment, my lord?"


    Jaxon pulled her aside. Valerie didn''t dare look at Avon, who had turned away. She couldn''t do it. The routine had fled from her mind the second Avon touched her.


    "What''s going on up there?" Jaxon asked gently.


    She shook her head, pacing from foot to foot. "It''s different with him. I know the steps, I do, but they just weren''t there. I don''t know."


    "All right," he said, "all right, stand still. You''re nervous. It''s only natural. How about we do a quick demonstration first to show him you can do it?"


    All right, she thought. She could do that. Jaxon took her back to the floor, explaining that Valerie just needed to warm up. As they settled into hold, she thought: familiarity. One of the hallmarks of power. The music began, and her body remembered the routine. She performed it flawlessly.


    "You see, my lord," said Jaxon, bowing. "She''s a natural." He turned to Valerie. "Now, how do you feel about dancing with his Lordship?"


    I don''t want to. I''d rather run away screaming. I''d rather stick hot pokers into his eyes.


    All answers she couldn''t give.


    "I... I don''t know if I can do it."


    Jaxon put his arm around her shoulder. He pointed at Avon, who looked deeply unimpressed. "Here''s a trick I learned from the theatre. Imagine he''s naked. Does wonders for stage fright."


    Alarm shot through her. "I really don''t think that''ll help."


    "All right. Alternative option. Pretend he''s me. Just do the same thing you did with me, and you''ll be fine. Do you think you can do that?"


    "I can try."


    She didn''t have a better idea. Her own reaction had surprised her¡ªnot that she hated and feared Lord Avon, that much was a given¡ªbut that it had crippled her so. Do better, she told herself. It''s just a dance.


    "She''s ready," Jaxon called, and the pianist began to play the opening notes.


    Jaxon stood back as Avon approached. Once again, he took her into hold. She could already feel herself recoiling. She lifted her chin, maintaining her posture. One step. Two¡ª


    Pretend he''s Jaxon? He was half the dancer Jaxon was. Jaxon moved with more grace than any man she had ever met, and dancing was his passion. Avon felt different¡ªmore controlling, less elegant. He leaned into the turn with more force than necessary.


    "You''re being too rough," she told him. "Let me move with you."


    He frowned but adjusted, easing up so that he was no longer pulling her around the floor. Valerie tensed up anyway, her arm stiff and out of shape. She made a wrong step and winced but quickly corrected it, following his lead.


    They made it to the end and that, she thought, was the best she could do. Jaxon would find many more faults, she was sure.


    "Very good!" Jaxon said, applauding as Argo played the last few notes. "Shall we go over it again?"


    "Must we?"


    "I do have a couple of teeny notes..."


    Avon sighed. "One more, then."


    Jaxon brought them back together, demonstrating the steps where they had faltered. "Now, a couple of times it looked like you were fighting..."


    Avon shot her a wry look. She made a face in response. But the courtier talked them through it, and she was glad to hear that he had notes for Avon as well as for her. Once Jaxon was satisfied that they had corrected their errors, he clicked his fingers for the music to begin.


    She settled into hold and looked Avon in the eyes. "I have a request, my lord."


    She let her body move on autopilot. She had to trust that she knew what she was doing. Mastery over the self.


    "Speak when you''re spoken to, Valerie," he said. "Did I give you permission to speak?"


    "I had another letter from my grandmother. She was hoping to arrange a visit¡ª"


    "Absolutely not."


    "But¡ª"


    He spun her around and then caught her, Valerie checking her pace. "You''re in no position to ask for anything."


    "Is there something I can do to change that?"


    "You can do as you''re told. You''re lucky I haven''t killed you."


    The shiver that ran through her almost lost her hold. She shut her mouth and focused on the rest of the dance. Jaxon''s verdict: better.


    "You could hone a few more steps, my lord," he said, "if you would like to¡ª"


    Avon held up his hand. "I don''t require perfection, Jaxon. I need only fail to make a fool of myself. Have we performed sufficiently for that?"


    "I''m most certain you have, my lord."


    "Then thank you for your service. You''ve done a great deal in very little time."


    Jaxon beamed. "A pleasure, sir. As I said, she''s a natural."


    Avon bid them farewell and took his leave. Jaxon looked at her. She knew what he was thinking¡ªAvon hadn''t once initiated a conversation with her, nor praised her for her own efforts in learning the dance¡ªbut she made her excuses and departed before he could ask why. If rumours spread that she and Avon were having a tiff, well, she didn''t care.


    She''d suffered a setback, not a failure. She was still determined to escape.

 1.15. Enyr

    "Enyr, an independent duchy-state, has long defined itself as a neutral party and consequently a refuge for political exiles and vagrants of all kinds."


    Clement Pyridge''s History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II


    It wasn''t until she boarded the ship for Enyr that Valerie fully appreciated the scope of this trip. It seemed as if half the court were joining them: Lord Gideon and Lady Melody, Lord Sandford and Lady Mona, Captain Doryn and a contingent of palace guards, and a new arrival from the Drakonian capital: Lord Dryden and no fewer than three male courtiers. She understood that Lord Dryden was the reason for their trip. He was the newly appointed Ambassador for Maskamere.


    What a joke, she thought, to have a Drakonian nobleman pretending to represent the interests of Maskamere in Enyr. He''d probably never set foot in Maskamere before today.


    With the party aboard, Lord Sandford insisted on giving a guided tour. The Stormdrake was a most splendid ship, with billowing white sails, the prow carved into the shape of a dragon''s head, and fifty cannons that had all but destroyed the feeble Maskamery navy during the war. Now Lord Avon''s personal vessel, it reigned the high seas as a symbol of Drakonian excellence, craftsmanship, and superiority.


    Valerie was glad that she didn''t get sea sick, but it would have been a good excuse if she''d puked on him.


    At last, Avon summoned the lords for a private discussion in his quarters. Valerie mingled with the courtiers enjoying drinks and gossip on the deck. The topic of the day was their new arrival: Lord Dryden.


    "Has Lord Dryden visited Enyr before?" Lady Mona asked, fanning away the sea spray from the edge of the ship.


    "I''d say so," Pedram, one of the courtiers answered, "since that''s where he met me."


    The ladies were all charmed by his story, a rags to riches tale of a young Enyrn boy being swept off his feet by a mysterious stranger. She listened with increasing impatience. Dryden liked to acquire lovers from every country he visited: so what? None of it mattered.


    "He must be missing a Maskamery companion to add to his collection," said Lady Melody with a laugh. "No doubt a perk of the job?"


    "Half the reason if you ask me." Pedram grinned. "The other half was a chance to escape his wife."


    The ladies laughed. Valerie didn''t. "Why don''t any of the lords bring their wives?" she asked. "Why only us?"


    She had never met a Drakonian wife. Well, technically she had because Melody and Amilia were both married, but they weren''t here in the capacity of a wife.


    "Oh, darling," said Melody, fluttering her fan. "Wives don''t leave their homeland. We ladies are an exception."


    "Why not?"


    "Because it isn''t safe. And who would look after the children?"


    "Don''t you have children?"


    There was an edge to Melody''s voice. "My boys are quite happy at the palace, thank you."


    "You''ll find it''s different in Enyr," Mona said. "An accomplished lady travels as she pleases."


    "A lady of means, that is," said Pedram. "The common folk do their best with what they have, which is very little."


    "Well, I assume we won''t be mingling with the common folk," said Melody. "Unless Lord Dryden wishes to."


    They tittered. Valerie had heard enough.


    "I''m sorry," she said, "but doesn''t anyone think that the ambassador for Maskamere should be from Maskamere? What makes Lord Dryden qualified?"


    There was a short silence. The courtiers stared at her.


    "He was elected, Valerie," said Melody. "Chosen by the Maskamery people."


    "I''ve never heard of him."


    Melody''s smile tightened. "Valerie, shall we take a little walk to the bridge? It''s a beautiful view."


    She was going to get a lecture, she knew it. There was nothing to see from the bridge but the ocean, same as every other part of the ship. Sure enough, as soon as they crossed to the upper deck, Melody''s hand gripped her arm and pulled her close.


    "What are you doing?"


    "I only asked a question¡ª"


    "Impertinent questions, which will reach Lord Dryden and Lord Avon''s ears. You know this. You cannot speak ill of a lord in public."


    "I know. But don''t you agree?"


    "That he is an unfit representative? No, I don''t agree. We''ve heard nothing about his political ability, so I would reserve judgement on that front. As for him not being Maskamery, well, that is clearly the point. Your na?vet¨¦ may have been charming once, but you ought to know better by now."


    "I''m just..." She shook her head. "Never mind. I think the ocean is giving me a headache."


    Melody''s expression softened. She took Valerie''s hand, squeezing it gently. "I know it can be hard. You''ve done well so far for a girl of your status. But if you can''t handle it, another girl will."


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    *


    Those words rang in her ears when the ship reached the harbour of the Serpent''s Crest, the castle on the edge of the sea. It was her first glimpse of Enyr.


    All she knew about Enyr from her history lessons was that the nation was an ally of Maskamere, with long-established trade routes between the two. Maskamere''s chief export was agricultural: grains, fruits, vegetables and spices of all kinds. Enyr, on the other hand, was a semi-arid region bordered by desert. They specialised in cottons, silks and other fabrics, as well as the finest horses on the two continents.


    The castle stood at the very edge of a thin peninsula, surrounded by water on three sides. Imposing was her first thought: it looked more like a fortress than a palace. Soldiers patrolled the battlements, and lookout towers rose from each of the four cardinal points. The black rock looked as if it had been blasted out of the depths of the ocean, the waves crashing against its walls.


    Once they stepped out of the ship and into the lower entrance hall, however, her opinion was transformed. It was like something out of a dark fairytale. She had never seen ceilings so high or windows so tall. Carved basalt pillars lined the halls. The party''s footsteps echoed as if in a great cavern.


    They were met by their host for the visit, a tall man with a shock of white hair and pointed beard. Behind horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes were sharp. The man gave an elegant bow.


    "Lord Avon, Lord Dryden. Lords and ladies, I am delighted to welcome to you to the Serpent''s Crest on behalf of the duke."


    "Lord Hafnir." Avon bowed in return. "We are delighted to present Lord Dryden as Ambassador for Maskamere."


    More pleasantries were exchanged before servants arrived to escort them to their quarters. Avon took her arm which she accepted without a grimace, remembering Lady Melody''s scolding earlier on the ship. She said nothing until he dismissed the servants from their room, taking a moment to look out over the sea.


    "Quite a view," he said.


    Valerie''s concerns were more immediate. The four-poster bed was shrouded with intricately patterned drapes, alongside marble side tables, and a white chaise longue. The fine wooden furniture was carved with the national symbols of Enyr: the serpent representing wisdom and grace and the stag representing courage and duty. She brushed her hand over one of the posts, following the curving path of the serpent along it.


    "We don''t have separate quarters."


    Avon turned away from the open window where pale drapes were fluttering. He shook his head. "It''s expected that we share."


    "But that wasn''t our deal."


    "Our deal." He clicked his tongue in exasperation and approached her, Valerie trying not to shrink back. "You are my guest, Valerie. Act like it."


    "You promised not to harm me," she whispered.


    His eyes flickered. Then, without warning, he grabbed her wrist.


    "I kept my promise. You didn''t."


    "Then why am I here?" Caught in his grip, she was doing all she could to control her fear. "Is this some kind of test? If there''s something I can do to make it up to you, tell me."


    He stared at her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. She felt that there was no barrier between them, that the walls she had so carefully put in place had crumbled, and with that she had no refuge.


    Avon''s hand brushed over hers, then he abruptly stepped back.


    "Get ready for dinner. I expect you to be perfectly charming, attentive and polite, do you understand? No silly remarks."


    She swallowed. "Yes, my lord."


    It was going to be a trying night.


    *


    Dinner took place in the great hall. Three long tables were set out for the castle residents, while Lord Hafnir and his guests took their seats at the high table. On another occasion, she might have enjoyed taking note of the Enyrn style of dress: elegant wraps and boldly patterned skirts paired with open-toed sandals. Lady Mona had entered the hall dressed in such traditional garb. Her hair, normally pinned up, tonight stood out in a mane of sleek black curls. Valerie thought she looked stunning.


    But to her chagrin, she was seated next to Lord Gideon. Lord Avon was on her other side. Lord Hafnir and Lord Dryden opposite. Not a chance to relax.


    She ate quietly while Avon, Dryden and Hafnir engaged in introductions, trying not to draw attention. Unfortunately, Gideon didn''t take the hint.


    "You''ve come a long way since our first encounter, my lady," he said in that oily voice of his. "How are you finding Lord Avon?"


    "He''s very kind, my lord."


    "Pity. I''ve been waiting to pay you a visit."


    The buttered salmon which had been melting wonderfully in her mouth seemed to dry up. She swallowed. "Visit?"


    "We never did finish our chat."


    "Darling," Lady Melody interjected from his other side, "would you pass the butter?"


    Valerie was grateful for the intervention, but she wondered how much Melody had heard. Did she know about Gideon''s interrogation? Was that why she had scolded Valerie earlier? Perhaps there was more at stake than offending Lord Dryden.


    She took a long drink from her wine goblet, suddenly feeling like she was trapped in a dungeon. Scorpions to her left, scorpions to her right. Each of them ready to strike the second she made a wrong move.


    "Lady Valerie," said Lord Hafnir, and she looked up. "Welcome to Enyr. You must be excited for this new chapter in Maskamere''s long and fruitful history."


    "Yes," she said, surprised to have been addressed at all. "I wish Lord Dryden well in his new position."


    "Thank you," said Dryden. "We shall be great allies."


    "What does my lady think of the future for Maskamere?" Hafnir asked. "I understand the Empire has made many improvements."


    She could feel Avon looking at her. Dryden too, his eyes sharp and curious.


    "The Empire has made a lot of changes," she said, "and I''m sure there will be more to come. The people of Maskamere want what anyone wants. Food, warmth, a place to call home. I''m sure Lord Dryden will represent the people''s interests in good faith, as Lord Avon does as Chancellor."


    "Hear, hear," said Dryden, lifting his goblet.


    The others joined the toast. "To Maskamere," said Avon.


    "To Maskamere," Valerie echoed, and the wine slid down her throat like mud.


    *


    Dinner was only the first trial of the evening. As the sun ebbed its way through the sky, a familiar lump of dread settled in her stomach. It wasn''t just the prospect of dancing with Lord Avon that made her anxious. She was going to dance in front of hundreds of lords and ladies she didn''t know, the only Maskamery among them, and a convicted traitor at that.


    They don''t know that, she told herself. They''ll assume you''re a lady.


    But when the maid helped her put on Queen Shikra''s dress back in the guest quarters, she''d never felt more like a fraud.


    Look at me, she thought. This dress is held up by pins and hope, and I''m not much better.


    She''d done a good job disguising the fact that she''d had to adjust it. An untrained eye wouldn''t notice. The silk flowed over her limbs pleasingly when she moved, and the top was well-fitted. The maid had woven gold thread into her hair in the Maskamery style, braided at the top and then spilling into loose curls. Her eyes were lined with kohl, her lips painted red.


    "It suits you, my lady," said the maid while she frowned at her reflection. "You look like the queen."


    Her heart jumped. "The queen?"


    "Forgive me," the maid stammered. "The queen of Maskamere came here three years ago on a state visit. I remember she wore red and gold. Aren''t they the royal colours?"


    Yes. Because this was a royal gown. She shouldn''t be wearing it. What had she been thinking?


    She grimaced. A fraud she was, so a fraud she must play. The ballroom awaited.

 1.16. The Ball

    "The sad truth is that neither beauty nor virtue are hallmarks of power. The lowliest woman in the world could also be the kindest. Maska forged that connection. She built our nation to reward those who lead with wisdom and grace. What does your Empire reward? Greed. You love beauty. You admire virtue. And all you want is to claim it for yourself."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    Descending the grand staircase, Valerie felt like a beacon in her royal gown. Rose-red, defiant, glowing with life. In another world, she could have been queen. This could all have been real, not this play-pretend for the benefit of the Enyrn court. She was out of place, out of her element, and far, far beyond her domain.


    And there was Lord Avon, waiting for her in the entrance hall. The guests were already filing through to the ballroom. Was he out of place too? He stepped forward to meet her, his expression betraying nothing but calm. Without the permanent scowl he''d worn in the past few days, she might almost call him handsome in his jacket and tails.


    "Lord Avon." She curtsied smoothly, telling herself that he couldn''t hear her heart thumping in her chest.


    "Lady Valerie." He took her arm.


    Enyrn custom dictated that dance partners did not see each other until they entered the party, and she was a little gratified to find that Avon couldn''t take his eyes off her.


    He wasn''t the only one looking. As the ballroom filled up, it seemed as if everyone was looking at them. She felt the attention as if it were palpable. This had become normal to her in the palace in Jairah, where Avon commanded any room he entered. It struck her all over again here in this castle by the sea, leagues from Maskamere and even farther from Drakon.


    Even in Enyr, he was the most powerful person in the room. The Empire''s influence stretched far beyond its borders.


    It was an odd feeling, this reflection of power. Whispers followed them. Her face burned. She hoped the paint on her skin stopped her cheeks from turning as red as her dress.


    They stopped beneath a grand chandelier. Pillars lined the hall where the guests stood to watch, but the ballroom itself was a wide, open space. Musicians played gentle music on a stage at the front. As Lord Hafnir stepped forward, the music stopped. A great hush descended.


    A nervous tremor ran through her body.


    Avon squeezed her hand. "Relax," he murmured. "Just follow my lead."


    They were third in line to the dance floor. First was Lord Hafnir and his partner, an Enyrn woman who walked with the delicate precision of a ballerina. Next was Lord Dryden and Pedram, his favourite courtier. No doubt it didn''t hurt that Pedram was Enyrn too, which perhaps gave a favourable impression to this court. Then she felt Avon move and walked with him, holding her head high and trying to look only at the stage at the far end of the hall.


    Avon took her into hold. She was vaguely aware of other couples joining them. At least they wouldn''t be alone.


    She recognised the opening notes of the waltz and looked into her lord''s eyes.


    Mastery over the self. If I can''t do this, what hope do I have of overcoming him?


    Avon''s eyes burned into hers as they locked into step. She let muscle memory take over, following his lead. Everything else¡ªthe ballroom, the audience, the other dancers, even the music¡ªfaded into a blur. They glided across the floor. Avon smiled at her, which was strange. It softened his whole face. She nearly smiled back, but then he glanced sideways and took a longer turn that made her stumble. Air whooshed past her face as they narrowly avoided colliding with another couple. They hadn''t practised navigating the floor with other dancers around.


    She refocused on the steps, but her shoulders tensed. Only a few seconds left, she thought, forcing her trembling arms to maintain position. She was sweating with concentration.


    Avon twirled her around for the final flourish, then drew her back, one arm around her waist, the other extending her arm into the air. The music ended, and polite applause filled the air.


    She''d done it. She''d gotten through it.


    Avon''s breath tickled her ear. "Well done."


    She smiled, then stopped. Don''t be silly. Placate him, don''t fawn over him.


    The second she could excuse herself, she did, slipping away to the buffet table where the guests could enjoy the local cuisine. Lady Melody joined her. Valerie poured herself an extra-large glass of wine.


    "What a display," Melody said. "I fear you stole Dryden''s thunder."


    "I just did what we practised." As often with Lady Melody, she''d been presented with a statement for which she could think of no suitable response.


    "Oh, not the dance, darling. You won''t be winning any awards for that. No, your dress. Did Lord Avon approve of those colours?"


    She flushed. "Yes, he did."


    "Interesting. It''s quite a statement to make¡ªa Maskamery trophy, if you like¡ª"


    "There you are," an oily voice interrupted. Lord Gideon joined them, immediately popping a prawn into his mouth. "Lady Valerie, you look ravishing. May I have this dance?"


    She stared at him and almost refused until Lady Melody nudged her forward. Later, she learned that swapping dance partners was another Enyrn tradition. It didn''t seem like the ladies had much choice in the matter. She danced with Lord Gideon, who leered at her and whose hands kept slipping below her waist; then Lord Hafnir, who was elegant and gracious; then Lord Dryden, who gave her a searching look that reminded her of Avon.


    He looked about Avon''s age too, though thinner, with high cheekbones, freckles, and sideburns that accentuated the planes of his face. A handsome scholar, perhaps, if she favoured the sharp features common to many Drakonians.


    "I''ve heard a lot about you," he said.


    "Good things, I hope, my lord," she said lightly.


    He smiled. "Lord Avon is an old friend. I suppose I''m quite protective of him. I wouldn''t want him led astray."


    Her muscles tensed. She forced her shoulders down. "Led astray?"


    "By sorcery and guile."


    "I don''t know what you mean, my lord."


    "I know the Maskamery royal family. Some things in that palace are best left undisturbed."


    "If you believe that, convince Lord Avon. You don''t need to convince me."


    "Really?"


    "Why would I want to give the Drakonian Empire more wealth?"


    "I don''t imagine that''s what you want."


    She bit back her frustration. "Then what do you think I want, my lord?"


    "I saw a man bewitched once. He would have done anything for the witch who ensnared him. Did, actually. He took a bullet that was meant for her, and that was that."


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    "Maybe he loved her."


    "James has more sense than that," Dryden said, and she wondered for a moment who he was talking about until she remembered that James was Lord Avon''s first name. "You''re pretty, to be sure, but I don''t see why you''d be worth the hassle."


    "Maybe I can please him in a way that you can''t."


    She knew that she''d hit the mark from the way his face flushed. If he was so concerned, he should have talked to Avon. Either he had tried to convince Avon already that she was a bad prospect and failed, or he hadn''t tried because he didn''t think he''d succeed. Either way was a win for her.


    "If you have any sense of decency," said Dryden stiffly as the music came to an end, "you''ll refrain from working your sorcery. I''ve yet to meet one of your kind with such restraint, but I live in hope. Good night, my lady."


    He kissed her hand and retreated. She watched his back, wondering when she had become the wicked witch. He''d gotten it all backwards. Why? A simple misunderstanding?


    A whisper grazed her ear. "Valerie."


    Lord Avon held out his arm and she took it. They joined a throng of Enyrn guests, where Valerie smiled at the ogling men and nodded at the ladies complimenting her dress. Once or twice she caught Lord Dryden looking at her, but he didn''t join them.


    Finally, when her feet were aching from her high heels and she was sick of smiling, one of the gentlemen suggested they return to the dance floor. Perhaps her dismay showed on her face because Avon politely declined.


    "If you''ll excuse us."


    He took her hand. Valerie didn''t protest, following him out of the ballroom and through the entrance hall. A few other guests milled around the hall, away from the main party, but Avon continued on. They climbed a spiral staircase. Valerie slowed down as the music and chatter faded below, but Avon tugged at her hand. She had no choice but to go with him.


    At the top of the spiral staircase, a cool draught swirled through the open doors. An Enyrn guard allowed them to pass through to the battlements. At once, her skin prickled with goosebumps. High above the sea, beneath the open sky, they could see for miles around. Beyond the battlement, she looked across the spit of land that led away from the castle and into Enyr proper, a rocky cliff pocked with tall grass that swayed in the breeze.


    It was so different to Maskamere. And they''d come up here alone, away from the other guests. Why?


    Avon glanced at her. "I thought you might appreciate some fresh air."


    He''d slowed to a gentle stroll, as if they were taking a romantic walk in the gardens in Jairah. The battlements stretched all the way around the castle''s perimeter, guards stationed at the cardinal points. The height didn''t bother her. His hand closed around hers did.


    "Well done tonight," Avon went on. "Your conduct was exemplary. What did you think of Lord Dryden?"


    She frowned. "Does it matter what I think?"


    "By all accounts you have an opinion."


    "He... seemed like a perfect gentleman. But I don''t know much about him."


    He stopped by one of the turrets, finally releasing her hand. There he leaned over and gazed at the waves crashing against the rocks far below. She clutched her hand over her other arm, not quite daring to step away.


    "We were old school friends," said Avon. "He spent five years working for the Master of Foreign Affairs, seven years as Master of Trade with Enyr, and the last two as Master of Trade with Maskamere. It''s thanks to him that Maskamere avoided a famine. He saved the people from starvation."


    What was she supposed to say to that? Be grateful that he''d done something positive for her people? There wouldn''t have been a famine in the first place if the Empire hadn''t invaded.


    She swallowed. "I didn''t know."


    "The Emperor is displeased at Maskamere''s lack of productivity these past two years. It''s my duty to turn our fortunes around. Reaffirming our ties with Enyr is one way to do that."


    "I thought Enyr was allied with the crown."


    "Why do you say that?"


    "I..." She stopped. "We''ve been trade partners for centuries. I learned about it at the convent."


    "Nothing to do with your time with the resistance, then."


    "No, my lord. I''ve never been to Enyr before."


    This place¡ªthe black castle, the wild water, even the smell of the salt in the air¡ªwas all unfamiliar. A hundred feet below, the moon shone down on a rocky shore. It was beautiful, but she''d find no shelter if she ran away here. She''d have no idea where to go.


    Avon looked at her. "When are you going to stop lying to me, Valerie?"


    Her stomach dropped. What did he mean? She''d done nothing wrong.


    "I''m not lying, my lord. This is my first time in Enyr."


    "Not about Enyr. About the resistance."


    She backed away. Her heart was racing again, but with a little more distance between them she felt oddly reckless.


    "You asked me to lie. I''m only doing as you''ve asked."


    His brow furrowed. "I asked you to lie?"


    "Every day pretending that I''m with you. This... charade of us together."


    She gestured at her dress, the beautiful scarlet gown that she''d made a mockery of tonight. Dancing with her sworn enemy, parading her nation''s colours for the amusement of these foreigners. A Maskamery trophy. The parading she understood. This was something else.


    "It doesn''t have to be a charade."


    She froze. "What?"


    "Would you believe me if I told you I wish Maskamere to prosper?"


    "No. Not in a way that helps any of us. All you want is more wealth for the Empire."


    He took a step forward and she tensed. "I believe it''s possible to achieve both. This trade deal will benefit everyone. The war with the resistance only drains our resources."


    "Why are you telling me this?"


    It was as if he wanted to convince her. He''d never bothered before. She didn''t think he cared about her opinion.


    Avon sighed. "Why do you think I brought you here?"


    "I don''t know, my lord. I assumed the dress had something to do with it."


    That got a slight smile. "You''re right, in a fashion, about Lord Dryden. He''s not here to represent the interests of the Maskamery people. He''s here to represent the interests of the Drakonian Empire in respect of Maskamere. You on the other hand are the best person I know to represent the other face of Maskamere¡ªthe native population, so to speak."


    "But..." She stopped. This didn''t make any sense. He''d told her only earlier that evening that he expected her to be polite at dinner¡ªin effect, to shut up and do as she was told. "I''m not representing anything. You haven''t let me."


    "I''d like to talk with you more."


    "You mean about the resistance."


    "That, and Maskamery politics and culture. Affairs at court. Your practice of sorcery."


    The latter was the only one he''d shown interest in previously. She didn''t like this change, and she couldn''t interpret it as anything other than yet another tactic to get her to talk about the resistance.


    He stepped forward, and she shrank back as he clasped her shoulder. She looked down, mouth dry. She couldn''t think of anything to say.


    "Look at me," he said.


    She obeyed, afraid to meet his eyes. He drew her closer, placing one hand on her waist. It was a little like their ballroom hold, she thought dimly.


    "It doesn''t have to be a charade," he said. "I would like to..."


    He stroked her hair, and she trembled. She''d seen his eyes like this before, full of desire. Should she let this happen? Wouldn''t it be satisfying to lure him in like the wicked witch Lord Dryden believed she was, only to reveal that she''d intended to betray him all along? The thought made her shiver.


    His lips brushed her cheek, feather-light. Then, when she didn''t pull away, he kissed her mouth. A strange frisson went through her, half-fear, half-want. Confused, she brought her hands up to press against his chest. He straightened, taking her hands.


    "I thought you wanted to regain my favour."


    "Not like this."


    He leaned in again. This time she pulled away, shaking her head.


    "I''ll curse you if you do this. I''ll make you wither away."


    He stilled. "You can''t."


    "I can."


    "I''m not going to hurt you."


    "I think you are."


    They stared at each other, and she could picture him thinking through the logic as she had done. He could call her bluff... but was it worth the risk?


    He exhaled and turned away, and she let out a breath.


    "Come, then," he said. "Let''s call it a night."


    *


    She was still tense as they made their way back to their quarters. He''d shown his hand, and she had only an empty bluff to keep him from playing it. They entered the room, which was shrouded in dark. Lord Avon moved over to light the oil lamp.


    "I''ll call a maid," he said.


    She nodded, sitting down on the chaise longue to remove her shoes and the blisters that had plagued her half the night. Then she removed the clip from her hair, running her fingers through the loose curls. She wished that she could sleep in her own bed in the room she shared above the Crescent store with her cousins. Or even in the queen''s bed at the palace. Just somewhere of her own.


    A knock at the door heralded the arrival of the maid. Avon bid her enter, and Valerie blinked as the girl hurried in carrying a soft blanket and pillow.


    "Here," said Avon, and the maid dropped the blanket and pillow on the chaise longue next to her. "That will be all, thank you."


    The maid curtsied and left, and Valerie looked up at Avon.


    "Is that...?"


    "For you," he answered. "If you wish."


    Relief filled her. She let out a breath. All evening he let that hang over me. And she couldn''t say anything about it.


    She rose. "Thank you."


    He approached, and she moved away to begin braiding her hair. Ordinarily the maid would have done this, but he''d dismissed her. Before the palace it would have been her cousin Lavinia. Avon watched her through the mirror.


    "I don''t want you to run. I''d prefer it if you chose to serve me."


    His presumption knew no bounds. Did she dare ask again about their deal? She considered it. Maybe it was better to say nothing and act as if it stood. He''d spoken more words to her tonight than all the nights since her escape attempt. Clearly, he wanted reconciliation of some kind.


    "You were right, you know," he went on.


    She weaved her fingers through her hair, a soothing pattern. "About what?"


    "That I should have expected nothing less from the girl who tried to kill me. I intend to change your mind about that."


    Good luck, she thought.


    "Thank you, my lord," she said, "for giving me some space. I appreciate it."


    He stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. She tensed up, but his fingers merely tightened against her skin.


    "Good night, Valerie."


    "Good night, my lord."


    She was grateful that she didn''t tremble.

 1.17. The Traitor, the Oath, and the Tree

    "A promise is inherently magical, even more so under the light of the silvertree."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    To her relief, he hadn''t touched her. She''d spent half the night awake fearing that he''d change his mind, but nothing happened. Even so, it had been difficult to ignore him: every shift, every breath, every creak of the mattress tangible evidence of his presence in the room. But she slept, somehow, and woke up to find he''d already departed.


    What next? A tour of the city. Serpent''s Crest was on the very tip of the coast, guarding Enyr from potential invaders, but the most common trade route was nearly a mile inland where the River Menlin flowed into the sea. On its banks stood Orlin, a city twice the size of Jairah. She wished that she could have explored its streets for herself, but a glimpse through the carriage would have to do.


    They were shown the great house of Orlin''s ruling family. Then the gardens, where glass sculptures swooped over the archways, a rainbow of colours reflecting the sun in dazzling shapes. In the afternoon they visited the racing tracks, where Valerie was thrilled to watch the horses and their riders whip up the dust in a sea of galloping legs. Her own limited experience of horse-riding at the palace seemed pedestrian in comparison.


    Then, after their final dinner of the trip, Lord Avon excused himself from the post-dinner drinks.


    "I''ll leave you fine gentlemen with Lord Dryden," he said. "Be warned: I haven''t beaten him at the card table for over a year, and he never lets me forget it."


    The lords chuckled. Dryden gave a short bow as Avon rose, Valerie standing up with him. Once again, she caught Dryden''s disapproving gaze on her, but he said nothing. Valerie departed the dining hall on Avon''s arm. She thought they were going to bed and was glad of it after another tiring day, but instead of ascending the staircase Avon turned into the entrance hall.


    Crossing the entrance hall and through the doors, they emerged into the warm night air where a carriage awaited them. Surprised, she looked at Avon, but he only nodded, indicating the carriage. Two guards manned the carriage: both of them Avon''s men.


    She climbed in, Avon following her. Horse hooves trotted around the gravel entrance and towards the drawbridge.


    Valerie clasped her hands in her lap, suddenly unsure of herself. "Where are we going?"


    "The Glasshouse in Orlin," he answered. "There''s something I''d like to show you."


    She didn''t know what to make of that. They''d seen the Glasshouse already on their tour. It was one of the glass structures in the gardens, a fancy greenhouse full of exotic plants from around the world.


    She settled into her corner of the seat, trying not to worry. Avon watched her. She didn''t meet his gaze, but she could see him looking at her out of the corner of her eye. Valerie clasped her hands more tightly in her lap and looked out of the window instead.


    Thankfully for her nerves, the journey wasn''t long. A half-moon shone down on the Glasshouse. Tiny lanterns lit the path to the entrance, but the greenhouse itself was dark and silent. She exited the carriage, Avon nodding at the two guards to stay put, and they entered the Glasshouse together.


    The first room was fairly ordinary, full of flowering plants that reminded her of Master Anwen''s greenhouse. Then Avon crossed into a second room where she was hit by a wave of tropical heat. Steam hung in the air. Jungle plants crowded over running water, a bridge crossing the centre of the room.


    "Are we supposed to be here?" she ventured.


    No one had met them. Avon put a finger to his lips. They crossed the bridge, but instead of going straight ahead to the next room, he ducked to the left, pushing past fronds of some large fern to a narrow path leading to a side door. Avon opened it, Valerie stepping through after him.


    She gasped.


    The next room wasn''t a room. It was an enclosed garden, surrounded on three sides by the walls of the Glasshouse and on the fourth side by a high wall. Rosebeds lined the walls, and ahead of them was a marble stone.


    None of that caught her attention. Silver leaves glowed in the moon''s soft gaze. Silver branches silhouetted sharply against the night sky. The silvertree stood proudly in the centre of the garden, as tall as the Glasshouse roof, and the air seemed to vibrate with its power.


    "The only silvertree outside of Maskamere," Avon murmured. "A gift from Queen Aurelia, Queen Shikra''s mother, to the duke. It''s almost a century old. A fitting place for our meeting, Captain Viper, wouldn''t you say?"


    Valerie blinked. She''d been so entranced by the silvertree, she hadn''t noticed the man standing beneath the boughs. He stepped out of the tree''s shadow, and a shiver ran through her. Quintus! Prince Bakra''s trusted second-in-command, once Captain of the Royal Guard. There was no man more loyal. What on earth was he doing here?


    Quintus''s eyes fell on her, and to her disquiet he looked away in shame. Her stomach dropped.


    "You said we''d meet alone," Quintus said.


    "This is a momentous occasion," said Avon smoothly. "A citizen of Maskamere should bear witness¡ªsomeone who isn''t a traitor to your cause."


    A flush darkened Quintus''s jaw. A familiar dread settled in Valerie''s stomach, a growing sense of unease.


    "I do this for Maskamere," Quintus growled. "Not for you."


    "You keep your life and regain your former position. It''s quite good for you too. Do you have the information I require?"


    "Yes."


    "Then tell me."


    "You swear first," said Quintus. "Swear on the silvertree."


    He turned back to the tree, Avon exhaling before following him. The two men placed their hands on the silvertree''s trunk. Valerie hesitated, unsure what to do. She wanted desperately to approach the silvertree, its power calling to her, but she recognised the ritual they were partaking in.


    "Valerie," said Avon, looking at her. "Come stand before us. Bear witness."


    She did so. Quintus finally looked at her too, and she became conscious of the dress she was wearing, the fact that she had arrived here with Avon. Did Quintus know what had happened to her? Would he think her a traitor?


    But it seemed silly to worry about that now, when she was afraid that Quintus was about to commit a treachery of his own.


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    Avon spoke first. "I, Lord James Avon, do swear that the oath I make is binding and true. If I speak falsely, may my bones wither and my body turn to dust. I swear this under the light of the silvertree. If Captain Quintus Viper delivers me Prince Bakra in chains and gives me the Masked Crown, I will restore the monarchy and place Bakra on the throne under the protection of the Drakonian Empire. Captain Quintus will return to his position as Captain of the Royal Guard, subject to Drakonian law, and I will pardon any of his men or women who admit their treachery and plead for mercy."


    Valerie heard all of this in numb disbelief. He couldn''t. Surely, Quintus would never...


    Quintus spoke more slowly than Avon, and with a heaviness to his tone, but he spoke clearly. "I, Captain Quintus Viper, do swear that the oath I make is binding and true. If I speak falsely, may my bones wither and my body turn to dust. I swear this under the light of the silvertree. I will deliver Prince Bakra in chains to Lord Avon and deliver the Masked Crown to Lord Avon, on condition that he fulfils his oath to restore the monarchy and place Prince Bakra on the throne as a protectorate of the Drakonian Empire where I will serve the king faithfully as Captain of his Royal Guard."


    He dropped his hand from the silvertree, looking down. Avon dropped his hand too.


    "It''s done. Valerie, do you confirm the oath you have witnessed?"


    Her head was spinning.


    "Quintus," she said. "Did Bakra agree to this? Did he surrender?"


    Quintus''s mouth tightened. "Prince Bakra will understand, once it is done, that this was the only option."


    She was appalled. "The only option? What about everything we''ve been fighting for? You''re¡ª you''re making Bakra a puppet, a phony king. We''ll still be ruled by the Empire. They''ll never bring back the silvertrees."


    "I know what I''m doing."


    She wanted to say, what about me? What about everything I''ve endured? Everything she''d risked, the weeks she''d spent serving her worst enemy and doing everything she could to escape¡ªshe hadn''t resorted to betraying their cause. But she swallowed that response. There were other lives at risk, and she didn''t think her predicament would move him.


    She guessed at what would. "Do you think Bakra will accept you as his captain when he learns what you''ve done? He''d sooner have you hanged as a traitor."


    Quintus''s head jerked up, his eyes burning into her. "He won''t know. This is a burden for me to bear alone."


    "He''ll know when I tell him."


    "Think of Maskamere. Think of all the bloodshed, the lives we''ve lost. This truce will put an end to all that."


    She was about to retort that this wasn''t a truce, it was a surrender, when she noticed Avon smiling. Of course, he''d love to see any discord between the rebels. He''d engineered this meeting deliberately.


    She took a breath, controlling herself.


    Avon seemed to take the pause as his cue. "Well, then. Shall I take that as you bearing witness?"


    "Oh, I witnessed it," she said.


    "Good," said Avon, clapping his hands. "A pleasure doing business with you, Captain. Now, where is Prince Bakra?"


    "The Temple of the Fallen Saint, north of Bolebund. He is in contact with the Abbess Sopphora."


    "As we suspected. My man will meet you in Bolebund. You had best return to your prince."


    Quintus grimaced and then gave her one last guilty, furtive look before he slipped away. Valerie stood there numbly. A chill breeze stirred the silvertree leaves and raised goosebumps on her bare arms. In one fell swoop, Quintus had undone all of their work, everything they''d sacrificed. He''d thrown away the resistance as if it meant nothing.


    Avon, on the other hand, was in a positively buoyant mood. He took her hand, his eyes gleaming with triumph.


    "Now, wouldn''t you say that was a worthwhile trip?"


    "For you, my lord."


    "It''s good news for you too, Valerie. Once the monarchy is restored, you can plead your treachery and be pardoned. You''ll be a free woman."


    "You can forget your spell, then. I''m not opening that door."


    He paused, caught off-guard. "We have an agreement."


    "Which we both broke. I won''t do it."


    The numbness was passing, Valerie raising her chin to meet his eyes in defiance. With Quintus''s betrayal, it was more important than ever for her to escape. She couldn''t play along until she got another chance to rejoin the resistance. She had to figure out a way to warn Bakra, fast.


    "You will," he said, "because you understand the consequences if you refuse."


    "My family? I already lost them, Avon. Your army marched on my village and killed them all two years ago."


    "Your uncle¡ª"


    "Koel''s not my uncle. He''s the son of my great grandmother''s sister. I call him uncle because they adopted me, and it''s easier to pretend. You can''t take anything from me that''s worse than I''ve already lost."


    His eyebrows rose. "Not even your friend."


    Markus. Her heart clenched. No, of course she didn''t want to lose Markus. She didn''t want to lose anyone. But the future of Maskamere was at stake.


    "Markus would die for the cause." She pulled away from his grasp, hoping he couldn''t hear how fast her heart was beating. "If you kill him, I''ll hate you even more, and you won''t be any closer to opening that door. You offered Quintus a fair deal. Why don''t you offer me one?"


    She thought he''d be angry. Half-expected a threat to her life. Instead, his mouth curved slightly upward, and the gleam returned to his eyes. Was he impressed?


    "You should be a politician," Avon said. "You''d hold your own against any man in the Senate. Name your price. Gold? A new home?"


    "The silvertree."


    She said it without taking a breath, before she could doubt herself and stop.


    He frowned. "The silvertree?"


    "Let me pray to it."


    The silvertree''s light bathed her, making her skin tingle. She couldn''t miss this chance.


    "You mean take its power."


    She nodded. "This is good for you too, my lord. With the power of the silvertree, I''ll be twice-blessed, like a High Priestess. That should make it easier for me to break the spell."


    His lips quirked in a wry smile. "I see now why you didn''t believe me when I claimed my deal would be good for you. It doesn''t sound at all convincing."


    "I said what I want. Take it or leave it."


    She sounded more confident than she felt. It wouldn''t be hard for Avon to call her bluff, and she didn''t have much in the way of leverage to fall back on.


    He shifted, looking over at the tree then back to her. "I''ll take it, but you must swear on the silvertree that you won''t use your power to harm any Drakonian."


    An oath made under the light of the silvertree was no mere promise. It was magically binding. If the oathmaker broke their promise, they would suffer the consequences. She wondered if Avon knew that. He wouldn''t have done it if not. Perhaps she could word hers carefully, give herself a loophole...


    She nodded.


    Avon folded his arms, watching in silence as Valerie turned to the silvertree and took those last few halting steps to the light beneath its boughs. Its presence flowed through her, not unlike the magical aura she''d felt by the seal in the palace temple, but warm, nurturing. The light welcomed her touch.


    She laid her hand on the trunk and the light rushed in. Overwhelmed, she pushed it back, holding herself still and upright. Not yet. She closed her eyes and focused.


    "I, Valerie Crescent, do swear that the oath I make is binding and true. If I speak falsely, may I fall into an enchanted sleep that only Lord Avon or his next of kin can wake me from. I swear this under the light of the silvertree. I will accept the gift of magic offered by this tree. I will not use the power I am granted to harm any Drakonian, including Lord Avon, except in self-defence or as commanded by Lord Avon."


    She opened her eyes. If Avon was speaking, she couldn''t hear him. The light was so overpowering she couldn''t see him either. She remembered her first time accepting the blessing of the silvertree. The High Priestess, wise old Glynda, had acted as her conduit. They''d joined hands and the light had flowed into her not directly from the silvertree, but through Glynda, a wave of magic that blossomed in her from fingertips to the top of her head and the soles of her feet. It was through this method that the priestesses ensured only their chosen acolytes could join the priesthood. The silvertree would not bless anyone without the presence of one who was already blessed.


    This time, of course, she was the one already blessed. The silvertree sensed a magical presence and reached out to it, eager to share its power. She let it soar through her, and Valerie gasped as the landscape around her transformed into a glittering forest of white. Silvertrees¡ªno, she thought, her stomach flipping¡ªa graveyard of silvertrees. Other trees were scattered around, some as tall as the most magnificent oak, others no bigger than a sapling. But they were pitifully few. Everywhere she looked, she saw stumps, the blackened ruins of the trees that had been burned or cut down in the purge.


    Tears sprang to her eyes.


    "Valerie."


    The light splintered. The voice she heard was female, low and self-assured. She looked around and caught sight of a white figure floating over the forest ruins. Then that figure was rushing towards her, light flaring out behind her like a halo of flame¡ªValerie shrank back with a gasp.


    The woman reached out her arms¡ª


    "Valerie, remember¡ª"


    She had the most arresting face. Piercing green eyes so deep Valerie felt she could almost fall into them, high cheekbones, an upturned nose, and strong eyebrows that were raised in an imploring look.


    Valerie wrenched her hand away from the silvertree and fell back to earth with a cry. The figure vanished. She smelled roses and felt the reassuring tickle of grass against her nose before she blacked out.

 1.18. The Blessing

    "To kill a silvertree is to commit murder. The penalty for this crime shall be death."


    Maska''s Testimonium, VI:II


    The crescent moon rose over the peaceful village of Drymuir, nestled in a valley between the foothills of the Ridgemont. Ten dozen people were feasting that night, and Valerie was at the centre of it all.


    She danced with her favourite cousin in the village square. Aster, twenty-two and handsome, with thick black hair and ruddy cheeks, teased her mercilessly.


    "Look at these. You should become a gardener with all these flowers."


    The bouquets were tributes, along with silks, jewels, chocolates, and other gifts from families up and down the borderlands. She noted with satisfaction that her gift pile was larger than any she''d seen in six years at the convent. At last, people were taking notice.


    The Carpenters played a merry tune with banjo and flute. Girls ran shrieking around the bonfire, waving streamers that fluttered behind them. Her mother danced with Julius Carpenter, an old flame, while several visitors from out of town had caught the attention of her aunts.


    Aster spun her around the fire and she laughed. "You''re just jealous that I have more suitors tonight than you''ll ever have."


    "Oh, no," he said. "I hope to bask in your reflected glory."


    She hopped and skipped away as the dance moved into the switch and called out to Aster''s younger brother. "Lukas! Come on!"


    Lukas was thirteen and unimpressed, but she made him go twice around the bonfire until his face was flushed and he couldn''t pretend he wasn''t having fun. She stepped out at the next switch and weaved through the crowd, ignoring the boys trying to offer her drinks.


    At the wine barrel, she paused behind a man who was filling up his cup. He turned around, then started.


    "Oh! Valerie, excuse me."


    He wasn''t much older than her, tall and lanky, with a thatch of straw-coloured hair falling over his forehead. His jacket looked rather moth-eaten, and his boots had seen better days.


    "You look like you''re in need of a tailor," she said, stepping forward to refill her own drink.


    "Yes, well, I shouldn''t bother you about that tonight."


    "Bother us tomorrow," she said easily. "My grandmother Luciana can help. What''s your name?"


    "Markus." He nodded. "I''ll try to stop by. I can''t stay long."


    She frowned. "How come?"


    "I''m from Iska. They need me on patrol. We only have a few men to keep watch."


    She knew it. Iska was a tiny village at the very edge of the border with Carthal, a protectorate of the Drakonian Empire. Since Carthal had fallen, tensions had risen, and they were strongly discouraged from crossing the border. But people did it anyway, and some of the borderlands families in particular were struggling with losing their men, lured over by the promise of wealth and status.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    All lies, of course. What the Drakonians really wanted were soldiers, fodder for their war machine.


    "The Drakonians are sniffing around the border again," Markus continued, "so we''re on high alert."


    "Aren''t they just military exercises?"


    "That''s what they claim."


    She''d heard about these military exercises for months, on and off. Aster had patrolled the border several times, and someday, she thought with a pang, Lukas would have to do the same.


    Before she could respond, her mother Kira came bouncing over, flowers in her hair. "Val, it''s time! High Priestess Glynda is waiting!"


    By the bonfire, Aster and one of her uncles beckoned her to take the silverwood chair. She climbed onto the litter, which the two men hauled on to their shoulders. Then, with the crowd whooping and cheering behind her, the procession began.


    The convent of St. Maia was nestled on a hill overlooking the village. The path to get there followed a bubbling stream. She loved taking that walk in the morning, when the dawn light dappled through the trees and birdsong joined the gentle sound of the water. It was even prettier at night, the lamp posts that lit their way creating the ambience of a magical garden.


    Perched on the silverwood litter, a flower crown in her hair, Valerie was borne through the gates of the convent and to the circular lawn in the central courtyard. The entire convent was built around it: the classrooms where the acolytes took their lessons over here, the living quarters of the priestesses over there, the stables, the garden, the bathhouse, all arranged in concentric circles around this sacred place.


    The crowd that had been so raucous at the start of the procession fell silent as they passed through the gates. Her heart started to beat fast. Valerie caught the eye of her mother, who gave her an encouraging smile.


    On the lawn, Aster and her uncle lowered the litter and she stepped down to the grass. The villagers joined the priestesses and acolytes who were already gathered, the priestesses standing out in their pale grey robes amongst the acolytes'' brown.


    Aster squeezed her shoulder. "Don''t forget me."


    But she barely heard him. For the centre point of this gathering, the reason they were here, stood in the very middle of the grass court: the silvertree. As tall as a great pine and wide as an oak, it shone with its own light. The pointed silver leaves rustled in the night breeze. Below the tree, High Priestess Glynda awaited.


    "Come forward," she called.


    Valerie approached, bursting with excitement. As she took her place by Glynda''s side and bowed her head, the High Priestess addressed the crowd.


    "Friends, sisters, acolytes: we are gathered here today to witness the blessing of Valerie Crescent, daughter of Kira Crescent. A girl asks for the blessing of the silvertree. A woman receives it. Recognise you all the great responsibility that she will bear, and honour her for it."


    Respectful silence. Only the murmur of the silvertree seemed to answer Glynda, beckoning them to its call. Valerie looked again to her mother, beaming with pride. And her family... They''d supported her on every step of this journey. She felt a rush of love for all of them.


    Glynda turned to Valerie, taking her hands, and Valerie gazed into the High Priestess''s deep brown eyes.


    "Valerie Crescent, do you request the blessing of the silvertree?"


    Her response was clear and strong. "I do."


    "Do you promise to use this gift wisely and with restraint, for the betterment of Maskamere?"


    "I do."


    "Then I grant your wish."


    Glynda pressed her hands to the tree, and its light flooded into her.


    Valerie opened her eyes.


    She was in the silvertree graveyard again, surrounded by blackened stumps. The light of the surviving silvertrees hardly pierced the encroaching darkness. And her tree, the tree at St. Maia, flickered and dimmed like a fading star.


    Panic set in. She whirled around. The trees were all fading. Dying. If the last silvertree died, there would be nothing but darkness, nothing but...


    Death.

 1.19. Prince Bakras Message

    "I chose the order of priestesses to represent the three aspects of womanhood. The maiden, the priestess who is a friend to all. The mother, the High Priestess who leads her village as she leads her family. And the elder, the Abbess whose power and wisdom will guide our future."


    Maska''s Testimonium, III:IV


    She awoke to sunlight and Lord Avon''s concerned face peering over her.


    "Valerie." His eyes shone with relief. "You had me worried."


    She blinked, stretching her aching muscles, and sat up to orient herself. She was in the bed of the guest chamber in the castle, her head resting against a plump pillow. Why did she feel so shaken? Her heart was palpitating.


    "Drink some water," said Avon, offering her a glass.


    She sipped gratefully, shifting under the covers, and noticed that she had been changed. Gone was the scarlet dress. She was wearing a cotton nightdress, and her hair was loose. The maid must have undressed her.


    "Was I out the entire night?"


    "Yes," he said, sitting on the bed next to her. He was fully dressed in the usual Drakonian finery, though not as formal as at the ball. "What happened? How do you feel?"


    What had happened? She''d been dreaming... Something about a tree. Something important. But already the fragments were flying away, fading out of mind.


    "I''m... fine, I think." She tried a smile. "Just a little tired, my lord."


    "Did you receive the blessing?"


    "I¡ªI think so."


    She''d felt the magic flowing into her. That hadn''t caused her to faint. It had been... Her heart skipped a beat. The woman! The strange woman in the forest. She''d recoiled away from the woman''s touch and snapped back into unconsciousness.


    But who was she? And what was she doing there? Valerie had never experienced anything like it. The silvertrees, the awful desolate landscape of dead tree stumps. Somehow, it was real. The silvertrees were connected.


    More importantly, how did the strange woman know her name? What did the woman want with her? Remember, she''d said. Remember what? There was a purpose to all this, she thought, but what it might be eluded her.


    Valerie shivered, coming back to the present. Avon was still watching her closely. And she became aware of something else as well, a slight vibration at the edge of her senses. A line of power. She closed her eyes and focused. There. A light. Not quite a mile away, in the city of Orlin, the silvertree stood. She sensed its presence like a far-off beacon.


    Well, that''s new.


    She opened her eyes and looked at Avon. There was something about him too... Her gaze lowered.


    "Can I see your sword?"


    He looked puzzled but complied, standing to half-draw his sword from the sheath at his hip. Valerie sighed in contentment.


    "I see it," she murmured. "It glows brighter than before."


    She''d been able to detect the sword''s power when he''d tested her all those weeks ago, but it was a faint aura, easily missed from a distance. This time the sword''s radiance was unmistakable, like the light of a silvertree. Not blinding but a steady, sure glow.


    "Then you did receive the blessing," said Avon, understanding. He sheathed the sword, a smile playing on his lips. "I expect great things."


    She nodded, feeling weary.


    He glanced over at the door. "Our ship is departing today, and I''m already late for breakfast. Do you feel well enough to join us? You can rest until we leave if you like."


    As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. Valerie sat up straighter. "I''ll come for breakfast," she said. "You don''t need to wait for me, my lord. I''ll join you soon."


    He nodded. "I''ll send for a maid."


    With that, he left, and Valerie stretched, trying to adjust to this new awareness in her body. Her magical senses had amplified. As for the woman and the trees... She shivered. It had felt wrong, all of it, and she didn''t know if she was supposed to fix it or if she even could.


    Restore the silvertrees. Bring back magic to Maskamere.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Could the strange woman help her? Or did she have a more sinister motive?


    And what was she supposed to remember?


    *


    Between the maid coming in to dress her and a guard appearing to escort her to the dining hall, she had no time to dwell on these questions. Lord Hafnir and his contingent had joined their Drakonian visitors for breakfast. She spotted Lord Dryden staring at her but ignored him, excusing herself to take a seat amongst the courtiers.


    A beautiful selection of fruit awaited on the table. She filled her plate.


    "Well, well," said Pedram slyly, "someone had a long night. Lord Avon too."


    Dealing with court gossip was the last thing she wanted right now. She suppressed a sigh.


    "Lord Avon and I went for a late-night stroll. A treat for our last night in Enyr."


    "I wish Lord Sandford were so thoughtful," said Lady Mona. "I''ll admit I felt a little homesick."


    The other courtiers offered their sympathies. Valerie looked for Lord Avon, but he was deep in conversation with Lord Dryden and Lord Gideon. She returned to her morning tea. A few minutes later, Dryden stood up and clapped his hands.


    "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, looking around until silence fell. "Your ship departs in an hour. Before you depart, and before I bid you all farewell, I wanted to extend my thanks to our gracious host, Lord Hafnir. I''m sure this is only the beginning of a most fruitful partnership, and I look forward to working with Lord Hafnir and the Duke of Enyr very soon."


    Murmurs of approval. Valerie looked at Hafnir, who wore a bland smile, impossible to read. She wondered what negotiations she''d missed among the festivities.


    After several more goodbyes, well wishes and flattery, the court began to disperse. Valerie, too, needed to pack before leaving. Since Avon was still with Dryden, there was no immediate rush. She headed out from the dining hall to the terrace where she had a wonderful view of the ocean beyond the low stone wall. Some way below, the ship in the harbour was flying the Drakonian flag: a silver dragon in a black sky.


    Not the Maskamery colours, the goldentree on red cloth. They weren''t even pretending at representing Maskamere.


    Footsteps alerted her. She looked away from the sea view as Gideon and Hafnir crossed the terrace, their heads bent close together, talking intently. Valerie frowned.


    Gideon spotted her first. "Lady Valerie! Are you out here alone?"


    "I wanted some air."


    "Or a chance to sneak off."


    She gave Gideon an unimpressed look, not bothering to dignify his insult with a response. There was a furtive air about them, though neither were obvious about it. Gideon smiled unpleasantly, while Hafnir regarded her with a wise, penetrating gaze.


    "No matter," said Hafnir, stepping in. "Allow me to escort the lady back to her quarters."


    Gideon''s lip curled, those nostrils of his flaring, but after a moment he gave a short bow. "A pleasure doing business with you."


    That was directed at Hafnir. He said nothing to her. Valerie watched him leave the terrace, then turned to Hafnir. She expected to be led off in short order. Instead, he stepped forward to gaze at the sea view, his expression pensive. He drew a silk handkerchief from his top pocket and wiped his glasses before replacing them on his nose.


    "Beautiful, isn''t it? The ocean reminds us that we are but specks on this earth. The sea goes ever on. We will not be remembered."


    She ignored that. "What were you talking about with Lord Gideon?"


    "Business." He paused. "I see you are a practically-minded lady. I have been hoping to speak with you."


    Her breath caught. "About what?"


    He glanced behind him to make sure that no one else was nearby and then took a step closer, his tone low and urgent. "I have a message from Prince Bakra. He is aware of your situation, and he implores you to keep your spirits up."


    She stared at him, her heart thumping. Prince Bakra! A message from the resistance?


    "You spoke with him? When?"


    "Three days ago. He departed these shores shortly before Lord Avon arrived. He has a plan for the resistance, of which you are an integral part."


    "He''s going to rescue me?"


    Finally! Hope bubbled up like the fizz of a champagne bottle.


    "No. He asks that you stay exactly where you are."


    And just like that, the bubble burst. For a moment she couldn''t breathe. She managed a single word: "What?"


    "You are in an advantageous position, my lady," said Hafnir. "You are at the very heart of Lord Avon''s court, as close to him as it is possible to get. He asks that you make yourself Avon''s confidant and gather as much information as you can about his plans, his movements, anything that might help the resistance."


    "He wants me to become a spy."


    She said it in a whisper, her mouth turning dry. The enormity of what she was being asked to do was only beginning to dawn on her.


    Hafnir nodded. "He''ll send an agent to the palace to pass on your messages¡ª"


    "Wait," she said. "Wait, no, he doesn''t have any idea why Avon wants me in the palace. I can''t stay there."


    "I know it must be difficult, my lady¡ª"


    She shook her head. "No¡ªno. We have to act right now. You need to contact the prince. I have an urgent message for him¡ªhe''s about to be betrayed."


    Hafnir''s frown deepened as she explained what she had witnessed the previous night: Avon''s deal with Quintus, the captain of the royal guard being a traitor...


    "That is serious news," he said quietly. "I''ll do what I can. Will you stay with Lord Avon?"


    Valerie took in a deep breath, steadying herself against the wall. She hadn''t anticipated anything like this. She had been so focused on escaping, on warning Bakra...


    He hadn''t given her much of a choice.


    "Yes," she said. "I''ll do what I can."


    "The agent will ask you for a rose. Show them this." He pressed a golden locket into her hands. "Proof that we''ve spoken."


    She looked down at the locket, the gold warming in her palm. It was a tiny but well-crafted piece, an oval shape engraved with a simple rose. No magic. Just an ordinary locket.


    "What is it?"


    "It belonged to the queen. Keep it hidden." Hafnir glanced over her shoulder. "We should go before they notice your absence."


    She had one last question. "Does this mean that Enyr is an ally of Maskamere? I mean, the royal family. All this talk with Lord Avon and Lord Dryden..."


    Hafnir smiled. "The ties between our nations go back centuries. It is in our interest that your resistance keeps the Empire occupied. I wish for Enyr to remain independent. But we cannot be seen to openly support your prince, do you understand?"


    She nodded. "It''s a secret, then."


    "As is our conversation."


    Of course. She tucked the locket into her skirts, and he escorted her back to the entrance hall. Her mind was racing.


    A spy...

 1.20. The Spoils of Empire

    "If you ever make an enemy of a High Priestess, don''t touch her. She may turn you into a frog or worse."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    Lord Avon noticed her distraction on the journey back. They''d retired to the cabin as the sun set, but she couldn''t sit still. She tried to read a book and failed, then she stared out of the tiny port window and saw nothing but choppy waves, then she tried to eat, but she''d lost her appetite.


    He poured himself a glass of wine and gestured to the empty seat opposite him. "Sit. Are you quite well? You seem out of sorts."


    She sat and fiddled with her hands in her lap. "I''m fine, my lord." Then she hesitated. She was supposed to be a spy. When she hadn''t been preoccupied by the mystery of the strange woman and the silvertree graveyard, she''d been thinking about Prince Bakra''s message. If she wanted to get close to Avon, she had to let him in. "I..."


    He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. "What is it?"


    "Lord Dryden said something strange to me while we were in Enyr," she said, dredging up the memory that had seemed so significant at the time but had paled in comparison to everything after. "He... he didn''t want me to perform this magic for you."


    "Didn''t he," Avon murmured. "Did he say anything else?"


    "He seemed to misunderstand the situation," she said carefully. "I think he believed that I''d convinced you to open the temple, like it was some kind of nefarious trick."


    "Does he believe you''re a wicked witch out to seduce me?"


    She was so surprised she laughed. "That''s... very close to what he said, yes."


    Avon smiled. "Dryden said something similar to me. Fortunately, we both know better. Did his opinion concern you?"


    "He just seemed so against magic."


    "Most Drakonians are."


    "But not you?"


    "Maskamere has benefited from magic for centuries. We Drakonians fear what we cannot control. I intend to change that."


    She dug her fingers into her palms. "You want to control magic?"


    "As I control you. I believe magic has a place in Maskamere''s future. Even the Empire''s."


    She fell silent, considering that. He meant under the Empire''s control. Magic as a resource to be exploited like everything else in Maskamere.


    "You could be part of that," Avon went on. "If you chose to serve me, you would never want for anything. You could do your people a lot of good."


    "That''s not the tempting offer you think it is."


    "All right, then." He leaned back in his chair. "Be honest with me, Valerie. Why did you ask for the silvertree''s power? What is it that you want?"


    "I want to kill you."


    "Well, that''s a non-starter."


    He was being awfully nonchalant about it, as if he didn''t even consider her a threat. "It''s the truth, my lord."


    "It''s a waste of your time to cling to a lost cause. When the resistance falls apart, which it will, what do you think will happen then?"


    "Who says the resistance will fall apart?"


    He waved a hand. "Indulge me."


    She sighed, shifting in her chair. It wasn''t pleasant to think about what might happen if they failed. If she served the full term of her repentance with Avon, she would be thirty-eight by the time he released her. She couldn''t imagine what that would be like. Perhaps she would give in to him, if only to avoid sleeping alone.


    "You''ll get everything you want," she said at length. "The rest of us will suffer."


    "Not if I can help it."


    She frowned. "Then what?"


    "I''m a public servant," said Avon. "My father is the Emperor of Drakon. From my earliest years, I was trained to serve the Empire. I joined my first battle when I was sixteen and killed my first man. I married a woman I''d been betrothed to since I was ten."


    "The woman who passed away."


    He nodded. "She died in childbirth, leaving behind our son."


    His son had come into the world without a mother. She felt a stab of sympathy for that. Did he have aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings to love and take care of him? A grandmother to lead him? That was how it worked in Maskamere. Every child was brought up by the entire family.


    "My father declared me Chancellor of Maskamere," Avon went on. "The situation here has been mishandled from the start. I hope to change that."


    "Are you saying you didn''t want to invade Maskamere? You had no choice?"


    "I''m saying that what I wanted didn''t matter," said Avon quietly. "I live by my duty. But the Empire can be a force for good. Maskamere deserves to see that. There''s no reason for your people to suffer."


    He had the gall to say that after everything they''d destroyed. Markus was an orphan who''d pledged himself fully to Bakra''s cause because he didn''t have anything else left. She''d been orphaned too, fortunate to have been taken in by another branch of the family. There were countless stories like that.


    She shook her head. "A force for good? Burning villages, killing civilians, destroying the silvertrees. You call that good?"


    "I call that war," said Avon. "Yes, there is suffering in war. The important part is what happens after."


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    "You take your spoils. You force us into your way of living."


    "Do you consider that bad?"


    "Yes, it''s bad!" She was growing in confidence, her voice stronger. At least he was having an actual conversation with her. Whether she''d learn anything useful to pass to the resistance, she didn''t know, but it was a start. "It''s never stopped being bad! When have you Drakonians ever done anything for us?"


    "We are a civilising people. We bring the benefits of natural philosophy, divinity, commerce, and the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman."


    "What about the sanctity of the silvertrees? The things that we consider sacred?"


    "I would like to see a Maskamere with the silvertrees restored. Even the priesthood, though not in the form it once was."


    "What does that mean?"


    It was the second time he''d alluded to it. Voicing her own ambition back to her, though she couldn''t imagine that their visions for the future of Maskamere were anything alike.


    Avon sipped his wine before explaining. "The priesthood existed to uphold the rule of the monarchy. It was a successful system. But any system can be replaced. The Drakonian Empire is the most powerful in the world because we understand that the old structures must be removed and new structures must be put in their place. If we were to restore the priesthood, it would need to serve us, not the royal family."


    "That''s why you murdered the royal family and killed the priestesses."


    The way he talked about it was so cold and academic, like something he''d learned out of a book.


    He nodded. "That was our mistake. Every nation works differently. There are fundamental pillars you shouldn''t destroy. We''ve spent two years trying to rebuild Maskamere from its shattered remains. The Empire can transform a country in five years. I believe in this case it will take at least ten, perhaps twenty years, if we succeed at all."


    "Why?"


    "Because we shouldn''t have destroyed the silvertrees. We ripped away the heart of the nation, and as a result the population see us as nothing more than invaders."


    Well, she couldn''t disagree with that. "You are invaders."


    "We were invaders. But Maskamere needs to move on from subjugation to a true vassal of the Empire."


    "I''m still not hearing the part where any of this is good for us."


    "We''ll bring security, peace, and prosperity. All things Maskamere desperately needs."


    "We had all those things before you invaded!"


    "A connection to the wider world," Avon went on, unperturbed. "You were an isolated nation. Now you''ll have access to Drakonian technology and learning."


    "Which you could have shared without invading us."


    He hissed out a breath through his teeth, showing a hint of impatience for the first time. "You don''t even wish to consider that I might have a point."


    "Can I tell you what I think?"


    "You''ve been very frank so far."


    She nearly smiled. True, a real spy might have been more subtle. She''d forgotten that, energised by their debate. More than once Kamila had accused her of enjoying arguments, like that was a bad thing.


    She leaned forward. "I don''t know if you''re trying to convince me or yourself. The Empire isn''t trying to help us, and you don''t fool me with your talk of duty. You wanted something and you took it. Why don''t you just admit that?"


    There was a long moment of silence.


    A candle flame flickered and sputtered on the table between them. He''d finished his wine; she hadn''t touched hers.


    Avon rose to his feet, the chair scraping behind him. "You do realise the royal family were exactly the same, if not worse."


    She frowned. "I''m sorry?"


    "The queen had absolute control over the people and the land when she was in power. If you consider that bad, you should hate her too."


    "No..." She searched for the right words. "That''s different. The queen embodies the spirit of Maskamere. She was chosen by the goldentree."


    "Was she?"


    "Yes."


    He moved around behind the table to a bookcase, from which he picked out a heavy gold-lined book. Valerie recognised it: Maska''s Testimonium, the story of the founding of Maskamere.


    "Maska was the first of the royal line." Avon glanced down as he opened the first chapter. "She discovered the goldentree and founded Maskamere."


    "I know."


    Every child in Maskamere learned this story. She didn''t understand what point he was making.


    "And since then, who else has been granted the goldentree''s gifts?"


    "The royal family."


    "Maska''s descendants. Who else?"


    "No one."


    "Why not?"


    "Because they were chosen."


    "No. Because they chose not to share."


    Valerie frowned. No, that wasn''t right. The royal family had maintained their position as rulers of Maskamere for over a thousand years. No other dynasty in the world had lasted as long, according to the priestesses at the convent, which was proof if proof were needed of their royal heritage.


    "A thousand years of rule isn''t a mistake," she said. "It''s proof that¡ª"


    "Anyone who claims power by birthright is a liar," Avon interrupted her. His voice rang out, his face alive with conviction. He was passionate about this. "In Drakon, we outgrew monarchy long ago. We choose our leaders."


    "Then what right do you have to rule Maskamere?" Her voice trembled. "We didn''t choose you."


    A faint smile curved his mouth. He snapped the book shut, returning it to the shelf, then turned around. "Come here."


    She''d remained in her seat, the table acting as a barrier between them. Now she stared at him for a moment before standing up. Something in the air had charged, an anticipation that pulled her nerves taut. The energy between them prickled into fear as she approached him. Avon held out his hand. She took it, and then he yanked her arm behind her back, holding her to him with his other arm around her waist.


    Panic clawed at her. The same feeling that had crippled her during their dance practice: frozen muscles, shortness of breath, her heart thrumming in her chest like a bird in a cage.


    "I claim Maskamere by right of conquest," he whispered in her ear. "Do you understand?"


    She suppressed a gasp, shaking. "Yes."


    "What was it you said? I wanted something and I took it."


    His body pressed against hers. He''s playing, she thought. Once her brain got over its warning signals, his grip was firm but not tight. A cruel game, but one she could play too.


    She twisted her head, looking up at him. "Would you have taken me, if I wasn''t a witch?"


    His gaze flickered. "What do you think?"


    "I think you''re in my way."


    She stared at him, this man who had destroyed all her childhood dreams. His eyebrows rose, then he chuckled.


    "I''ll have to keep you on a tighter leash."


    But he released her, stepping away, and she let out a breath. Her heart was still pounding. She grabbed the back of his chair with one hand to steady herself.


    "My lord..."


    "Now she says my lord," said Avon. "Good. I want you to look at the seal as soon as we reach the palace."


    And they were back to her task. She grimaced. All this time she''d held on to hope of escape, and now she didn''t even have that. It was either disobey Bakra''s direct order or stay with Avon and delay as long as she could until Bakra took back the capital.


    If he took it back.


    Regardless, Avon had made his point. She couldn''t argue with that.


    "As you wish, my lord." She gave him a tight smile. "May I be excused?"


    He collapsed back into his seat and nodded, dismissing her with a casual flick of his hand. His hair fell over his eyes and he swept it back. She realised that she was staring and swallowed, then hastily turned away, striding next door to the tiny cabin he''d reserved for her on the return journey.


    There she lay in the narrow bunk bed for the couple of hours it took to reach Maskamere''s shores. He''d disconcerted her, she had to admit that, and it took longer than she would have liked to calm the fire in her nerves.


    To the task at hand, then. There was no point in worrying about the temple until she got there. She told herself that, but it didn''t stop the gnawing pit in her stomach. A better use of her time was planning the various options for stalling him. She had decided that no matter what happened, she wasn''t going to open the seal.


    The worst thing was that her fate had been taken out of her hands.


    The prince might be dead. Even if he lived, she had no idea what his plan was, how long it would take, or how likely it was to succeed. Until this agent made contact, she was on her own.


    Bakra ought to have gotten her out. She already had plenty of information to pass to him, and she''d risked her life telling Lord Hafnir anything when he could be a double agent for all she knew. But he hadn''t. Now she was stuck, and all the work she''d done to give herself another opportunity to escape had gone to waste.


    And then there was the mystery of the silvertree graveyard, the woman in the forest...


    Focus, she told herself. Focus on the things within your control. That''s the source of your power.


    She turned on her side and slept.

 1.21. Twice Blessed

    "The thrice-blessed are the most powerful priestesses in Maskamere. They have absolute authority over the land where their silvertrees grow. That''s why I order them out of their abbeys and into Jairah every year. They need to remember that they answer to me."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    Lord Avon was true to his word. Not half an hour after they''d arrived in the palace harbour, he escorted her back to the basement of the temple with a contingent of his men including Captain Doryn and Master Anwen, the only person who showed any delight at seeing her.


    "How was your trip, my dear?" he asked. "Did you see the Glasshouse? The Serpent''s Crest bridge?"


    For her part, Valerie was distracted by the intensity of the magic in the chamber which had taken on a different quality. Her memory of it seemed blurry, unfocused. This time the colours were more intense, and she had a sense of the magic in the seal, the way it flowed over the door in three distinct layers...


    "A moment," said Avon. "Let the girl do her work."


    She stepped forward and pressed her hand against the stone.


    The seal can only be broken by a woman.


    A feminine silhouette treading delicately through shifting yellow sands, azure blue waves rolling into the shore behind her...


    The seal can only be broken by a sorcerer thrice-blessed.


    The figure stepped onto firm ground, green palm trees rising before her. Three trees. They turned silver as she passed her hand over each trunk in turn, glowing under the blazing sun...


    The seal can only be broken by...


    A falcon plummeted out of the sky and transformed into a golden crown which the woman placed on her head... The smell of roses... The figure reached out, blurring in the summer haze...


    Valerie opened her eyes, frustrated. She''d lost it. She couldn''t quite grasp the end of the vision. Thrice-blessed, she thought. I was so worried about finding an excuse not to open the seal, and it turns out I can''t do it anyway. She was still only partway there.


    An impulse to dash herself against the rock darted into her mind. She pushed it away in annoyance, stepping away from the stone door.


    "What did you find?" Avon asked at once.


    They were all looking at her, Valerie realised wearily, eight Drakonian men, guards and lords, and all of them helpless and ignorant in the face of Queen Shikra''s magic.


    She cleared her throat. "I could see more clearly, my lord. The seal has three locks. I have to fulfil all three before I can open it. The seal can only be broken by a woman. It can only be broken by a sorcerer thrice-blessed. And..." She shook her head. "I couldn''t tell what the last one was. It was buried too deep."


    A murmur had broken out as soon as she mentioned the term thrice-blessed. She could feel Avon''s eyes boring into her. Anwen was already muttering excitedly and scribbling notes.


    "Thrice-blessed," said Avon. "You mean you still cannot open it."


    She looked back at him steadily. "I''m afraid not, my lord."


    Avon turned away. "Master Anwen, I would speak with you." Then to her: "Go back to your quarters."


    *


    The next morning, Lord Avon took her out into a secluded spot by the river where dragonflies danced over the water''s haze. Servants provided them with a picnic: a chequered blanket and a wicker basket full of sweet-smelling bread and fruit, ice-cold water, and mint tea. Valerie tucked her skirt beneath her and waited for Avon to say something. He was staring across the river, knees drawn up, arms crossed¡ªa brooding look if she ever saw one.


    She ventured to open the basket and take out a pastry.


    Avon looked at her. "I''ll be disappointed if you''re lying to me, Valerie."


    The pastry turned to dry flakes in her mouth. She swallowed. "It''s all true. Everything I said about the seal..."


    Last night, he''d disappeared to consult with Master Anwen about it. He hadn''t summoned her to his quarters, for which she was grateful. She needed that time to think.


    "I allowed you the gift of a second blessing," said Avon, "and you immediately demand more. You understand how that looks."


    "I know."


    "I asked Anwen what it means to be thrice-blessed. It''s a privilege reserved only for the Abbesses, the leaders of the priesthood."


    She nodded. "That''s right, my lord."


    "You don''t lack for ambition."


    "You''re the one who wants to break the seal. It''s your ambition, not mine... my lord."


    "Or perhaps," he said, "you''re buying time. Wasn''t that your first strategy? Bold of you to repeat the same trick twice."


    "What if I could prove that I''m telling the truth?"


    He stared at her. "How?"


    This was what she''d thought about during the night, knowing that the seal was still beyond her reach, knowing that Avon would be reluctant to believe her. If she had been able to break the spell, she would have had to come up with something else, a lie, a promise, anything to delay the inevitable.


    But she was telling the truth.


    Valerie got to her feet, holding out her hand. "Come with me."


    *


    She took him back to her quarters and over to the queen''s writing desk which she had repurposed as her work table. Clearing a space, she picked up a gold-lined notebook and opened it to a blank page, keeping it there with a paperweight.


    "Here," she said, handing Lord Avon a golden pen. "Can you write something down?"


    "Why?"


    "I''ll show you. Write down: I don''t know what''s behind the temple door."


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    He stared at her for a long moment, no doubt wondering what sorcery she was working here, but Valerie''s expression remained bland.


    Avon shook his head and wrote: I don''t know what''s behind the temple door.


    "Perfect. Now write: I know exactly what''s behind the temple door."


    "I hope you''re going to explain this," he said.


    "It''ll make sense, I promise."


    The golden ink of his first sentence gleamed in the morning light, the curved handwriting pleasingly clear. He must have a lot of practice, she thought, with all those documents he signed. Avon hesitated, then bent down to scratch another line.


    He frowned. The pen nib scraped against the paper but produced no ink.


    "Out of ink," he said. "Do you have another?"


    "I don''t think so, my lord. Try writing the first sentence again."


    He did, and there it was in gold: I don''t know what''s behind the temple door.


    "And the second sentence?"


    "This is like writing lines in school," he grumbled, and shook the pen in frustration when again it didn''t work. "All right. Explain."


    Valerie couldn''t help but smile. She was enjoying knowing something he didn''t know.


    "This pen only writes the truth. Look."


    She held out her hand. Avon gave her the pen, raising his eyebrows. Valerie wrote: The door in the temple has three locks. 1) It can only be opened by a woman. 2) It can only be opened by a sorcerer thrice-blessed. 3) I don''t know what the third lock is.


    "I see," he said.


    "Try it." She gave it back. "Try writing any lie you can think of."


    She let him experiment, scribbling over half the page with inkless letters and words, interspersed with lines of truth: Cats are mammals. Black is a colour. Valerie is twice-blessed.


    "And this," he said, "this is the absolute truth?"


    "Oh," she said, "no, if you mean does it only write facts, then no, I don''t think so. It writes what people believe to be true. So, it could be wrong, but at least you know I''m not lying."


    "Interesting. Write this for me, then: I''m not planning to run away again."


    She took the pen, her stomach dropping. Of course, she''d guessed that he would use the instrument in this way. That was why she hadn''t shown it to him before.


    Valerie wrote: I''m not planning to run away again.


    Then, as Avon peered over her shoulder at the ink drying on the page, she put the pen down on the desk and smashed it as hard as she could with the paperweight. Avon flinched, his hands gripping her shoulders.


    "Valerie!"


    She let go of the paperweight as he pulled her back, but he was too late. The pen was in bits, gold ink splattered across the table. She felt the magic dissolve. A shame; it was a beautiful spell, but it was the safest option.


    "I''m sorry," she said quickly, "but you would have used it against me. I''m telling you the truth about the temple. You don''t get to know more than that."


    Avon turned her roughly to face him, pinning her arms to her sides. His glare was almost like a physical blow.


    "You kept that quiet. What else have you been hiding from me?"


    "Nothing, my lord."


    His fingers pressed against her skin. "You don''t intend to run. Why not?"


    "I want the third blessing."


    "Why?"


    "It''s what I''ve always wanted. It''s what I studied for. I want there to be magic in Maskamere again. I want the silvertrees to be restored."


    "Or you want to kill me."


    She swallowed. "I already told you that."


    He let go. Valerie took a moment to breathe. She''d meant to gain his trust by proving that she was telling the truth, but instead she''d reminded him that he had to watch his back.


    No, she thought, this is better. He''d trust her less if she pretended she''d had a change of heart.


    He looked at her. "You want to restore the silvertrees? Killing me won''t achieve that."


    "Bakra would restore the silvertrees."


    "So will I."


    She said nothing.


    "This third blessing... Is there no other way?"


    She shook her head. "No, my lord. If you''re not willing to let me receive another blessing, the only other option would be to find someone else."


    "I didn''t say I would be unwilling to grant you a third blessing," said Avon, and her heart skipped a beat, "but it won''t be done overnight. I would have to find another silvertree still standing, if there are any left."


    "There are," she said. "A few."


    His gaze sharpened. "Oh? Do you know where?"


    "No..." She paused, trying to think how to explain. "I... sensed the presence of other trees when I accepted the blessing. Most of them are dead but not all. There must be a few still standing in Maskamere."


    None in Jairah, she knew that. And she wasn''t about to offer him help.


    "Most likely in the north, where we have the least control," said Avon. "Not an easy place to get to. Return to your studies with Master Anwen. I''ll let you know when I have a lead."


    *


    She''d bought herself some time, that was all. She had to use it wisely. No half-decent spy would stick around a place without an exit plan.


    First of all, she learned from Priska the locations of all the magical alarms and with that finally understood what had gone wrong in their mission to kill Lord Avon. There were three alarms: one at the gatehouse to the servants'' road where she''d been caught by the guards, one at the royal entrance, and one at the south gate.


    "What about the river?" she asked.


    "There used to be a bell on the ferry too, ma''am," said Priska, who was flushed with excitement. "But the Drakonians destroyed it during the invasion."


    That explained it. The skiff that crossed the river was a Drakonian boat. She''d used it to reach the palace on the day of the assassination, which was why no bell had sounded then. Of course, they had no way of making another alarm, and so they''d inadvertently given themselves a weak point.


    If she was to ever try escaping again, the river was her best bet. Good to know.


    Secondly, she tested her magic with Master Anwen. The same five objects he''d tested her with before in his study: the glass of water, the copper coin, slipper, scrap of cloth, and the dead beetle pinned to a sheet of paper. In all previous attempts, her magic hadn''t stuck¡ªthat is, the effect hadn''t lasted more than a few seconds. After a while, her results had flattened out: around eighteen seconds for the water, six seconds for the copper, one minute for the slipper, and up to three minutes for the cloth.


    The old scholar rubbed his hands in glee.


    "Twice-blessed! Now this is the real test, my dear¡ªlet''s see what difference a second blessing makes..."


    She turned the water into wine and the copper into gold. She altered the size of the slipper, changed the colour of the cloth, and to her great frustration she still couldn''t do anything with the beetle.


    Anwen timed it all, raising his eyebrows.


    "Hmm," he said. "Mmm, well, that is interesting..."


    "What?" she demanded. "Show me."


    He stepped aside, showing her the results he''d scrawled on the blackboard. Her heart sank.


    "It''s the same. How can it be the same?"


    "You said you did notice a difference in yourself, yes?"


    "Yes. I can sense more magic. Like having better eyesight."


    "Well, then, let me consult my notes..."


    She paced back and forth while he shuffled through his papers. "What did the queen say about the blessings? The first blessing grants power over the self. The second blessing grants power over others."


    "Yes, that''s right¡ªwell remembered."


    She''d practically memorised the queen''s transcripts. "That''s it, then. You''re testing the wrong things. What if I..." She paused. "Anwen, can I try something?"


    He looked up at her. "Something?"


    The most notorious power that the priestesses possessed was the ability to curse someone. Whenever the courtiers discussed magic, they would speak in hushed whispers of cursed rings, poisoned apples, and wicked witches turning men into toads. Much as she would like to try any of those things on Avon, she had sworn under the light of the silvertree not to harm him. But if she could do something more defensive, like a shock or a temporary shield... She might be able to hold off an attacker or give herself a chance to flee.


    "Trust me," she said. "I promise I won''t hurt you."


    Anwen raised his eyebrows. "Well, that''s not very reassuring. But I do trust you. What is it?"


    "Let me take your hand."


    He offered it readily, and Valerie took it. She''d performed a spell like this before, when she''d brought in new sheets for the queen''s bed. Sleep, she thought, focusing her mind on sending waves of soothing magic through her fingertips and into Anwen. At first, he simply gave her a quizzical look. Then she sensed the magic reach his temples and the effect was instant: he blinked once or twice, then slumped into her arms. Valerie nearly buckled over with the dead weight.


    She managed to lay him down with his head resting on a book, then knelt beside him, trembling. That had been so easy. Of course, Anwen trusted her and hadn''t resisted. She also noted the time it had taken for the magic to flow into his head. It would have been better to touch his temples. Sleep resided behind the eyes.


    It was the perfect weapon. It did no harm, so she wouldn''t be breaking her oath by using it on any Drakonian. And even if it only lasted a short time, it would give her a chance to get away¡ªor, she thought, with a dark thrill¡ªto kill.


    "Anwen?" she whispered. "Anwen, are you awake?"


    She gave it a few more seconds, then gently poked his shoulder until the scholar''s eyes fluttered open.


    Anwen blinked at her. "Oh... I''m so sorry, did I doze off?"


    She helped him stand up. "No, no, you''re fine. Why don''t you take a break? I''ll tell Lord Avon about our progress."


    "Yes, good. Quite extraordinary..."

 1.22. Portrait of a Queen

    "I truly believe that even the wickedest of girls can be saved, if only they have the correct spiritual guidance and the willingness to commit. This task I set for myself in the court at Jairah. It would prove to be the greatest test of my faith."


    Bishop Eugene Thorne''s Notes on a Mission in Maskamere


    A strange thing happened later that week. Valerie visited the temple every so often, not to go down to the underground chamber where the seal remained in place, but to sit and reflect in a place that was built for her people. The pillars were carved into likenesses of the silvertrees, their branches spreading up into the ceiling. At the front of the temple, the stained-glass window depicted the goldentree with the figure of Maska standing before it. Maskamery temples always faced east, towards the sun, so that in the morning sunlight would stream through the window and light up the goldentree in all its splendour.


    Valerie entered the temple on one such morning to find Lady Flavia crying on one of the pews. She hurried over at once.


    "Flavia?"


    Flavia looked up, wiping her eyes. "Valerie? I''m sorry, I..."


    "What''s wrong?"


    She sat down next to Flavia and offered a comforting hand on the other lady''s arm. Flavia blinked, sniffing.


    "I just needed a moment... I... Lord Thorne found this in my things."


    She opened the palm of her hand, revealing a silver necklace with a tiny tree dangling from it. Valerie''s eyes widened.


    "This is yours?"


    Flavia nodded. "I should have thrown it away, but... It was my grandmother''s."


    "What happened?"


    "He called me a heretic. A liar. A whore." Flavia rolled her eyes. "He said I was using him for his wealth, and then he told me to get out."


    "I''m sorry."


    Flavia shook her head. "If I go back to him and grovel, if I promise to repent... He might forgive me."


    "Do you want to?"


    If Flavia thought she had a chance to get back in Lord Thorne''s good graces, then why was she here, in the very place he would most disapprove of?


    Flavia was silent for a moment. Then she looked up at Valerie, her eyes wet. "Do you ever... do you ever feel tired of pretending? Of playing their game?"


    "All the time," she said instantly. "I know exactly how you feel."


    "I thought I was fine with it. I didn''t care... We all have to get by, you know. I have a sick mother to take care of... The Drakonians put food on the table."


    "What about the rest of your family? Do you have anyone else who can help?"


    Flavia shook her head. "I''m a Viper. They wiped most of us out."


    A Viper! No wonder she looked like one of the royals. Like the Stewards, the Vipers had long-standing ties with the royal family.


    Valerie sucked in a breath. "I know Quintus Viper."


    Flavia started. "Quintus? He''s alive?"


    "I saw him in Enyr."


    "Enyr?"


    Turning traitor, she thought, like you, but it seemed cruel to say that. Those closest to the royal family had perished in the greatest numbers. Flavia likely had no other options, and Quintus had acted in the way he thought best for his country, even if she disagreed with him.


    "Lord Hafnir introduced us," she said, "but he stayed away from the Drakonians. I don''t know what he was doing there."


    "He''s a wanted man," said Flavia. "It''s been so long, I didn''t think that he''d survived."


    "What about you? Can you stay? If you leave Lord Thorne, I mean."


    "I could still attend court if he doesn''t forbid it, but I''d have no means of living. I''d have to barter my jewels, my clothes..."


    And then she wouldn''t be able to attend court at all, because the illusion of wealth would have vanished. Valerie felt a surge of anger for Flavia''s situation and the Drakonian court that had caused it.


    "You shouldn''t have to do that," she said. "You should make your own trade. What did you do before you joined the court?"


    "I wanted to join the priesthood..." Flavia shook her head. "My mother was a famous diplomat. She had a talent for settling any dispute. But when we lost the war, the Viper name became poison. No one wanted to trade with us. Everything we had was taken by the Drakonians."


    "Do you have a place to stay?"


    "My mother has a crib in the servants'' quarters. But Lord Thorne, he... He''s threatened to throw us out."


    "Go to your mother. Let me deal with Thorne."


    Flavia looked up, startled. "What?"


    "Leave it with me." She''d made up her mind. "You only need to find yourself a new situation, right? If Lord Thorne backs off, then you can stay in the palace, and I''ll bet you''ll have new suitors lining up in no time."


    "Really?"


    Flavia was overwhelmed, so much so that she burst into tears again and hugged her, which Valerie bore with good grace.


    Finally, Flavia drew back and looked up at her with watery eyes. "Are you sure you can make him listen?"


    "I''ll take care of it," Valerie promised.


    *


    Stolen novel; please report.


    She hurried straight to the state rooms, where she was prevented from entering by Captain Doryn.


    "Lady Valerie? Where are you going?"


    The only glimpse she''d had of the state rooms previously had been during a tour given by the palace archivist. She''d learned that these were the offices from which all of Maskamere was governed, from war rooms to meetings regarding the finer points of agricultural policy. An entire wing of the palace was inaccessible to her because women were forbidden to enter. Lord Avon spent much of his week here, in meetings or signing documents or whatever else he did with his time.


    For Valerie, the state rooms were a set of double doors marked by a plaque that said PRIVATE. Sometimes she would catch the lords milling around the carpeted hallway outside it before they strolled down to the hall for dinner.


    "I need to see Lord Avon," she said.


    "Lord Avon is busy and not to be disturbed."


    "When have I ever disturbed him during the day?" She gave Doryn a cajoling look. "Look, do me a favour. It''s urgent."


    Doryn sighed. "I''ll see if I can pass on a message." He pushed open the door, then frowned at her when she didn''t move. "Go back to your rooms. Someone will send for you."


    "I don''t mind waiting."


    He looked like he might insist, then shook his head and disappeared behind the double doors. Valerie gave the other guard in the hallway a smile which was not returned. She found a niche next to a bust of some old Drakonian general where she leaned against the wall to wait. A grandfather clock in the hallway counted down the minutes.


    She made a silent bet with herself: would Avon appear in fifteen minutes or less? Less meant he was taking her request seriously and dropping whatever commitments he had to come to her. More, and he was likely brushing Doryn off or finishing his current work before finding time for her. If he didn''t emerge at all, then he was either absent or cared nothing for her request no matter how urgent it might be.


    The doors opened a couple of times while she waited. First, a harried manservant carrying a stack of papers who walked straight past without noticing her. Second was Argo, one of the courtiers, who blinked at her.


    "Valerie?"


    "Argo," she said in the same tone. "What are you doing in there?"


    He was only a courtier, here to entertain the lords with his music.


    "What are you..." Argo shook his head. "I am a scribe. You shouldn''t be here¡ªI''ll escort you back to the ladies'' parlour."


    He held out his arm as the clock chimed the hour¡ªthirteen minutes, she thought. The double doors opened, and her heart leapt as Avon stepped out. He spotted her at once, coming over, and Argo did an almost comical double take to get out of his way.


    "My lord."


    He bowed and retreated, leaving Avon looking down at her. "Well?"


    "I need your help, my lord. Do you know where we can find Lord Thorne?"


    *


    To her relief, Lord Avon merely listened while she explained the situation during their walk from the state rooms to the chapel. She told him everything that Flavia had told her: Lord Thorne''s dismissal, the situation with Flavia and her mother, and the solution that she had proposed.


    "If he throws her out of the palace, she won''t have a chance to find someone else. She and her mother... they''ll lose everything."


    "Well," said Avon, "let''s talk to Lord Thorne, shall we."


    And he stepped into the chapel, Valerie by his side. She had never set foot in this building before. The Drakonians had built it, hastily, in the months after the invasion: a squat, ugly tower with eye-slit windows made out of whitewashed stone. Inside, the walls were whitewashed too, except for the wooden beams that crisscrossed the roof. At the altar, a statue of a dragon menaced the empty wooden pews. Straw dolls and carved statuettes were strewn at its feet. As they stepped closer, she saw that the statuettes had strangely contorted shapes and tortured expressions, while several of the dolls were stuck with pins. Her stomach felt queasy. This place was not for her.


    Meanwhile, Lord Thorne was standing by the font in his white bishop''s robes, consulting a thin paper book.


    He looked up, and his eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "Lord Avon! And Lady Valerie¡ªwelcome. What a surprise. Would you like to repent to the Divine?"


    "No repenting, thank you," said Avon, stopping by the first row of pews. "I understand that you''ve broken off your contract with Lady Flavia. I''d like to check that you''ll give her the compensation she''s owed."


    Thorne blinked several times in quick succession. He looked like a startled owl. "I¡ªwell¡ªyes, we did break it off, but the fault lies with the girl. She returned to her heathen ways. Most disappointing, I can tell you¡ª"


    "Nonetheless, you dismissed her. You owe her one month''s compensation, during which time she may remain in the palace to seek another situation as she sees fit."


    "I..." Thorne snapped his book shut, frowning first at Avon and then at Valerie. "My lord, did the girl tell you this? I would hope to seek you at your own discretion, rather than the word of these Maskamery girls¡ª"


    "Lady Valerie brought this matter to my attention," said Avon smoothly, "but now I''m talking to you. Did you dismiss Lady Flavia?"


    "I¡ªyes."


    "Then pay her what she''s owed. She''s a pretty girl; I''ve no doubt another lord will find her to his liking."


    "My concern as always is for the soul, my lord. Of course, I was never swayed by her wickedness, but I fear that others..."


    Valerie made a small sound of outrage, and Avon glanced at her, placing a hand on her shoulder. His tone became noticeably colder.


    "Pay her what she''s owed. And if I hear you badmouthing the girl, Lord Thorne, I''ll ensure that your bedchamber remains forever empty, do you understand me?"


    "Yes, my lord."


    Thorne stared after them as they left the chapel. When she reemerged into the bright heat of the afternoon sun, Valerie realised that she was shaking. Avon took her arm, pulling her aside into the water garden. They passed into the shadow of a tall hedge, the chapel out of sight, and he turned to face her.


    "You were right to bring this matter to my attention. I won''t tolerate the Maskamery at my court being mistreated; we have few enough of you with us as it is."


    "I''m... glad to hear it."


    "I must get back to work," he said. "Lord Thorne may blame you. Know that I won''t tolerate that either. Will you keep an eye on Flavia?"


    She nodded.


    He escorted her back into the palace where they parted ways in the entrance hall, and she thought, I can share the good news with Flavia.


    Then she thought: he did the decent thing.


    It was a novel feeling, gratitude towards Avon. She wasn''t quite sure what to make of it.


    *


    Flavia, of course, was eternally grateful. Back in her quarters, she gave Valerie a hug that squeezed the breath out of her, crying into her shoulder.


    "Thank you, thank you..."


    "Let me know if Lord Thorne bothers you," Valerie said firmly, setting her hands on Flavia''s shoulders. "I''ll take care of it."


    Having the Chancellor''s ear was useful¡ªshe could have taken advantage of this earlier. She hadn''t thought about the impact she could have, and Avon had been surprisingly willing to listen to her. For matters that align with his moral code, she thought. He punished rule-breakers, Drakonian and Maskamery alike. There was a certain fairness in that, if only the rules themselves weren''t so stupid.


    Meanwhile, Flavia snuffled into her neck, then drew back. "Oh, I''m sorry. I''m crying all over your locket."


    She''d taken to wearing the locket that Lord Hafnir had given her, tucked beneath her bodice, in case Prince Bakra''s promised agent showed up. So far, no luck.


    "Don''t worry," she said, turning it away from Flavia''s curious gaze. "It''s fine."


    "It''s beautiful. Does it have your picture?"


    "No," she said, although it occurred to her that she hadn''t opened the locket. "It was a gift. From Lord Avon."


    "Could you pass on my thanks to Lord Avon? I can''t thank you enough, either of you..."


    "Of course."


    "I''ve heard we have more visitors joining us over the summer. Lord Avon is offering land and servants to Drakonian nobles wishing to settle here. Perhaps they''ll be looking for a Maskamery companion, do you think?"


    Flavia chattered on about her hopes of finding a new situation with one of these incoming lords. Valerie nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. She touched the locket around her neck and made her excuses.


    As she emerged from the ladies'' quarters and into the main hall, she held the locket up against the dappled light of the chandelier, spinning it to examine the gold etching.


    There was a clasp. She opened it.


    And gasped.


    Inside the locket was a tiny portrait of a woman with vivid green eyes. Those eyes were framed by strong eyebrows and flowing black hair, the Masked Crown upon her head and the Golden Sceptre in her hand. Her nose tilted slightly up. Her cheekbones were high, her lips rose-red.


    There was no mistaking it. The features were the same.


    Valerie dashed back to her room and rang for Priska. The maid appeared in under a minute.


    "My lady?"


    She thrust the locket at Priska. "Who is this? Do you recognise her?"


    Priska frowned. "It''s the queen, ma''am. May Maska remember her."


    She couldn''t breathe. Right under her nose, all this time...


    The figure she had seen in the silvertree wood was Queen Shikra.

 1.23. The Queens Tomb

    "Queen Shikra III, like other Maskamery queens before her, was known for her ageless beauty and corrupt soul. What truly made this queen remarkable was her obstinate refusal to accept any overtures of peace by the Empire even when such arrangements were clearly in her favour."


    Clement Pyridge''s History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II


    It was impossible, of course. And yet the face was unmistakable.


    Queen Shikra was reaching out to me. She''s here somehow, with the silvertrees. She knew my name!


    That was no mere echo. The figure had called her name. Valerie had never met Queen Shikra while she was alive, had never lain eyes on the queen, so this was knowledge the queen could only have obtained after her death.


    Does that mean she''s not dead?


    "Anwen, can you tell me something? Were you there when the queen died?"


    She was taking afternoon tea with him in the garden, a large parasol shielding them from the midday sun.


    His face became sombre. "Yes, sadly. What a tragedy that was."


    "What happened? I heard that she was killed at the harvest festival."


    Bakra had never talked about it. All she knew was that he was the only surviving man of the royal family. His aunt, uncle, cousins, their children, and of course his sister had all perished in a day.


    "Yes. I wasn''t there in the temple myself when it happened, but I heard the most terrible explosion. There were thousands gathered outside to hear the queen speak¡ªit was chaos. The entire temple collapsed. Every soul in there perished."


    "Then how did the prince survive?"


    "The queen saved him at the cost of her own life."


    Interesting. Bakra had never mentioned that. Was it true or only a story that had taken hold after the attack? There were a lot of stories about the queen.


    "What happened to the royal family after they died? I mean, where were they buried?"


    Anwen blinked. "Their remains were buried in the royal cemetery, as per tradition. The Empire may be brutal, my dear, but we show respect for the dead."


    The royal cemetery was not, in fact, at the palace. Because the royals were the leaders of the priesthood, their burial ground lay in the tomb of the Sacred Temple of Jairah¡ªthe same temple that the Empire had blown up. The royal tombs, being deep underground, had survived the explosion, while ironically their living relatives had not. In the two years since the purge and the destruction of the temple, it had been partially rebuilt into only a cemetery. A place for the dead, not the living. She had never visited.


    "Then she''s there. Queen Shikra."


    "I believe so, yes." He peered at her. "Why?"


    "Do you believe in spirits?"


    "Spirits? The souls of those who have passed? I''m afraid that''s not my purview. Lord Thorne would have much more to say on that subject."


    No doubt he would but not to her. Since the encounter in the chapel, Lord Thorne had been pointedly ignoring her. Frankly, she thought this an improvement on his previous attempts to convince her that she was a heathen in dire need of holy instruction.


    Meanwhile, Valerie''s religious education taught her that the spirits of those who passed returned to the earth just as the body did. They did not hang around for a chat. So right now she had two working theories. Either the spirit in the wood was some mystery phantom wearing Queen Shikra''s face, which begged a number of questions about its identity, how it knew her name, and why it would imitate the queen¡ªor it really was the queen. Perhaps the true explanation was the obvious one: Shikra was still alive.


    Of course, she couldn''t say that she suspected that. She had to make up some other story.


    "The queen created the seal. I''ve been thinking that maybe if I can... I don''t know, connect with her somehow, that could help."


    Anwen looked at her thoughtfully. "Speak with the dead? Do you believe that''s possible?"


    "I don''t know," she said, "but if there''s one other place I might sense her magic, it could be there. It''s all I can think of."


    The scholar spread his hands. "I see no harm in giving it a try."


    But it wasn''t his permission she needed. It was Lord Avon''s.


    *


    "And why would I allow that?"


    She clasped her hands in front of her, doing her best to appear polite and well-meaning. Avon was watching her from behind his writing desk, his brows drawn in suspicion.


    "Master Anwen and I... We know that Queen Shikra created the seal. If I could visit her grave... the place where she was buried... I might be able to sense her magic. We think it could help us open the door."


    "Do you?"


    "Or find another silvertree. I don''t know, have you had any luck, my lord?"


    His mouth tightened. "You know where I haven''t had any luck? Finding Prince Bakra. He seems to have vanished."


    "That''s unfortunate, my lord."


    "Do you know where he is?"


    "No."


    He sighed, standing up. "Must I threaten you?"


    "I haven''t left your side, my lord. How could I know where he is?"


    Silently, he picked up one of the letters from a pile on his desk and walked over to show it to her. She stared at the elegant handwriting, the ink slightly smudged where the page had been folded. It was a petition from her grandmother.


    Valerie swallowed.


    "She''s persistent," said Avon. "Writes to me every week. Perhaps you''re looking for a chance to contact her."


    "No," she said at once. "No, I mean, of course I would love to see my family, but that''s not why I''m asking."


    He stared at her and she returned his gaze, willing him to believe her. Finally, he exhaled.


    "Very well. Master Anwen and the palace guards will accompany you to the tomb. They''ll be under orders to kill you if you try to run."


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    She nodded. "I understand, my lord."


    *


    It was a test, she thought. He''d been against her going at first, and she couldn''t think of any other reason for him to change his mind. If it was a test, then great. She was going to pass with flying colours.


    Before she departed, she wrote another letter to Aurelia. None of her family had been allowed to see her, let alone bail her out, but she was grateful that they could keep in touch.


    Thank you, she wrote, for sticking by me. But I''m okay. I''ve decided to stay. It''s better for all of us, and I promise I''ll let you know as soon as we can arrange a visit.


    She said nothing of Bakra''s plans or her own status as a spy. She knew the letters weren''t private.


    Still, they gave her hope.


    Hold fast and keep the faith.


    She repeated that mantra in her head as she stepped into the carriage with Master Anwen and two armed guards. She wasn''t sure this trip would be worthwhile, but at least she was getting out of the palace.


    Anwen quivered with excitement. "Even I haven''t been able to visit the queen''s tomb! This is a momentous step in my research."


    The carriage trundled its way to the south side of the city. She pressed her face against the window, overwhelmed by nostalgia. The streets of Jairah: always lively, always loud. Traders delivered their wares from door to door or gathered around the fountain in the town square to water their horses. Children played with skipping ropes, while grandmothers watched from balconies or sitting rooms above. And black-clothed guards patrolled the streets, in case any of them forgot that Maskamere was under occupation.


    Many things had changed about Jairah since the invasion, from the introduction of money to the transformation of a beautiful community hall into an auction house for trafficking Maskamery prisoners. But one thing remained the same: every Maskamery business was a family business, and every Maskamery family lived and worked in the homes they had built. Lord Turnbull, the previous Chancellor, had attempted to introduce the law of employment, which had been resisted so fiercely by the Maskamery people that he''d given up. Outside the palace, the only people in forced labour were convicts and Drakonian men drafted in from the homeland.


    Was that about to change? She thought back to what Lady Flavia had told her. Bringing in more Drakonian nobles, giving them land and servants¡ªMaskamery slaves, she thought. Lord Avon hadn''t said a word of it to her. She would have to ask him.


    Anwen, of course, was only interested in the tomb. When they arrived, he jumped out of the carriage with a sprightly energy. Valerie followed more cautiously.


    Here was all that remained of the Royal Temple of Jairah. The cast iron gate led to a small building, like a gatehouse¡ªor rather, a charnel house¡ªbuilt from pale stone. Around them was rough ground, with patchy grass and¡ªshe saw with a pang¡ªthe stump of a dead silvertree. Rows and rows of unmarked graves lined the grounds. Halfway down the path there was a monument made of the same stone as the charnel house. She read the inscription:


    Here lie the Fallen of Jairah, 881 Maskamery Souls who lost their Lives in the Drakonian invasion. Their names are unknown, but their Sacrifice was not in vain.


    May they find Peace in the Light of the Goldentree. May Maska Weep for them. May we Remember them.


    "Half of them were priestesses," said Anwen, pausing beside her. "The bodies were burned and thus impossible to identify. Below our feet is a mass grave."


    She couldn''t imagine the carnage. The bodies must have been piled up... She cast out with her magical senses but found nothing, not even from the stump of the silvertree. It was truly dead.


    Sobered, Valerie entered the charnel house, finding it dry but musty. Light drifted in through thin slits, and the walls were lined with stone coffins. A thin layer of sand roughened the stone floor.


    "Is she here?" Valerie asked, her voice sounding hoarse in the dim light.


    "No," said Anwen, "no, these are the bones of old High Priestesses. The royal tombs are deep underground. Follow me."


    Leaving the guards behind at the entrance, they reached a set of stone steps not unlike the steps in the palace temple. Lit braziers showed the way. Anwen picked up one of the torches, indicating for her to do the same, and together they descended into the dark.


    "Is it far?"


    "Not far," said Anwen, who was consulting his own scribbled directions.


    They were walking through a tunnel that gently and almost imperceptibly declined. One side of the tunnel was set with alcoves¡ªthe kings'' tombs, Anwen said¡ªand the other side larger stone chambers for the other members of the royal families. Every so often the tunnel split off. They took two left turns and then a right turn before Anwen indicated the next chamber.


    "Over here," he said, raising his torch to illuminate the inscription above the chamber entrance. "Queen Shikra''s chamber."


    "There''s magic here," said Valerie, feeling it stir as she approached, little eddies and currents flowing from the entrance. Trepidation filled her. "Wait."


    She paused, the goosebumps prickling her skin giving way to a full sense of looming dread, when a hideous screech cut through the air. A mass of inky darkness reared up from the stone floor before them. Valerie yelped, stumbling back.


    "No, we''re not here to steal anything! I promise!"


    The shadow seemed to pluck the air from her lungs. It was vaguely human-shaped, if that human were hooded and cloaked, with too-long spindly arms, no legs, and a wide, gaping maw that suggested it was quite eager to swallow them whole.


    Next to her, Anwen held his torch steady, waiting.


    The shadow flickered, casting from side to side. Then, failing to find any ill intentions, it shrank down and disappeared into the shadows at their feet. Valerie swallowed, looking down.


    "We''re cursed. If we try to steal anything, it''ll strip the flesh from our bones."


    "Well, that''s the usual way of things." Anwen glanced at her. "You haven''t seen a shadow before?"


    "No..."


    Her heart was thumping. She''d heard of them, a type of magical entity the Abbesses could create. One of them guarded the silvertree at St. Maia, but it had never activated in her presence.


    "There used to be one at the palace library," said Anwen. "Hideous, evil thing. It liked to follow me around, breathing down my neck if I so much as looked at a magical book. You weren''t intending to grave rob, were you?"


    She shook her head.


    "Then we should be perfectly safe."


    Anwen stepped through first, Valerie conscious of the too-black shadow that followed him. It would stay lurking, ready to pounce the moment a crime occurred. None of the other chambers they''d passed were spelled. It could be that the old curses had faded...


    She steeled herself and followed him inside the chamber.


    The tomb was perfectly circular. A magical light floated on the ceiling, casting a soft, warm glow. It illuminated several treasures: preserved flowers, a golden cat figurine, works of art, a silver wand. Some of these trinkets were magical. She resisted the urge to touch them. Dominating the centre of the room was the tomb itself: a marble coffin.


    "These treasures are offerings," said Anwen, who had placed his torch in a bracket on the wall. He took out his notebook. "Gifts for the deceased queen. Usually offered by friends and family, but I suppose the servants made do..."


    Valerie raised her hand, shifting the globe light and giving it a little more energy to brighten it. The light illuminated the back of the chamber...


    She stumbled.


    Anwen turned to her in alarm. "Valerie?"


    Green eyes burned into her. The portrait that hung in the tomb was the exact likeness of the tiny replica in the locket, but several times the size, so that she truly felt that her queen was gazing at her. The dappled light shining off that flowing black hair, the detail of her hands cradling the cat in her lap, the warmth in her expression... In all those small graces, the artist had captured the essence of a living soul.


    He looked where she was looking. "Ah, the queen''s portrait. I remember it well. It hung in the royal gallery before Lord Turnbull had it removed."


    She felt as if the portrait''s eyes followed her no matter where she went. The painting wasn''t magical, but she could understand why Lord Turnbull had been so paranoid.


    Taking in a breath, she turned her back on the painting and instead examined the marble coffin. It held a spell, she sensed, one of preservation. If there was a body in there, it should be in the same state it had been when the tomb was sealed.


    "Anwen," she said. "Anwen, do you think you could help me open the coffin?"


    The old man exclaimed in surprise. "Open the coffin! No, no, that would be terribly disrespectful."


    "Please," she said. "I need to see."


    Anwen protested, but she pleaded with him until he gave in. Then, with the portrait''s gaze of disapproval upon them, they shifted the stone lid aside. Foul air escaped the coffin in a hiss. Valerie flinched, dropping the lid. Air wasn''t the only thing that had escaped. The spell had dissolved too; its remnants fluttered around the tomb and the shadow at their feet rushed out like bleeding ink.


    "No!" she cried. "No, we''re not going to take anything. We''ll put it back."


    The light globe flickered. The shadow subsided.


    Anwen licked his lips nervously. "Valerie?"


    She looked at him, then approached the coffin again, hardly daring to breathe. They''d moved the lid just enough to reveal a sliver of the body inside... Black hair straggled over pale flesh and sunken cheeks. The stench of death filled the air.


    "They called her the ageless queen," said Anwen, looking at her. "But all things come to an end..."


    "That''s her," she said. The face was sagging but still recognisable. "She really is dead."


    "Really dead? What do you mean?"


    But she shook her head, trying to hide her mounting disappointment. She had hoped to find an empty coffin or someone else''s body, some evidence that Shikra might have escaped her demise. Instead, she''d confirmed it.


    But then, what had she seen in the silvertree wood?


    "Never mind," she said. "I''m sorry, Anwen. I''ve wasted our time."

 1.24. Sleep

    "Magic isn''t a fixed quantity. It ebbs and flows according to the situation. This invisible hierarchy binds us all."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    The mystery of it rankled her more than ever.


    The body in the coffin was Queen Shikra, she was certain of that. If visiting the tomb had accomplished nothing else, it had at least confirmed that. The queen was dead.


    So, then, how had she seen Shikra in the silvertree wood? How could the figure have known her name?


    It can''t be her if she''s dead. It can''t be.


    So, what was it? An illusion? A disguise? Something else she couldn''t comprehend? Or was everything she had been taught about death utterly wrong?


    "I heard Lord Thorne wants to convert me."


    "Lord Thorne wants to convert everyone."


    She was taking supper with Lord Avon in his chamber. He''d already heard the bad news. Anwen had reported that they''d learned nothing of note, and to her relief he hadn''t pressed her about it.


    "This Divine he talks about," she said. "What is it?"


    "If you''d like a sermon, ask Lord Thorne." Avon sipped his wine, regarding her. "Why do you ask?"


    "I was wondering what you believe about death, my lord."


    "I see. You return from a tomb full of morbid thoughts. Well, the church teaches that life is only the precursor to our true goal: oneness with the Divine. After death, there is a time of reckoning, and if you lived a sufficiently virtuous life, you pass into the Divine and are rewarded with eternal bliss."


    "And if you don''t?"


    "The wickedness of men is punished through suffering on earth. Death, rebirth, a cycle of suffering."


    He didn''t sound convinced by any of this. But he never talked about his faith. Was it not important to him?


    "So... you''re reborn forever? That doesn''t sound so bad."


    "Oh, no," he said. "No, you have only so many chances at redemption. And you''ll know if you''re on your last chance."


    "How?"


    He put down his glass. "You''re born a woman."


    "What?" She spluttered. "That''s absurd!"


    "Ah, now you think it sounds absurd?"


    "No¡ªI mean, it all sounds a bit strange, but... Drakonians really believe that?"


    "There are different schools of thought on the matter. Lord Thorne would have you believe that women are but one sin away from eternal damnation. Men know they''ll have another chance."


    "Do you believe that?"


    "No. I was brought up in what they call the salvationist tradition, which holds that we are all powerless in the face of the Divine. We cannot know whether we have achieved salvation, so we waste less time worrying about it. I prefer to focus on the here and now." He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. "What does Maska say about it? The Ninth Testimony."


    "Our souls return to the earth."


    He nodded. "Yes. That''s it. Almost nothing about any afterlife at all. Yours is a very practical religion."


    "You''ve read Maska''s Testimonium."


    "Yes," he said.


    The copy he kept wasn''t only a curiosity, then. He spoke of Maska''s writings almost with... admiration.


    "Why?"


    "It''s an interesting book."


    "But all the changes you''ve made since coming here are the complete opposite of what Maska teaches."


    "I said it was an interesting book. I didn''t say I agreed with it."


    "Is it true that more Drakonian nobles are coming to take over our land?"


    This was the second topic she wanted to talk to him about. She hadn''t expected to gain much insight regarding the mystery of Queen Shikra¡ªthat, she would have to investigate herself¡ªbut Avon would be able to tell her his plans for the future of Maskamere. If he deigned to share them.


    Avon raised an eyebrow. "Our land, you mean. And yes, I hope more will come."


    "What about the people that already live there?"


    "Most will be allowed to stay. They''ll serve their lord and pay their tithe."


    "Tithe?"


    When she looked puzzled, he clarified: "Tax." She didn''t know what that was either, and Avon shook his head. "I forget, the entire concept of an economy is foreign to you. But you don''t have to worry about that. That''s my job."


    "I worry about the people you''re planning to enslave."


    Another exhaled breath. She''d spent enough time with him to recognise the signs of frustration.


    "No one is being enslaved."


    "Will they have any choice in serving their Drakonian masters?"


    "If they''re unhappy with their circumstances, they''ll be free to seek employment elsewhere."


    "With another Drakonian master."


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    "Or Maskamery, those who adopt our ways."


    "So there won''t be a choice. Yours will be the only way."


    It was depressing to voice it out loud. That was the outcome of all this, Avon''s ultimate goal¡ªand what he meant by Maskamere becoming a vassal of the Empire.


    He considered her. "What''s your point?"


    She shook her head. "My point is that my point doesn''t matter. Everything you''ve done ensures that."


    "I don''t wish to silence you," he said. "Believe it or not, I''m enjoying this conversation. You have an interesting perspective."


    "Is that a roundabout way of saying you disagree?"


    He smiled. "Not entirely. When we were in Enyr, you told me that a thousand years of the royal family''s rule wasn''t a mistake. You were right. Maskamere has enjoyed remarkable peace and stability over the centuries. We could stand to learn from that."


    "Hmm," she said. "It''s impressive."


    "What is?"


    "Your talent for making greed sound like wisdom."


    "It''s ambition, not greed, and I think there''s plenty of that in you too, little witch."


    "You sound like you approve."


    "It would be hypocritical of me not to."


    His eyes gleamed, and she couldn''t help but smile back. It was getting easier to be familiar with him. There was danger in that but also opportunity.


    Valerie rearranged the folds of her skirt over her knees. "I''ve learned a few more magic tricks since the blessing, my lord. Would you like me to show you?"


    "If you like."


    His tone was cool, but he leaned forward, watching as she stood up. He''d probably seen all manner of charlatans and minor conjurers during his time in Maskamere. Turning water into wine or making a button disappear might be an entertaining trick, but it wouldn''t surprise him. No, she wanted to show him something new.


    She looked down at her dress, chiffon pink with ruffled sleeves and a ribbed waistband, courtesy of the royal wardrobe. Her hair was pulled back into a messy braid. It would do, she thought. Turning her back on Avon, she undid the braid and combed through the loose hair with her fingers. She could feel his gaze on her.


    She closed her eyes, passing her hand over her face... and turned around.


    His reaction was instant. He made an incoherent noise, paling in shock.


    "You recognise her, then. Did you ever meet?"


    Hearing her voice come out of a different mouth seemed to calm him somewhat. "Yes," he said. "How did you...?"


    "It''s an illusion," said Valerie. Her magic was fading already, to her disappointment, the mask dissipating into nothing. "I didn''t really change anything."


    "But you can wear another face. Disguise yourself."


    That was troubling news for him, and she let him be troubled by it. Valerie touched her cheek. "Not for long."


    "How do you know what she looked like?"


    "There''s a portrait in her tomb. I saw her face."


    "You captured her likeness exactly," said Avon wonderingly. "I thought for a moment..."


    She approached him, deliberately sitting down next to him instead of her usual place in the armchair opposite, and clasped her hands in her lap.


    "How did you meet? If you don''t mind me asking, my lord."


    He considered her for a moment. "We met when I proposed."


    Valerie blinked. "Proposed?"


    "Yes. There are several ways to conquer a nation. Marriage is one of them. After... after my wife passed away and that political alliance no longer mattered, my father instructed me to propose to Queen Shikra."


    "What happened?"


    "I was invited to a ball here in the palace. The queen attended the ball, almost as radiant as you, and danced with me. When I proposed, she looked at me as if I was a toad attempting to prance about in a waistcoat and shoes, and laughed." He gave a wry smile. "Perhaps the most humiliating experience of my life."


    This was all news to Valerie. A dozen questions raced through her head. She settled on one. "Why ask her to marry? You must have known that isn''t one of our customs."


    "My father believed that an alliance with Drakon would persuade the queen to give our customs a chance. He was mistaken."


    "Did you... did you kill her?"


    She wondered if revenge had played some part in the Empire''s relentless pursuit of Maskamere. Perhaps Avon couldn''t bear to be humiliated, or perhaps the Emperor wished to avenge the slight on his son.


    But Avon shook his head. "I orchestrated the invasion of Maskamere, not the killing of the royal family. If you''d like to cast blame on me, blame me for the pillaging of your villages and the burning of the silvertrees."


    She looked away. Avon was well-known as the general who had led the Drakonian army to victory in the first invasion. Those were the only stories she''d heard about him before they''d met. Stories of his ruthlessness, the determination that had seen hundreds of men dead, women and children captured, and priestesses burned. Sometimes she forgot about that.


    Avon looked at her. "I assume that''s why you hate me."


    Her hands tightened in her lap. "You said you disagreed with the burning of the silvertrees."


    "I did, and I wish I had objected more strongly. It was the right tactic to win the war. But not the right tactic to win the nation."


    The Emperor had ordered the burning of the silvertrees. He was the highest authority in the Drakonian Empire. Avon answered to him as his general as well as his son.


    She looked at him. "Everything you''ve said about helping Maskamere to prosper..."


    "It''s how I intend to win the nation. People who benefit from our laws are more likely to follow them."


    Strategy. It was all... "Politics," she said. "Even your proposal to the queen... It was political. Is that what marriage is?"


    "For those of my status, yes," said Avon, "much as the poets like to sing about love. Perhaps things would have been different if there had been feelings involved, but I doubt it. Usually, feelings only get in the way."


    "But you have feelings for me."


    He stilled. Valerie persisted.


    "You do, don''t you?"


    Avon''s mouth thinned. "You''re a case in point. You despise me, you would kill me if you could, and your only utility to me resides in your value as a sorceress. Every week Lord Gideon implores me to put you in irons. I hope you''ll prove him wrong."


    "I don''t despise you."


    "I''d rather you said you wouldn''t kill me."


    "Can I touch you?"


    That caught him off-guard. He blinked at her, and she thought of how much she''d been enjoying this conversation, how arresting his eyes were in the firelight. She shuffled a little closer to him, and he cocked his head, bemused.


    She caressed his cheek. Sleep, she thought, letting her magic seep into his skin. He blinked, eyelids drooping.


    "Val..."


    Shock flared in his eyes, jolting him out of his lull. He was fighting it. She cupped his jaw, focusing her power. For a moment she thought it was working, but then without warning Avon surged to his feet, and her spell dissipated into nothing.


    Like the copper coin. The glass of water.


    Her effect on him was merely ephemeral.


    He stared at her, breathing hard. Then, abruptly, he yanked her upright and pulled her to him, shaking her like a rag doll.


    "What did you do?"


    He all but snarled the question, hands gripping her shoulders.


    "I was testing a theory," she gasped.


    "Never¡ªnever do that again, do you hear me?"


    His thumbs pressed into her collarbone. He was going to leave a bruise. She braced herself with her hands.


    "You''re hurting me!"


    Slowly, he released her. "Explain."


    "It was a sleep spell. I meant no harm." The firelight flickered, shadows playing on his face. "You know I can''t use my power to hurt you."


    "Magic isn''t the only way to harm someone."


    He''d noticed that little loophole. Well, he wasn''t stupid. She''d expect nothing less.


    "Someday I''ll do that for real." She lifted her chin. "You might want to think about that."


    "Go to bed," he said. "I''ll punish you in the morning."


    Her heart sank. "Punish me?"


    "Go."


    "Punish me how?"


    A flicker of irritation passed across his face. "You''re forgetting your place. What do you call me?"


    She swallowed, looking down. "My lord."


    "And what is my command?"


    "To go to bed, my lord."


    "Better."


    He indicated the door. Valerie didn''t waste time arguing. She retreated to her quarters, as ordered, and crawled into bed where she ducked under the covers as if they might shield her from his wrath.


    She hadn''t anticipated such a strong reaction, although in hindsight it should have been obvious. Like her, he hated anything that made him lose control. But if that spell was ever going to work, she needed to establish some kind of power over him. Find a weakness, whether it was his feelings for her that he''d all but admitted, or something else.


    All her efforts tonight at getting his guard down had come to nothing. Maybe it''s impossible, she thought. As long as she was his prisoner, he would always have the upper hand.


    And now she had to worry about how he might punish her. Dread stuck to her like sweat.


    He might beat her. She remembered the knife in his hand. The sudden agony as the blade bit down. It could be much worse¨C


    Breathe. Focus.


    She closed her eyes and breathed. Every time her thoughts distracted her, she brought herself back until, eventually, she slept.

 1.25. Shopping

    "My sister, she was torn in two.


    My niece, she took her only breath.


    Pray, tell, what hope must we eschew


    In this new world where birth means death?"


    Unknown, Maskamery War Poetry


    The next morning, he summoned her for breakfast. She decided that she wouldn''t apologise¡ªor talk at all, unless spoken to.


    "You''re quiet today."


    She sipped her tea and said nothing.


    "You can express your displeasure with me, but I don''t want you to be moody at court."


    "As you wish, my lord."


    "Fine." He picked up a slip of paper from his silver tea tray, then slid it over to her. "Read it."


    She frowned, then put down her tea and picked up the slip of paper. Before the invasion, documents like these would have been stamped with the royal seal. This one was stamped with Lord Avon''s seal, a raven, but he hadn''t yet signed it. The note was written in spidery handwriting, and she read it in mounting horror.


    It was a warrant for Lavinia''s arrest. Lavinia, one of her cousins, and mother to twin boys and an eighteen-month old girl.


    Avon steepled his fingers together. "I told you after your first transgression to consider that your actions affect others. That I wouldn''t come after your family so long as you behaved."


    She shook her head, struggling for words. "This is my punishment? I didn''t even do anything! The spell didn''t work."


    "Your assassination attempt didn''t work either, but you''ve still been punished for that. I expect Lavinia''s repentance to be passed in under a week, when she will be sent to auction. She''ll leave Jairah and never see your family again."


    The cold harsh reality of it was beginning to sink in. Lavinia had nothing to do with the resistance. The Crescents had tolerated her anti-Drakonian activities, but none of them were willing to join in. She''d condemned an innocent woman to a terrible fate.


    "Auction," she whispered. "You mean...?"


    "The fate I saved you from," said Avon. "I expect she''ll be taken in as a housekeeper or maid or somesuch."


    The first time Valerie had heard about the auction was through her friend Iora early on in her days of joining the resistance. They''d gotten up to see the parade of soldiers returning from the war in the north: Drakonian knights in armour marching with rifles, swords and spears, and the rolling cages of captured prisoners of war on display for the crowds.


    "Oh, no," Iora had said softly.


    "What?"


    Her friend had pointed. "Look. Women."


    Sure enough, one of the cages contained female prisoners, all of them either sullen or scared. Valerie had wondered why there were so many. The only Maskamery women who took part in warfare were priestesses. This was long after the purge; there were no priestesses left to fight.


    "Maska save them." Iora touched her necklace which had a tiny silvertree emblem. "They''ll be going to auction."


    "Auction?"


    "The Empire likes to enslave its prisoners. They get sold off at auction to the highest bidder. If you''re a woman under forty, you''ll be forced into bed by some mangy old lord, and if you''re over forty you''ll end up a cleaner or washer. Or worse, you''ll get bought by a brothel."


    Her eyes had widened. "A brothel?"


    Such rotten places had sprung up around Jairah like a plague since the Empire''s occupation, luring in desperate women who were forced to sell themselves to make ends meet.


    "It happened to Quintus''s cousin," said Iora. "She was part of a cell that got caught. Because she was a traitor, she was sentenced to ten years enslaved by the Empire. She lasted six months before she hanged herself."


    That story had stayed with her, unsurprisingly, because it quantified the risk she faced herself. There weren''t many women active in the resistance. Not that the punishments the men faced weren''t also harsh: hard labour in the fields or mines, or being sent out to sea¡ªall the dangerous and dirty jobs that no one else wanted to do. And a pretty young man might also be bought by a brothel or catch a nobleman''s eye. Their bodies were vassals of the Empire, and the Empire exploited them.


    It was strange to think that she was in this situation now, sitting in the beautiful breakfast room in the palace, the morning sunshine streaming in through the balcony window. The croissants looked suddenly unappetising.


    Valerie put down the note, her expression hollow. "What about her children?"


    "They''ll go to an orphanage," said Avon, "and when they''re old enough, the girl will be married and the boys will be conscripted."


    Maska help her. She''d brought ruin on her family, all because she''d attempted a harmless spell he didn''t like.


    "I thought you were going to punish me. Please, my lord." If she had to beg, she would. "I can accept a fair punishment. This isn''t fair."


    "Punishment is meant to be effective, not fair."


    He reached out for the warrant, but before he could take it, she snatched it back and tore it in two.


    Avon sighed. "Valerie."


    "All you''re doing," she said, "is making me vengeful."


    Something flickered in his eyes. Valerie didn''t care to interpret it. She stood up, abandoning her breakfast, and walked out without a word.


    *


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    Part of her expected him to come after her, or yell, or send in the guards. But none of those things happened, and Valerie walked through the palace entrance hall where she was accosted by Lady Melody and one of her maids.


    "Oh, Valerie! I was just looking for you. I was meant to take a shopping trip with Amilia today, but the poor thing has been taken ill. You simply must accompany me. We''re only a week away from the capital''s visit, and I''ve yet to freshen up my wardrobe."


    This was rather more information than she was used to hearing from Melody all at once, and Valerie blinked at her.


    "Why are you looking for me? What about the other ladies?"


    "Darling, I can''t have you embarrassing yourself. You are the jewel of the Maskamery court, Lord Avon''s favoured companion. Drop everything, I insist."


    Valerie almost retorted that if her wardrobe was so important, why hadn''t Melody invited her in the first place? But Melody was already taking her arm, steering her through the entrance hall and beyond into the grounds. It turned out that she was very good at insisting she got her way to everyone. Guards questioned them to no effect. Even Captain Doryn only shot her a bemused look as Melody showed her into the carriage.


    And once they departed the palace gates, her heart beat faster. They were in the city! Surely this was an opportunity...


    "We must be up-to-date," Melody said in the carriage. "We can''t have the Drakonian court laughing at us when they arrive."


    In different circumstances, she might have been excited about the shopping part too. She was familiar with the high fashions that Melody talked about from a merchant''s point of view. The Crescents prided themselves on making high-quality durable garments to exact specifications in any style their customers requested.


    Which meant there was no reason she couldn''t ask to visit their store. If she could visit the Crescents... warn Lavinia... She might be able to save her cousin before she was arrested.


    The carriage pulled up, Captain Doryn opening the door for them, and Valerie stepped out into a familiar street. This was the High Road, where lords and ladies¡ªor more often, their servants¡ªcame to order all manner of goods, from clothing and jewellery to sweet treats and baked goods. She recognised the shoemaker opposite her because it was next door to the Crescent store which she had called home for the past two years.


    "Do you know this part of town?" Melody asked, seeing her expression.


    "I do..."


    She explained. Melody was delighted. "Well, why don''t we say hello to your uncle. I''m sure he''ll be pleased to see you."


    "Did you know...?"


    "Know what?"


    Did you arrange this? It was the perfect stroke of luck¡ªtoo perfect. But Melody was either innocent or an excellent actress, giving nothing away as they entered the store.


    And there was Koel behind the counter, his long hair tied back, inspecting a loose button on a petticoat with that intense frown she knew so well. The bell rang when they entered, and he looked up, his expression changing from indifference to surprise.


    "Valerie?"


    She curtsied. "Uncle Koel. May I introduce Lady Melody. We''ve come from the royal palace."


    "In search of a gown," Melody added. "Your latest evening wear, may we see it?"


    Koel frowned at her but collected himself. In a few minutes, he had Melody busy trying on a selection of gowns with her cousin Elissa, which left them on the main floor alone.


    "So," said Koel. "You''ve moved up in the world."


    She glanced around to make sure they wouldn''t be overheard. "Have any Drakonian guards come by today?"


    His frown deepened. "Not today. You know they ransacked the store because of you?"


    "Is Lavinia here?"


    "Upstairs, with Aurelia."


    She didn''t need telling twice. Valerie hurried up to where she knew her grandmother would be, her favourite sitting room overlooking the High Road. From her rocking chair by the bay window, she could knit and watch all the goings-on outside.


    It was just as she remembered. The rocking chair, Aurelia and her knitting, a soft blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders.


    "Grandma."


    Aurelia looked up. "Valerie?"


    She''d never been so relieved to see that wrinkled face, kind beady eyes taking her in. Valerie buried her face in her grandmother''s bony shoulder, hugging her tightly.


    "I''m so sorry it took me so long to see you."


    "Nonsense," Aurelia rasped in her papery voice. "Those Drakonian devils have you all tied up. Did they let you go?"


    "No... Where''s Lavinia?"


    "Here." Her cousin''s voice. "Valerie?"


    Valerie turned around as Lavinia entered the room, hair pulled into a messy bun, wiping her hands on her apron. This room also served as a playroom. Lavinia''s infant girl lay sleeping in a crib. Her twin boys rushed in after her, squealing when they saw Valerie.


    "Val! Val! You''re back!"


    "Is Markus coming back too?"


    "I''m just visiting," she said, ruffling their hair. They''d grown, she thought, with a pang. Ianus, the elder of the two, looked up at her with big adoring eyes, while Silvius ran back to his toy wooden bricks. He liked to build things.


    And if Lord Avon had his way, they''d be ripped away from their mother and taken to an orphanage.


    "Val! You''re okay."


    Lavinia hugged her, but Valerie had no time for that. She stepped back quickly, shaking her head. "I came to warn you. The Drakonians are planning to arrest you. You need to leave right now."


    The commotion had gotten Aurelia''s attention. Her grandmother swung the rocking chair around, cocking her head.


    "What''s that?"


    Valerie backed into the middle of the room so that Aurelia could hear her too. "Lavinia, you need to get out. They''re coming today."


    Lavinia was bewildered. "But why? I haven''t done anything."


    "It doesn''t matter. They''re doing it to threaten me. Please. If you don''t get out now, they''ll take you and your children away, and you''ll never see us again."


    It took more cajoling than she would have liked, not helped by the children getting upset and her aunts coming up to find out what all the fuss was about. But once Aurelia got the message and ordered Lavinia to make haste, everything happened quickly. She sent Lavinia off to get packed and another cousin to calm the boys down and tell them they were off on a fun day trip.


    Valerie glanced anxiously out of the window, aware that Drakonian guards might arrive at any minute. She also knew that she had to return to Melody soon or her companion would miss her. She was about to do so when Aurelia called her.


    "Valerie. Sit with me."


    She knelt by the rocking chair. "Grandma?"


    Aurelia took her hands. "I see they''re feeding you, at least."


    Valerie smiled. "Yes, Grandma."


    "How is the palace?"


    "I''m handling it."


    "You''re serving the Chancellor?"


    She nodded.


    "Are you protecting yourself?"


    "I haven''t needed to."


    Her grandmother blinked in surprise. "Drakonian men aren''t like ours. They won''t show respect."


    "I know. I found a way to manage him. He needs my magic."


    "What for?"


    Time was short, so she explained as much as she could. When she''d finished, Aurelia sucked in her cheeks and resumed her knitting. She was halfway through a pair of baby boots.


    "What do you think of the prince''s plan?" Valerie asked.


    "Does he have a plan?"


    She frowned. "I hope so."


    The knitting needles went click-clack. She''d always liked that sound. It reminded her of her true grandmother, Luciana, who used to knit too. But now it made her think of a clock ticking, and she shifted on her knees in irritation.


    "I think you''d better ask," said Aurelia.


    "Ask?"


    "Check in by the workshop before you go. We have something for you."


    Her curiosity was piqued. Valerie rose, squeezing her grandmother''s shoulder. "Thank you."


    "Val."


    Valerie paused.


    Aurelia''s expression was as stern as she''d ever seen it but not without sympathy. "I trust you more than I trust them. You always had good instincts. You''ll need them."


    Her heart soared. It was the encouragement she needed.


    She kissed her grandmother farewell, then checked in with Koel who confirmed that Lavinia and her children had departed. Good. Valerie made her way to the back of the store where a wooden door led into the workshop.


    Nostalgia swept over her. Here were the shelves filled with rolls of fabric from all over Maskamere and beyond. The sheets of paper on the trestle table were crowded with Koel''s designs. Next to it, the magical loom passed down to them by a great-grandmother who had been a High Priestess¡ªValerie had successfully replicated the faded spell, and she aspired to surpass her work someday¡ªand all the assorted paraphernalia for stitching, sewing, and needlework. Not so long ago, this workshop had been hers.


    And sitting at the work table that she''d once sewed many a garment on, not one of her cousins...


    "Hey." The girl''s smile was warm and familiar.


    Iora.

 1.26. Inside Help

    "A lady''s bosom holds many secrets."


    Lady Briony Bretton''s Notes on a Scandal at Court


    It was Markus who introduced her to the resistance. First, he took her to the apothecary a few minutes down the High Road, a place she had visited several times before to collect ointments and other medicine. The girl waiting for them was no older than she was, with warm, kind eyes, arched brows, and plump cheeks.


    "Iora? You''re in the resistance?"


    Iora smiled. "Hey."


    "I''ve got some supplies to grab," said Markus. "Mind if I leave Val with you?"


    "Sure."


    He disappeared, Valerie still processing this revelation. Iora Salver was a mild-mannered chemist she''d only ever seen mixing herbal remedies or carrying deliveries from her uncle''s cart. What on earth was she doing with the resistance?


    She approached the counter as Iora came around to greet her.


    "You never said anything."


    "Well, it''s supposed to be a secret."


    "Right..."


    She looked around the store as if there might be some sign that she had missed, but the apothecary hadn''t changed. The shelves were filled with herbs and potions, salves and ointments, cures of every kind gathered from Maskamere and beyond.


    "This place is a hideout," said Iora. "A shelter. We smuggle supplies: weapons, gear, medicine. Anything we can."


    "And your family..."


    "We''re all in on it," Iora confirmed. "They do the smuggling. Me, I''m a messenger."


    "Why?" she asked. "Why risk your lives?"


    "I''ll show you."


    Iora took her through the store and out again via a back door that led into a large courtyard. A gravel path bordered a square patch of grass. Behind her was the apothecary. To the left, a residential building which the Salver family shared with their kin, the Suns. To the right, the Sun clinic where the sick and injured of Jairah came to be healed. And ahead...


    Valerie blinked a tear out of her eye.


    In the middle of the lawn stood the blackened remains of a tree stump. And though it had been cut down to the root, she recognised it instantly.


    "A silvertree," she whispered. Though it wasn''t the first dead tree she had encountered, it was always upsetting to find one. Valerie felt the loss of the tree like one of her own, as if she were gazing on the corpse of a family member. The building directly behind the dead tree was also in ruins, with crumbled walls, blasted out windows, and ash-covered stone.


    "They called it the Healing Tree," said Iora. "All the healers in Jairah were blessed by it. Those ruins over there used to be the temple and the convent where we trained. My mother was the High Priestess. I was an acolyte."


    "You were going to receive the blessing."


    Iora nodded. "I was a month away when the war happened. We rebuilt the clinic, our home... But not the temple. We can''t bring that back."


    "I''m sorry."


    "That''s not the worst thing. My family suffered, but so did everyone. What really upsets me is all the good we did for the city that we''ve lost. Half the apothecary used to be filled with homeopathic medicine. Do you know what that is?"


    "Magic potions," she said. "We used to visit a healer in town who made them."


    "They''re made with holy water. The healers spell the bottles to treat different ailments. We even used to get Drakonian visitors before the war, offering us all kinds of riches for a miracle cure."


    "But the potions wouldn''t work in Drakon."


    Maskamere was the only place in the world where magic existed, because of the silvertrees. Everyone knew that. Outside of Maskamere, magic simply vanished.


    Iora nodded. "I know. We''d always tell them to take the medicine here. Some of them didn''t listen. But when our healers were killed, the potions stopped working. We had cures for things that don''t even have cures. Then overnight... it was just water. Every day people in Maskamere are dying of diseases that we could have cured. We do what we can, but..."


    She shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. Impulsively, Valerie wrapped an arm around her shoulder, Iora leaning in to rest her head.


    Iora sniffed. "Anyway, that''s why I joined the resistance. Sorry for the long story."


    "No," she said. "I understand. It''s why I''m here too."


    *


    In the backroom of the Crescent store, Iora was a sight for sore eyes. For a moment they simply stared at each other, then by mutual consensus they both ran forward and embraced tightly.


    "Iora!" Valerie buried her head into Iora''s shoulder, breathing in the scent of thyme and rosemary. "I can''t believe you''re here! What''s going on?"


    Iora stepped back, regarding her fondly. "I missed you too. Do you have a rose for me?"


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    Valerie blinked, nonplussed. The silence stretched on a moment too long, Iora starting to look worried, before her memory jogged itself¡ªHafnir, their meeting on the castle balcony in Enyr...


    "You''re the spy."


    Iora nodded. "Sorry it took so long for us to contact you. You did speak to Lord Hafnir, right?"


    "Yeah." She showed Iora the locket tucked into her bodice. "Were you waiting for me? How did you know I''d be here?"


    "I don''t know. I was told you''d be here, that''s all."


    "By who?"


    But Iora shook her head. "I can''t say."


    Her mind was in a tizzy. Someone had arranged this meeting. And who had intercepted her that morning in the palace, who had insisted that she come along on this shopping trip, out of the blue...


    The questions tumbled out of her. "Is it Lady Melody? Is she a spy?"


    "Lady who?"


    Iora''s confusion looked genuine. Maybe she really didn''t know anything.


    "Did you know about Lavinia? That they''re planning to arrest her?"


    If she did, then information had leaked from the palace, further evidence that the resistance had someone else on the inside.


    "I just heard that from Koel," said Iora. "I gave Lavinia the address of someone who can help. They''ll get her out of the city, don''t worry."


    "Okay. Okay."


    She paced around the workshop. So that information hadn''t leaked from the palace yet¡ªor rather, she''d leaked it. But someone had gotten her to the Crescent store today so that she could pass on that information, and someone had told Iora to meet her...


    Who else could it be if not Lady Melody?


    "Hey." Iora stopped her with a hand on her arm. "I can''t stay long. I need to go before the Drakonians come looking. Do you have any news for us?"


    "Yes, but..." She had questions for Iora first. "Did Hafnir pass on my message? That Quintus betrayed us? Is the prince safe?"


    Iora nodded. "Your warning got to him in time¡ªhe escaped the Drakonian trap and banished Captain Quintus from his entourage. He''s safe. That''s why it took so long to get to you. We had to find a new hideout and regroup."


    "Are you in contact with Bakra?"


    Another nod.


    "There are some things I need to know about the palace. Can you ask him?"


    "Yeah, of course."


    Iora seemed surprised that Valerie was taking charge, but she''d had plenty of time to think about what information she needed to pass to the resistance and what she needed in return.


    "Tell him that Avon is trying to open the door below the palace temple. It''s sealed by a spell. I need to know what''s behind that door and how to break it."


    "Palace temple door. What''s in there, how to break the spell." Iora nodded. "Got it."


    "I don''t know how much longer I can stall him for. I need to know what Bakra is planning."


    Iora hesitated. "I can''t tell you that either."


    She could have screamed in frustration, but Iora quickly clarified:


    "I''m sorry, but you understand, right? We can''t risk it if you get caught. It''s better that you don''t know."


    "And what if you get caught?"


    "I don''t know much more than you."


    "So what, I''m supposed to just sit here until Bakra pulls his thumbs out of his arse?"


    "Val, I..." Iora''s lip wobbled. "I''m sorry. Look, we''ll keep in touch. I''ll get a message to Bakra, and I''ll try to pass on as much information as I can."


    She exhaled, controlling herself. "Fine. How are we going to talk to each other?"


    "I''ll find you. You''re doing okay, right? It''s not too awful?"


    Oh, fine. Just the occasional bit of torture. Mostly tea and croquet.


    She swallowed that response¡ªshe didn''t want to be petty¡ªand shook her head. "I''m good. Don''t worry about me. Just... can you make sure Lavinia is safe? And look out for my family?"


    "I''ll do what I can."


    The two girls hugged again, and then, finally, Iora departed. Valerie took a moment to calm herself, breathing in and out. No matter how frustrated she felt, Iora was a friend. And though she hated being kept in the dark, here at last was a sign that the resistance might be of help.


    Maybe Bakra did have a plan. Maybe he''d actually deliver on it.


    She could only hope.


    *


    Before she departed the Crescent workshop, there was one more thing Valerie wanted to do. At the back stood a big old closet where they kept their overcoats and raincoats for the winter months. Valerie opened it.


    Her eyes lit up. Tucked inside the closet was an oversized jacket, muddy brown and made of canvas. It wouldn''t be suitable for the nobility, so she guessed Koel hadn''t found a buyer. Valerie picked it up, riffling through the inside pockets until she found¡ªyes! Her favourite thimble. She''d bewitched it with a devious little spell that seared the flesh, a handy deterrent against Drakonian guards who got a little too familiar when they stopped her on her way home.


    It was also a perfectly good thimble.


    She tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. There was nothing else worth taking, not in her current circumstances. She would have liked the jacket too, but she could hardly hide it, and she didn''t fancy explaining it to the guards.


    Instead, she rejoined Lady Melody on the shop floor. Despite the whirlwind of events that had occurred since entering the store, it was only a few minutes since they''d parted. How strange, then, to find herself regarding Melody in a completely different light.


    Are you a spy?


    "Valerie," Melody trilled, twirling around in a gorgeous plum ballgown. "You were taking forever; you must help me decide between these dresses."


    Valerie obliged, then went on to try a few evening gowns herself. It was quite pleasant to be in this position: the customer, rather than the backroom seamstress with her fingers worn raw. But she was also looking for an opportunity to question Melody.


    She selected a golden dress that shimmered with every movement, a halterneck at the front and cut deeply at the back.


    Melody regarded her sceptically. "You can''t wear a corset with that."


    "That''s the idea."


    "Darling, no one likes low-hanging fruit."


    "Oh, I know. Luckily I don''t have that problem."


    What Valerie didn''t say was that she had a secret weapon: spelled undergarments of her own making that provided an uncanny degree of support considering the flimsy material. It was her most popular garment, much prized by actresses, dancers, and other performers.


    Of course Melody didn''t need to know that.


    Melody raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure you wouldn''t like to try anything else? I could wait outside."


    She paused. "Did you know?"


    "Know what, darling?"


    "About my family. This store."


    Melody passed off her two chosen gowns to an assistant. "Family is important to all of us. Take all the time you need."


    That was an answer or enough of one. She wished that she could stay longer, but she didn''t want to be hanging around when the Drakonian guards arrived.


    She did hug them all, even Koel and Kamila, before they departed. When they finally emerged from their shopping trip, trailed by servants overloaded with bags, she curled her hand around Melody''s arm.


    "Thank you."


    Their eyes met. And whatever sharpness she found in Melody''s gaze, there was softness behind it too. The barest incline of the head, an acknowledgement. Admitting that we''re on the same side?


    Not quite.


    Meanwhile, Captain Doryn was grim-faced as ever when he ushered them back into the carriage.


    "There''s unrest in the east quarter," he told them. "We''ll take a detour."


    Valerie sat up in her seat. "What''s going on?"


    "Nothing to concern you ladies. Sit tight."


    He closed the carriage door, Valerie and Melody exchanging troubled looks. The carriage rolled into action, horse hooves clip-clopping down the street, and she could barely catch a glimpse of the scenery outside through the tiny window. Unease twinged in her stomach.


    They passed the market square and turned into the residential streets of the north quarter. Presently, she heard shouts in the distance.


    Melody leaned over and pulled the blind down.


    "I wanted to see!" Valerie complained.


    "It''s better that they don''t see us," Melody snapped back. "I don''t want to be targeted by an unruly m¨C"


    She didn''t finish the thought, because that was when the rock smashed into their window.

 1.27. Blood and Vim

    "Sending a priestess into battle is a last resort. We have better ways to defend ourselves."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    The carriage rocked, jolting them in their seats, then ground to a halt. She heard muffled shouting outside. Five guards, she thought. They''d been accompanied by five guards, including Captain Doryn, and four servants. Under normal circumstances that was enough to deter a crowd.


    Another stone hit the window with a loud crack, and Melody yelped. Valerie jumped too. Footsteps passed close by, followed by more yelling, and then the carriage lurched forward as two more missiles hit the bodywork. A man screamed a bloodcurdling cry that made the hair on the back of her arms stand on end.


    She tugged at the blind, but Melody grabbed her arm, stopping her.


    "We need to see what''s happening! What if they come in?"


    "Don''t let them!" Melody insisted. "Let the guards do their job."


    "A man just died; didn''t you hear?"


    Then came another, even worse cry: the scream of a horse. Abruptly, the carriage jolted sideways, flinging both women into the right-side window. Melody squealed as Valerie landed almost on top of her, and she''d had enough. She scrabbled for the left-side door, opened it, and hauled herself out to see what was going on.


    They were in a narrow street surrounded by tall houses. And they were being beset from above as well as either side; someone flung a stone from a window which hit the wall behind her. She ran for cover.


    Crouching beneath the upturned carriage, she saw Captain Doryn locked in battle with a man in cloak and hood who wielded a knife. Three other guards struggled to hold back a gang of thugs, all hooded and cloaked. One of the guards was dead, his helmet knocked off, skull matted with blood. Another was injured, holding his arms up to try and ward off the stones being thrown from above.


    As she watched, two of the thugs broke past the guards and ran for Captain Doryn, whose back was turned. Thinking quickly, she slammed her palms into the ground, ice spreading from her fingertips and across the street. Both attackers slipped. One crashed heavily into the cobblestones while the other stumbled before righting himself, but it was enough.


    "Doryn!" she cried.


    Doryn kicked the hooded man he was fighting to the ground and turned in time to run his sword through the second attacker''s torso. Valerie gasped, shrinking back, and then to her horror the man in the hood set his sights on her. He strode over the ice, which cracked and melted beneath his boots, and grabbed her by the neck with one hand, holding his horrible long knife in the other.


    "Witch," he hissed.


    She choked, scrabbling for her pocket. The hood shadowed his face; she glimpsed his eyes, dark and pitiless. He was going to kill her.


    Her hand found the pocket of her dress, slipping on the thimble. She couldn''t breathe. The man raised the knife¡ª


    She wrenched upwards, jabbing him in the eye with the thimble. He let go of her with a cry, reeling back. The knife clattered to the ground. She made a grab for it¡ªthe man was clutching his hand over his eye¡ªand before he could stand up, swaying, she lunged forward and plunged the blade into his chest.


    He screamed. She fell back, panting, and the knife dropped from her shaking hands. Blood poured from his chest, and his screams turned to gargling cries. He twitched and convulsed before finally going still.


    She lifted her hand, staring at it. Blood caked her fingernails. The skin was torn where she''d grazed her palms on the cobblestones. She healed the grazes away.


    Then, without warning, Doryn was there, grabbing her shoulders.


    "Lady Valerie! My lady, are you hurt?"


    She shook her head numbly. He bent down to check the hooded man. On the other side of the street, the thugs had disappeared. The guards had held them off. No more stones were thrown.


    "Stabbed in the heart," said Doryn, frowning. "And the eye... Did you do this?"


    He stood up to face her, and she nodded.


    The colour drained from Doryn''s face. She looked again at the dead man, whose hood Doryn had uncovered, revealing a hideous, bloody hole where his left eye socket had been. He was Maskamery. Like the other thugs, like the residents high above throwing stones. She''d been attacked by her own people, and she''d killed one of her own people.


    "We must return to the palace," said Doryn. He still looked pale, but he gave his orders to the guards and the servants before bringing the surviving horse over to her. "Come."


    "What about Lady Melody?"


    A shocked Melody was being helped out of the carriage by one of the servants, but Doryn shook his head. "My men will protect her. We need to leave."


    She had no choice. Valerie threw on the cloak that Doryn offered to hide her expensive gown and shoes. Then she climbed on the saddle behind him and clung to his waist.


    The numbness inside her was fading, to be replaced by an awful guilt. Those hooded men might have been members of the resistance. Even if they weren''t directly affiliated with the prince, they were still fighting the occupiers. Something had gotten them riled up. And she''d stabbed that man in the heart, watched the blood gushing out...


    Not her fault. No one could blame her for defending herself.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    They moved fast as soon as they reached the High Road, Doryn spurring the horse into a gallop which had her jolting in the saddle. By the time they reached the palace, she thought every bone in her body must be bruised. They finally stopped in the courtyard, Doryn dismounting and then offering his hand for Valerie to climb down. She did so, grimacing, and sent a wash of magic through herself to soothe her aching muscles. That helped but not as much as she would have liked.


    Fatigue was setting in. She swayed on the spot, and Doryn held her arm to steady her.


    "Are you well?"


    "I''m fine," she said.


    "I''ll escort you back to your quarters¡ª"


    "I''m fine," she said again, more strongly. "Look, Priska is here. She''ll take me."


    Her maidservant indeed came running up, looking surprised to see only the two of them. "My lady... I came to help you with your shopping, where...?"


    "It''s on its way," Valerie reassured her. "We don''t have to wait."


    She was about to head into the palace when Doryn stopped her. "My lady."


    Valerie paused, turning back. Doryn''s expression was troubled, but there was a gentleness in that craggy face she hadn''t seen before.


    "You saved my life," he said quietly. "You could have fled in the commotion and left us for dead."


    I could have, couldn''t I?


    "I wouldn''t have," she said. "I wanted to help."


    He inclined his head. "You have my gratitude, my lady."


    She gave a small smile and nodded back, Priska looking awed by her side. Her mind was buzzing as Doryn departed with his horse, as she and Priska made their way back to their quarters. She''d fought with magic and won. In doing so, she''d placed Doryn in her debt¡ªand debt, she thought, was power¡ªand demonstrated that she no longer intended to run away. If the deaths of those men strengthened her own position, then at least they hadn''t died for nothing.


    It was only later that evening she realised that she''d lost the thimble somewhere in the fray.


    *


    By the time she went down for dinner, Lady Melody was already regaling the court with the full horrifying story.


    "It was dreadful! Rioting and looting all over the city¡ªthe guards in disarray¡ªI haven''t seen such disorderly behaviour since the early days."


    "What caused it?" Lady Mona wanted to know.


    "There was a fire in the north quarter. A few peasant houses burned down, and the rabble blamed the guard trying to put out the fire¡ªin broad daylight too."


    "It certainly wasn''t us," boomed Lord Warren, the stern Master of Home Affairs. "Rest assured, my men are investigating the matter thoroughly. We believe this to be the result of criminal activity."


    "The resistance?" someone asked.


    "More than likely. They haven''t disappeared, believe you me. It''s like rooting out vermin¡ªthere''s always some hidey hole or other they can crawl back into."


    "Well," said Lord Sandford, who was Lord Warren''s younger equivalent for Foreign Affairs, "I''m sure they''ll be dealt with in good time. Fortunately, they failed to interrupt my shipment of Enyrn wine¡ªallow me to describe it..."


    Valerie sighed. Every now and again, these conversations gave her a tantalising glimpse of what was really going on in Maskamere, but the social taboo against politics at dinner was so strong that any mention of it was always swiftly interrupted. She had a suspicion about what the fire meant, but that would have to wait until she spoke to Lord Avon. As usual, he was absent from the dinner.


    She was about to return to her quarters when Lady Melody tapped her on the shoulder. "Come with me."


    Her heart leapt. Valerie followed her to one of the ladies'' sitting rooms, empty at this time of night. Melody lit a candle on the coffee table. She looked no worse for wear. If she''d been injured or suffered a shock, she gave no sign of it.


    "I didn''t get the chance to ask after that dreadful attack," she said. "How was your family?"


    "I¡ªgood." Somehow the question caught her off-guard.


    "I hope they had nothing to do with those riots."


    Valerie wondered if this was the point where she ought to say something about the resistance.


    "They wouldn''t be that stupid."


    "Of course." Melody smiled, laying a hand on her arm. "How are you?"


    "I''m fine. Really," she added, when Melody looked as if she might disagree, "you don''t need to worry about me."


    Did Melody know that she''d killed a man? Was that why everyone was tiptoeing around her? True, she''d watched him die, but that was hardly the worst thing she''d witnessed since the invasion. And to have that blade in her hands, to turn it back on her attacker... There was power in that too. If only he had been Drakonian instead of Maskamery, she wouldn''t have felt bad about it at all.


    "I believe it." Melody stepped back, appraising her. "I thought you an uncouth little Maskamery girl at first, I''ll admit, but you are wonderfully adaptable. We more... spirited ladies, some lords take delight in taming us. But you needn''t lose your spirit. You need only direct it appropriately."


    Valerie cocked her head. "Appropriately?"


    "For the betterment of the Empire."


    Not the words she expected to hear from an ally of the resistance. Valerie schooled her expression into a smile. "Of course."


    Melody bid her good night. Valerie retreated back to her quarters, thinking all the way. She was being paranoid now. Since arriving at the palace, she''d treated every word and gesture by Lord Avon, and by extension every Drakonian, as a tactic, a clandestine interrogation designed to get her to slip up and reveal information about the resistance. She was a spy, an enemy of the court, and therefore by definition everyone could be working against her. The only Drakonian she trusted was Master Anwen.


    So where did Melody fit into this?


    She''d made an instant leap from the resistance knowing about her visit to the Crescent store to Melody arranging that trip. Yet despite having every opportunity tonight, Melody had failed to speak plainly about her allegiances. And why, after all, would a lady from Drakon have any interest in helping them? What was in it for her?


    Perhaps Melody was simply being kind. Perhaps she knew nothing of the ongoing battle between her and Avon, and the timing was a coincidence.


    Perhaps.


    *


    Night had long since fallen with a gibbous moon shining through the window and the oil lamp burning down, and Lord Avon still hadn''t returned. Valerie reclined on the queen''s great silverwood bed in her long white nightgown, imagining two dozen versions of their conversation before in a fit of pique she retrieved the locket from the drawer she''d hidden it in and put it on.


    Finally, she heard movement next door but no summons. She lost patience. Valerie went over to the door and knocked until Avon himself opened it.


    "What are you doing? I have no wish to see you tonight."


    "Why not?"


    His tone became irritated. "Don''t question me. Go to bed."


    She''d waited all day to talk to him. She wasn''t going to let it go. Valerie turned as if to retreat but then slipped past him instead, shimmying into the room behind him.


    "Let me help you undress, my lord."


    She reached out to touch his arm, but he whirled around before she could and pushed her away, his face dark with anger. "I gave you an order."


    "Are you afraid?"


    "Afraid?"


    "You must have heard what I did today."


    "We''ll discuss that tomorrow. I''m not in the mood for your games, Val¡ª" He stopped. His eyes had fallen on the locket around her neck, and he went quite still. "What is that?"


    "What?" She touched the locket. "Do you like it? It belonged to the queen."


    She''d always hidden it before, tucked away in a pocket or inside her bodice. But not tonight. Tonight she was full of blood and vim, and she wanted to wear a symbol of the resistance, hidden in plain sight.


    "Stop that." His voice shook. She hadn''t expected this level of¡ªnot anger. Disquiet. Even fear.


    "Stop what?"


    "This sorcery. Get out of my head."


    "I''m not in your head¡ª"


    "Get out!"


    He screamed it loud enough to make her ears ring and, shocked and terrified, she fled. She shut the door behind her in the queen''s room, breathing hard. When she felt calmer, she looked down again at the locket. Such a small, innocuous thing.


    Why had it gotten Avon so upset?

 1.28. Blatant Lies and Manipulation

    "Never trust the tongue of a woman."


    Drakonian Proverb


    Their next supper was a subdued affair. She didn''t dare to speak first, although she kept looking at him over her tea and gingerbread.


    Lord Avon seemed calmer. He was reading a stack of letters that the servants had delivered on a tray. When he had finished, he drained his tea and clasped his hands in his lap, looking at her.


    "I want you to be truthful with me, Valerie."


    She sat up straighter in her seat. "I''m always truthful, my lord."


    "I mean it. Swear it on the life of your prince."


    "I swear," she said.


    "I told you that we were going to arrest Lavinia. Yesterday at noon she took a carriage from the marketplace to the northern edge of the city. When my men stopped the carriage, it set ablaze. The fire spread across the street, instigating riots across the city. She and her children fled in the chaos. I know you visited your family. Did you warn her about the arrest?"


    "Of course I did. Are you going to punish me for that too? Or find another member of my family to torment?"


    He stared at her and she held his gaze.


    "I ought to," he said at length. "I ought to have you chained up and locked away to stop you from working your mischief."


    "Go ahead."


    She''d rather his attention focused on her, that he punished her if anyone. If he tried to hurt her, she could strike back.


    To her surprise, Avon shook his head. "Perhaps I was... overzealous. But you overstepped."


    She knew at once this was the closest to an apology she would get. Now was the time to act contrite.


    "I''m sorry, my lord. For what it''s worth, I truly meant you no harm. I only wanted a way to defend myself."


    "What happened when you were attacked by the mob?" he asked. "Tell me in your own words."


    She did, slowly, but in as much detail as she could. The only fact she omitted was the thimble; let him think she''d done it of her own power. When she had finished, he was silent for a moment. Then he leaned back in his chair and exhaled.


    "That should never have happened. Captain Doryn and his men should have been enough to protect you."


    She said nothing. He was right, and admitting this fault meant that either the rebels had grown stronger or the Empire''s grip was weaker.


    Avon leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "You killed a man."


    "Yes, my lord."


    "That must be terribly unsettling."


    "Yes, my lord."


    Her answer was as bland as the previous, and perhaps that disconcerted him because he hesitated.


    "He was one of your own countrymen."


    "I know, my lord."


    "Do you not feel regret?"


    She looked away. "If you hadn''t imprisoned me, I wouldn''t have been there, and they wouldn''t have attacked us. Or let''s go back further. If the Empire hadn''t invaded, none of this would have happened. The blood of every Maskamery rebel is on your hands, not mine."


    Guilt was not an emotion she''d allow herself to feel, not when the Empire had its claws in her homeland, and not when she was forced to have supper with the man who''d ordered the arrest of Lavinia and her children.


    He was silent again. Valerie had finished her gingerbread and folded her hands in her lap, wondering where this line of questioning was going.


    "You haven''t asked," Avon said. She gave him a confused look, and he clarified: "About the locket."


    "Oh."


    She hadn''t forgotten. It just hadn''t seemed the right time to ask. Perhaps it was bothering him more than it was bothering her¡ªhe was the one who''d had such a strong reaction to it.


    "It was my gift to Queen Shikra."


    With that, she understood. A token, perhaps, when he''d proposed marriage.


    "I thought it lost," Avon went on. "When I first arrived in Jairah, I had all the queen''s possessions catalogued. The locket wasn''t among them. Where did you get it?"


    "The queen''s wardrobe," she said. "You must have missed it."


    "Fetch it for me."


    She nodded and slipped away to her quarters to retrieve the necklace. When she returned, Avon was gazing out of the bay window looking pensive. Valerie joined him, taking a moment to admire the moon shining over the palace grounds and in the distance the silver streak of river that marked its boundary.


    She held out the locket.


    Avon looked at her. "Why did you wear this piece in particular?"


    Something had changed in the five minutes it had taken her to come back with the locket. Valerie frowned. "I thought you might like it."


    "Did you know that it meant something to me?"


    Then it clicked. "I haven''t spelled it, my lord. This isn''t a trick, I promise."


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "No? Then what is it?"


    "It''s just a locket. If you don''t like it, I can throw it back in a drawer¡ª"


    "No," he said. "No. I said that everything in the queen''s wardrobe belongs to you. Wear it if you wish."


    She frowned, looking at the locket. What a small thing to make such a fuss over. Avon turned away. She could leave him, leave the conversation at that, but...


    Back turned was not where she wanted him. She''d have no useful information to pass to the resistance like this.


    Taking a breath, Valerie tucked her hair over one shoulder. "Can you help?"


    She offered him the locket, which he took with a frown, and turned around to let Avon put it on for her. While he fastened the clasp at the back, she brushed aside the curtain, watching a lady and gentleman stroll through the rose garden below.


    "This isn''t working," she said.


    "Hmm?"


    "We need to admit it, both of us. We were supposed to have a deal, but I''ve been trying to run or fight you, and you''ve been trying to force my surrender." He''d finished with the locket and she turned to face him, pleased to find that he was watching her with rapt attention. "Do you think it''s impossible for us to work together? To trust each other?"


    "Trust requires a common goal," he said. "Our goals are at odds."


    "That''s not completely true."


    "What do you mean?"


    "We both want to find the third silvertree."


    He smiled wryly. "True. You''ve already tried to bewitch me with a touch. What would a third blessing allow you to do?"


    "According to Anwen''s research... The first blessing grants power over the self. The second blessing grants power over others. And the third blessing grants the power of the land."


    "What would you do with that power?"


    That was the critical question, the one she couldn''t answer. She turned away to gaze over the horizon again. Beyond the palace grounds, she could make out the city, her city. It seemed so far away now.


    "I think you know what I would do."


    "Which is why I''d see the resistance crushed before I give you that chance, Valerie," he said. "If we''re being honest with each other. I can do it quickly with your help or slowly without. That''s up to you. But if you want my trust, you''ll have to earn it."


    She glanced at him again, and his eyes glinted. Smart, she thought. Every time she thought she''d found a way to manipulate him, he turned it back on her. They were caught in a stalemate.


    Who would lose patience first?


    *


    The next afternoon, Captain Doryn interrupted her out on a stroll around the gardens with the ladies, Flavia clinging to her arm. She looked rather forlorn as Doryn called her back to the grounds¡ªhe wouldn''t say why¡ªbut Valerie promised she would be back for dinner.


    She followed Doryn to a coach in the courtyard entrance.


    "What''s going on?" she asked. "Are we going somewhere?"


    "Lord Avon''s orders," said Doryn. "Would you step inside, my lady."


    "But where are we going?"


    Lord Avon wasn''t there. Why had he sent Doryn in his place? Valerie didn''t think the duty-bound captain would do anything other than follow orders, but she didn''t understand what those orders might be.


    "You''ll find out soon enough," said Doryn.


    Valerie huffed but got in. Despite herself, she was intrigued. She hadn''t expected to be allowed outside the palace again. Since her conversation with Avon, she''d been running through a host of half-baked ideas in her mind, ways to prove that he could trust her. Failing to escape when she''d had the chance clearly wasn''t enough. Some kind of gesture was required...


    Maybe he was thinking the same thing.


    The journey took longer than she liked. They passed the awful new terraced houses on the outskirts of the city, the ones where they''d packed in Drakonian soldiers and Maskamery women estranged from their families. She realised that they were venturing into the farmland beyond. Maskamere''s fields and orchards were rightly known for their extraordinary productivity and the high quality of their produce. And yet in the past two years they''d barely avoided famine...


    The harvest this year looked good enough to her untrained eyes. Men toiled in the wheat fields, their sickles flashing beneath the bright summer sky. To her surprise, they came to a stop by one of these fields. They were in the middle of nowhere. Why had Doryn brought her here?


    Doryn stepped out and she was about to follow, but he shook his head. "Wait here, my lady."


    Her patience was wearing thin. Valerie hopped out of the carriage as soon as he had departed. The driver and guard gave her warning looks, but she didn''t venture any further out. She could smell the wheat and grass and flowering meadows nearby. Crickets chirped in the undergrowth.


    Then Doryn returned, and her heart jumped. He wasn''t alone.


    "Markus!" she gasped.


    Tanned by the sun, he looked quite different to the last time she had seen him being dragged away in chains. Bulkier too, all wiry muscle. He wore a straw hat, white vest, and overalls tied around his waist, similar to the other labourers they''d passed by in the fields.


    A broad smile lit up his face. "Valerie! Val, is that you? You''re dressed up like..." His smile faded.


    "I''m fine," said Valerie quickly. "I can''t believe¡ªI didn''t think I''d ever see you again. This is where they put you?"


    "Yeah," said Markus, folding his arms. He didn''t have his sickle. She guessed that Doryn had ordered him to leave it behind. "Ten hours a day for six days every week. One day of rest. Lucky I don''t burn easy."


    He chuckled. That was a lie. Markus had the pale complexion of those northerners in the borderlands who shared blood ties with families in Carthal or even further north. He''d joked before that his favourite thing about the city was all the shade.


    Valerie gave a tremulous smile in return. "That sounds like hard work."


    "I used to harvest the crops back home. It''s not so different. But what about you, what are you doing here?"


    "I... don''t know," said Valerie, looking at Doryn who had been silent all this time, letting them catch up.


    "Thus far you''ve served your repentance here faithfully and caused no trouble," said Doryn. "Consider this meeting a small reward for your loyalty."


    Valerie glanced at Markus. "No trouble, really?"


    He shrugged. "I thought they''d kill you."


    "I''ll let you have a moment," said Doryn.


    He turned back to the carriage. Valerie stepped into the wheat field, brushing her fingers over the ears. Markus followed.


    As soon as they passed out of Doryn''s earshot, he gathered her in his arms, and Valerie gladly buried her head in his shoulder. He smelled of summer heat and sweat.


    "Val," he said, "what happened? When that bastard took you..."


    She stepped back.


    "I''m fine," she said. "I''m living in the palace."


    "With him?"


    "He wants me to perform a spell."


    "A spell?"


    She told him, not in detail, but as briefly as she could: how the Chancellor had never intended to burn her because he needed her magic.


    Markus frowned. "And you''re doing what he wants?"


    "I have to. He threatened us."


    She told him about Lavinia, how she and her children had escaped. She hoped they were safe.


    "They should all go," said Markus. "Tell Aurelia¡ªget the whole family to pack up and flee to Bolebund."


    "Even if they do, he can still threaten you."


    Markus shook his head. "No¡ªlisten. I''m in touch with the resistance. We''ll get you out¡ª"


    "What?" She felt dizzy. "How do they even know where you are?"


    All Aurelia had ever said in her letters was that Markus had been sent to work in the fields. They''d been unable to write to him directly. Maybe the resistance knew about certain farms where prisoners were put to work.


    "I¡ª"


    But the thud of heavy boots in the soil signalled Doryn''s approach, and Markus shook his head. She squeezed his hand, a brief, helpless gesture, before Doryn pulled her away. A guard came up from the farmhouse lane to fetch Markus.


    "Don''t worry about me!" he called. "Take care of yourself."


    She crossed over a muddy ditch back to the road, and then he disappeared behind the hedgerow out of sight. Valerie let Doryn escort her back to the carriage without a word. She felt numb. He lifted her up, then climbed into the carriage after her.


    "Are you satisfied that you were able to spend time with your companion?"


    She blinked. "Yes."


    "Then let''s be off."


    Doryn snapped his fingers, and the driver closed the coach door. A few seconds later, they set off. Valerie stayed quiet, thinking. This was Avon''s gesture¡ªhe wanted her to consider the implications...


    She glanced over at Doryn. "Did Lord Avon say anything to you about why he did this?"


    "If he had, do you think that I would tell you?"


    He had a point. And with that, a worrying thought wormed its way into her head. Did Avon know that she was in contact with the resistance? Had he brought her to Markus, not as a kindness, but as a sign that he knew exactly what the resistance was up to?


    Who was ahead of the game: Bakra or Avon?


    Who could she trust?

 1.29. Ophelia

    "The king is necessary. Maska decreed this. Men wish to dominate or destroy that which they do not control. The king gives men an honourable purpose: to protect."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    Lord Avon had a certain smug air about him at supper.


    "Go on, my lord," she said, dipping a piece of bread into her soup. Firelight crackled between them. "What are you dying to say?"


    "How was your day?"


    Always the same question. She sighed. "I was having a lovely picnic when Captain Doryn interrupted me."


    "How rude."


    "Very. He took me to a farmstead outside the city. Then I..." She stopped. She couldn''t be pert about her friend''s punishment. "I saw Markus. Captain Doryn took me to meet him. He said it was your order...?"


    "Yes. How was Markus?"


    She smiled thinly. "Alive. I''m not sure why you arranged a meeting."


    "You can''t think of a reason?"


    His eyes flickered in the firelight, amusement dancing across his features. She thought about trying to be coy. She wasn''t sure she could manage it.


    "I can think of a few reasons. I was hoping I wouldn''t have to speculate."


    "You were right," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "What you said about us trusting each other. I imagine you think there''s some nefarious intention behind this gesture. A threat to ensure your obedience."


    "Yes," she admitted.


    "Well, you''re not wrong. I have been honest with you, Valerie, regardless of anything else. I told you from the start that I wanted you to talk. But I''d also like you to consider that the Empire isn''t all bad."


    He hadn''t given up on trying to lure her to his side. She almost admired his persistence.


    "You reward loyalty," she said.


    "I''m glad you noticed."


    "What about Lavinia? If she returned to Jairah, would you still have her arrested?"


    "That depends on you."


    "And if I showed you loyalty, you would reward me?"


    He spread his hands. "You said yourself we have a common goal."


    Of course, the Empire rewarded its rats. That was how it ferreted out the traitors and the rebels. She wasn''t fooled.


    "I''m not interested in breadcrumbs," she said. "Or rewards."


    "Given that you haven''t seen your friend for weeks, I was expecting rather more gratitude. Or do you not care about him?"


    "I care about him." She exhaled. "But sure, give me back a tiny taste of the things you took from me and expect me to be grateful. That''s not what I meant by building trust."


    "Then what did you mean?"


    She thought for a moment. "What you did for Flavia. That felt honest. Maybe it was calculated, but it was something good. I appreciated that."


    "I see."


    He fell silent, watching her. Valerie looked down at her soup. In truth, she was feeling antsy and frustrated. She''d done everything she needed to escape the palace, if she wanted to¡ªexcept she couldn''t, because Prince Bakra had ordered her to stay. She''d made contact with Iora and been given nothing but vague assurances. Avon seemed in no hurry to find another silvertree. And in the middle of all this waiting... the sudden intervention from Lady Melody, and then from Captain Doryn, both leading her to people connected to the resistance. Something didn''t feel right, but she couldn''t pinpoint what.


    And lurking in the back of her mind, as always: the queen. That strange message. Maybe it was time to ditch the resistance, to go off and find the third silvertree herself...


    "I know that look," said Avon. "You''re scheming. What are you thinking?"


    She cleared her throat, grasping for another topic. "How big a party are we expecting tomorrow?"


    "We should double our number. I hope some of them will stay. And we''ll have Maskamery guests as well. It''s about time we bring more of your people to court."


    "Will you be coming to dinner?"


    "I will."


    "Oh, the honour." She fanned herself. "It must be an important occasion."


    His smile was crooked. "I trust you''ll behave."


    "Are you any closer to finding the third silvertree?"


    "Yes."


    She waited, then lost patience. "And?"


    Silence. He looked taken aback, and she thought she''d misjudged her tone, but then he shook his head and laughed.


    "You know, no woman has ever talked to me like you do."


    "Any Maskamery woman would talk like this, if you let them."


    He looked thoughtful at that. She said nothing more, wondering if any of this was worth it. She thought he had feelings for her, beyond simple desire, and if she could get him to listen... Stop it, she told herself. The point was to gain his trust. Nothing more.


    "James!"


    The chamber door flew open. Valerie jumped as a woman she didn''t know burst in, her petticoats aflutter. Avon got to his feet in surprise, but then his face broke into a smile.


    "Ophelia."


    The woman threw herself into Avon''s arms, and he hugged her back with an affectionate chuckle. She was small and bouncy, with short blonde curls and rosy cheeks.


    "Valerie," said Avon when the woman finally stepped back to draw breath, "meet my sister, Lady Ophelia."


    Valerie blinked. "My lady."


    She would not have guessed they were brother and sister. Ophelia''s features were much rounder than her brother''s, though looking again, their eyes were the same shade of piercing sky blue.


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    "Valerie!" said Ophelia, giving her an impromptu hug too, which Valerie accepted in bemusement. "This is the girl you wrote about in your letters, James? Your paramour. She is very beautiful."


    Valerie looked at Avon. "You wrote about me?"


    "I''ve educated my sister on what to expect at court," said Avon. "We shall have to test your knowledge, don''t you agree?"


    "I shall have to match names to faces from your dry descriptions," Ophelia shot back. "I''ll be testing your ability to describe your people accurately."


    Valerie hid a smile behind her hand.


    "What about your people?" Avon glanced at the door Ophelia had flung open. "We weren''t expecting you tonight."


    "Oh, I simply had to dash up and see you as soon as I could. The others will be here in the morning." Ophelia plopped herself down on the chair that Valerie had been occupying. "How have you been? You look well."


    "I am, thank you. How is Father? And Edrick?"


    "Father has a list of commands that I won''t bore you with. One of your captains can do that." Avon grimaced and Ophelia went on: "Edrick is in good health, but he misses you. He wishes to know when you''ll return home."


    "Did you tell him the truth?"


    "I told him as soon as you can. Is that true?"


    Avon sighed. "It''s too dangerous for him to come here. He''s better off where he is."


    "The war¡ª"


    "The war is a conversation for when my captains arrive," Avon interrupted. "It''s rather late. Be a darling, Valerie, and fetch a maid to take care of my sister, will you?"


    "Of course, my lord."


    The term darling rankled her, but she didn''t object. They said good night, then Valerie showed Ophelia to her own quarters, where she ran the bell for Priska.


    "The queen''s rooms," said Ophelia, wide-eyed. "You are so privileged."


    "Lord Avon didn''t tell me he had a sister. How long are you planning to stay?"


    Ophelia clasped her hands. "Well, that depends on whether I fulfil my purpose."


    She frowned. "Purpose?"


    "To make a politically advantageous marriage."


    "Oh." Her throat dried up.


    "You''ll help me, won''t you?" Ophelia took a step closer, her expression earnest. "You must know everything there is to know about Maskamere. I''m meant to marry a Maskamery nobleman, and I don''t want to look silly or ignorant of your customs..."


    "No," she said. "No, of course, I''ll help."


    *


    So Valerie found herself in the odd position of taking a stroll with Lady Ophelia around the gardens, teaching a newcomer the ways of court. That first day with Lady Melody seemed like such a long time ago. After some chatter about the weather, Ophelia was very happy to tell her everything about her mission.


    "If all goes well, my marriage will usher in a new era of peace," she said. "Father is tired of this war dragging on for so long. We''ll make peace through alliances rather than bloodshed. You must tell me what you know of Maskamery noblemen. What are their customs? I''ve studied, but I''ve never travelled outside Drakon before, so..."


    She knew nothing, Valerie thought, this rosy-cheeked daughter of the Empire. There was no such thing as a Maskamery nobleman, any more than there were Maskamery noblewomen. Some had accepted lordships after the Drakonian invasion. Only a few months ago, shortly before the assassination attempt, she had taken great enjoyment in tossing eggs at the house of one such false lord while her resistance companions daubed traitor on the walls in egg yolk, feathers, and the blood of dead chickens.


    "All Maskamery men are trained with sword and rifle," she said, to begin. "The duty of a Maskamery man is to protect our nation, protect the silvertrees..."


    "And how are they at court?"


    "There are no Maskamery men at court. They either died in the war or fled into exile."


    This was true, a sign of how completely the Drakonians had transformed Jairah. There were Maskamery men amongst the palace guards and servants, and she had seen a couple wearing a lieutenant''s insignia, but no ranking higher than that.


    "None at all?" Ophelia looked troubled. "But I know I am to meet several suitors."


    "They must be visiting from outside Jairah."


    "Do you know Bolebund?"


    Bolebund! "It''s a city in the free part of Maskamere."


    "I am to meet a lord of Bolebund. He may be our best prospect to control the north."


    She thought about it. "But Bolebund is ruled by the Abbess..."


    Abbess Sopphora was a direct descendant of Maska which made her the only living priestess with a claim to the throne. Despite that, she had done little to support Bakra''s resistance. He''d complained about it before.


    "That is the strangest thing I''ve learned about Maskamere," said Ophelia, "even with your silvertrees. How could a woman lead a city?"


    "Every city in Maskamere is led by a woman and a man. An Abbess of the priesthood and a commander of the military. That''s how it used to be everywhere. Even the villages¡ªthere was always a High Priestess, a major or colonel, and a silvertree."


    The backbone of Maskamery society. Lord Avon understood this, she thought. He had spoken of how the Empire had destroyed a pillar of the nation in their attack on the priesthood. She was beginning to realise why the Empire had not comprehended this. Their women were stay-at-home wives, devoted companions, or daughters to be wedded off for political gain. They did nothing independently.


    What an absurd society, she thought. No wonder their manners are so poor.


    "I had no idea," said Ophelia wonderingly. "My teacher didn''t say much about the role of the priesthood."


    "I imagine they didn''t want you getting any ideas above your station."


    Ophelia blinked. "My station..."


    "Do you want to marry a Maskamery man?"


    "Father ordered me to¡ª"


    "But do you want to?"


    Ophelia smiled. "I hope for good fortune in marriage. I know my brother will make sure I''m treated well. We all make sacrifices, you know¡ªJames hasn''t seen his son in almost a year. Now it''s my turn to serve our family. And if all the men are beastly, I''ll beg James to march on Bolebund himself and finish off the war once and for all."


    "Would he do that for you?"


    "He''d do anything for me," said Ophelia. "You''re not at all what I expected, Valerie. Can you tell me more? About the priesthood¡ªhow it used to be."


    So Valerie told her. She told Ophelia the story of where she had grown up, her education at the convent, her training as a dressmaker. She was careful to omit the part where she had received the silvertree''s blessing herself¡ªinstead she made out that the Drakonian invasion had happened before she''d had any chance to join the priesthood. Then she told Ophelia what she knew of the priesthood, the three ranks of priestess, High Priestess and Abbess, and finally, of Queen Shikra herself, the leader of the priesthood and equal to her uncle, the king.


    "Why is the queen the king''s niece and not his wife?" Ophelia asked.


    They were walking through the meadow by the river, their guards following on horseback behind.


    "There are no wives in Maskamere," said Valerie. "The queen is the leader of the priesthood."


    "Then who becomes the next king? What is the line of succession?"


    "It passes through the queen. The queen''s son, the prince, is next in line to be king. If the queen has only girls, then the eldest princess''s son becomes the next king."


    The fathers of the royal children did not bear the family name, as with every family in Maskamere. It was nonetheless an honour to be associated with the royals, who would typically select their romantic partners from the most promising priestesses and military commanders in Maskamere. Such associations could lead to greater status for the family, with better trade deals and increased influence in the community. This was what Valerie and her family had hoped for after High Priestess Glynda had told them that Valerie had demonstrated exceptional potential. She could have worked her way up through the ranks, become a High Priestess, an Abbess, and from there established ties with the royal family herself.


    She hadn''t thought about that conversation in a long time.


    Ophelia soaked up all of her stories like an eager sponge. By the time Valerie had run out of things to say, the gong had sounded for dinner. Ophelia threw herself on the bed in the guest quarters her brother had provided, the last stop on their tour, and rang for a maid.


    She heaved a big sigh, looking at Valerie thoughtfully.


    "You know, we in Drakon have a mission: to civilise the world."


    Valerie grimaced. "Yes, I''ve heard that before."


    "But we don''t only spread our own wisdom. True wisdom is learning from others. Anything that Maskamere does better than us, we''ll adopt too."


    "Who decides what''s better?"


    "All of us. Have you told James what you''ve told me?"


    She looked away. "The fact that I''d have to tell your brother to get anything done is part of the problem."


    "I feel that I''ve learned more in a single day with you than any of my tutors in Drakon," said Ophelia earnestly. "My brother is open to learning too¡ªwe are all desperate to find a way to make things work here in Maskamere. You have so much to teach him."


    "I..." She shook her head. "You''re the first Drakonian to actually listen to anything I have to say. No one else has wanted to know."


    Not even Anwen, whom she considered a friend. For all that he was an expert in Maskamery society, he''d never asked for her views about it. Melody certainly hadn''t. She''d taken it upon herself to educate Valerie instead, as if Valerie was some kind of half-trained savage they''d brought in from the wild. Avon... Avon had asked her, eventually, but because he was fishing for information, not because he wanted to learn. Any genuine interest he appeared to show was always tainted by the fact that she knew his goal was to subjugate Maskamere.


    Anything that Maskamere does better than we do, we''ll adopt too.


    Did Avon believe that? And even if he did, would he agree that a society where women wielded political power was better?


    No, of course he wouldn''t.


    Meanwhile, Ophelia''s forehead creased. "No one? I find that very disappointing."


    "I''ve adapted to your ways, Ophelia. The court isn''t interested in adapting to ours."


    A soft knock at the door interrupted them. A maid entered, unobtrusive in that drab grey uniform, and Valerie almost didn''t take any notice. Then she looked again, and her mouth fell open.


    Ophelia sprang up, full of delight. "Here you are! Valerie, meet Iora, my new lady-in-waiting."

 1.30. The Poisoned Goblet

    "Pride is the opposite of humility. Pride leads to overconfidence, outspokenness, and ambition. A lady who speaks out of turn at court may be forgiven once, especially when young. But to do so twice is a grave faux pas that will not be forgotten."


    Lady Briony Bretton''s Guide to Court Etiquette for Promising Young Ladies


    They couldn''t speak openly in front of Lady Ophelia. But later that afternoon, when Valerie returned to her quarters to get ready for dinner, she found Iora waiting for her there instead of Priska. Iora held out a small velvet pouch, which Valerie took with a raised eyebrow.


    "A gift," said Iora, "from Lady Ophelia."


    "Really?"


    Iora smiled. "No. But it got me in here, didn''t it? We have a plan¡ª"


    "Wait," she interrupted. "Is Lavinia safe? Did she make it out?"


    She ushered Iora over to the seat by the bay window, where the golden harp stood untouched and she''d be able to easily see anyone else entering her quarters.


    Iora clasped her hands. "Last I heard, she was on her way to Bolebund."


    "Is the Abbess still in charge of Bolebund?"


    Iora nodded. "Why?"


    Valerie passed on her information: everything Ophelia had told her that she deemed to be relevant, in particular the fact that Ophelia had been sent here to marry a lord of Bolebund and end the war.


    "Marriage? Who in Bolebund would convert to the Drakonians'' barbaric church?"


    "I don''t know," said Valerie. "She said she has several suitors. Who''s the commander?"


    "The Abbess''s brother."


    "Then they must be planning a coup," said Valerie, thinking quickly. "This could be the Empire''s response to failing to capture Bakra. If they find a Maskamery man power-hungry enough to topple the Abbess..."


    "They''d have to kill her first."


    Valerie nodded. "Tell the Abbess. If there is a lord of Bolebund coming to visit us in Jairah, he''s your traitor."


    Iora shook her head. "I can''t believe anyone would do that. First Quintus, now this... We''re never going to get our freedom back if Maskamery keep colluding with the enemy."


    "They''re colluding with the enemy because the enemy is offering them a better deal. A new lord of Bolebund wouldn''t have to share power with the Abbess. He''d rule the city himself."


    "Under the thumb of the Empire."


    "Just as they were under the thumb of the royal family. What difference does it make if you see an opportunity for wealth and power?"


    Iora looked disgusted, but it was, she thought, a practical matter. This was the problem with the resistance. They believed in their own ideals and couldn''t see why anyone else would need a motivation to join beyond that. Prince Bakra believed himself the rightful ruler of the queendom. Iora believed in the cause, in fighting for the spirit of the nation. Markus did too. But most people were just trying to survive. People like Flavia taking care of her sick mother, the Maskamery soldiers who needed to put food on the table. And if those in charge benefited from the new world, why go back to the old one?


    And the losers, she thought, well, they can''t do anything about it anyway.


    "Iora," she said. "Did you ask Bakra about the temple? The door?"


    Iora hesitated. "I asked."


    "And?"


    "You mustn''t open it. That''s his command, he was very clear about that."


    She bit back a familiar irritation. "Why not? What''s in there?"


    "He didn''t say. Just don''t open it, that''s all he said."


    "Why? Why should I stay here and risk my life if he won''t even tell me what''s at stake?"


    "Val..." Iora shook her head. "I''m sorry. I did ask, I promise, but..."


    "I''m not mad at you. I''m frustrated at him. There''s something going on here, some kind of secret the royal family doesn''t want us to know. How did you get into the palace?"


    Iora frowned. "What?"


    Ophelia had introduced Iora as her lady-in-waiting, specially selected from the maidservants in the palace. She hadn''t wanted to raise suspicion by asking about it, but Iora hadn''t been on the roster of palace servants before Ophelia arrived. Valerie had worried before that the Salver family was compromised anyway. Lord Avon had told her himself that Koel had given away information on places she frequented, like the apothecary, and that had given him a lead on the resistance...


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    It had probably led him to Quintus. But wouldn''t Iora''s family also have fallen under suspicion?


    "The palace," she said. "We both know you never worked here. How did you get into Ophelia''s entourage?"


    "I was recommended."


    "By who?"


    "I can''t¡ª"


    "You can''t say." She sucked in a breath. "There''s a traitor. Someone else in the palace is helping you. Has it occurred to you that I could do my job better if we worked together?"


    Iora was trying to help, she knew that. But she hated the way they were going about this.


    "It doesn''t matter." Iora leaned forward, taking her hands. "We have a plan. At the dinner, tonight."


    "Tonight?"


    "The pouch."


    Valerie looked down at the pouch on her lap. A sudden feeling of unease stirred her. She opened it and drew out a vial made of frosted glass. It looked like a perfume bottle, but when she twisted the golden stopper, she found a thin glass tube designed to administer liquid in doses, like ear drops. Or...


    She looked up at Iora and whispered the word, her mouth dry. "Poison."


    *


    The palace was livelier than she''d ever seen it. More visitors arrived throughout the day: Lord Dryden and a small contingent from Enyr, Maskamery men and women dressed like Drakonian lords and ladies, and others she didn''t recognise. Lady Melody was only too happy to name check each and every visitor as they passed through the entrance hall. So even before they were seated for dinner, Valerie had already identified Lord Kreios Silver of Bolebund, a tall angular man with the strong eyebrows of the northern Maskamery¡ªlike herself¡ªand one of several suitors introduced to Lady Ophelia.


    Ophelia received her suitors'' tokens with the air of an excitable girl on her birthday. Valerie watched as Kreios kissed Ophelia''s hand and presented her with a beautiful necklace decorated with a tiny silvertree.


    "An emblem from my people to yours," he said.


    Valerie hated him immediately.


    Lord Avon took her arm, nodded graciously at the guests, and led the way into the dining hall. The plates had already been set at the long table, a dazzling array of silverware, along with thirty or forty bottles of red and white wine. It was all rather splendid, but Valerie''s eyes darted over the servants lining up by the wall¡ªshe caught Iora''s eye...


    Avon pulled out her chair for her, a perfect Drakonian gentleman. She took it with a murmured thank you as the other guests filed in. Ophelia entered the hall with Lady Rose and Master Pedram on her arm, but as soon as she spotted Valerie, she beamed and came over, her petticoats fluttering with every step.


    "Lady Valerie! Are we to sit together?"


    Valerie forced a smile. "Of course."


    Avon had a personal taster who tried his food and drink in advance to check for poison. This courtesy was available to the other lords and ladies if they wished it, but most of them didn''t bother. She''d never considered it herself. And the resistance had never tried poison as a tactic before, which perhaps explained their complacency.


    Still, they weren''t able to poison Avon''s food in advance. Her task was to distract him and give Iora an opening to do it, after the taster had already deemed his drink safe.


    Easier said than done.


    Avon took the high seat at the head of the table, as was his right as Chancellor. To his left: Lord Dryden and Master Pedram. To his right: Lord Gideon and Lady Melody. She had inconveniently been placed at the centre of the table, next to Lady Ophelia and surrounded by Maskamery suitors. As the first drinks were poured, the starting course was served: smoked salmon, prawns, cream cheese, and coriander. Servants flitted in and out as cheery laughter filled the air.


    Kreios and Ophelia were already deep in conversation. She laughed at something he said, then turned to Valerie.


    "Valerie, have you ever been to Bolebund? Lord Silver says it''s the most wondrous city in Maskamere."


    "Well, it is right now," she said, "because it''s the only city that still has a silvertree."


    There was a short silence. Kreios gave Valerie an appraising look.


    "Lady Valerie, is it?" he said.


    "Yes," she replied. "Of the Crescent family. You''re Silver? Who is your mother?"


    This question, perfectly acceptable at a Maskamery gathering, was absurd at a Drakonian dinner, and they all knew it. Melody glared at her, and Dryden looked up from his salmon. Kreios flushed.


    "Silver, yes," he answered shortly.


    "Does your family know you''re planning to convert to the church?"


    Ophelia blinked, open-mouthed.


    "My family wishes for peace in Bolebund," said Kreios. "Building a church would be a symbolic gesture, and my artisans can help."


    "You''re a family of artisans?" Ophelia asked.


    This was a safer topic of conversation. Kreios turned to answer her, ignoring Valerie. The dinner moved on. By the time dessert was served, she''d lost her appetite. She kept glancing up at Avon, picturing what she had to do...


    Finally, Avon stood up, as imposing as ever, and raised his glass. The hall fell silent.


    "A toast," he said, "to my dear sister, Lady Ophelia."


    As the guests cheered, as they drained their goblets and Ophelia beamed, she thought: Do I really want him dead?


    Weeks ago, days ago even, she would have done it in a heartbeat. To doubt it now was absurd. And yet here she was, doubting.


    Why?


    "Drinks all round!" said Avon to hearty cheers. "I''ll not have my wine wasted."


    The atmosphere around the dinner table was now considerably more relaxed, guests getting up and intermingling. A couple of lords and their courtesans had already snuck off.


    Her heart thundering, Valerie made a beeline for Avon. He was leaning back in his chair, looking up at Lord Gideon, Lord Sandford and Lord Warren, all vying for his attention.


    "My lord."


    Without any preamble, she climbed into his lap. Avon''s eyebrows shot into his hair.


    "Are you drunk?"


    "Lady Ophelia''s suitors are all hideous and not good enough for her. I thought you should know."


    She was blocking Avon from reaching the table. In the corner of her vision, she sensed Iora moving over to top up his goblet... No one noticed; all eyes were on her. Avon''s hand reached around the small of her back, and he looked up at the other lords with a wry smile.


    "A word of warning for any of you courting a Maskamery woman: they don''t lack for opinions."


    "Nor modesty," Gideon sneered, and the lords chuckled.


    Oh, she''d happily poison him.


    "No, Valerie has never been modest," said Avon, his cool tone surprising her. "I rather prefer her that way."


    He nudged her and she took the hint, scrabbling out of his way as Avon stood up. Truthfully, she was a little flushed. Then Ophelia bounced over, arm-in-arm with Kreios, and snatched up Avon''s goblet from the table.


    "A toast!" she said. "Brother, may we?"


    "Lord Silver," said Avon, inclining his head.


    Iora had retreated from the scene, but she''d done it, she must have... The pang in her stomach became a pit as Ophelia handed the goblet to Kreios, as he lifted it¡ª


    "To new beginnings," he said.


    Valerie trembled, caught between the urge to knock over his goblet and to leave him to it. He was, after all, a traitor. And if she did something, they''d ask questions. She''d have to explain what she''d done.


    Kreios sipped from the goblet. Then he handed it back to Ophelia, and she raised it in triumph.


    "To peace."


    Ophelia!


    Valerie lunged forward and knocked the goblet out of Ophelia''s hand.

 1.31. Mercy

    "What is the ultimate power? Mercy."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    In the moments between the goblet leaving Lady Ophelia''s startled grasp and it crashing to the floor, Valerie reflected that perhaps this wasn''t such a good idea. Ophelia squealed. Red wine spilled out like blood. Murmurs and whispers followed as the lords and ladies around them noticed the kerfuffle.


    Lord Avon grabbed her shoulder. "Valerie!"


    Lord Dryden stood up. "What on earth are you doing?"


    "What..."


    If Kreios had been about to reprimand her, the impulse soon vanished. He stopped, his hand flying to his throat.


    "Valerie?" A tiny crease smudged Ophelia''s brow.


    Next to her, Avon stepped forward. "Lord Silver, what''s wrong?"


    Kreios was wheezing, his face turning red. His fingers kept clawing at his throat, as if to pull away a cloth that was squeezing his neck.


    "He''s poisoned!" said Valerie. "Wait¡ªI can help."


    She started forward, but Avon pulled her back before she could get further than a step. Valerie turned back, furious, but he met her eyes with equal ferocity before shouting out to the crowd:


    "Fetch a doctor! Now!"


    The servants responded at once. Meanwhile, the lords and ladies crowded around Kreios, who had collapsed into a chair. Dryden helped him sit up; he was now blue in the face. Ophelia clutched at his hand. Valerie looked for Iora, but there was no sign of her in the chaos. Had she seen what had happened?


    Avon barked at the crowd: "Ladies and gentlemen, give him space! Step out of the hall, all of you¡ªthe doctor needs space to assist Lord Silver."


    The Drakonian doctor had arrived. He rushed over to Kreios while the palace guards ushered the lords and ladies out, Ophelia refusing to leave until her brother snapped at her to go. Avon held her hand tightly. Dryden supported Kreios, the doctor getting ready to administer what looked like a breathing tube.


    "I could heal him!" Valerie hissed.


    He looked at her. "Are you sure?"


    Maybe, maybe not. She''d never healed anyone else before, but she was twice-blessed by the silvertree, and there was a first time for everything.


    "At least let me try!"


    "Wait!" said Avon. "Step back."


    The doctor stared at him. "My lord¡ª"


    "I said step back."


    Avon let go and Valerie rushed forward, kneeling beside Kreios to grab his hand.


    Dryden hissed. "You''d let your witch work her evil here in our halls?"


    "My lord, I must protest¡ª"


    "No, you must not. Let her work."


    Valerie only half-heard them arguing. She was overwhelmed by the poison eating its way through the man''s body and destroying his lungs. It had already spread through his bloodstream.


    She''d been healing herself ever since she was first blessed by the silvertree. It was one of the first things she had learned to do. But awareness of one''s own body was quite different from awareness of another, particularly a stranger. And he was dying. Instinctively, she held herself back. The slightest adjustment of her senses would make his pain her own.


    That was the answer.


    If she drew the poison into herself¡ª


    She wouldn''t die. She''d expel it.


    Valerie laid her hand on his forehead¡ªand then stopped, gasping, as Kreios convulsed. For a second, she couldn''t breathe¡ªher throat clamped up¡ªthen she reeled back as if she''d been struck. The moment her hand lifted from his skin the sensation also lifted.


    Kreios slumped to the floor. His skin was grey and twisted, the corners of his mouth a bruised purple. His eyes stared blankly up at the great chandelier hanging above the dinner table.


    She was breathing hard and clutched her hand to her chest, controlling herself.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "What are you doing?" the doctor demanded. "Move aside!"


    The doctor checked the man''s pulse, but it was clear to everyone watching what had happened.


    "He''s dead," said Dryden. "You..."


    "I couldn''t save him." Valerie looked up at Avon, begging him to believe her. "I ran out of time."


    He stared back at her, and she saw doubt in his eyes.


    "James," said Dryden. "James¡ªI''ll keep your secret. But we should have let the doctor do his job. Putting his life in the hands of an untrained girl¡ªwhether malicious or incompetent¡ª"


    Anger flared in her. "I could have saved him! You held me back¡ªyou wasted our time!"


    Avon straightened up. His shadow seemed heavy on the great polished-wood floor. "My secret?" he said. "My secret? Do you think I have anything to hide?"


    "I think¡ª"


    "You''re missing the point." Avon cut him off. "There''s no reason the girl wouldn''t want to save one of her own people, and the poison would have killed him whether or not she helped matters along. The more pertinent question is: how did she know there was poison in that goblet in the first place?"


    In the silence that followed, all eyes turned on her. Valerie swallowed. Slowly, she stood up, wondering if this was it, the moment he denounced her. Her cover was blown. There was no explaining it.


    "Take care of the body," said Avon quietly. "And have the guests retire. We''ll have no more revelry tonight. Valerie, come with me."


    She blanched. He''d spoken in that same cold tone he''d used the night she had tried to escape. He marched her away, and his silence pressed on her like the force of his grip around her arm.


    Think! Fight or flight?


    There was always another way. There had to be. Lie? Would he believe her if she claimed that she''d sensed the poison with her magic?


    If only Iora had listened to me, she thought. If she had contacted the traitor in the palace, if they''d concocted a scheme together... They could have come up with something better than this.


    She''d seen nothing but half-baked plans and failure from the resistance. Valerie had played her part, again, and gotten nothing in return except the anticipation of miserable punishment, again.


    The doors to Avon''s quarters flung open and closed again. He pushed her into the middle of the room, in front of the empty fireplace, and then paced a full circle around her as if he couldn''t stand still.


    "You knew," he said finally, stopping in front of her. "You knew the goblet was poisoned."


    ¡°Yes, I knew.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t deny that. And now she faced a terrible choice. She could either take the blame for the attempted poisoning herself, or¡­


    ¡°Did you do it?¡±


    She clasped one hand over her arm, forcing herself to look back at him. ¡°No, my lord. There¡¯s a spy in your household. I watched them pour poison into the goblet.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    "Iora. One of the maidservants." Her tone was calm, controlled. She couldn''t afford an ounce of emotion. "She''s a member of the resistance."


    "You were working together."


    She said nothing.


    "All this talk of trust." He shook his head. "I assume the poison was meant for me. I was quite merry. If you had offered me a drink, I would have taken it. So... Why did you spill the goblet?"


    She felt her mask slip, her mouth trembling, and looked away. "Your sister was about to drink the poison. I couldn''t let her die."


    "Even though you''d give yourself away."


    Had his voice softened? Hope fluttered. Her gambit might just work. Once, when describing how the Maskamery in the northwest had repelled the Drakonian invaders, Prince Bakra told her how they had strategically given up a village in order to retreat to higher ground and better defend their line. Most of the residents had perished. He¡¯d called it a noble sacrifice. The memory of her own village burning had been raw then, and Valerie had been outraged.


    But now she understood. The resistance was more important than any individual member. They were all pieces playing their part, and if some of them had to be sacrificed in order to secure victory, then so be it.


    Clearly, she was a more valuable piece than Iora. She had magic. She had something Avon needed. And, if she played this right, she might not only be able to regain his trust, but to solidify her position by his side, exactly where the prince needed her.


    "I should have spoken up earlier. The resistance..." She pressed her lips together. "I''m afraid of what I''m about to tell you."


    He took a step closer, his brow drawn in concern. "Afraid of what?"


    "Betraying you. It''s what I''ve been doing all this time. Betraying you."


    "How?"


    "Since we returned from Enyr. That''s when Iora contacted me... and gave me an order." He was close enough to detect the tremor in her voice and body, she thought. And she wasn''t acting; the fear was real. "The prince learned about my situation. He wanted me to act as a spy, to pass information to the resistance. If I didn''t..."


    Avon frowned. "What?"


    "They wouldn''t risk leaving me in the power of the Empire. They''d have me killed first."


    "They threatened you?" His hands found her waist, and she let him¡ªlet him draw her in.


    "I know too much. About Bakra, about the resistance. I could give them all away."


    "But you haven''t." His fingers tightened around her. "Are you not loyal to the resistance?"


    "I was¡ªI am. But I wanted to run away¡ªyou know that¡ªI tried to escape. Now I''m trapped by both sides. I could put you to sleep."


    She caressed his jaw as she said that. He froze, the two of them caught in a strange embrace. Fear flickered in his eyes. This was what connected them: mutual fear. They were balanced on a knife''s edge.


    "I could put you to sleep," she continued softly, "and run, and escape all of you."


    "I would hunt you down. You''d never know a moment''s peace."


    Valerie shivered, either from fear or from delight. This moment, the delicate dance of words that could mean the difference between life and death, success or failure¡ªthis was the turning point. The adrenaline running through her veins magnified her senses: the fall of his hair, the fervour in his eyes, the solid warmth of his hands on her skin, all crystal clear. She drank him in.


    She pressed her hand on his chest, against the steady beat of his heart. "What happens if I stay?"


    "You''ve given me one name. Give me more, and I''ll consider showing you mercy."


    Still demanding her surrender. He always wanted more.


    She pulled away. "I gave you your sister''s life. Isn''t that enough?"


    Avon regarded her. One of his hands came to rest on the hilt of the sword at his hip. "Not after a second attempt on my life. For that I must have you thrown in the dungeon until I deal with this spy. But you did save my sister. We''ll speak again."


    It was a chance, she thought. As close to an understanding as they could get, knowing they were enemies, knowing that triumph for one meant suffering for the other.


    They would speak again. She believed him on that.

 1.32. Double Crossed

    "A sorcerer in a cage has no power at all¡ªprovided it''s a sturdy cage."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    ¡°Listen,¡± she said. ¡°I didn¡¯t do it; she did. Give me five minutes. I¡¯ll get her to confess.¡±


    Lord Gideon paused at the top of the steps leading down to the dungeon and leaned on his cane. ¡°And why would you do that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it if no one hurts her. Promise me. No torture, no beatings. I want her to leave this dungeon and go off to serve her repentance unscathed.¡±


    His lips curled. ¡°An unlikely bet. Even a slip of a girl like her should take a little persuading to open her mouth. Besides, the guards may have already been a little¡­ rough¡­ bringing her in.¡±


    ¡°No more then,¡± she said, her heart pounding. ¡°Look, do you want a confession or not?¡±


    His sneer told her two things. One: that he didn¡¯t believe her. And two, Valerie suspected that Gideon meant to torture them both, but she was also gambling that his ego would get the better of him. She¡¯d challenged him, and now he had the opportunity to prove her wrong.


    ¡°Very well.¡± Gideon stepped aside, gesturing to the guards behind her. ¡°You can try.¡±


    *


    Prison didn¡¯t seem like the worst punishment considering what she¡¯d done. Valerie was less concerned for herself and more for her cellmate.


    Iora.


    Her friend was chained up in the dungeon that was identical to if not the same as the one she¡¯d spent a miserable night in following the assassination attempt. Brackets on the wall held fire-braziers, and the hooks embedded at intervals in the stone could hold up to four prisoners. The guards threw Valerie down on the sandy ground next to Iora, and cold iron snapped into place around her ankle. Valerie didn¡¯t bother testing her manacles. She knew from experience that they wouldn¡¯t budge.


    Iora stared at her, hair matted, clothes dirty. Only when the guards retreated and the iron door at the top of the steps slammed shut did the other girl speak.


    ¡°Traitor.¡±


    She spoke the word with such venom that Valerie felt it like a dagger in her gut. But she''d expected this. Someone had to take the fall for the attempted poisoning. And since it was Valerie''s fault that Iora had been arrested, it was her responsibility to ensure that the fall was as gentle as possible.


    Five minutes, she¡¯d said to Gideon. No time to dither.


    Valerie sat up on her hands and knees. ¡°Iora¡­ What are you doing here? How did they catch you?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie!¡± Iora¡¯s eyes were red and puffy. ¡°I saw what you did.¡±


    ¡°What I did? I stopped us from murdering an innocent woman.¡±


    ¡°The Drakonians aren¡¯t innocent¡ª¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she interrupted. ¡°Avon was never going to drink the poison after that man started choking. I covered for you.¡±


    Iora shook her head. ¡°They knew it was me. They dragged me out of the kitchen after dinner and told me I was being arrested as a spy.¡±


    Her eyes widened. ¡°How did they know?¡±


    ¡°How?¡± She sensed the other girl¡¯s bewilderment, catching herself. ¡°You¡¯re the only one I told, Val. You¡¯re saying it wasn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not the only one,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t forget, there¡¯s your traitor too. Do you think they¡¯d throw me in here if I¡¯d switched sides?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Iora swallowed. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°One of the lords died drinking the poison. The man from Bolebund. I tried to save him. When I failed, they accused me of poisoning him.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t sure when Iora had left the dining hall, how much she had witnessed, but she couldn¡¯t have been there for Kreios¡¯s death. Valerie was counting on this to sketch her version of events, and judging by Iora¡¯s troubled expression, it seemed to be working.


    ¡°You know they know what I am,¡± she went on, pressing her point. ¡°You poisoned that chalice in front of me¡ªwith me at the table¡ªI had to make it look like I did it, so they wouldn¡¯t come looking for you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Iora whispered.


    ¡°Who do you think betrayed you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°The traitor,¡± she said, impatient. ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡±


    The door at the top of the staircase creaked open and both girls fell silent. They looked up. Heavy boots descended the steps, a dark cloak, gloves, and then the cruel face of Lord Gideon himself. He¡¯d given her barely any time at all.


    As quickly as she could, Valerie scrabbled over to Iora, the manacle cutting into her ankle, and whispered in her ear.


    ¡°Listen, do they have hard evidence against you? Did anyone see you?¡±


    ¡°No! You were the only one who saw.¡±


    ¡°Then don¡¯t say anything. I¡¯ll confess.¡±


    ¡°Val¡­¡± Iora shook her head, mouth trembling. ¡°You can¡¯t do that for me. This was my fault.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. One of us has to carry on¡ª¡±


    She stopped as Gideon reached the sandy floor at the foot of the stairs and peeled off his gloves, smiling at each of them. ¡°Well, ladies. Who shall I question first?¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Silence. The two girls huddled together, Valerie taking Iora¡¯s hand. She had some sense of what awaited if she failed¡ªand the water trough standing in the middle of the cell was an unwelcome reminder of what she had endured the last time she¡¯d been here. She wouldn¡¯t let Iora suffer that. No, Iora would be spared the Empire¡¯s wrath.


    ¡°No volunteers?¡± The glee in his voice made her sick. ¡°The Empire can offer mercy¡ªif you confess.¡±


    She let go of Iora¡¯s hand, bracing herself against the ground to stand up.


    ¡°It was me.¡±


    Valerie caught her breath. Iora had beaten her to it¡ªthe other girl leapt up, facing Gideon with her chin lifted and her back straight.


    ¡°Iora, don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°I did it,¡± said Iora. ¡°I poisoned the wine. I tried to kill the Chancellor.¡±


    Valerie got up too, grabbing her friend¡¯s arm, but it was no good. Iora¡¯s eyes burned with a clarity of purpose she¡¯d seen before: when they¡¯d joined the mob yelling and jeering at their Drakonian overlords in the city streets; whenever the prince slammed his fist against the table and declared that he was taking back his throne.


    Gideon¡¯s insidious sharp eyes turned on Valerie. ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t poison anyone.¡±


    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°Well. We have a confession. Guards!¡± He called up the steps for two of the fortress guards to come down. ¡°Take the girl. That one, not her. Move her to a holding cell; I¡¯ll deal with her presently.¡±


    The guards unchained Iora and dragged her away, her eyes never leaving Valerie¡¯s until the last second. Valerie held her gaze, trying to communicate without words¡ªto express her gratitude.


    Then the door slammed shut, and she and Gideon were alone.


    Gideon chuckled. ¡°What a cunning little snake you are.¡±


    ¡°You promised she wouldn¡¯t be harmed,¡± she reminded him.


    Whether Iora would have crumbled under threat of torture, she didn¡¯t know, but it wasn¡¯t worth the risk. She didn¡¯t like making a deal with the likes of Gideon, but she¡¯d held her nose and done it. No more resistance secrets would be spilled to the Empire. She¡¯d gotten the confession that he wanted without any need for interrogation.


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Gideon shuffled forward, seeming to sniff at her, and Valerie backed away in disgust. ¡°As for you¡­¡±


    She took a breath. ¡°I have a message. I want to speak to Lord Avon.¡±


    ¡°You want. You¡¯re too used to getting what you want, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°My message is this: Please ask the Master of Justice to pass a lenient sentence. Iora is a healer. She can serve her time in a clinic or apothecary, somewhere she can help people. If the Chanceller sees fit to show mercy, he¡¯ll find me very grateful.¡±


    Gideon scoffed. ¡°The serpent rears her head again. Why should only the Chancellor receive your gratitude?¡±


    He reached out to brush her cheek and she flinched away. The cold stone wall hit her back. She glanced down at the chain at her feet, willing it to break, snap¡ªanything to get away. But she couldn''t summon up even the slightest magical spark. This was his domain, the dungeon: his instruments of torture, his prisoners to poke at until he made them scream. His presence was so overwhelming that it stamped out her power altogether.


    ¡°Do you think Lord Avon is happy to share?¡± she asked instead. ¡°What will he do if you fail to pass on my message?¡±


    Avon took promises seriously, she knew that. And she trusted him to keep his promises more than she did Gideon. Iora¡¯s safety depended on it.


    For a second, Gideon¡¯s face twisted. Then he smiled, and the slow curve of his mouth chilled her more than any of his sneers.


    ¡°You¡¯ve proven a wonderful distraction,¡± he murmured. ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself about your poor young friend. She¡¯ll receive the best of care. After all¡­¡± He leaned in to whisper in her ear. ¡°I¡¯m on your side.¡±


    She shuddered, but he was already retreating. It was only when he reached the steps that the full impact of his meaning hit her, and she called out.


    ¡°Wait!¡±


    But he ignored her. The door slammed shut, leaving her trapped in the dark.


    *


    How much time then passed, she didn''t know. The cell had no windows. She could only measure it by the coming and going of the guard: regular intervals to check in on her, feed her, and take away her chamber pot. As the hours ticked by, her mind kept going round and round in circles, returning always to one singular thought:


    Gideon was the traitor.


    That had to be what his parting words had meant. Gideon! Him, of all people, on her side. Working with the resistance.


    The more she thought about it, the more it made a strange kind of sense. Markus had said he was in touch with the resistance. Who else but Gideon, the Master of Justice, could have informed them of his whereabouts? Then there was the meeting with Iora in her family''s store. Lady Melody had ushered her off on this sudden shopping trip, and who was she but Gideon''s consort? He could have ordered her to do it. Even the news about Lavinia''s arrest would have gone through Gideon¡ªhe would have executed the order.


    And, she thought, her mind grasping further back, she''d seen him whispering with Lord Hafnir at the castle in Enyr! Hafnir, a known ally of the resistance.


    But what if he wanted her to think that? What if this was all a ploy¡ªanother scheme to make her give away information about the resistance? She could imagine Lord Avon giving that order and Gideon being all too happy to follow it. He didn''t give a damn about her family. Why would he help Lavinia? And why would Prince Bakra ally with a man as despicable as Gideon?


    Whatever the truth, the way he had done it was monstrously clever. He''d said enough to tip her off but not enough to confirm beyond doubt. If she tried telling Avon or anyone else, Gideon would easily be able to pass his words off as an interrogation tactic.


    And after all that, where did she stand? Gideon? Avon? The resistance? Who could help her? She''d focused so much on getting Iora out safely that she''d left her own fate uncertain. Valerie clung on to one slim hope: Avon had promised he would talk to her.


    The guards had stopped checking her cell. The air was chilly. She guessed it was night and curled up on the hard sandy ground to sleep.


    *


    Her next visitor was Captain Doryn. She woke up when light spilled into the cell. Her muscles ached with cramp. She stretched, cracking a few joints.


    "Get up," he said, his men hurrying down to remove her chains.


    She did so, brushing the sand from her dress. "Captain? Where are we going?"


    "The Chancellor summons you."


    Her heart leapt. The guards dragged her up, past the cells and through the mess hall until she emerged outside, squinting against the glare of the sun. They shoved her into a waiting carriage. The journey was no different to the one she''d taken to get here: a half hour ride from fortress to palace.


    She expected to be taken straight to Lord Avon, but instead the guards escorted her to the bath chamber where the matron, Dinah, and her maids were waiting. Dinah took one look at her and clicked her tongue.


    "You again. Did you run away?"


    "No," she said, aware that she was every bit as dishevelled as the first time Dinah had taken her in.


    "Come, then. Let''s make it quick."


    They bathed and dressed her in one of her own gowns, a pale-yellow affair with a white sash and trim. With that, she realised that she was being reintroduced to court. Her hair was pinned up in the Drakonian style. She''d wiped away any bruises she might have to hide and so looked as clean, fresh, and presentable as if she hadn''t spent the night in a dungeon.


    Avon wasn''t locking her up alone. She felt a burst of hope.


    When she was ready, Doryn collected her. Valerie took his arm. They passed through the galleries, nodding at the occasional passing courtier. No one blinked an eye. Then Doryn took her to the gallery above the throne room, and she found it crowded with courtiers.


    "Join the others," he murmured.


    Valerie walked over, hoping she looked like she knew what was going on. She sensed Doryn retreat to guard the door behind her. He would be watching.


    "Hey," she whispered, squeezing in at the edge of the balcony between Lady Amilia and Lady Flavia.


    Amilia looked startled. "Lady Valerie! Hush, they''re about to start."


    "Start what?"


    "Bringing in the traitor," said Lady Rose, leaning in from next to Amilia.


    Valerie looked down. Avon sat upon the queen''s throne, his Masters of state around him. The throne room was flanked by guards, as well as an audience of lords, all men. The ladies and lower ranking courtiers had to watch from the gallery above. Valerie looked around for Lady Ophelia but couldn''t see her. Maybe she was still recovering from the shock of the attempted poisoning.


    Then the doors to the throne room flung open and Lord Gideon entered, his dark-green cloak sweeping behind him. He was followed by a contingent of armed guards dragging in a prisoner. For a moment Valerie''s heart leapt into her mouth¡ªit couldn''t be Iora¡ªbut, no, it wasn''t.


    The man they dragged before the Chancellor, his hair ragged, jaw unshaven, armour stripped away¡ªthat man was Captain Quintus.

 1.33. A Man Dies for Dramatic Effect

    "The disease of corruption, once it has taken hold, is almost impossible to root out. Even the most upright of men can fall prey to it. This rot hid itself well, behind petticoats and a courtesan''s plump red smile."


    Bishop Eugene Thorne''s Notes on a Mission in Maskamere


    Beside her, Lady Flavia gave a little gasp.


    Lord Avon rose, and as one the lords in the throne room stood too. "Captain Quintus Viper, once captain of the king''s Royal Guard. You swore an oath. You promised to deliver Prince Bakra in chains and deliver me the Masked Crown, on pain of death. I see neither."


    Quintus said nothing. His eyes blazed with hatred.


    "Sit," said Avon, indicating the courtiers. The crowd settled with a sigh and rustling of fabric. With the three rows of benches facing the throne, the scene looked almost like a temple gathering. "Lord Gideon, please speak. Tell us how you came to find this man."


    Gideon stepped forward. "Captain Viper met with General Leamsbrand at the northern pass to discuss his proposal to capture Prince Bakra. The prince was to be led into a trap. Captain Viper claimed to Prince Bakra that he had arranged a meeting at a secure location with mercenaries from the Sapphire Sea. Instead, he would be ambushed by the general and his men.


    "Believing this, the general set up the trap. Prince Bakra never appeared. They discovered Captain Viper half a mile from the meeting point, half-dead hanging to a post. The barbarian Maskamery had flayed him and left him there to die. General Leamsbrand saved his life and had him delivered to me, believing it appropriate to try the man in court."


    Quietly, Valerie took Flavia''s hand. Flavia buried her head in Valerie''s shoulder, shaking.


    "Please send my thanks to General Leamsbrand for his efforts," said Avon, "and my continued support for his control in the north."


    Gideon bowed and retreated. Quintus was now a lone figure in the centre of the hall, head bowed, shoulders hunched. He looked like a man defeated. Valerie found her heart racing, but she wasn''t sure how else to feel. He was a traitor. What was going to happen?


    "Captain Viper," said Avon. "You''ve heard Lord Gideon''s account. What have you to say?"


    Again, sullen silence.


    "Captain," said Avon. "If you fail to speak up in your own defence now, we will move on to delivering our verdict."


    "I..." Quintus''s voice came out cracked and broken. He cleared his throat. "I have no wish to speak in my defence. Do as you will. But I''ve not been cursed yet."


    The curse, she thought. Quintus had sworn under the light of the silvertree to deliver on his promise, or else his bones would wither and his body turn to dust. Neither had happened. Then again, he hadn''t promised a specific deadline. Perhaps as long as he was alive and there was still the remotest possibility that he might yet deliver the prince and the jewel to Avon, the curse would remain dormant.


    A murmur rippled through the crowd at the mention of the word ''curse''. Curses were things that the Drakonians had heard of, some distant fairytale to scare children, but most had never encountered one themselves. The few times she''d heard the court discuss such things, it was with an air of either superstition or arrogant disbelief.


    "That''s true," said Avon. "Which suggests you may still be useful. But given your failure so far, I find myself lacking confidence in your ability to deliver."


    The room darkened. A sense of foreboding crept over her. Something below... She gasped. A dark cloud of magic was forming around Quintus. Valerie looked from side to side, but no one else had reacted. Could no one else see it?


    Quintus grimaced. Beads of sweat appeared at his brow.


    "You are a Maskamery soldier," Avon went on, "under a Maskamery oath. Perhaps we should consider Maskamery justice. Lady Valerie!"


    He looked up, his eyes piercing her where she stood, and she flinched in shock. When had he noticed her arrive? All heads in the gallery turned to her and many of the lords below too, craning their necks to get a glimpse of the Chancellor''s Maskamery consort.


    "Valerie," Flavia whispered, squeezing her hand tight.


    "Lady Valerie," said Avon. "Would you have this man face Maskamery justice? Come down and show us."


    Come down and show us? What does he want from me?


    "Valerie, please¡ª" Tears ran down Flavia''s beautiful cheeks.


    Quintus was shaking. He fell to his knees¡ªa few people in the crowd murmured, but to them it would look like despair at his impending doom. Only she could see the real cause. The dark tendrils of magic shrivelled his bones until he could not stand. He was a paper thin skeleton, atrophying from within.


    He was going to die anyway. Nothing could be done about that. Fine. If Avon wanted a show, she would give them a show.


    She sent a small pulse of magic through her fingertips, and Flavia sighed and fainted into her arms. The other ladies gasped. Valerie pushed Flavia at Amilia, letting the other ladies deal with her, then leaned over the balcony and projected her voice to the crowd.


    "There''s no need, my lord. Captain Viper is already facing the consequences of his treachery. His bones wither. His body turns to dust. That is Maskamery justice."


    As she spoke, it was coming true. Quintus sank down to the floor, visibly withering, and then his flesh dissolved into dust. The court erupted. Gasps and screams filled the air. Several courtiers leapt to their feet, and the ladies around her backed away in terror.


    "Valerie¡ª"


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    "Did you...?"


    Amilia was the first to say it. "Witch!" she gasped. "You''re a witch!"


    "Silence!" Avon''s voice rippled through the court. He held up his hand. In front of him was a strange sight: a pile of clothes and boots where a man had once stood. "Justice has been served. The court is adjourned."


    The throne room was raucous, Avon accosted by his own council, everyone else turning to their neighbour to gossip. Rose ducked past Amilia who looked close to fainting too. One of the guards had picked up the unconscious Flavia, and she felt a pang of guilt.


    "Valerie, did you really...?"


    "At my lord''s command," she said, noticing Captain Doryn pushing his way through the crowd.


    He took her arm. "Come, my lady."


    And as Doryn escorted her out, as she walked past the shocked faces of the courtesans, she noted each of their reactions: Amilia frightened, Mona troubled, Rose awed. The last person she passed was Lady Melody, stone-faced, but something about the hardness in her eyes made Valerie''s stomach drop.


    Then she was gone, Doryn marching her back to Avon''s quarters so fast that she almost had to run.


    "Doryn, slow down!"


    He refused to speak, shoving her through the door. She wrenched her arm away from him and whirled around.


    "Are you mad? You all wanted him dead."


    "That''s the second man I''ve seen you strike down," said Doryn. "Now brazenly¡ªin front of the court."


    "And?" she demanded.


    "Lady Valerie¡ªI know you don''t like to hear it from me, but if I may offer a piece of advice..."


    "What?"


    "Do you know where I''m from?"


    She was nonplussed. "No."


    "I was born in Carthal. I was a boy when the Empire invaded. Sixteen years ago, I swore fealty to the Emperor, and I''ve been faithful ever since."


    It was difficult not to say good for you. She swallowed. Carthal was one of three duchy-states west of Drakon, and it had been a vassal of the Empire for nearly twenty years, which made her wonder how he''d spent the four after the invasion.


    "The Empire crushes weakness," Doryn went on, "but it also recognises strength¡ªand exploits it. You''ve puzzled me for some time, my lady. I don''t know where your loyalties lie, but be careful of Lord Avon. He has little tolerance of disloyalty. It would be a shame to see your spirit crushed."


    "I wasn''t disloyal," she said, unsure how else to respond.


    He opened his mouth, then stopped, both of them turning to the door as Avon stepped inside.


    Avon nodded at Doryn. "Thank you, Captain. Dismissed."


    Doryn left without another word, but Valerie caught his eye and Avon noticed that¡ªthe sense of something unfinished in the room.


    He raised an eyebrow. "Was I interrupting something?"


    "Captain Doryn disapproves of my magic trick, my lord," she said. "Do you?"


    "Ha," he said. "What a performance. No, no, this is exactly what I wanted. Better, even."


    "Why?"


    She''d guessed that he wanted a spectacle. Why else call out her name? And at this point, revealing her powers was a calculated risk. Avon could do nothing about it; he needed her magic. Revealing it forced him to defend her, or so she hoped.


    His gaze was steady. "Your contact in the resistance. Did you warn her about the trap we set for the prince?"


    She nodded. "I did."


    "Why admit it?"


    "You already know."


    He regarded her for a long moment. Then he walked over to his writing desk, picking up a letter sealed by a silver dragon. The Emperor''s seal.


    "The tides of war are turning," he said. "My father sent me a missive with plans to conquer the north. My enemies at court have threatened to reveal my sympathy for the barbarians and their magic¡ªmeaning you."


    "Your enemies?" she asked, feeling dizzy.


    "Lord Thorne." When she looked puzzled, he shook his head. "What, did you think I liked the old coot? He''s here to spy on me. As is Lord Gideon."


    "I thought you were friends." Even as she said it, it didn''t sound convincing. Does Avon know that Gideon is a traitor?


    "Friends? No. Gideon is a very dangerous man, but you ought to know that. Sit."


    He gestured towards the crackling fireplace, and she sank down into the big grand old armchair that was her favourite piece of furniture in the room. Avon joined her.


    "Why not make a show of punishing me then?" she asked. "After what I did..."


    She wouldn''t apologise for it, but she didn''t expect Avon to apologise for punishing her either. If anything, it seemed she was being let off lightly.


    "It''s imperative that you are not seen as an enemy, Valerie," he said, "do you understand? The entire court believes you killed that man. We have a small window of opportunity to give the right impression, or there''ll be a witch hunt."


    "I said it was your order."


    "Good. Then we''ll go to dinner tonight¡ªyou on my arm. Make it clear that I''ve known what you are from the start."


    "I''m your pet witch."


    "If you like."


    She didn''t like it, but she understood. "You''re getting ahead of them. Showing the court what I am so they can''t reveal it."


    "Exactly."


    "Then... the poison..."


    "Wasn''t you. One of the rebels infiltrated the palace, posing as a maidservant. You had nothing to do with it."


    "You don''t believe that."


    "Of course I don''t. But I hope your position is clear. My influence is the only thing that stands between you and the bonfire."


    Because her secret was revealed. He''d played her. Valerie frowned, biting her lip. Had she miscalculated? Instinct had compelled her¡ªa show of power before the entire court, a chance to surprise Avon. He had to protect her from those Drakonians who wanted to see a witch burned, but that also meant she was dependent on his protection. Without him, she''d be at the court''s mercy.


    Except he doesn''t know about Gideon. Probably.


    "Did you get my message, my lord?"


    "What message?"


    "I asked Lord Gideon about Iora..."


    "Ah. Yes. We''ve sent her to a surgery in the country. There''s a village in the east that recently lost their healer and petitioned me for help."


    She exhaled. She hadn''t realised how tight her chest had been before hearing that. "Thank you, my lord."


    He drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. "We''ve also located the third silvertree."


    That got her attention. She leaned forward, heart leaping. "Where?"


    "You''ll know when I take you there. Do you want magic to return to Maskamere?"


    "Yes, but..."


    "Then first you must convince the Drakonian court."


    Not only that magic was of value, but that she was under his thumb. The Drakonians would never accept her otherwise. If any of them believed that she was the one manipulating Avon instead of the other way round, if Lord Thorne or any of them shouted that a wicked witch had bewitched their Chancellor... She would be in trouble.


    She looked at Avon. "Do you know why I joined the resistance?"


    He said nothing. She went on:


    "I had a plan. I had my life all mapped out. I was going to become a priestess. I knew I was gifted¡ª the priestesses all said it. They do tests to decide who gets the blessing, and High Priestess Glynda said I had more potential than any girl she''d tested in fifty years. I wanted to become an Abbess. I thought it would take ten years, maybe fifteen. And then barely a day after I received the blessing, the Empire invaded, and your stupid war destroyed my home, my family, my village¡ªthe entire priesthood¡ª everything I''d ever worked for. I have to restore the silvertrees. They''re the source of everything, the foundation of everything we''ve built."


    "And the source of your power," he said quietly.


    "Did you mean it, about regretting the purge? Do you truly want to rebuild Maskamere¡ªas it was?"


    "That was the plan you foiled," he said. "I would have restored Bakra to the throne."


    "A phony king. A stooge."


    "But alive. A symbol of hope for your people."


    "You don''t understand, do you?"


    "Understand what?"


    "The queen doesn''t serve the king. They rule as equals."


    As she spoke, the path before them became clear. An impossible path, a path she could not take. But if she could convince Avon that she meant it...


    "Are you proposing what I think you''re proposing?"


    A gong sounded for dinner. Valerie looked up, distracted, the intensity of their conversation broken. They were in tune tonight, the two of them, blasphemy falling from her lips as easily as breath. Strange that it happened after they''d killed a man.


    Not killed, she reminded herself. Quintus broke his own oath. We just staged it for dramatic effect.


    Avon stood. "We''d best get ready."

 1.34. The Witch Revealed

    "As I was blessed by the goldentree, so too are my children blessed, and their children, and their children''s children. My descendants shall rule Maskamere in my name. It is a great responsibility to bear. Let no one break this unbroken bloodline, for the future of Maskamere depends on it."


    Maska''s Testimonium, II:XVIII


    Lady Flavia had retired for the evening. She had the vapours, or so her maid said, but Valerie was quite firm about visiting.


    "I can help," she said, and perhaps the rumours about her sorcery had spread already because the maid only gave her a terrified nod.


    She entered to find the chamber in shadow, Flavia resting in bed. Valerie opened the curtains and replaced a vase of flowers with a fresh bunch.


    "That''s better," she said. "Let''s have some light in here."


    The room was smaller than the royal quarters but still lavish, the ceiling painted with clouds and cherubs. Valerie took a seat on a wicker chair beside the bed.


    "Flavia?"


    Flavia gave her a tiny smile. Her eyes were wet and smudged, her hair a tangle of curls. "They said he was executed," she whispered. "They said that you did it."


    Valerie took her hand. "He was cursed. I didn''t do it. The curse took him."


    "Was he really a traitor?"


    She exhaled. "Yes. In Enyr, he made a deal with Lord Avon to betray the prince. I witnessed it."


    "Why didn''t you tell me?"


    "I didn''t want to burden you."


    Tears welled up in Flavia''s eyes. "We were a proud family. Now there are none of us left. I tried to keep going... for my mother."


    "Flavia." She leaned forward. "You have kept going. You''ve done so well. Did you find a new lord? I saw you talking to Lord Litton."


    She didn''t know much about Lord Litton except that he was one of the new arrivals to court. A cad in his younger days, Lady Melody had said, but much improved since marriage.


    Flavia nodded. "These are his rooms. He said I can stay."


    "I''m glad. How is he? Is he kind?"


    She gave a croaky laugh. "Valerie... You know none of the lords are kind."


    Valerie didn''t know what to say. All the light seemed to have left Flavia''s eyes. How grateful she had been, how optimistic, when Valerie had saved her from Lord Thorne''s wrath. But all I''ve done is put her in another cage.


    "Can you do something for me?" Flavia asked. "Maska''s Testimonium... the third drawer. Brown binding."


    Flavia nodded at a chest of drawers. Valerie fetched the book as requested, returning to sit with it open in her lap. The book had been bound with a different cover to disguise it, but the original cover was still there beneath: red leather and the embossed goldentree. The pages were papery thin.


    "Can you read for me?"


    Valerie nodded. "What would you like me to read?"


    "The ninth testimony. The passage of falling rain."


    Her hands stilled on the pages. The passage of falling rain was most commonly spoken as a prayer for those condemned.


    "Flavia..."


    "I don''t want to face them again," Flavia whispered. "He died in disgrace. They all died in disgrace. Please."


    She swallowed. The crackling of the pages sounded loud in her ears as she turned to the ninth testimony: On Mortality. She read:


    "The rain falls on us all.


    "Our souls return to the earth. The rain falls. It nourishes.


    "We know we did not always do right by ourselves, by our mothers, by our communities.


    "We pray for forgiveness. We ask our mothers to forgive us. We ask our community to make peace. We find peace in self-forgiveness.


    "We take comfort knowing that the goldentree welcomes us.


    "The rain falls on us all."


    She closed the book, her heart heavy.


    "Are you a priestess?" Flavia whispered.


    "Yes," she said. "Yes, I''m a priestess."


    "Please." Flavia reached up to touch her cheek. "Send me back to the goldentree."


    Her throat was dry. She shook her head, mouth tight. "You said you were going to become a priestess. You still can. I can give you the blessing."


    Something flickered in Flavia''s hollow eyes.


    "You just have to hold fast," Valerie said. "Hold fast and keep the faith. I''ll find a silvertree, and I''ll take you there, I promise. Okay?"


    "I don''t know if I can."


    "You can. Things will look better tomorrow. Can I help you sleep?"


    Flavia frowned, and she clarified:


    "With a spell. It might help you feel better."


    She gave a small nod. Valerie laid her hand on Flavia''s forehead to send her into what she hoped would be a healing sleep. She didn''t know how to cure a sickness of the soul. But if Flavia had hoped to become a priestess once, perhaps that possibility would pull her through.


    She didn''t want to lose anyone else tonight.


    *


    That evening was a larger party than usual with most of the palace visitors still present, and not only did everyone remember that a man had died drinking from a poisoned cup at their last dinner, she was also sure that the news about her had spread like wildfire through the court. Everyone stared at her when she approached the table.


    And they stared at Avon. As they''d planned, she and Avon walked into the dining hall together, Valerie on his arm proud and straight-backed, and wearing the golden halterneck dress that Lady Melody had decried her for. She wore it Maskamery-style, no corset, a single flowing garment deeply cut at the back and with slits up to the thighs. For the Drakonian ladies, it was positively scandalous, and in a royal colour to boot.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Avon meanwhile was his traditional imposing self, giving no sign that he was perturbed by the reaction of the guests, and taking the attention as merely his due.


    When Avon took his seat at the head of the table and Valerie sat beside him, one could have heard a pin drop.


    She wondered if the usual social rules of no politics at dinner would apply tonight. The air brimmed with unasked questions.


    "Well," said Jaxon, the first to break the silence. "I dare to hope for an uneventful dinner. I expect the biggest drama of the night to be Lord Bretton''s pitiful performance on the dance floor."


    A few people tittered. Lord Bretton, the cheerful old Master of Health, had a running joke with his consort Jaxon regarding his dancing ability. He wasn''t half bad for a man his age, but he couldn''t keep up with the nimble courtier.


    "I missed the dance at our last gathering," said Lady Rose. "I''ll look forward to it. Lady Ophelia, what is your favourite dance?"


    And with that, they were back to the small talk. Avon shot her a look. She rolled her eyes¡ªyes, it was always like this. He hid a smile behind his fork.


    No cups were poisoned. Nor did anyone bring it up, though several guests did opt to have their food and drink tasted before dining. The dinner was as uneventful as Jaxon had hoped, but the evening was far from over.


    Last night, the night she had spent in the dungeon, should have been a welcome ball. But the event had been cancelled out of respect for Lord Silver, whose body had been swiftly put to rest. One day''s mourning for the Maskamery nobleman, she thought. How they honour us.


    Still, Ophelia had other suitors eager to woo her, and the occasion could not wait. After dinner, the guests headed to the ballroom for their delayed dance. Since Avon was hosting, he stepped onto the floor first, the two of them arm-in-arm. The music began, Avon leaning down to gather her in hold.


    "You look stunning," he murmured.


    "Careful, my lord," she whispered back. "I might think you want something."


    The chords rang out with the same notes that they''d danced to in Enyr. She fell into rhythm, her body remembering the steps. But this felt different, very different to that time in Enyr, even if it wasn''t so long ago. His eyes burned into her. She didn''t recoil.


    This time, she had a purpose. The task that Avon had set for her: convince the court that she posed no threat. She was Avon''s puppet, her magic his to control.


    She imagined his fingers were strings, his hands guiding her as they glided across the floor. She smiled at him. He smiled back.


    Is he being kind because I saved his sister? Because he likes me? Because he needs me?


    Is he wondering the same thing about me?


    He spun her around and then back into hold, the two of them in perfect sync. His strength felt like support; his will an extension of her own. She felt loose and free. A strange, giddy sensation soared through her stomach. She''d glimpsed this feeling before, the joy of utter clarity. And she found it in Avon''s eyes too; neither could look away.


    But the music came to an end, polite applause finishing their dance. Other couples joined the dance floor, including Ophelia and one of her suitors. She looked at Avon, hoping to continue, but he had already turned away.


    The rest of the ballroom came into sharp focus and with that, her mission. She followed him to one of the drinks tables where a few lords and ladies were enjoying champagne. Avon took a glass. Valerie composed herself.


    She addressed Lady Rose, who had turned to smile at her. "Would you like to see a magic trick?"


    "A trick?"


    Rose was all eagerness, and she''d caught the attention of the other courtiers. Valerie held out her hand to Lord Merlon, the Treasurer, who was red-faced from drink.


    "May I take your glass, my lord?"


    His bushy eyebrows drew together, but he handed over the goblet. With a flourish, Valerie passed her hand over the glass and refilled it.


    Parlour tricks, Glynda had said. Moonshine. But the courtiers loved it.


    "Ha!" said Jaxon. "Refill mine?"


    "You, sir, I think you''ve had too much." She touched a finger to the glass and the champagne vanished. Jaxon turned the goblet upside down in mock bemusement.


    "Now, ladies," Valerie went on, clapping her hands. "You know I''ve some skill as a dressmaker. Do any of you fancy trying out a different colour to your dress this evening?"


    "Oh, I do!"


    She''d guessed that Rose would volunteer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Ophelia had joined her brother, watching their little display with interest.


    Rose''s dress was palest pink, one of the more fashionable colours for the summer. Valerie brushed her hand over the sleeve.


    "What would you like?" she asked. "Sapphire blue¡ªto bring out your eyes." The crowd oohed as the fabric shimmered from pink to blue. "Or emerald green¡ªlike the gardens in spring."


    "Oh," said Rose, marvelling at her vivid green skirts. "What a gorgeous trick. Where did you learn such things?"


    It was, perhaps, an innocent question, but Valerie paused. Not all the courtiers looked amused. And at the edge of their circle, Lord Thorne had appeared, his whiskery face set in a permanent scowl. Ophelia stepped in, laying a hand on Rose''s arm.


    "Haven''t you heard the story? Lady Valerie was educated at a convent."


    "You mean as a priestess." Lady Melody was one who didn''t look amused. "We had no idea."


    Or did she? The thought struck her. Lord Gideon had known about her from the start, and she wasn''t sure how many others in his inner circle Avon might have confided in. Might Gideon have confided in Melody? Did that explain Melody''s hawk-like attention on her?


    "I chose Lady Valerie as a sign of my commitment to Maskamere," Avon said, instantly commanding attention. "Magic is part of Maskamere''s past and will continue to be part of Maskamere''s future. Please, excuse us."


    He took Valerie''s arm, and they left the courtiers behind, bewildered. No one had spoken up¡ªstifled by their own social customs. Conversation was already erupting behind them, however. The news would travel.


    It was news, she was certain of that from the shocked look on some of the courtiers'' faces. For two years, they''d heard only that the Empire was stamping out witchcraft from the face of the earth. Officially, witchcraft was still illegal, although Avon had ignored that law when he''d offered a reward for a sorcerer to come forward to the palace. No one had been persecuted since, not in Jairah that she knew of, but that was because there was no one left to persecute. The hedge witches and petty sorcerers knew better than to practise their craft openly.


    Avon led her away from the ballroom, through the entrance hall, and out into the gardens. The fresh night air was pleasantly cool. She shivered as a breeze swept over her, but the goosebumps on her flesh made her feel alive, energised. She warmed the air on her skin.


    "Well," said Avon. They turned a corner past a hedgerow out of sight of the palace entrance. "They''ll chew over that for the rest of the night."


    "I think you surprised them more than I did. Did you see Lord Thorne?"


    "With a face like a disapproving aunt, yes. I don''t expect to win his favour. We''ve made a good start with the rest."


    "You''re welcome, my lord."


    He gave her a wry look. "I wish we had more time. Unfortunately, some of them know my father''s orders."


    "Your father''s orders?"


    Her stomach dropped. Avon''s hand tightened over hers; his grip seemed more urgent. They passed by a swan-shaped fountain, and he gestured for her to sit with him on the bench behind it.


    "My father sent my sister to marry," said Avon, "and a thousand men to take Bolebund. He believes we must destroy all the silvertrees to ensure our victory."


    Her warming magic faltered. A shiver swept through her. "You just told them the opposite."


    "Not directly. There is a tree in Bolebund..."


    Realisation hit her. "You want me to go."


    "I want us to go."


    "It''s a warzone. It''s where the resistance is strongest."


    "Not after we wipe them out."


    She caught her breath. This, then, was the final act of betrayal. If she was to achieve what she wanted¡ª what she hoped to achieve with Bakra and the resistance¡ªshe would have to betray Avon. And if she didn''t betray Avon, she would have to betray the resistance. Either way, he was forcing her to choose.


    It should have been an obvious choice.


    "I can''t..." She stopped.


    "You want the silvertree. Don''t you?"


    "Yes."


    "Then join me. Become my queen."


    She swallowed. Of all the offers he had made to her during their various negotiations, this was by far the most tempting. All her life, she''d admired the queen. Thrilled at tales of her heroism, power, and magic. And with the queen dead and the third silvertree within reach...


    She looked at him. "What''s the catch?"


    He chuckled. "I am. You''re too smart to be my enemy, Valerie. I want you by my side."


    "You''re asking me to betray my people."


    The same thing she''d condemned others for. And she''d never felt more ambivalent about it.


    "Run back to Bakra if you must. Will he give you what you want?"


    No, she thought, her heart thumping. Bakra was beholden to his aunt Sopphora. If Bakra triumphed, he would become king, and his aunt would become the next queen. The line of succession would continue.


    Abbess Sopphora was in Bolebund...


    She looked down at her clenched fists, fingernails digging into her palms. Her thoughts weren''t merely treacherous. They were blasphemous. The royal family had ruled Maskamere for over a thousand years.


    They don''t rule it now.


    The crunch of gravel made her look up. A figure approaching¡ª


    She turned back to Avon. "Kiss me."


    His eyes widened. She clutched his shoulders, leaning forward, and he needed no further encouragement. His mouth met hers, and a thrill ran through her, the magical blanket she''d conjured to ward off the cold searing into heat. His hands gripped her waist, warm and firm. She tasted his lips. She found herself wanting.


    Somewhere nearby, a throat cleared. "My lord."


    Avon broke off the kiss with a weary exhale, curling one hand around hers. "Lord Dryden. This is an inopportune moment."


    Valerie stared at the other lord too, not bothering to hide her satisfaction. She''d spotted him coming and played her part. What would he think of the wicked little witch now?


    "We need to talk," said Dryden. He glanced at Valerie, mouth twisting. "Alone."

 1.35. The Prisoners Dilemma

    "I tell my priestesses to look for value, not authority. They shouldn''t only look up. Good ideas can come from anyone."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    Valerie flopped on the bed in her chambers with a big sigh, hoping that Lord Dryden wouldn''t keep Lord Avon too long. Was he thinking of the kiss? She could think of little else.


    She could have returned to the party. But her mind was buzzing, thoughts darting around like flies. She could hardly contain herself.


    That Avon wanted to kiss her wasn''t surprising. But that she''d welcomed his touch... That was new.


    She pulled out the pins from her hair and shook her curls loose, lying down with her head on the pillow. The magic in the silvertree wood washed through her, comforting and familiar. Valerie wasn''t used to processing her own emotions. Goals, yes. She worked through those, planned and adjusted, planned and adjusted. But somewhere along the way she''d lost her course.


    Become my queen.


    It was absurd. He''d thrown her in prison two days ago.


    She could take him up on his offer. Her goal was the same: to restore magic to Maskamere. If she could do it through Avon rather than Bakra, then she didn''t need the resistance. Why fight a losing battle?


    And if she could make Avon believe that, then her revenge would be all the sweeter. He''d offered to make her his queen. His words betrayed his true thoughts: he still didn''t regard her as an equal. How could they rule together when they wanted drastically different things for her country?


    If she wanted to become queen, she could do it without him. No treachery required. Bakra would restore the silvertrees. And there was no guarantee that Abbess Sopphora would survive this war...


    Blasphemy again. He''d put the idea into her head, and now she could think of nothing else.


    The door to the bedchamber creaked open, and Valerie sat up, startled out of her reverie.


    "My lord."


    "My apologies for the delay." Avon shook his head, unbuttoning his cuffs. "Lord Dryden is most passionate."


    "What did he say?"


    He pursed his lips. "He wished to remind me of my father''s orders¡ªand the good of the Empire."


    "Do you agree with him?"


    He regarded her for a long moment. Then he removed his tail-coat, waistcoat and necktie, coming over to sit beside her.


    "I believe my plan is for the good of the Empire. But what I think doesn''t matter. What''s important is whether I can get enough of the council to agree with me. Several are yet to be persuaded."


    "Why are they so short-sighted? You want Maskamere to be more productive, don''t you? Tell them that we''re unproductive because the magic has gone. That''s why the crops failed¡ªthe harvest wasn''t blessed."


    He looked at her sharply. "Is that why?"


    "Master Anwen thinks so... The queen blessed the crops every year."


    "And I had an agricultural expert investigate the crop failures. His report was damning. Poor, outdated equipment, lazy workers, poor use of land. Even so, last year''s harvest would have been adequate if we hadn''t suffered a plague of locusts."


    "What?" Her head was spinning.


    "Perhaps they''re too used to relying on the blessing of the harvest. They''ve forgotten how to farm the land for themselves."


    "Or perhaps they''ve been ravaged by war, and they don''t want to work for Drakonian masters."


    He smiled at her outrage and that infuriated her more. She clenched her fists, pressing into the soft sheets.


    "I''m right, aren''t I? How many of the farmers are in forced labour? Is it any surprise that they don''t want to work?"


    She thought of Markus toiling away in the fields, no respite, no reward. There was so much injustice she had to make right.


    "Then what''s your solution?"


    "You don''t need me to come up with a solution. We already have one. Our people have been farming Maskamere for centuries."


    "And they''ve failed to innovate for centuries. Drakon has far more advanced techniques."


    "Then share them with us."


    "If we did, would you share your magic with us?"


    She hesitated. Knowledge is power. The priestesses closely guarded their secrets. That was why, even going to school at the convent, she''d hardly learned a thing about sorcery beyond the absolute basics. That knowledge was entrusted to acolytes only after they''d received the blessing of the silvertree.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "People in Drakon have a great suspicion of magic because they don''t understand it," Avon went on. "Perhaps we need to educate them."


    "We." She scrunched up her face. "We''re getting ahead of ourselves, my lord."


    "We are," he admitted.


    "We should talk about Bolebund."


    "We should."


    She gave him a questioning look. It had been his proposal. He''d yet to explain it.


    He chuckled, and she blinked in surprise. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to talk to you about affairs of state when you''re dressed like that?"


    She looked down, and, yes, he had a point. The shimmery material clung to her curves. With her knees loosely crossed on the bed, the slit in the dress revealed a generous expanse of thigh.


    A sense of mischief swept over her. "Sorry, my lord." She drew up her legs, then turned to face Avon and extended her bare limbs across his lap. "Is that any better?"


    "You''re absolutely dreadful," he said when she grinned at him.


    "So what''s the plan?"


    He rested a hand on her knee. "Well... We travel in commoners'' garb, spelled with your magic of invisibility. That gets us into the city. Once we''re there, will you be able to find the tree?"


    "Yes." She thought of the silvertree in Enyr, how she''d sensed its presence from half a mile or more away. "But it''ll be guarded."


    "The convents were poorly guarded. We raided them at night and destroyed them with a small, contained force."


    "They weren''t expecting an attack. The wards at my convent were meant to stop thieves trying to steal the blessing of the silvertree."


    The Empire''s success in warfare had been largely down to timing and coordination, as far as she had understood from her time in the resistance. It tallied with her experience. The invasion had been so sudden, so complete, that half the country was under Drakonian control before the Maskamery army had mustered. Of course, it didn''t help that the royal family had been killed in almost one fell swoop. She wondered how far down the chain of command had gone to find someone left alive to lead the defence.


    "True," he said. "We should expect greater resistance here and now. So, we''ll assess their defences. Wait until nightfall. Then strike."


    As he spoke, his hand trailed along her leg, dragging heat up towards her thigh. She tried not to react. Then he shifted, climbing up along the bed and on top of her, eyes gleaming. At the word strike, his hand curled around her throat, and she gasped.


    A thrill ran through her like lightning. His hand on her neck was loose, but so was his shirt, his hair falling forward over his eyes, the fire in them intoxicating. She reached up to grasp his arm.


    "I have a better idea."


    "Oh?"


    She was playing a dangerous game, she knew that, inviting his desire, enjoying it, even. But she had to play to her advantage. This wasn''t only about reaching the third silvertree. It could be a chance to end the war.


    "Why invade when you can be invited in?" She gently peeled his hand away. "I can go to the resistance in Bolebund. They''ll take me to the silvertree."


    His gaze darkened. "And you''ll take your blessing and run back to Bakra."


    "No." She swallowed. "No, you''re right. Bakra won''t give me what I want. I see that now."


    He stilled. She sensed his hesitation. "You''re asking me to put a lot of faith in you," he said quietly.


    "You don''t have to."


    His eyebrows rose. She nudged him and he retreated, sitting up beside her.


    "I understand why you don''t trust me," she said, "so why not give the power to someone else? Give the blessing to your sister instead of me."


    He stared at her. "Would you do that?"


    "Would you?"


    There was a long pause. She watched him breathing, the way his chest gently rose and fell. He looked so deep in thought she could tell he hadn''t considered it before.


    "No," he said eventually. "You were born for this; my sister was not. I couldn''t have Ophelia become a sorceress."


    "To become a priestess is a great honour in Maskamere. We help our people to prosper. We''re admired and respected."


    "Not anymore," he said.


    "No." She sighed. "You''re asking me to put a lot of faith in you too."


    Either of them could betray the other. Avon might intend to destroy the silvertrees once and for all, to lure her into his bed with the promise of freedom only to make her a slave. And he had to wonder if she might take the third blessing and turn it on him. She could run back to Bakra and restore him to the throne, have Avon''s head on a spike...


    "If you''re lying to me..." She looked away. "I don''t want to think about it."


    "And if you''re lying to me..." He frowned. "The prisoner''s dilemma."


    "The what?"


    "The prisoner''s dilemma. Two prisoners have been convicted of a minor crime. But they could be convicted of a greater one. The prosecutors offer each of them a deal. Testify against your counterpart and you''ll go free, while he''ll face a five-year repentance. If both refuse to testify, they can''t be charged with the greater crime, and they''ll serve out a one-year repentance for the minor crime. But if they betray each other, they''ll both serve for three years."


    She thought about it. "Can they talk to each other?"


    "In the traditional formulation, no. But there are many versions of the game. The point is that in this scenario, it''s rational for each prisoner to betray the other. They both lose."


    "In that scenario. What version of the game are we playing?"


    He exhaled. "I don''t know. I''ve tested your loyalty and found it wanting. A typical strategy in an ongoing game is tit-for-tat. If your opponent cooperates, you cooperate. If your opponent betrays, you betray."


    Which was why he''d responded to every transgression with punishment. And he''d dangled ever greater rewards in front of her, trying to entice her loyalty. Was he trying to engineer a scenario where it wouldn''t be rational for her to betray him? Then she could play that game too.


    "But you understand why I did it," she said. "I have to weigh up my chances. What will you do if I run off to the resistance and don''t come back? Give me your best threat."


    He frowned. "You want me to threaten you?"


    "If it''ll help you trust me. Give me an incentive not to betray you."


    "I will hunt you down," he said slowly. "And when I catch you, I''ll half-drown you, over and over until you beg for mercy. If you still talk back after that, I''ll pick a family member instead. No more forgiveness."


    Interesting, she thought. His words provoked a curious mix of feelings. Part of her was analysing what he was saying, what it meant he thought of her and the things she feared. He was promising her pain and further suffering inflicted on her family. A miserable existence to be sure.


    Another part of her anticipated the horror of that future experience, cataloguing it as a risk to be avoided. She couldn''t go past the point of no return with Avon until she was sure that she could kill him.


    And the final, deepest, darkest part, was experiencing a thrill of just hearing him say these things, as if they were unreal, merely a game they were playing.


    Was it wrong to enjoy the game?


    "My turn," she said. "I swear, if you betray me, I''ll put you into a never-ending sleep. And if I wake you and you fight me, I''ll cripple you inch by inch. First your sight. Then your voice. Then your limbs."


    "Interesting." Amusement flickered in his eyes. "So you don''t want to kill me."


    "Not yet." She shrugged, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. "When are we going to Bolebund?"

 1.36. Empire Building

    "The great project of empire is always infrastructure. As the reach of the Empire expanded, the same questions prevailed: How to link up such vast areas? How to move people, goods, ideas? How to maintain supply chains? And above all, how to maintain control in even the most distant territories?"


    Clement Pyridge''s History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II


    The preparations for their trip to Bolebund took place in secrecy and in haste.


    As Valerie embroidered the finishing touches to Lord Avon''s jacket¡ªshe''d been given very little time to weave his invisibility spell¡ªPriska entered her chambers and cleared her throat.


    "Lady Ophelia is here to see you, ma''am."


    She looked up, breaking her concentration. Ophelia approached, hands clasped in front of her, and offered a tremulous smile.


    "Lady Valerie. I hope I''m not being terribly intrusive?"


    "No, not at all." She left the needle and thread in her lap. "How are you?"


    "Alive, thanks to you. I wanted to say so at the party, but my brother whisked you away... Thank you." Ophelia shook her head, her eyes big and sincere. "It seems like such an inadequate word for saving my life. You must know that I''m so grateful. James too."


    Valerie looked at her but sensed no guile. Which meant Avon hadn''t told her about Valerie''s part in the attempted poisoning. Ophelia believed only that she had saved her life.


    "Those of us who are blessed," she said, "we try to use our gifts to help others. I''m only sorry I didn''t sense it in time to save Lord Silver."


    Ophelia nodded. "We are all aware of the danger. I think James would send me back to Drakon if he could, but..."


    "Your suitors. How are they?"


    "One of them backed out after the dinner. I hope I shan''t get a reputation as a poisoned chalice." She smiled. "There is another who seems promising. I''ll tell you all about him when you return. And you must tell me if the sands at Caphika are as white as they claim."


    This was their cover story. Officially, she and Avon were travelling to Caphika, a small island to the south. The Drakonian nobility loved it as a private retreat.


    "Of course," said Valerie.


    She thought their conversation was coming to a natural end, but Ophelia lingered. She glanced around the queen''s room in a strangely furtive manner before taking another step closer.


    "Valerie... May we have a moment in private?"


    She indicated Priska, who was watching quietly in the background. Valerie nodded, surprised, and waved her hand to dismiss the maidservant. As soon as Priska had gone, Ophelia shuffled her feet, her puffy gown rustling around her.


    "James told me where you''re going," she began. "I suppose it was silly of me to think that marriage would be enough when the resistance is so fierce in the north."


    Valerie frowned. She set aside the jacket and her work tools on the table, standing up to take Ophelia''s hands. "It''s not your fault if they didn''t tell you."


    "No, but... James worries about me, but I worry about him too." Ophelia sighed. "Valerie, can you... Can you protect him?"


    Her eyes widened. For a moment she was speechless. "I..."


    "My brother is too proud to ask, I''m sure. But you''ll be by his side?"


    "I''ll be by his side," she said.


    "Do you promise?"


    She hesitated. A priestess keeps their promises. She understood now why that was, the delicate shift of relationships that underpinned her power. She''d made the mistake of breaking her deal with Avon and placed herself further in his debt as a result. It would be unwise to do the same thing with Ophelia.


    "I promise, I''ll be by his side." Physically, at least. "Lord Avon needs me. I don''t know how much he told you, but there is a reason I''ll be there with him. I promise I''ll see it through."


    There, she thought. She would do exactly what she had set out to do. It wasn''t a lie when it was technically true, was it?


    *


    With menservants carrying her suitcases, Valerie was first escorted to the palace entrance where the other ladies fluttered their fans and wished her a wonderful trip. Then she was taken through the city and to the docks, where they made a great fuss of setting off from the Stormdrake, Lord Avon''s private ship, unfurling the white sails and waving at the city residents from the deck.


    Was the cheering genuine? Valerie wondered that standing side-by-side with Avon. She scanned the crowd which was a mixture of Maskamery and Drakonian¡ªhemmed in of course by the city guard who wouldn''t let any of them get within fifty feet of the ship. At this distance, wearing her corseted gown and holding her parasol, she could probably pass for Drakonian. Only her olive complexion gave her away.


    Regardless, it was all staged. As soon as the ship left the dock, she and Avon disappeared below deck to change into their commoners'' garb.


    She was dressed as herself before she had been captured: Valerie Crescent, the dressmaker, in a dark green gown, grey shawl, and leather boots of much coarser material than she''d grown used to wearing at the palace. Fitting, perhaps, for her return to the resistance.


    But they had a long way to go before that. Avon emerged wearing a fitted jacket and rough breeches, though he''d kept his expensive belt and fine boots, sword at his hip.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "How do I look?" he asked.


    "Like you''ve never sold a bottle in your life, my lord."


    They would be posing as wine merchants, which she thought was an excuse for dragging along barrels of the stuff with them. Sure enough, as they crossed the deck to the other side of the ship where the men were preparing their skiff, several were rolling barrels over to the galley. No one looked at them.


    "Captain!" said Avon, addressing one of the guards. "What are you playing at? Let us on the boat."


    The captain, an older man with whiskery hair, jumped to attention. "My lord!"


    Avon glanced at her as they stepped on to the skiff. "I told you, my lord," she said. "No one will see us unless we draw attention to ourselves."


    As the skiff was lowered onto the water, she and Avon once again headed below deck. Avon seemed to find his lack of presence disconcerting. He barked at two of the guards, startling them each time, before returning to the bridge.


    They set off along the estuary. The sea salt smell faded, the skiff making its way inland on the river.


    Valerie went above deck as soon as the guards would let her. She found a good lookout spot by the prow, where she breathed in the fresh air and watched the Maskamery countryside go by. Dragonflies hovered over the water. Birds sang in the trees. Wheat swayed gently in the fields. Out here in the country, there was little sign of Drakonian presence. She could almost imagine that this was the Maskamere she used to know.


    Until the air turned cold. Her stomach cramped, a shiver that reverberated through her entire body.


    The dead zone.


    Valerie swallowed, her mouth turning dry. There were six other men on the skiff and none of them had reacted. To them, the afternoon sun was still shining down, the breeze warm and light. The trees still grew and the birds still sang. But there was no magic here. Her shawl sat limply on her shoulders, no longer hiding her.


    Heavy footsteps came up behind her. Avon.


    "The men have stopped ignoring me," he said.


    "They''ll forget you soon enough."


    She didn''t want to say the reason why. And if Avon knew, he didn''t press her.


    He leaned by the prow, gazing out at the water. "You''ll be pleased to know I''ve gained the confidence of the council."


    "My lord?"


    "We met this morning." He looked at her. "Lord Gideon spoke out in your favour."


    "Lord Gideon?"


    She trembled. Gideon... She hadn''t had a chance to talk to him since the dungeon, but he''d always been lurking, watching her. The knowledge of her suspicions about his loyalties sat heavy in her gut.


    "He sees the potential that magic can bring. And he thinks that you saving Ophelia is a sign of you turning. I disagree."


    "Why''s that, my lord?"


    "I think you have a soft spot for my sister. How did she win you over so quickly?"


    "Because she listens to me."


    She answered without thinking and then stopped, realising that she''d said too much.


    Avon''s mouth twitched. "You mean she''s easily influenced."


    "That''s not what I said."


    "Well," he said, "my council has the same concern about me. Fortunately, they believe that Gideon despises you. His argument was therefore much more convincing."


    "I thought you said he was spying on you."


    The more she heard about the inner workings of Avon''s government, the more it confused her. She was beginning to sense that she had only scratched the surface of a tangled web of alliances. Why would Gideon vouch for her? Why would he turn traitor? What does he want?


    "Yes," said Avon, "but not for my father. There are forces in Drakon that keep even the Emperor in check. Gideon''s faction is one of those."


    "Faction... You mean he''s a rival?"


    "He''s from a very powerful family, yes."


    "But you said he was useful."


    "We appease our rivals by offering them positions of influence. In my position, true loyalty is hard to come by."


    "Don''t you think it''s strange that he''d change his mind about me? What do you think he wants?"


    Avon''s gaze pierced her, and she tried not to falter.


    "What do you think?" he asked.


    She turned away, folding her arms. "He took pleasure in tormenting me. I wouldn''t trust a man like that."


    "Keep the beast well-fed and he won''t bite."


    The remark was almost glib. She turned back to him, frowning. "Did you offer him something?"


    He paused, and she knew that he had. She was getting better at reading him. Why was he so intent on surrounding himself with very dangerous tools that would turn on him the second they saw an opportunity?


    "Whatever it is," she said, "you shouldn''t have. What if he''s setting you up for a fall? You''ve made this big gesture about supporting magic, Gideon backs you up... Now you''re vulnerable if he turns on you."


    "That''s why I have you. Once we open that door..."


    "You don''t even know what''s behind the door."


    "It doesn''t matter," he said. "Don''t you understand, Val? This was never about the seal. It''s about you."


    "I..."


    He took her hands, and it occurred to her that right here and now, standing by the prow of a Drakonian boat, she had never been more vulnerable. She had no magic to defend herself. Whatever hope he was pinning on her meant nothing without the silvertrees. She hoped he knew that.


    "It''s about proving that magic can do good, that it''s worth embracing. If we can do that, we can change the future of Maskamere for the better."


    He was getting better at reading her too, she thought. He''d learned what to say to appeal to her.


    "My lord!"


    She turned as the captain approached them.


    "Excuse me, my lord," he said, "but you should get below. We''re about to reach the railway."


    "Ah," said Avon. "Now this is something you should see. We''ll go below in a moment."


    The captain retreated. Valerie was puzzled until Avon pointed up ahead. At first she thought it was a settlement like the villages they had passed so far. Certainly there was human activity. Men hauled wagons high above the muddy bank, and tents were set up in the field beyond. Then she saw it, the tracks snaking along the gravel-covered ground. Gleaming metal bars formed two parallel lines, connected by planks of wood. And the men were building it. Fixing the planks with hammer and nail, laying the metal tracks.


    She had never seen anything like it.


    "We''re building this line through the heart of the realm," said Avon, "and another along the east coast. When we''re finished, both lines will connect through Jairah, and we''ll finally start to bring this country into the modern age."


    "But what does it do?"


    "It''s a railway line. Trains move along these tracks at great speed. When it''s ready, we''ll be able to reach Bolebund in a fraction of the time compared to travelling by boat."


    Trains. Weren''t they a type of Drakonian carriage? She didn''t know.


    The workers near the bank had noticed the skiff. Before they could ask questions about what a woman was doing onboard, Avon ushered her to the bridge, leaving his men to exchange greetings. Valerie sat down in a corner out of sight.


    Avon raised an eyebrow at her. "You''re quiet. I thought you''d have more questions."


    "No, I..." She shook her head. "I didn''t know you were doing this."


    "You haven''t heard Lord Warren talking about it? It''s his pride and joy; he hardly talks about anything else."


    Another shake of the head. "Not to me."


    "Is something bothering you?"


    He found space on the narrow bench beside her. Valerie stared down at her hands. In truth, she was feeling terribly ignorant, and she didn''t like that at all. More than once, Avon had told her that Drakon was more technologically advanced than Maskamere, and she had always thrown it back at him. If they were so advanced, why didn''t they share what they had learned with her people? And now she had encountered first-hand evidence that they were bringing something new to Maskamere. Worse, if Avon''s description was accurate, it seemed like it would genuinely be beneficial.


    "Val?"


    She blinked at him. "I don''t know, my lord," she said. "It''s just you always say you want to do good in Maskamere and I never believed you."


    He looked amused. "Do you believe me now?"


    "I suppose I do."


    "When this is done," he said, "we''ll go on a tour of Maskamere. We''ll plant new silvertrees, and I''ll show you everything that we''ve built."


    After the attack on Bolebund, she thought. Only when the entire country had been defeated could the Drakonian transformation truly begin.


    And she was the only one who could stop it.

 1.37. Bolebund

    "Magic is most effective against those ignorant of it. No magic trick will fool a priestess. She''ll see right through it."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    On the second day, they arrived in Bolebund. They''d spent the night at the encampment of General Leamsbrand, where Lord Avon had disappeared for several hours to consult with the general. Naturally, Valerie had not been allowed to join the war council. Instead, she''d looked out at the camp from her tent, trying to count the number of tents from the lanterns shining in the darkness.


    They seemed endless. Far more than a thousand.


    Could Bolebund withstand such numbers? The city had been smaller than Jairah before the war, but much of the northern population had fled behind its borders to escape the Drakonian army. How many men did they have able to fight?


    Valerie pondered this as she and Avon rode into the city under cover of darkness.


    For this final part of the journey, they were alone. They''d been stopped twice, first at a bridge guarded by Maskamery men, and then at the gates of the city itself. Both times Valerie took the lead, exaggerating her northern accent and offering the guards samples of wine to recommend to their families. Avon hid his face with scarf and hood, and that was enough to get them past the city walls.


    Bolebund was not how she remembered. She''d visited once before the war, and back then it had been famous for its wonderful floral displays and herbal gardens. Every street had been vibrant with colour, every building festooned with hanging flowers and vines. In the town centre there had been a pavilion where apple, pear and orange trees grew improbably together. She didn''t remember the city being walled.


    They stopped outside an inn, Avon tying up the horses. Valerie wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and looked around. Light rain pattered the streets. A mournful flower basket hung by the porch. Everywhere else seemed miserably grey.


    Avon came over, pulling down his hood and scarf as he ducked under the porch.


    "You''d better not speak," she said. "Your accent will give you away."


    The way he pronounced his vowels was all wrong. No one listening would believe he was a simple wine merchant. He had a certain way of moving too, a regal lift to his shoulders, an almost feline grace. He carried himself like he should command every man and woman in the room. She frowned, pursing her lips.


    "Try not to look so... haughty."


    "Haughty?" The curl of his lip was nothing but haughty.


    She shook her head, setting her hands on his roughwoven jacket. "You don''t own this place. No one here will do what you tell them. You should be... humble. Mild-mannered. A little nervous, because of the war. Oh, Maska, your nose."


    The aquiline nose, the hawk-like profile. It was a distinctively Drakonian feature.


    "Markus, the humble, mild-mannered merchant," he said. "Yes, I think it''s best I say as little as possible. What are you touching me for?"


    She''d reached up to cup his cheek. "Let me hide it."


    A simple trick. She traced her fingers over his face and gave him a straight nose instead¡ªbland, forgettable. Nothing about his face had changed; it was a simple illusion. The effect softened his features. It was odd. Not bad looking. But a forgettable face was the point.


    He frowned. "Doesn''t your spell already shield us?"


    "It stops us drawing attention. We''ll have to get the attention of the innkeeper, so I''ve disguised you to be safe. Come on."


    She took his hand¡ªshe could only maintain the disguise as long as they maintained skin-to-skin contact¡ª and they entered the inn. It wasn''t dissimilar to the guest house in her village, though larger and grander, with high wooden beams, a well-stocked bar, and round tables nestled in odd nooks and crannies.


    With the precautions they''d taken, the innkeeper didn''t give them a second glance after taking their reservations, but her heart hammered all the same. They climbed a creaking staircase to find their room, a modest affair with mismatched furniture and flowery curtains.


    "Rather cramped," Avon observed, looking up. His head nearly brushed the beams on the ceiling.


    "It''s a good-sized room for a merchant couple."


    She pulled aside the curtain, peering through the window at the iron rail balcony and the city beyond. Avon joined her.


    "The abbey is in the west end of the city. That''s where I''d start looking for the silvertree, though none of our spies have found it."


    She shook her head. "No. The silvertree is to the north. I can feel it."


    She''d sensed the presence of the silvertree shortly before arriving, like a faint glimmer in the distance. Looking out now, she could feel that same pulse¡ªcloser, but still some way off.


    Avon followed her gaze. "Where exactly?"


    "Beyond the city. You see those hills in the distance? There."


    "That way is towards the mountain pass," he said. "Strange."


    "It''s not strange. The silvertrees are always outside the town or city limits in the north, to keep people away from them. The temple will be tucked away somewhere in the hills. Ordinary people won''t even be able to find it."


    "No wonder we had so much trouble in the north," he murmured. "Why the different attitude?"


    "I don''t know¡ªcloser to the border, I suppose. You hide away your treasures when you know there are thieves nearby."


    Maskamere was a peninsula. Only its northern border connected to the lands beyond, and most of the northern edge was mountainous and hostile to travellers. Nowhere in Maskamere shared a direct border with Drakon. It was only since the invasion of Carthal that Drakon had direct access to Maskamere over land. That was why Valerie''s village had fared badly compared to other areas in the north: Drymuir had been in the northeast, close to the border with Carthal, whereas Bolebund and what remained of the free Maskamere was in the northwest bordering Severhine, a nation that had yet evaded the grasp of the Empire.


    "You speak from experience."


    "It''s how they did it in my village. But the Drakonians found us anyway."


    "Under cover of darkness."


    She nodded.


    "We''ll take a similar approach," said Avon. "Rest tonight, then go to the silvertree tomorrow. We''ll slip in unnoticed while the city is under attack."


    The army planned to march on the city at nightfall tomorrow. She only had a day to warn the resistance.


    Valerie took a breath. "We need to find the resistance first, my lord."


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    He frowned at her. "I''d like to find the tree."


    "Why bother when the resistance can take me straight to it? I thought we''d agreed this."


    The ease of their conversation had vanished, tension filling the air. He stiffened, his shoulders tense, mouth thin. She didn''t like what he was saying either, her hands curling into fists.


    "We''re not involving the resistance."


    "We have to. Do you think a simple illusion will get us through? Any priestess can sense magic. They''d see right through us."


    His expression darkened. "You didn''t tell me that."


    "You didn''t ask." She looked up at him, searching his face. She''d let the illusion drop the moment they entered the room, so she could see his face without any magic obscuring it. "You still think I''m going to run back to the resistance, don''t you?"


    "I think I''m not letting you out of my sight," he said.


    "Fine. Come with me, then."


    "So you can hand me over?"


    "Follow me at a distance. They won''t be able to capture you. You have a power that can beat them."


    He frowned, uncomprehending.


    "Your sword," she said. "It can stop magic. And if something goes wrong, I''ll need you to protect me."


    She saw him ponder that, the way his frown deepened. Maybe he hadn''t fully considered how risky this was, how much he was depending on her not to give him away. He''d travelled into the heart of enemy territory without any backup. Even with the Drakonian army following him, he was vulnerable.


    Whatever lay behind that door, he wanted it badly.


    "Hey," she said, lifting a hand to caress his jaw. "I''m with you."


    But he stepped away, hand on the hilt of his sword. "I know your magic works through touch. I want a clear head tonight."


    That stung. As he turned away, she folded her arms and snapped, "Your head''s always been clear. I''ve never touched it. Not once."


    He laughed, a bitter sound. "You bewitched me from the moment we met."


    "But not with magic."


    "No," he admitted. "No, perhaps not..."


    He left the thought unfinished and she didn''t press him. He''d admitted a vulnerability, and they both knew it. He wouldn''t say it again.


    Sleep that night came more easily than she expected. Avon had specified a twin room without her having to ask, but for the first time she didn''t fear unwanted attention. She was confident that he wouldn''t touch her, and if he did, she would welcome it. Either way worked to her advantage.


    It occurred to her that the same was true of here and now in Bolebund. If all went according to plan, she would hand over Avon and rejoin the resistance. If something went wrong, if the city was invaded first, she could go back to Avon and pretend they were still working together. Either way she would get what she wanted.


    How nice to be the one holding all the cards.


    *


    How to find the resistance? That was Avon''s question. She''d half-feared that he would change his mind in the morning, come up with some other method to reach the silvertree, but it seemed he''d accepted her plan.


    Or he''s testing me.


    "My cousin Lavinia fled to Bolebund," she told him. "I''ll ask her."


    She didn''t voice her worry that she might not be able to find Lavinia or that Lavinia might have left Bolebund. The entire city was resisting Drakon; surely it wouldn''t be that hard to find them.


    "Keep your distance," she added as they left the inn. "We can''t look as though we''re travelling together."


    "Won''t it look strange for a woman to be walking alone?"


    She gave him a blank look. "Why?"


    He opened his mouth, then shook his head. "No matter."


    The morning was cool and fresh, a strong breeze blowing in from the mountains. Both clad in their magical garments, Valerie set off down the main street with Avon some way behind her. She was pleased to discover that the fruit trees in the pavilion had survived, young women and children busy at work picking the fruit and collecting it in baskets. While the citizens of Bolebund failed to notice them, she could sense Avon like a beacon thanks to her spell.


    Heading north, she entered an outdoor market full of stalls exchanging wares from eggs and milk to baked goods to butchers'' meat. The air was pungent. Valerie stopped by one such stall, where boars'' tongues and chicken legs hung from a line of pegs, and cleared her throat to get the merchant''s attention.


    He started. "Sorry, love, didn''t notice you there. You collecting for supper?"


    "I''m looking for the Crescent family. Do you know where I might find them?"


    But he''d never heard of them. She tried again with several other stalls. Nothing. Then a public house, a bathhouse, and a bakery, all around the city square. Still nothing. She got only funny looks and annoyance that she wasn''t there to make a deal.


    All the while, Avon followed behind her like a shadow. She wondered what he was thinking. She was hardly putting on a great show of competence right now, wandering around like a lost chicken. And the longer she took, the more likely it was that he''d decide to call this plan off.


    If Lavinia and her children had settled in Bolebund, where would they be? On impulse, she turned down a cobbled side street, noticing a sign for a jeweller. If Bolebund was anything like Jairah, then similar trades tended to be close to each other, their families connected by bonds of blood.


    As she''d guessed, she passed a shoemaker before ducking through the entrance of a clothing store. And there, to her surprise and pleasure, was Lavinia, talking to a woman at the counter.


    "Lavinia!"


    "Valerie?"


    Lavinia''s eyes widened, but she laughed in surprise when Valerie rushed in to hug her.


    "Another Crescent?" asked the woman at the counter, whose fancy feathered hat didn''t disguise her sharp eyes.


    "Yes," said Lavinia, "yes, this is Valerie, my cousin. Val, this is Juniper, of the Shepherd family. They were kind enough to take us in when we fled Jairah."


    "Ah... You trade in wool?"


    She recognised the name. The Shepherd name was older than the Crescents; it reflected the origin of their family tree. They had started out as sheep farmers. If she remembered her family history correctly, the Crescents had split off from the Shepherds about two hundred years ago to start a new life in the east.


    "For your silks and cotton," said Juniper. "Hard to get anything from the south these days. How''d you get here?"


    Valerie looked at Lavinia, who nodded. "She''s a friend of the resistance. You can speak freely."


    "I came to warn you," said Valerie. "The Drakonians are coming."


    Juniper pursed her lips. "When?"


    "They''ve brought in a thousand men as reinforcements. They''re going to invade the city tonight."


    The two women looked at each other in alarm.


    "Tell the Abbess," Valerie went on, "and everyone you can, and get out."


    "The city''s been on high alert for a week," said Juniper. "We''re ready to fight."


    "You''re going to lose. You need to leave while there''s still time."


    "We can''t surrender¡ª"


    "I didn''t say surrender. I said get out."


    She spoke as calmly as she could, but she was hiding a quiet desperation. The men of Bolebund would fight. They might even win. But she didn''t want Lavinia and her children caught up in a bloody war.


    "I should take the children somewhere safe," said Lavinia, who seemed to catch on to her urgency better than Juniper. Then again, she supposed the other woman was used to war. They''d been living in a constant state of conflict for two years.


    "What about the prince? Is he in the city?"


    "I don''t think so..."


    "The Abbess then. Can you tell me where to find her?"


    "Not directly," said Lavinia, "but I know someone who can. Juniper, can you..."


    "I''ll take care of your bairns," said Juniper. "How long do you need?"


    "You don''t have to come with me," said Valerie at once. "Just point me in the right direction. It''s more important that you go somewhere safe."


    Lavinia looked at Juniper. "Can you be ready to leave in an hour?"


    "I can be ready in an hour. But we should stand our ground."


    "Then I''ll come with you, Val," said Lavinia. "I owe you that much."


    Valerie opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. She wished she could prioritise helping Lavinia and her children escape. But if she didn''t warn the Abbess, their chances of surviving this invasion would be significantly reduced.


    She held out her arm to Lavinia. "Let''s go."


    *


    Lavinia didn''t take her far. There was a pub on the next street, the Rose and Thorn, which she said was a meeting place for the resistance. At this time of day, it was almost empty. The air smelt of beer and wood. Valerie stayed at Lavinia''s shoulder, looking around at the high beams and the portraits of flowers on the walls. Many of them were roses, befitting the name of the establishment, but none were pretty. In this one the roses were covered in blood, and in that one poking from the eye sockets of a human skull. Someone had macabre taste.


    Three men were talking in hushed tones at the counter. Lavinia cleared her throat and they looked up.


    "Max," said Lavinia. "My cousin wants to get in touch with the resistance. Can you help?"


    Max was the tallest of the three, a lanky man in his forties with stubble that didn''t quite hide his weak jaw. He put down his beer glass and cleared his throat.


    "Lavinia? Where''s this cousin of yours?"


    Lavinia blinked. "Right here."


    One of the men had already spotted her, Valerie realised. Max and the other man drinking next to him had their eyes fixed on Lavinia. But the bartender, a grizzled man with straggly dark hair, was staring at her in deep suspicion.


    "Witch," he said.


    She stepped forward, and the other two men started.


    "What...?" Max stopped himself. He glanced back at the bartender. "Witch, you say?"


    "Lavinia," said the bartender, "what cause do you have to bring a witch into my bar?"


    "I''m not a witch," said Valerie, stepping in on her cousin''s behalf. "I''m a priestess. I''m here to see Abbess Sopphora."


    "A priestess." The bartender chuckled. "That''s a good one."


    "I think you''d better come with us," said Max, and before she could react, he strode forward and dealt a blow to her head.


    Pain exploded in her temple. She crashed to the floor with a cry, stars dancing in front of her eyes. She vaguely heard Lavinia scream, the muffled shouts of the other men, but the room was darkening around her, and she couldn''t muster up the magic to heal herself...


    The darkness won. Dazed and shocked, she blacked out.

 1.38. The Abbess Sopphora

    "The Maskamery army is well-prepared and highly trained but thinly distributed and lacking in number. The key weakness is not the army, however. Nine individuals hold almost all the magical power in the realm. If they were to fall, the country''s defences would all but disappear."


    Titus Steward, Letter to the Emperor, #05


    She awoke in an armchair. Her head was splitting. Valerie grimaced, lifting a hand to her temple, and realised all at once that she was much closer to the silvertree. She could feel it like a pulse just out of her reach.


    "You have a concussion. Heal yourself."


    The voice was female, assured and smooth. On the circular table in front of her was a tray of tea and biscuits. A pale hand, adorned with rings, reached out to pick up a cup. Her head throbbed again. Valerie forced herself to concentrate, healing the pain away.


    The room came into sharp focus. They were in a sitting room like one at the palace, fancy and full of light. The billowing curtains were embroidered with trees, and every piece of furniture was a masterpiece of craftswomanship. The woman sitting before her was fancy too, her velvet gown cut in the Maskamery style but with a northern twist: a silk scarf artfully wrapped around her shoulders and neck. Her black hair was drawn into a bun, her wide mouth set in a secretive smile, and her eyes were green.


    Like Bakra''s. Like the queen.


    "You''re Abbess Sopphora."


    The woman arched an eyebrow. "I am. To whom am I speaking?"


    This was it. Her chance. She sat up straight. "Valerie Crescent. What happened to Lavinia?"


    "Who is Lavinia?"


    "My cousin. I asked her to take me to you, and your men attacked us."


    "My men won''t harm an innocent woman. Would you like some tea?"


    She accepted in bemusement as Sopphora poured her tea. Apparently, they were in no hurry.


    "They used force," Sopphora went on, "because you''re a sorcerer, and I don''t allow rogue sorcerers in my city."


    "I told them I''m not a sorcerer. I''m a priestess."


    The Abbess raised her eyebrows. "A priestess where?"


    "I fled from the north to Jairah during the war. Ask Prince Bakra. I was part of the plot to assassinate the Chancellor. They captured me at the palace, and the prince told me to stay there and spy for the resistance, to pass back all the information I could."


    "Then why are you not at your post?"


    She paused, taken aback by the cool tone of the Abbess. Valerie forced herself to try the tea, which was too sweet for her liking. She put it down on the table and went on:


    "Because I have important news to tell him."


    "Could you not have passed on your message to one of our operatives?"


    "No. My contact was caught by the Drakonians. I didn''t have anyone else to go to, so I decided it was time to escape."


    "What is your message?"


    Valerie hesitated, looking around. Sopphora was Bakra''s aunt; they were on the same side. She ought to trust her, yet...


    "The man who found me," she said. "How did he know what I was?"


    "All who are blessed answer to me."


    "That makes him a petty sorcerer. It''s forbidden."


    "We''re at war. We take all the allies we can get."


    "How many sorcerers are in the city?"


    "Why do you want to know that?"


    "Because the Drakonian army is about to march on Bolebund. They''re planning to take the city tonight."


    A pause. "That''s sooner than we thought."


    "You already knew?"


    "You can''t march an army into Maskamere without being noticed. I''ll tell our commanders to hasten our preparations."


    "Wait." The Abbess turned her cool green eyes on Valerie, and she tried to meet them without flinching. "I want to help. There''s a silvertree here, isn''t there? Where are we?"


    "The Convent of St. Lilia, by the Temple of the Fallen Saint. If there is an attack tonight, the Drakonians will attempt to destroy this place. You could help to protect it."


    She nodded. "I''d like to go to the silvertree, Abbess. Pray for its blessing."


    Sopphora stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"


    "If I had another blessing..."


    The Abbess cut her off. "You''re already twice-blessed. That''s more than sufficient."


    She was dumbfounded. "What do you mean? There are hardly any priestesses left! You''ve resorted to working with petty sorcerers and hedge witches. I was educated at a convent¡ª"


    "Which convent?"


    "St. Maia, near Drymuir. High Priestess Glynda blessed me."


    Sopphora''s expression softened. "I knew Glynda. She was a wonderful teacher. But if you had been properly educated, you would know that to be thrice-blessed is a privilege granted only to a few. There is a process to be followed."


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    "What happened to we''re at war? You said you''d take all the allies you can get."


    Without warning, the room darkened, and a sense of foreboding prickled Valerie''s nerves. The sky outside turned overcast. The shadows in the room lengthened, and Abbess Sopphora stood up.


    "Are you really a spy?"


    She couldn''t move. Her limbs were pinned back to her seat. The power in Sopphora''s voice forced her mouth to open, and she gritted the words out.


    "Y-yes."


    Terror electrified her veins, but she couldn''t even tremble. She should have realised¡ªthis was Sopphora''s domain, utterly and completely, the city that she governed and the convent that she owned.


    "A member of the resistance?"


    "Yes."


    "Blessed by a High Priestess?"


    "Yes."


    "What about the second blessing?"


    "I¡ªI did that myself. The silvertree in Enyr."


    It was hard to breathe. Every word was yanked out of her like splints from a wound.


    "How did you come to be in Enyr?"


    "I was with Lord Avon."


    "Why?"


    "I was his consort. I¡ª"


    Abruptly, the pressure on her throat ceased. Sopphora whipped around to face the door, on full alert. A second later, Valerie sensed it too: a magical beacon.


    Lord Avon.


    She caught her breath. He''d followed her. She was still unable to move, and so she was helpless to do anything but watch as the scene unfolded.


    Sopphora called out, short and sharp. "Guards!"


    No reply. Four, five seconds passed in agonising silence. The beacon approached.


    He''s going to die, she thought. And I won''t be the one to kill him.


    And then: He must know that the Abbess is here! Who else would live in this house? Why would he do something so idiotic¡ª


    The door burst open. Sopphora was ready. A blast of air swept up an armchair, side table, and a vase of flowers, a miniature cyclone aimed at their intruder. There was Avon at the door, brandishing his sword¡ª


    He ducked as the vase smashed against his shoulder, but he wasn''t blown back. The air died.


    The sword!


    Sopphora''s eyes widened. "Stop!"


    Her command held the same tinge of power that had pinned Valerie to her seat. Avon strode forward. Blood spattered his face.


    He drove the blade through Sopphora''s heart.


    The wail Sopphora let out was terrifying, a banshee call. With it came a howling wind, every item in the room torn into the gale¡ªall except for Avon, the space where he was kneeling a cocoon of calm, the wind kept at bay. Thrown out of her seat, Valerie smacked into the wooden floorboards with a painful thud. She curled up in a ball, covering her head with her hands.


    The wind stopped. The howling stopped. She sensed rather than saw light stream through the windows again, and the dark weight of Sopphora''s magic lifted.


    She felt Avon''s hands on her, lifting her up. "Valerie. Valerie. Are you hurt?"


    She was shaking. He pulled her to her feet, cradling her face in his hands. Numbly, she shook her head. He hugged her tightly, and she let herself bury her face in his chest, take comfort from his arms around her, the solid press of his body against hers.


    Finally, she looked over at the Abbess''s body. She was sprawled in a pool of blood, her beautiful dress stained a deep red around the chest, ruined forever...


    The rest of the room was a mess. Glass peppered the overturned couch where a mirror had smashed. A vase was broken, violets strewn around like macabre decorations. Wrecked furniture, spilled tea.


    "She''s dead."


    She said it as if to confirm to herself that it was real, that she''d come to Bolebund to aid the resistance only to wreak the worst possible destruction. Maskamere had lost its most powerful defender.


    "We should leave. Can you walk?"


    She looked up at him. "You''re bleeding."


    He shook his head. "It''s not my blood. Come."


    "Wait!" She grabbed his arm. "The silvertree is nearby. I can feel it."


    He understood at once. "Lead the way."


    Her heart was pounding so hard she felt she might deafen herself. But she moved, picking her way through the ruined sitting room and opening the splintered door into a hallway slippery with blood.


    The guards Sopphora had called for. Five, six bodies, piled haphazardly along the hallway like old leaves in the street. She recognised one of them: the man from the pub, Max, his throat cut and his eyes staring blankly at his dead comrades.


    "You slaughtered them."


    "They didn''t see me."


    Unbidden, the image of a different hallway came to her mind: her own convent, two years ago, that night she''d stumbled down from her room to scenes of panic, the acolytes screaming and running. Drakonian soldiers cut down girls without mercy, their bodies piling up¡ªand then she''d run into the courtyard to find old Glynda, kind Glynda, with her robes bloody and her throat cut.


    Her vision swam. She stumbled, and Avon caught her.


    "Val?"


    She shook her head. "This way."


    She thought she''d suppressed that memory. She tried so hard never to think of it. They stepped outside into a courtyard, and there was the silvertree, tall and bright and bursting with life. Two acolytes in their brown robes hurried towards the convent, and she almost couldn''t continue.


    "Hey!" she managed.


    The two girls froze. "There''s a guard dead in the garden!" one said. "Where''s Abbess Sopphora? Where is everyone?"


    "The Drakonians are coming! You need to run! Go, now!"


    Their faces paled. "The Abbess¡ª"


    "Go! Get everyone out!"


    They turned tail and fled, and she glanced at Avon to see him take his hand off the hilt of his sword.


    "Did you kill any of the acolytes?"


    "No."


    But he had, during the war. She looked away from him and to the silvertree, its power calling to her. The Abbess would have denied her this power. She''d won it, inadvertently, because she''d armed Avon too well. How weak even Bolebund was, if it failed to protect itself from one man with an invisibility spell and a sword.


    "Wait," said Avon.


    She turned back. "What?"


    "Before you accept the blessing." He gestured at the tree. "I want you to do something for me. Promise that you''ll never deceive me. Swear by the silvertree."


    "But..." She swallowed. "I can''t do that."


    How else was she supposed to fight him, if not by deceit? She''d destroyed the golden pen that she had used to verify her claim about the seal to prevent him from using this exact tactic.


    "You can," said Avon, "if you ever want me to trust you again."


    "If¡ª"


    "It''s not a request, Val," he interrupted. "This is non-negotiable. I''ll have the truth from you whether you like it or not."


    His face was set. And much as she didn''t like it, she could hardly blame him. If this was the price she had to pay...


    Valerie nodded.


    She stepped into the light of the silvertree. Avon watched in silence. The tree''s boughs rustled, and a sense of calm descended on her. Regardless of circumstance, the silvertree offered its shelter to all who were blessed. She was welcome here.


    Valerie pressed her palm against the trunk.


    The silvertree''s power rushed through her. She held back, closing her eyes, and spoke her oath.


    "I, Valerie Crescent, do swear that the oath I make is binding and true. From this day forward, I will only tell Lord Avon the truth. If I tell him a lie, I will fall into an enchanted sleep that only Lord Avon or his next of kin can wake me from. I swear this under the light of the silvertree."


    And so it was done. She was double-cursed.


    Valerie took a breath and let the silvertree''s power flow.


    She opened her eyes, stepping back from the tree towering above her to look around the graveyard. Just as before, most of the forest was a blackened ruin. Was the Enyr tree close by?


    She cast around, feeling sure there was a thread here she could sense if only she could figure out how this place worked. The trees were connected. Perhaps they even talked to each other.


    "Valerie."


    A thrill ran through her. That voice! The queen!


    Just as before, the glowing figure had found her. But this time Valerie recognised her, the high cheekbones, piercing green eyes, black hair haloed by the white light of the trees.


    "Your Majesty," she whispered.


    "Help me," the queen implored.


    She was approaching, ghostly footsteps in the dark earth. Valerie stared, caught between fascination and the urge to flee.


    "How?"


    The queen extended her hands. She was smiling, as if to greet a sister or daughter.


    "How?" Valerie repeated.


    Ghostly fingertips reached out to her. Why wasn''t the queen answering? As Shikra reached for her, as the white halo flickered and the silvertrees swayed in the non-existent breeze, Valerie felt a stab of fear¡ªand then the queen''s hands curled around her own.


    "Remember," the queen intoned.


    Valerie closed her eyes. And remembered.

 1.39. The Convent

    Remember.


    That night, Valerie kicked off her shoes and jumped on the bed in her new room, exhausted, a little drunk, and very happy. It had all been such a whirlwind. She wanted to hug every moment close to her chest, cherish every memory. The celebrations. The parade. The oath. The blessing.


    The light of the silvertree¡ªthat, she would never forget. The way it had shone within her, illuminating a power she didn''t know she had. She''d changed the colour of her fingernails¡ªa tiny, insignificant spell¡ªand her mother had gasped in delight.


    "She''s a natural," High Priestess Glynda had said, and Valerie could have burst with pride.


    She lifted her hands now, examining the blood vessels, the crisscrossing lines, the complexity of her own flesh. A lamp on her bedside table glowed with a magical light. She''d worked that one out too. She only had to will it, to want it to happen, and so it was.


    I can do anything.


    She couldn''t sleep. Even though it was late and every muscle ached, she was brimming with possibilities. And why sleep, when she could dream about all the things she was going to do, starting with herself¡ªshe would not be anything less than dazzling¡ªand then her home, and then the village, and then...


    A sharp rap at the door startled her. "Valerie!"


    A strong, motherly voice¡ªHigh Priestess Glynda. Valerie''s heart rate quickened. What was the High Priestess doing here? Was there some other ritual, some part of the induction process that she didn''t know about?


    "Come in," she called, getting up.


    The door opened, but Glynda didn''t enter. "Good, you''re awake. I need your help with something. Get dressed, quick as you can."


    "Help with what?"


    Valerie reached for her brown acolyte''s robes, but the High Priestess shook her head.


    "No, no¡ªwear your own clothes. And sturdy shoes, if you can. Boots? Those will do. The cloak too, it''ll be chilly. I''ll show you what in a moment."


    Burning with curiosity, Valerie did as she was told. She had packed her own garments to wear outside of class, including for the coming winter months, so she was soon dressed in her own deep red gown, woollen travelling cloak, and leather boots. But Glynda was wearing her grey priestess''s robes. Why would she...


    "Quickly," Glynda urged.


    The High Priestess gestured at Valerie to follow. Together they hurried through the hallway of the acolytes'' quarters, dark and silent, down the spiral staircase to the communal hall, and then outside into the main courtyard. Valerie shivered as the cold air hit her. It had to be closer to the next morning than sundown. Everything was eerie and still, and even the moon had vanished behind some cloud.


    The only light came from the silvertree, tall, splendid, and with its own incandescent beauty that struck her all over again in the dead of night.


    And it was to the silvertree that Glynda led her, hurrying across the lawn.


    "I don''t understand," she said, her voice sounding as tremulous as she felt. "High Priestess, is something wrong? I didn''t know this was part of the blessing."


    "It isn''t." Glynda turned to her, illuminated by the silvertree, and drew out a wand from her billowing grey sleeve. "Our first duty is to protect the silvertrees. They are in the greatest peril they have ever been. I am going to protect the tree, and you are going to help me, do you understand? Take my arm."


    Glynda was never one to panic. Valerie had always admired that about her, how the High Priestess was a fortress of calm even in the worst storm. She spoke in measured tones, careful, controlled, but it was everything she wasn''t saying that scared Valerie.


    "What peril?" she whispered, as Glynda extended her arm to tap the wand against Valerie''s shoulder, as Valerie closed her hand around the High Priestess''s sleeve.


    "I don''t know," said Glynda, in as firm a tone as if she had answered the question.


    "Then how do you...?" She shook her head. "Why me? I''m new, I haven''t even¡ª"


    Glynda''s other hand touched the bark of the silvertree, and Valerie gasped as power jolted through her. It wasn''t the same as the power she''d felt when receiving the blessing, but she sensed the silvertree''s presence. Then the wand which was made of silverwood¡ªa cutting from this same tree, in fact¡ªand therefore a conduit...


    Fear gripped her. "What are you doing?"


    "Nothing to hurt you." Glynda closed her eyes. "Take a breath. We''re protecting the tree."


    She sensed Glynda''s presence then too, calm, soothing. No malicious intent. Valerie breathed in. We''re protecting the tree. And out. The tree has to be protected.


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    A spell flowed through the wand and into her shoulder. She didn''t know how she knew that, but she did, in the same way that she smelled her mother''s famous honey dumplings, or heard the light patter of rain on the rooftops of her village, or jumped from rock to rock to cross the shallow stream on her way to the convent. It was a new sense that she''d barely begun to explore.


    A spell of... hiding?


    She pictured a sky-coloured cloak, as if someone had carved a piece out of the night and thrown it over the silvertree. A veil. A world where the silvertree did not exist, where the square of grass in this courtyard was just that, grass, and nothing else.


    Glynda stepped back, the wand at her side, and the connection to the silvertree vanished. For a moment, Valerie stood still, uncomprehending.


    "Well done," said Glynda.


    Her frown deepened. "But I didn''t do anything."


    A sharp crack rang through the air, and Valerie flinched. Glynda turned, her eyes scanning through the dark. She flicked her wand, and the lanterns around the convent entrance lit up. Then a frightening sight: the convent gates burst open, and a man on a horse rode through, charging towards them.


    Glynda strode forward, raising her wand. "Who goes there?"


    Valerie shrank back under the light of the silvertree, heart in her mouth. The rider was galloping at full tilt, hooves thudding on the stone courtyard and then the grass. He drew a shining sword from its scabbard¡ª


    A black shade rose up from the roots of the silvertree, blotting out the sky¡ª


    She could hardly see¡ªits fingers, tendrils of darkness, stretched out to engulf the rider, but his blade flashed and the shadow tore in two. The horse whinnied, rearing up; the rider yanked it back under control. As bits of shadow floated through the air like confetti, Glynda uttered a guttural cry. Flames spread out around her only to extinguish without warning as the rider charged, blade glowing in the silvertree''s light, and¡ª


    A scream tore from her throat.


    The rider struck without mercy. With the horse at a gallop, his sword cleaved Glynda''s head from her body. Blood spattered on the grass, on her skin. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Valerie gasped for breath¡ªwhen had it become so hard to breathe?¡ªand then as the rider galloped to the other end of the lawn, the horse turned, and she realised that he was circling back around.


    He was coming for her.


    Adrenaline shot through her veins. Her limbs unstuck. And Valerie ran.


    Panting, half-sobbing, her boots pounded on the gravel as she raced for the convent. The horse''s hooves thundered behind her. He was rapidly closing the gap¡ªshe didn''t dare look back, every muscle in her body working at full tilt. She glimpsed the horse''s muzzle to her right, the snort of its breath.


    She threw herself to the ground¡ª


    The sword whistled over her head.


    The rider galloped on by. Valerie rolled forward, using her momentum to spring back up. The acolytes'' residence was only a few feet away. Gunshots cracked somewhere over her head. She made it to the door, yanked it open, almost fell in. The hall was empty. She ran for the staircase, and as she reached its foot, a whoosh of air told her that the doors had opened behind her.


    She looked back.


    The man with the sword strode towards her. He wore chain mail, but otherwise his armour was light, his dark hair tied back, eyes glinting in the darkness.


    And even with his face in shadow, Valerie recognised him.


    "Avon?"


    He paused. "What did you say?"


    I''m dreaming, she thought, in a daze. Two years ago, Drakonian soldiers had murdered High Priestess Glynda and slaughtered every other soul at the convent. But back then, she hadn''t known the man leading the charge.


    Why should she be surprised that it was Lord Avon? He''d told her himself the role he''d played in the war.


    And the sword. He must have known exactly what it did. The Drakonian army''s secret weapon.


    "You bastard," she said, straightening up to face him. This was not how she''d behaved in reality. She had fled to warn the other acolytes of the danger, but she knew how that ended. "You killed them. All of them. My family. My mother."


    Her voice cracked. He was unmoved, approaching with the intent of a wolf stalking its prey.


    She swallowed. "If you kill me, Ophelia and Edrick will die too."


    That stopped him in his tracks. He was almost within striking distance, but she held her ground. His eyes had widened. That slight tremor in his shoulders was a sign of fear.


    "Where did you hear those names?"


    "From you."


    "You''re lying."


    "Kill me and see."


    There was a long moment of silence. Outside, more gunshots fired. Screams. Cries. She remembered this too. The soldiers who had swarmed in after Avon had targeted the priestesses'' quarters first, cutting them down, before going after the acolytes.


    "I''ll spare them," she said, before he could retort, "if you do something for me."


    "What?"


    "Answer a question. Outside, in the courtyard."


    She stepped off the staircase and towards him. He stiffened, and she guessed that he was a hairsbreadth from killing her. She raised her hands, approaching slowly. Dying in a dream shouldn''t kill her, right? None of this was real. Which meant she was fine. Perfectly safe¡ª


    He lunged forward and grabbed her, and suddenly his blade was at her throat.


    "One wrong word and you die."


    She swallowed, a very real fear trembling through her limbs. Avon dragged her back to the entrance and through the door into the courtyard. He cast around, probably looking for a trap.


    "The lawn," she gasped. "What do you see?"


    "Is that a trick question?"


    He turned his attention to the lawn where the silvertree glowed proud and bright, impossible to miss. But as Avon frowned, eyes narrowed, she sensed that her suspicion was right.


    "Not a trick. What do you see?"


    "A dead witch."


    "Wrong."


    He marched over to the lawn, still dragging her with him. Perhaps he was expecting Glynda to rise from the dead, like the necromancer armies of old. But by approaching Glynda, they were approaching the silvertree, and Avon''s lack of reaction told her that he couldn''t see it.


    Which meant that Glynda''s spell had worked. They had protected the silvertree.


    "Over here!" Avon barked, startling her, but he wasn''t shouting at her, he was calling his men.


    The battle, if it could be called that, had spilled outside of the priestesses'' quarters which was on fire. At least one priestess was putting up a fight, throwing a black powder that exploded into a cloud of darkness. Screams pierced the air from the acolytes'' residence. None of them would make it out.


    She couldn''t stay for this; she ought to be long gone.


    "That was your question?" Avon said, watching the body.


    "That was it. If you¡ª"


    She choked, a dull pain rushing through her chest, and looked down in disbelief. The sword''s length was buried between her ribs. Avon drew the blade out and stepped away. She fell to the ground, a gargled cry escaping her lungs.


    Her lungs. He''d pierced her lungs. Blood bubbled up her throat.


    Heal, she thought furiously, clutching the wound at her side. The pain was an abyss, deep and piercing. But the silvertree was right there, its roots almost within reach. She crawled, forcing her body to keep going, to hold in her wound, her breath. A rushing sound filled her ears. The light of the silvertree eclipsed everything else.


    As her consciousness faded, Valerie reached out with the last ember of strength she had left.

 1.40. Rig the Game

    "The crown jewels of Maskamere were not merely symbols of royal excess but powerful magical artefacts in their own right. Of the three, the Golden Sceptre was considered the most significant threat. Eyewitness tales spoke of terrifying scenes whereby the queen used the Sceptre to strike down enemies and innocents alike. Every divine act of nature was within its power: fire, storms, earthquakes, hurricanes, floods. The other two jewels, the Kestrel''s Eye and the Masked Crown, might repair the damage, but only at the behest of the capricious queen."


    Clement Pyridge''s History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II


    She woke with a gasp.


    Her lungs, intact. She was sweating, strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Valerie passed her hand over her eyes and swallowed, looking around.


    She was in a narrow cabin, lying down on a makeshift stretcher. A slight sway told her that they were afloat. The small patch of sky visible from the porthole gave no indication of their location. Had they already left Bolebund?


    "You''re awake," said a voice behind her.


    Valerie sat up, pushing off the blanket covering her, and looked over as Lord Avon approached, holding a glass of water.


    Like the second blessing, she thought. When she''d woken up with Avon, after that strange dream...


    The silvertree.


    He''d...


    She took the glass of water and stared at him. "You tried to kill me!"


    Avon cocked his head. "What?"


    The memories came rushing back. Her first blessing. The death of High Priestess Glynda. And Avon had been there, leading the charge. How could she have forgotten that they''d protected the silvertree?


    "I..." She shook her head, gulping down the water. She needed time to process.


    Her memory of High Priestess Glynda''s death was all wrong too. She had an image of the massacre, of Glynda''s body in the courtyard with her throat cut. She''d forgotten that she had witnessed Glynda''s death. She''d forgotten everything from Glynda knocking on her door to her escape from the convent.


    Before reliving the events of that night, what did she think had happened to the silvertree at St. Maia?


    I didn''t think about it.


    She tried to grasp for any moment when she''d reflected on the demise or survival of the tree, any conversation where she''d explained what had happened to someone else. But it was like trying to hold water. A blind spot in her own head.


    Remember, Queen Shikra had said. Had the queen restored her memory? Or altered it?


    If she couldn''t trust her own memories, how could she trust anything at all?


    Valerie began to shiver.


    "Valerie?" Avon crouched in front of her. "Can you stand?"


    She let him pull her up. Then he insisted that she drink hot soup brought in by a member of the crew. They were both still in their enchanted travellers'' clothes, Avon having to bark at his men to get their attention. His right hand never strayed from the hilt of his sword.


    If the dream was true, that sword had killed High Priestess Glynda. And now, today, it had killed Abbess Sopphora.


    She hadn''t led Avon into a trap. He''d set one for the Abbess, using Valerie as bait, and she''d fallen for it.


    Avon paced around the cabin, the fading light from the porthole casting shadows over his face. She finished the soup, hiccoughed, then huddled back in her seat. Avon turned, his gaze piercing hers.


    "Where are we?" she asked.


    "On our way back to Jairah. Well away from rebel-held territory. We''re safe."


    The invasion of Bolebund had been planned for nightfall. Which meant it was starting right now... Had Lavinia escaped? She didn''t know, and she couldn''t go back to find them. She could only hope that her warning had been sufficient.


    She lifted her eyes to his. "You killed the Abbess."


    "Thanks to you," he said, with a slight hint of a smile.


    "You used me to get to her."


    Her heart was heavy as she said it. She''d been so consumed by her desire for the third blessing¡ªshe would have sacrificed almost anything to get it.


    And I did. I sacrificed a city.


    She let that thought sit for a moment. She could dwell on it later.


    "You weren''t subtle about your intentions," Avon said. "I expected betrayal, although it rather looked like you were kidnapped."


    "The Abbess didn''t trust me. She refused to let me pray to the silvertree."


    And with that, she thought, Sopphora had sealed her fate. She could have warned Sopphora about Avon, could have helped in the fight if the Abbess hadn''t pinned her to the chair.


    "But you have it now. The third blessing."


    She nodded.


    She''d expected her magic to be amplified. This didn''t feel like that. The light of Avon''s blade glowed no brighter. Had anything changed?


    Even if it hadn''t, she ought to act like it had. She was conscious of her second promise to Avon, to only tell him the truth. That didn''t make it impossible to deceive him. But she had to choose her words carefully.


    "I thought that if I had the power of an Abbess, I could save the city." She stood up, a little shaky. "But you were never going to give me that chance."


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "Were you going to betray me?"


    She looked away. "Yes."


    "What about now?"


    He was silhouetted by the dying sunlight, mouth drawn in a line, hand gripping the hilt of his sword. And in that stance she glimpsed the one tiny shred of power she had over him: the sword was his defence against her magic. Which meant he was wary of her using it.


    But it wasn''t enough. She couldn''t bluff her way into victory. She needed real power.


    "I don''t think there''s anything I can do right now." She shrugged, her mouth a bitter curve. "You win."


    In saying this, she knew she had doomed the city. Abbess Sopphora was dead. Bolebund would fall. The last vestige of a safe haven for the resistance in Maskamere would disappear, and Bakra would be forced to make a move.


    The bigger war was yet to come. Suppose that her dream had been true. The revelation that the queen had wanted her to remember... It couldn''t be Avon''s part in the war. That wasn''t news. No, it had to be the silvertree. The silvertree at St. Maia had survived.


    What did it mean? Did the queen want her to go there? To reconnect with the tree? Why?


    Meanwhile, Avon''s eyebrows rose. "You''re not usually one to give up."


    "I didn''t say that I was."


    "Hmm," he said. "That will do for now. What do you call me?"


    Oh. She looked down. "My lord."


    "Again."


    She resisted the urge to make a sarcastic remark. "My lord."


    "My offer still stands, Valerie," he said. "I look forward to you choosing me."


    Her stomach knotted. In the dream, when she had confronted him, he had driven his sword through her heart. Was that, in any sense, real? She''d strayed from the path of her reawakened memories the second she''d recognised him. Perhaps that Avon was only a figment of her imagination.


    No, she thought. He was that ruthless. She''d become complacent because he hadn''t laid a hand on her, had barely blinked when she''d tried to kill him a second time. As long as she remained a useful pawn to him, he wouldn''t get rid of her. He''d simply anticipated her treachery and factored it into his plans.


    They were still playing this game of tit-for-tat, except now he''d made it even harder.


    "The prisoner''s dilemma," she said. "Where are we with that?"


    He smiled. "I didn''t tell you the real solution."


    "What''s the solution?"


    He didn''t answer at first, turning away to the cabin door. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. "Rig the game."


    *


    Valerie stood stock still, trembling. The truth at her fingertips was overwhelming.


    Lord Avon spoke first. "You know how to break the seal."


    "Yes, my lord."


    "Well?"


    They were standing once more in the basement of the temple, Lord Avon, Lord Gideon, Captain Doryn, and half a dozen guards all hanging on her every word.


    "I need the crown jewels. All of them."


    Soft murmurs filled the air, the guards glancing at each other. Gideon openly jeered.


    "The girl lies! All she wants is to send us on a wild goose chase¡ªno, to give her more power, as if being thrice-blessed isn''t enough. Give her the crown jewels? You may as well hand over the keys to the kingdom."


    Well, yes. That was the point. Her vision had been clear. When she''d touched the stone, she''d seen herself (an interesting detail, she thought) with the Kestrel''s Eye around her neck, the Masked Crown on her head, and wielding the Golden Sceptre. The seal had shattered into nothing, and the great stone door had rolled away, revealing a dark opening.


    What she hadn''t seen was what lay beyond the door. The royal family''s greatest treasure, the elixir of life? Or some malevolent beast that should never again see the light of day?


    "You spoke out in the girl''s favour at our last council meeting," Avon reminded Gideon. "What were your words? A tame witch."


    Valerie bristled.


    "I spoke out to support you," said Gideon. "Would you give a gun to a monkey?"


    Avon looked at her. Valerie mimicked the motion of cocking a rifle and blasting Gideon''s brains out, which was all the reaction his insult deserved.


    "Obviously not," said Avon. "Captain, what do you think?"


    Doryn shifted uncomfortably. "I don''t know, my lord. Perhaps whatever lies behind that door is best left alone. We don''t need it to win the war."


    "The crown jewels are powerful weapons," said Avon. "Not things we should allow into the hands of a sorceress, no matter how tame she is."


    His gaze fell on her. Valerie stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm.


    "My lord," she said. "Please. I won''t use the crown jewels to harm you, I swear. You have my word."


    And she had to make good on her word or fall prey to the curse. Avon knew she was telling the truth. He regarded her for a long moment, expression thoughtful, then nodded.


    "We have two of the jewels," he said. "Which means we only need to find the third."


    She nodded back. "The Masked Crown. I think Bakra has it. At least, he did when I last saw it."


    "Do you know where he is?"


    "No. I didn''t see him in Bolebund."


    Avon glanced at Doryn.


    "We''ve yet to receive a report from the north, my lord. I expect a messenger shortly."


    "Well, if he''s dead, we''ll find the crown. If not, he''ll be lurking in one of his other hidey holes, and we''ll hunt him down."


    "Offer to parley with him," Valerie suggested. "I don''t think he''d come himself, but maybe I could get his representative to talk."


    "Perhaps," Avon murmured.


    "My lord." Gideon stamped his cane against the ground. Both he and Doryn had been watching this conversation with obvious and satisfying dismay. "The girl''s words are poison. Do you want her to bring another assassin to your door?"


    "Do you have a better idea?"


    Gideon''s mouth tightened. "This is talk for the war chamber, not this accursed place. May we reconvene?"


    "Very well."


    Doryn escorted her back to her quarters. She felt his eyes on her the entire way.


    "Is something troubling you, sir?" she asked when they reached the door to the queen''s rooms.


    "Gideon''s right," he muttered. "You are a snake."


    In Enyr, that would be a compliment. The Drakonians had other ideas.


    "At least I''m putting up a fight," she shot back.


    He had no answer to that. He looked away first, and she watched him leave, her stomach flipping. She might have lost an ally.


    *


    Valerie was quiet as Priska prepared her for dinner. She looked down at her lap, nails digging into her palms. Her stomach churned. She''d felt sick all day and she wasn''t sure why.


    After all, hadn''t she realised her childhood dream? She was thrice blessed, the power of an Abbess, no matter what it had taken to do it.


    Except that she wasn''t an Abbess, and she understood enough about her magic now to realise that her lack of status was the thing holding her back. Queen Shikra had been all-powerful because she was the ruler of Maskamere. The land belonged to her and so did its people. What did Valerie own? Nothing. Only the items in this chamber, borrowed gifts from the queen.


    The crown jewels might change that. She recalled what Prince Bakra had said. Only a high-ranking priestess could wield them, which was why she hadn''t bothered going after them before. But did high rank mean holding the title of Abbess, or being thrice blessed? Before the war, they would have been one and the same. Now...


    She didn''t know. That was the problem. Too many unknowns. She wasn''t about to go haring off north at the half-guessed behest of a dream-vision from the queen. Which left the temple and whatever lay inside it. Another unknown.


    Valerie sighed and lifted her gaze, staring at herself in the mirror. She needed someone to talk this through with her. And Priska was just finishing braiding her hair...


    "Priska," she said. "Can I ask you a question?"


    "Yes, my lady?"


    "What would you think if the Drakonians restored the monarchy? I mean, if they put a Maskamery on the throne."


    Priska blinked. "Do you mean if they retreated?"


    "No... Maskamere would still answer to the Empire. But we''d have more independence. We could bring back the silvertrees."


    "I don''t know, ma''am. I suppose it depends if things would get better for us or not."


    Right. That was all people cared about, really. Having a roof over their heads, some modicum of freedom. It would be easy to get used to life in the Empire. Many had done that already.


    Rig the game, Avon had said. She had to figure out a way to restore the Maskamere that she wanted, the one where the silvertrees thrived and she had true status. She didn''t have Bakra''s royal heritage, Gideon''s authority, or Avon''s political power. The one thing she had that they lacked was magic, which was why Avon had made every effort to constrain it.


    With Sopphora dead, she was the only one who could open the door in the temple. She needed the crown jewels to do it. That, she thought, was her best chance of gaining something useful, something that might give her an advantage in this fight.


    But she couldn''t get the crown jewels alone. And anyone she chose to help her would be a gamble. The only thing she was certain of was that she had to make the first move. If she waited for someone else to act, she''d be stuck in the same pattern, reacting while others schemed around her.


    And so she formulated a plan.

 1.41. Ambition

    "Maskamere is built on cooperation, not conflict. When Drakonians talk about us, they speak of witchcraft or curses. But nearly all the sorcery we perform is done to help someone. I don''t believe it should be a destructive force."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    Step one: Trick Lord Gideon into giving away his plan.


    That night, there was a rap at her door. Valerie tucked her braid over her shoulder and rose to her feet.


    "Come in."


    Gideon entered. And even though she had invited him, she took an instinctive step back, fingernails digging into her palms. He looked oily and furtive, glancing around the room before his gaze swept her up and down.


    "You can''t stay long," she said. "Lord Avon is next door."


    "Pity." He circled around her, taking in the fruits of her labour: the spindle, the cloth, the needle and thread. His fingers brushed the ruffled sleeve of her latest project, a summer gown. "You are a most lovely snare. What do you want?"


    "I want your help to get the crown jewels and escape back to the resistance."


    He scoffed. "In return for what?"


    "You said that you were on my side, didn''t you? What do you want?"


    She''d wondered this since that night she''d spent in the dungeon. Gideon had claimed to be an ally. First he''d vouched for her. Then in the temple chamber he''d called her a liar. What game was he playing?


    Gideon''s expression twisted into an unpleasant leer. "Ah," he said. "Many things. But I have a simple request for you."


    "What?"


    "You open that door for me."


    And there it was. For a moment she was speechless. Then she gathered herself, lifting her chin.


    "You want the elixir. Fine. What will you do about Avon?"


    "Me? Nothing. Leave that to your resistance."


    She kept her voice steady. "That''s not good enough. If I agree to this, I need to know that you''ll do your part. How do I know that I can trust you?"


    He laughed. "Good one! That''s rich, coming from you. How many of your allies have you betrayed? Let''s see... That lovely servant girl with the poison. Captain Viper, turned to dust. The witch in the north. Lord Thorne''s Maskamery slut¡ª"


    "Her name is Flavia," she ground out, shaking with anger. "I''ve done nothing but protect her."


    "Liar." Gideon advanced on her, his cane thudding on the wooden floorboards. "I''ve watched you play at court. You''re a vicious, stuck-up little whore with a forked tongue and crooked teeth. Why should I trust you?"


    She took another step back, fists clenched. Of course, she could lie all she wanted to Gideon. After dancing around her conversations with Avon, she felt as if she were stretching her muscles after a long journey in a cramped carriage.


    And she could spit truths at him too.


    "You know what, I don''t like you either. I don''t care if you trust me. Good luck getting that door open without me."


    "Oh, don''t do it because I want you to," he said. "Do it for Bakra."


    "What?"


    Gideon leaned on his cane with both hands and smiled. "Would you like to see your prince?"


    She couldn''t speak. Would she like to see the prince? Yes! She had so many questions for Bakra, she''d lost count. About the queen, the palace, the temple, his ambitions for the throne and the priesthood... And was this confirmation that Bakra was working with Gideon? Of all the people in the palace, Gideon was the one he''d put his faith in?


    That seemed like a terrible idea.


    "What does Bakra have to do with this?"


    "The deal is done. The throne for the elixir. Unless you betray him too."


    There was a long moment of silence.


    Valerie swallowed thickly. "I don''t believe you."


    "He has the Masked Crown," said Gideon. "Good luck getting the crown jewels without me."


    She had no answer to that.


    "Fine," she said slowly. "I''ll talk to the prince. And then I''ll decide if we have a deal."


    Gideon''s smile widened. "Good girl."


    *


    Of course, any deal with Lord Gideon was a non-starter.


    Valerie paced around her chamber, then sat down at her vanity and returned to her sewing. The repetitive nature of the needlework soothed her nerves. Had she thought of everything? The possibilities, the potential outcomes? Everyone else in this court planned ten steps ahead, so she had to do the same. She couldn''t afford any more mistakes.


    If Gideon was telling the truth, then he was betraying Lord Avon, and he might well have a good chance of succeeding with her support. Prince Bakra would take his throne, Gideon would get his elixir, and then... What? Return to Drakon? The Empire wouldn''t sit back and accept defeat. Unless Gideon came to some kind of power-sharing arrangement with Bakra... Then what would become of the silvertrees? Had Bakra negotiated that too, or did he only care about his throne?


    She filed that away as another question for the prince. This scenario she didn''t like¡ªeven if they succeeded, it left her position uncertain and the Empire poised to retaliate.


    And if Gideon was lying? He could be tricking her. Perhaps he and Avon were working together to lure the prince to the palace, in the same way Avon had used her as bait to get to Abbess Sopphora.


    The other alternative was that Gideon intended to let the prince kill Avon first before betraying Bakra too. In that scenario, she would be a liability, a co-conspirator that he didn''t trust. Her utility to him would vanish the second she opened that door, at which point she would become his biggest threat.


    None of those options were good.


    Time for step two.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Valerie put away her sewing kit and tore off a sheet of paper from the gold-lined notepad.


    *


    The following morning, Lord Avon summoned her to the aviary. This was a part of the palace grounds she had only ever passed by on her way to the stables. The groundskeeper''s lodge overlooked a field bordering the river, and nearby a copse of oaks sheltered the aviary. The day was overcast, the path down past the lodge a little muddy. She lifted her skirts over her ankles, trying not to get pebbles in her shoes.


    In her mind''s eye, Lady Melody sniffed in disdain.


    Avon was waiting by one of the cages with the falconer, an old Drakonian man with ruddy cheeks and big calloused hands. As she approached, the two guards accompanying her retreated, and the falconer bowed and hurried away.


    "Lady Valerie."


    Avon smiled, but for once he didn''t grab her attention. He was wearing a falconer''s glove, and she recognised the bird gripping his wrist with razor-sharp talons: a male kestrel with burnished orange wings and a fan-shaped tail. A leather hood covered its head.


    "Beautiful, isn''t he?" said Avon. "One of the few to survive the war. We think he''s about three years old."


    The kestrel''s head swivelled, perhaps sensing her approach. Behind Avon, one of the other hawks in the cages screeched its displeasure.


    "He''s gorgeous."


    She almost reached out, then Avon indicated another glove lying on a wooden stool by one of the cages.


    "Would you like to hold him?"


    She put on the glove. With Avon''s guidance, she moved it to the kestrel''s belly, the bird stepping on to her wrist. She felt its weight, the way it instinctively shifted to find its balance. Its claws pricked her even through the thick leather. Then Avon removed the bird''s hood, and the kestrel flapped its wings, startling her.


    "Hold still," said Avon. "That''s all right."


    He fed it a piece of dead chick from a pouch at his waist. Valerie watched in fascination as the kestrel gripped the morsel in its claws and tore off pieces with its beak.


    "My lord!"


    A cry in the distance. The old falconer was waving at them from the field. He had a lure attached to the end of a rope that he began to spin around in the air. The kestrel on her fist puffed up its feathers, its bright beady eyes spotting the lure.


    "Let''s fly him, shall we?" said Avon.


    She only had to hold up her fist, and the kestrel launched off at once, going straight for the lure. Valerie laughed in delight.


    "Can we watch?"


    Avon took off their gloves first, placing both of them on the wooden stool. Then he followed her down to the fence at the edge of the field, where Valerie leaned over to watch the kestrel swoop and dive. They were caught in a dance, the falcon and the old man. The kestrel soared up with every failed pass, becoming a dark speck against the clouded sky, before diving in to snatch at the lure.


    When the kestrel alighted in the nearby oak, she looked at Avon. "Don''t they ever fly away?"


    Though the bird wore light hunting jesses, the leather straps obviously didn''t hinder its ability to fly.


    "Sometimes," said Avon. "Sirius up there disappeared for nearly a week in the spring. But they always come back."


    "How come?"


    "They know they''ll get food," said Avon, as the kestrel dived down to finally claim his prize. "And shelter. They''re safe here. But most of all, I think, there''s an inescapable bond between falcon and falconer. Harold has done a fine job."


    "Because they trust him. They know he won''t hurt them."


    Harold, the old falconer, had attached another piece of meat as a lure. He swung the rope, and the dance began again.


    There was a familiarity and ease in this hunting ritual, she thought, a routine known to both bird and human. Kestrels were the queen''s messengers. Sirius''s life would have been quite different if not for the war.


    "Speaking of trust," said Avon, "how was your chat with Lord Gideon?"


    He said it as casually as he''d spoken about the bird, and though she¡¯d warned him that she believed Gideon was a traitor, the hairs on the back of Valerie''s neck stood on end.


    "He agreed to a deal," she said. "He wants what''s behind the door."


    "Well, we''ll have to make sure he doesn''t get it."


    "You can''t arrest him yet."


    "Why not?"


    "He offered me a chance to meet the prince."


    He looked at her sharply. She told him what Gideon had said, including his claim that Bakra had the Masked Crown. Gideon was the key to both the crown and the prince. She knew Avon wouldn''t pass up this chance.


    "Ah," he said, when she''d finished, "and what are you planning, Valerie? What do you gain from telling me this?"


    "It''s not fair to ask that when I can''t lie to you."


    "That''s precisely why I''m asking."


    She inhaled the fresh air, leaning back against the fence. "Would you free me, my lord? After I break the seal?"


    "If that''s what you wish. Your debt to me will be complete. But I hope you''ll stay."


    She bit her lip. "To become your queen?"


    "Do you want that or not?"


    "What if there''s nothing in there?" She looked at him, the harsh planes of his face. "What if the chamber is empty, or full of monsters, or cursed?"


    "Then I will have miscalculated. But that would be my mistake, not yours. I made you a promise. I''ll keep it no matter what we find there."


    A moment passed in silence. She glanced back over the field. Sirius the kestrel had returned to his master''s fist.


    Was she stupid for believing Avon''s promises? Unlike him, she had no guarantee.


    "What happens when your father hears about me? Does he already know?"


    "I''ll deal with my father."


    "And the other lords? They''ve hated me from the start. They''ll never accept a Maskamery queen."


    "They will, because they answer to me."


    "It''s not that easy."


    "No," he admitted. "No, ruling is never easy. Have you found life at this court challenging, Val? Try the court in Drakon. It''s a nest of vipers. Every lord in the Senate would happily stab either of us in the back for their own gain."


    "Like Gideon."


    "Gideon isn''t the first, and he won''t be the last. You didn''t answer my question."


    "What question?"


    "What are you planning? Where do your loyalties lie?"


    "That''s two questions." He gave her a look and she shook her head. "Let me meet Prince Bakra. I''ll take the Masked Crown, and then we''ll have everything we need to open the seal. You can arrest Lord Gideon right then."


    "I want the prince too."


    "Then I''ll bring him to you."


    "That sounds like a trap."


    She exhaled, then straightened up and stepped closer to him. His breath caught. They stared at each other, almost but not quite touching. He was quite handsome, she thought distantly. The way his hair fell over his eyes, shadowing his cheekbones. The intensity of his gaze, which had always intrigued her. She ought not to think that about a man who had murdered people she loved, but what could she do about her own feelings?


    "If I wanted you dead, I could have killed you already," she said quietly. "You know that."


    "I want Bakra dead," he said, and there was a deep fervour in his eyes. "I won''t let him take you away from me. Anyone¡ªthe resistance, your family¡ªanyone who tries to take you away from me will die, do you understand me?"


    "James," she said, and stopped.


    He went quiet. Then, eyes bright, he gently lifted his hand to stroke her hair. His fingertips brushed her skin and she shivered. She became aware of their breathing, the way the sound mingled with the soft rustling of the trees.


    "Do you want me?" she asked.


    "Yes."


    "But do you want me as your equal?"


    Did he understand what it meant to be queen of Maskamere? That her power would eclipse his, that he¡ªas king or Chancellor or whatever title he fancied¡ªhe would answer to her.


    Or did he want a Drakonian puppet-queen¡ªa wife, little better than a courtesan, her only reward the knowledge that her son might some day take the crown? Except not, she thought, because Avon already had a son, and so even that privilege would be denied to her. A Drakonian-backed monarchy would not operate by Maskamere''s rules. She''d raise some other woman''s child and live out her days in the palace, a gilded cage.


    Not her. He hadn''t asked her to become his wife, perhaps because he knew what the answer would be.


    Here, now, in the bare light of day, he considered her. That searching intelligence she''d noticed about him straight away was trained on her. She appreciated the way it flickered in his eyes, the slight crease in his brow.


    "That is the question, isn''t it," he murmured. "The source of our differences. And not only for me¡ªfor you too. Do you want me as your equal? I don''t think you appreciate weakness."


    "Neither do you."


    A moment passed. Then he bent forward to kiss her, and this time she didn''t hold back. She pressed her mouth against his and wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking, melting into him. His hands closed around her waist and stayed there when he drew back, holding her.


    "Am I a fool for wanting you?" he asked softly.


    It was like being drunk. She was nearly giddy with the sensation of his hand on her back.


    "Maybe," she whispered, "but you''re the smartest fool I''ve ever met. I can''t promise I won''t betray you. But I know you''ll be ready."


    "Come back to my quarters. Now¡ªbefore any of our plans stand a chance of ruining this."


    Her heart was racing. Surely he could hear it. No, no, no. Don''t lose your leverage.


    She shook her head, pulling away from his grasp. "No. Not while I''m your prisoner."


    Slowly, with a clear look of frustration, he let go. His eyes never left her.


    She returned to the palace without looking back¡ªbut she acted more composed than she felt. Inside she was jelly. The rest of the day''s activities were distractions: luncheon, card games, a music recital. She should have been plotting the next stage of her plan. But she couldn''t forget the warm press of his fingers or the heat of his mouth.


    I want this, she thought. The crown, the silvertrees, him. I want all of it.


    Is it so bad to want everything?

 1.42. Secret Meeting with the Prince

    "Congratulations on your glorious victory! And don''t be too smug about it, if it pleases you. Everything is obvious in hindsight."


    Letter from Lord Isaac Dryden to the Chancellor of Maskamere, Lord James Avon


    There was to be a victory ball, Lord Avon announced, in celebration of General Leamsbrand''s triumphant return and the beginnings of peace in Maskamere. Tonight the lords and ladies of the court would dance and feast. Tomorrow the returning soldiers would march through Jairah to be welcomed as heroes.


    She couldn''t bear it. The atmosphere in the palace was horribly jolly, the guards breaking out into spontaneous cheers, the lords clapping each other on the back. Only the servants were subdued.


    Finally, after enduring what felt like an hour of Lady Ophelia excitedly speculating about touring the north with one of her suitors, Valerie had snapped at her to shut up. The other ladies had been shocked, Ophelia red-faced and teary-eyed.


    She escaped instead to the gardens, making her way towards the greenhouse for a long overdue visit. The sun blazed down. Master Anwen pottered around as usual shielded by his wide-brimmed hat. The old scholar had set up a rickety table by the vegetable patch, where he peered through a magnifying glass at a soil sample.


    She cleared her throat.


    Anwen looked up, his face breaking into a beaming smile. "Lady Valerie! How does this day find you, my dear? How was your trip with Lord Avon?"


    She smiled back. "Fine." Anwen was one of the few people she felt bad about lying to. She took a breath, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve. "Actually, I have some news."


    She told him about the third silvertree, how she''d received the blessing in Bolebund. Naturally, Anwen wanted to fetch his notebook at once, but she had another piece of news to break to him first.


    "No," she said gently. "No, Anwen... The Chancellor has decided that our lessons need not continue. I know how to break the seal now. You''ve done everything you can, and I wanted to thank you for your help."


    "Oh," said Anwen. He picked up his magnifying glass then put it down again, seeming to lose his train of thought. "Oh¡ªof course. But we must capture the results, must we not? The key to breaking the seal, the answer to what awaits below the temple¡ªit will form the centrepiece of my book."


    "I know. I''m sorry, Anwen, and I''ll tell you all about it when it''s done, but for now I can''t say anything more."


    "No," he muttered, "no, sensitive political information, of course." He chewed his lip, then looked up at her. "Bolebund, did you say? My dear, you weren''t caught up in the war?"


    "No..."


    Anwen removed his hat, pressing it to his heart. "My condolences, my lady, for your loss."


    It was the first time anyone in the palace had offered sympathy for losing the war, and the first time Anwen had acknowledged it. Valerie blinked, her eyes filling with tears.


    "Thank you."


    "Is there anything I can do?"


    The old man''s eyes were bright. She shook her head and gulped. Her chest felt tight.


    "I..."


    "There''s no shame in grieving," said Anwen. "Nor in taking your time."


    She wasn''t sure if it was his words or his gentle tone that did it. But he''d opened the floodgates, and Valerie rushed forward and sobbed into his shoulder. Anwen patted her head with a bewildered but sympathetic air.


    She didn''t even know why she cried. All the pieces were in place. She was poised to take everything back.


    Perhaps for everything she couldn''t get back. Everything the war had cost her. Everything her time in the palace had forced her to be: scheming, ruthless, weighing up the cost of human lives against the path to victory. Everything she had sacrificed for a chance of power, a chance to fight back.


    She cried, and with that the last vestiges of cloud weighing on her heart floated away.


    *


    "Is everything ready?" she asked as Priska put the finishing touches to her hair, swept up in a fan of curls.


    "I hope so, my lady," said Priska. "I don''t know why his Lordship announced it so late. We''ve all been in a panic, scurrying around to prepare."


    There had been no time for another shopping trip. Nor to finish the pink summer gown she had been working on and intending to debut at the next event. Instead, Valerie was wearing the royal gown: the scarlet dress she had made for the queen.


    She''d altered it since Enyr, made further improvements to hide the hasty adjustments from that first trip. Now the corset was built into the gown, its ribbing perfectly fitted to her measurements. She''d removed the halterneck so that her shoulders and neck were bare and redone the hem of the skirt, painstakingly embroidering the roses and the jewels until they gleamed with life.


    And now, tonight, in putting on the gown she made a delightful discovery.


    The dress was enchanted.


    With her thrice-blessed senses, the glimmer of her magic transformed into crystal clarity. The hours and days she had poured into it. The wishes and hopes. All far more potent than she had ever realised.


    She had wished that the dress might bring back the queen, and that was exactly the spell she had crafted. A spell to revive the queen.


    It was dizzying to think about. Was the queen alive because of her? That seemed impossible. Like all her other spell-woven garments, the magic only affected the person wearing that garment. And Valerie was the only person who had ever worn the dress.


    Even so, it was a beautiful piece of magic. The dress was a living object, imbued with her power. When she regarded herself in the full-length mirror, she felt transformed.


    Her tears had dried. She was no longer Valerie the dressmaker, the girl who had lost her family, her village, and her future to the Empire''s fire. No longer the rebel seeking futile revenge.


    She was a princess, soon to be a queen. And this gown was no longer Maskamery but a hybrid style. Its contours matched those of the Drakonian ladies, though with a more daring cut, while its colours were Maskamery red and gold.


    "It''s beautiful," said Priska. "Which necklace would you like to wear with it, my lady?"


    She picked out a few pieces from the jewellery box, but Valerie shook her head.


    "None of these. Lord Avon has a gift for me. I''ll be wearing that tonight."


    Priska looked curious but she didn''t ask, snapping the box shut. Valerie took a deep breath. The Kestrel''s Eye, she thought. A pendant to adorn her neck. The Golden Sceptre, a staff. And, finally, the Masked Crown. Just like the queen in her portrait.


    Gideon had contacted her. She was meeting Prince Bakra tonight.


    *


    First, the ball.


    She entered the ballroom and all heads turned. As they should. What a shock these people would get when she seized her crown. Victory for the Empire¡ªI''ll show them victory.


    Lord Avon took her arm in his coat and tails, and the musicians began to play an unfamiliar melody.


    She glanced up at him. "We didn''t have time to rehearse."


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Improvise."


    Well, then. They stuck to the basic steps. How easy it was to follow his lead and glide across the floor. She let the music sweep over her, a simple pattern like a cross stitch.


    "Gideon''s watching," she whispered, leaning into his shoulder.


    The Master of Justice stared at them with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.


    "Go to him," Avon whispered back. "I''ll be at the temple when you return."


    He twirled her around for a final flourish and she laughed, flushed. Then Avon went over to congratulate General Leamsbrand, and Valerie moved away from the dance floor to grab a glass of champagne. She looked for Lord Gideon, but someone else approached her first.


    Lady Ophelia was almost comically nervous, her eyes big and round, cheeks red, her champagne flute trembling in her hand.


    "Lady Valerie," she said, "please, if I may apologise for my silly story earlier today. I cannot stop thinking about what a fool I was, and I couldn''t bear it if you don''t forgive me. I swear I shall be up all night¡ª"


    "Hey." She laid a hand on Ophelia''s arm. "You''re already a better person than nearly everyone here by thinking you have anything to apologise for at all. I shouldn''t have told you to shut up, that was rude. I just..." She sighed. "All this victory talk was getting to me."


    "No, I was being terribly insensitive. And you told me you were from the north, yet I didn''t think of how that might come across..."


    "It''s okay. I forgive you."


    "Really?" Ophelia''s face brightened. "Friends?"


    "Friends," Valerie agreed, squeezing her arm.


    Ophelia went off to share her relief with Lady Rose and Lady Amilia. If only everyone were so easy to deal with. Speaking of... Her fingers tightened around her champagne glass. Lord Gideon sidled up to her.


    "A convincing performance," he sneered. "What did you say to Lord Avon?"


    "Nothing incriminating. Is the prince here?"


    "Sneak out that way." Gideon indicated one of the exits that led to the palace gardens. "But not yet. One of my men will tap you on the shoulder when it''s time."


    She nodded and moved away from him, pretending to be interested in a tray of canapes. Canapes, as far as Valerie was concerned, weren''t real food, but the lords and ladies of Drakon loved them. In the meantime, she was thinking: How many men does Gideon have under his command? How many traitors?


    The answer to that question might determine which of the men triumphed over the other. To Valerie, it didn''t matter. She''d finally learned the lesson that Avon had taught her: to rig the game.


    How?


    How does a gambler guarantee a win? Simple: bet on every horse.


    *


    Next, the boat.


    At sunset, she sneaked out through the palace gardens and to the river. A Drakonian skiff waited for her, one of the guard boats that patrolled along the boundaries of the palace. Black like the guards that escorted her, but the sun''s last rays cast a deep red and gold glow over the water. The royal colours.


    Valerie stepped on to the deck. She ducked into the cabin, her heart beating fast.


    Inside she found a narrow table, a map of the Triatic Sea which bordered Maskamere''s east coast on the wall, and oil lamps illuminating the drinks cabinet and empty flagons on the sideboard. Perhaps this vessel had travelled further than others of its ilk.


    And standing before her, a solitary figure in his battered coat and traveller''s boots: Prince Bakra. She hadn''t seen him in months. He looked thinner and paler than their last meeting, with shadows beneath his eyes, but their determined light hadn''t faded.


    "Valerie!" He stepped forward and hugged her, no formalities. "I''m so glad you''re alive."


    "You too, Your Highness. How did you...?"


    "Lord Gideon spoke to you?"


    She nodded.


    Retreating, Bakra pointed to the table. "Please, sit."


    She joined him, perching on an uncomfortable wooden stool and tucking in her dress. The last of the sunlight was disappearing beneath the port window.


    "I want to say thank you," Bakra began, "for holding out. I can''t imagine what you must have endured."


    She resisted from giving a sharp retort, nodding instead.


    "Bolebund has fallen," Bakra continued, "and the Abbess Sopphora was killed. It''s all up to us now."


    "I heard," she said. "I''m sorry for your loss."


    "It was my fault." Bakra looked away, his eyes wet. "I convinced her to hand over the Masked Crown and left the city''s defences weakened."


    She swallowed. He hadn''t heard about her involvement, then. Only Lavinia and Juniper would have been able to pass on that information to the resistance, and she didn''t know whether they had survived. She hoped Bakra''s ignorance wasn''t a bad sign.


    "So Lord Gideon told you that we needed the Masked Crown to open the seal?"


    Something was off with the timing there. She had only learned that the Masked Crown was a requirement to open the temple door after they''d returned from Bolebund. But the prince was implying that Sopphora had handed over the Masked Crown before the city had been invaded.


    Bakra nodded. "He''s given us a route to the palace. I have fifty men ready to land."


    "What was the deal you made with him?"


    "The king''s throne for Maska''s elixir."


    As Gideon had said. So that part was true.


    "And what''s stopping Gideon from killing you as soon as he gets what he wants? Your Highness..."


    Bakra held up a hand. "I understand your concern, and I thank you for it. You needn''t worry. Gideon won''t be getting what he wants."


    "What do you mean?"


    "There is no elixir."


    Her eyes widened. "What?"


    "Shikra made it up. All the stories about what lies under the temple¡ªbeasts and ghouls and treasure¡ªit''s all made up."


    "Then what...?"


    "It doesn''t matter what lies beneath the temple," said Bakra firmly. "You''re not going to break that seal."


    Her head was spinning. "Then why come here? The crown jewels¡ª"


    "Are why we''re here," said Bakra. "The jewels are what will win us this war. In your hands, they can vanquish the Drakonians for good. Each of the jewels has a different power. The Masked Crown creates. My aunt Sopphora used it to hide the resistance, build our network in the north. The Kestrel''s Eye restores. I wish we''d had that, to undo all the damage in Bolebund, all the towns and villages burned... But what we need now is the Golden Sceptre. The Sceptre destroys. You can march into the palace and smite all our enemies in a moment."


    "I..." She swallowed. "Can''t you do it?"


    "I can''t wield the jewels. They can only be used by those who are thrice blessed."


    "And all this time in Bolebund... Sopphora didn''t bless you?"


    He frowned. "I left you in the palace for a reason. I knew all I needed to do was get the Sceptre to you at the right time¡ª"


    "I can''t." He stared at her, caught off-guard, and she went on: "I can''t smite any Drakonians. I made a vow."


    "A vow?"


    "Lord Avon wouldn''t let me acquire this much power without a safeguard in place. He made me vow never to use magic to harm him or any Drakonian except in self-defence or by his command. I swore it under the light of the silvertree."


    "You can''t wield the Sceptre." His voice was hollow in disbelief. "Why would you make such a vow?"


    "I didn''t have a choice!" she snapped. "What about you¡ªyou must have a contingency plan..."


    But his expression told her that he didn''t. He stood up, pacing around the narrow interior of the boat. "There has to be a loophole," he said. "A way around the vow."


    "Find someone else who has been blessed. Give the Sceptre to them."


    "There''s no time! I agreed with Gideon we''d make our move tonight."


    "All right," she said, "fine, we find a loophole. I can''t just smite everyone. But if you have men with you, if you can fight, I can help you get to Gideon and Avon. What''s beneath the temple?"


    "What?"


    "The temple!" she snapped again, rapidly losing patience. "They''re both desperate to get into the chamber, to claim their treasure. Gideon wants it. Avon will be waiting for us. We can set a trap. But I have to know what''s in there."


    "You can''t open that door," he said.


    "Why did the queen deny you access?"


    "That''s an order, Valerie. From your prince."


    "Why won''t you tell me?" A horrible suspicion came over her. "Don''t you know?"


    "I know," he said, "and I''m commanding you not to open it. As you say, we''ll set a trap. We''ll make this work."


    He started pacing again, muttering to himself. She stared at him. Her heart trembled.


    "Your Highness," she began. "There''s something else..."


    He looked at her. "What?"


    "The queen..." How to say it...? "Your sister... She''s alive."


    "What?"


    The same word, the same question, but a very different tone. He sounded almost... scared.


    "I saw her. When I was blessed by the silvertrees. She spoke to me, she wanted me to remember¡ª"


    "She can''t be." He twisted around on his feet, like a caged animal with no way out. "I saw her, I saw her die. What exactly did you see?"


    "I don''t know, her spirit? It was in this... other place..."


    She tried to describe it. It was difficult to find the words. Her people didn''t believe in ghosts, the lingering souls of the dead. But she had no explanation for it, when she''d confirmed that Queen Shikra''s corpse was indeed Queen Shikra''s corpse.


    "I don''t know what it all means," she finished. "Is she alive somehow? And I think she''s trying to tell me something with this memory of the silvertree, but I don''t know what."


    Bakra had listened in silence during this story, his face becoming paler and paler.


    "I think," he said at last, "that my sister''s wishes will become clear in time. Until then, we must proceed as planned."


    "You don''t know what it means?"


    "I wish I did." He sighed, shaking his head. "You know that men are forbidden from receiving the blessing. Oh, the priestesses turned a blind eye to the stone masons and the metal workers and the beastmasters. Useful trades. But the men of my family, the royal family, they''re much stricter with us."


    "Why?"


    "It''s the price we pay for the throne. But we''ll put all that behind us. This could be our last chance to win this war."


    "And the silvertrees," she said. "Your Highness¡ª"


    She was going to ask him if he intended to restore the silvertrees, a question she hadn''t asked before because it had never occurred to her that he wouldn''t. But the strange tension in his voice put her on edge. He''d always spoken of his sister with love, never fear. What had changed?


    They were interrupted by Lord Gideon appearing at the door. He was carrying a wooden case, which he set down on the table.


    "Your Highness. Your attire, as promised. Where is the Crown?"


    "I have it," said Bakra. "As promised."


    Valerie resisted from rolling her eyes. She suspected that both of these men intended to betray each other. But now that she''d inadvertently ruined Bakra''s plan, what could she do?


    "We''ll give you a moment," said Gideon, and held out his hand to Valerie.


    She followed him off the boat, frowning, and fixed him with a suspicious look once their feet were on firm ground.


    "What''s going on?"


    "A disguise," said Gideon. "Prince Bakra will accompany us dressed as a Drakonian guard."


    "He''s coming with us?"


    "He insisted."


    Oh, Maska, she thought. This could go so very wrong in so many ways.


    "And the crown jewels?" she asked.


    "You''ll get them soon enough. Why don''t you say hello to your friend?"


    "What?"


    A chill ran through her. She didn''t like that smile on Gideon''s face at all. And then one of the Drakonian guards who had escorted her to the boat stepped forward, removing his helmet to reveal a thatch of straw-coloured hair.


    "Long time no see."


    Her heart plummeted.


    Markus.

 1.43. The Temple

    The heart enflames with blade''s bright blood;


    The men doth ride; the maids doth run;


    So to unleash the beasts of war.


    Geraldin Montbretton''s To War


    "No," she said. "No, no, no, you can''t be here, Markus! Why are you here?"


    She hadn''t planned for this. Markus wasn''t supposed to be here; he was supposed to be safe.


    His smile disappeared. He shook his head, expression grim. "I''m here to finish what I started."


    "Markus..." Lord Gideon had arranged this, she knew it. That smug smile said it all. "You can''t... You don''t know how dangerous this is. Don''t put yourself at risk. Please."


    "I''m killing the Chancellor, Val," he said. "You can''t stop me."


    Her retort died in her mouth. There was nothing she could say that would convince him. Markus was the most stubborn person she had ever known.


    And his presence threatened everything.


    She swallowed, looking over Markus''s shoulder as Prince Bakra emerged from the boat in his guard''s uniform. The prince handed over the wooden case to Gideon.


    "Valerie," he said. "You say that the Chancellor is waiting for us?"


    "In the temple," she said. "That''s where I told him to wait for me. He thinks Lord Gideon is delivering the crown jewels."


    She glanced at Gideon as she said that, but he didn''t look perturbed. He planned for betrayal, she thought. Or he''s been working with Avon all along.


    "To the temple, then," said Bakra. "We take care of Avon first, then open the gates and storm the palace. My men are waiting outside."


    "What if we''re spotted?"


    "I''ll help you make a quick getaway," said Markus. "We''ve done it before, haven''t we?"


    When they''d fled her village during the Empire''s invasion. Oh, Maska. She swallowed, tasting bile at the back of her throat.


    "Well, then," said Bakra. "Onwards, we march!"


    No choice. She would have to improvise.


    And so onwards they marched. They made a bizarre foursome, Gideon leading the way with the wooden case, Bakra behind him, Valerie in the middle slowing all of them down in her dress and heels, and Markus bringing up the rear, hand resting on the sword at his hip. The helmets they wore didn''t entirely cover the face but did cover their hair. She supposed no one would question Gideon''s personal guards.


    She was right.


    They crossed the grounds and entered the palace, making their way through the gallery. No one stopped them. They passed other guards who saluted and let them through. They didn''t meet any of the courtiers, who were likely still making merry in the ballroom. Had anyone noticed she was missing?


    Her heart raced. They entered the temple. The smell of incense, once soothing, instead made her breathe faster. Usually the guards in the temple stood watch by the steps leading down to the Forbidden Chamber, which was the only prohibited area. But tonight there was a sentry at each pillar and none at the steps. Gideon ignored them, marching on by. The guards saluted. Valerie tried not to look, to act as if she had every right to be here...


    Almost there. Down the steps, the seal''s magic once again calling to her, warning her...


    In the chamber below the temple, Lord Avon was waiting in full armour, accompanied by Captain Doryn and three guards.


    Gideon stopped, then gave a short bow. As if this was a prearranged meeting. As if he and Avon were here for a chat. Flanking him were Bakra and Markus, still and silent. For now.


    She held her breath.


    "Lord Avon," said Gideon. "What a remarkable coincidence. I had just sent for you."


    "Did you?" said Avon. "I thought you''d bring more men. What are you doing with my sorceress?"


    "I arrested her," said Gideon, "for trying to steal the crown jewels."


    He threw down the case on the sandy floor. Were the crown jewels in there? She hadn''t actually seen them. She was so close...


    But Gideon''s hand curled around her shoulder. "I warned you that your pet witch would betray you. Your poor judgement proves that you''re unfit to call yourself Chancellor. Stand aside."


    The silky hiss of swords being drawn ratcheted up the tension in the chamber. Blades on either side of her: Bakra and Markus. And blades before her: Avon, Doryn, and the three guards, flickering in the fire braziers'' light.


    "An unwise statement," said Avon, "for a man outnumbered."


    Heavy footsteps thudded on the steps behind them. Valerie gasped, twisting around in Gideon''s grip. Two, three¡ªno, four guards marched down to block the entrance to the chamber. They were surrounded.


    And still Gideon did not seem perturbed.


    Avon noticed it too, reacting a split second before she did. It all happened so fast: two of the guards behind them stepped forward and stabbed their comrades in the back. Another guard next to Avon turned on his closest companion, and the third attacked Doryn, who was slow to react¡ªbut Avon wasn''t. He leapt in front of the captain and met the traitor''s blade with his own, the sword glowing a brilliant white.


    Before she could process what was happening, Gideon clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her out of the fray, up against the chamber wall. With that, his men charged forward: Bakra, Markus, and the two traitorous guards. Avon slew the man who had attacked Doryn, and the captain stood ready to meet the onslaught before him.


    She yanked Gideon''s hand from her mouth, throwing herself forward.


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    Markus had charged past Doryn, the captain engaging the other men¡ª


    "Avon!" she screamed.


    At her cry, Avon turned and raised his sword in time to meet Markus''s blade. Markus''s eyes widened in shock and he fell back. Meanwhile, Doryn had felled one of the traitorous guards, but he''d taken a knock, breathing heavily, as Bakra and the other guard pressed their advantage.


    But her eyes were only on Avon and Markus. Gideon hadn''t lost his hold on her. She thrashed in his grip, cursing him with every word under Maska''s sun.


    Avon sidestepped a wild sword swing from Markus, then dealt him a body blow that sent Markus sprawling into the chamber wall, but he didn''t finish his foe off. Doryn had just cried out¡ªa dagger buried in his leg¡ªand Avon instead rushed forward to help the captain. He set upon the final guard with a fury that broke the other man''s defence in seconds. The guard went down.


    Bakra gritted his teeth and swung his sword at Doryn, who fended him off¡ª


    Markus was getting up¡ª


    No, she thought, no, don''t do it, stop it!


    But Avon had seen him. And without the element of surprise, Markus had lost his advantage. Snarling, he launched himself at Avon, who countered, blow for blow, then wrenched sideways, disarming Markus with a flick of his blade, and stabbed him in the gut.


    "No!" The cry was torn from her own throat.


    Markus fell to the ground, groaning. Bakra''s fight with Doryn had gone the other way. He''d knocked the captain to the ground, bleeding from leg and shoulder.


    Somewhere in the mass of sprawling bodies, sand, and blood lay the wooden case. The power she needed. She had no magic here. No way to throw Gideon off.


    But she had herself.


    Improvise.


    Valerie went limp in Gideon''s arms. Then, the moment he relaxed, sneering down at her, she wriggled her arm free and jabbed two fingers into his eyes.


    Gideon howled, letting her go. And Valerie threw herself at the nearest person she could: Bakra, who had raised his sword for a killing blow.


    "Stop it!" she screamed. "All of you, stop it! Avon! Look at me!"


    Avon stood over Markus who had collapsed, bleeding heavily. But he did stop, his gaze falling on Valerie.


    "Valerie!" Bakra tried to shake her off, but she clung on like a stubborn flea.


    Six men were dead. Markus was dying, Doryn wounded. The air was thick with iron.


    "Wait!" she said. "Let me heal them. This is your fight. They don''t deserve to die."


    "Why did you stop me?" Bakra panted.


    At some point in the fray, his helmet had come off, revealing his boyish face and bright, fierce eyes. And now Avon straightened up, a flicker of recognition passing between them.


    Then a pair of vile hands closed around her, and she was torn away.


    "A lesson for your people, Bakra," Gideon sneered. "Girls are soft-hearted, weak. You should never have let them run the country."


    His hand twisted its way to the back of her neck, wrenching her head back. She stumbled and gave another little cry. But his fingers were touching her skin...


    "Valerie," said Avon, his gaze sliding to her. "Kill Gideon."


    Valerie smiled.


    At once, her skin became scorching hot. Gideon let her go with a yelp and she turned on him, grabbed his face with both hands, and squeezed. All her rage, all her hatred, all her spite she poured into him, and he melted. His face turned as red as his bloodshot eyes, the skin blistering and popping. He screamed for mercy.


    She pressed harder. Vicious. Unrelenting.


    "This is for every Maskamery you tortured. Everyone you tormented. Maska curse you!"


    She felt the moment of his death like another pop, a strange, insignificant moment. He became dead weight in her hands, and she let go, letting his burnt-out corpse slump to the ground. Then she rose.


    "Valerie," said Bakra, but his voice quavered. He was doubting her.


    "Let me heal my friend," she said. Neither man moved. She shook her head and snapped, "Stand aside! Let me heal him."


    Slowly, reluctantly, each man took a step back. Valerie knelt down by Markus. He was flat on his back, and he had already lost a lot of blood.


    "Valerie," he murmured. "What are you doing?"


    "Saving your life," she whispered back, pressing her hand to his jaw. "Hold still."


    She closed her eyes, becoming aware of his body. Starting with his head, then moving down and through his flesh until she sensed the cut beneath his ribs. The blade had torn through his kidney; she hissed between her teeth. Focusing, she knitted the wound together, stopping the bleeding on the outside. The internal bleeding, on the other hand...


    Valerie wasn''t a healer. That wasn''t her specialism. She had a basic understanding of the organs of the body, but...


    She opened her eyes. "Bakra. Give me the Kestrel''s Eye."


    She glanced back, and Bakra was hesitating.


    "I''ll put him to sleep," she said. "He won''t join this fight and neither will Doryn. Give me the Kestrel''s Eye."


    At the edge of her vision, she was conscious of Avon watching her too. But he said nothing.


    She held out her hand. Bakra opened the wooden case, taking out a gold pendant which he gave to her. Its power flowed into her and she gasped.


    The power of restoration.


    Holding the pendant tightly in one hand, Valerie returned to her work with the other. To her delight, she had instant clarity. She directed the pendant''s power and it did the rest, almost faster than she could process. Markus''s wound vanished. His laboured breathing returned to normal, his heart beating at a slower rate. He was recovering so fast she had to quickly add on her own spell, the one to put him to sleep. Moments later he was passed out.


    She moved on to Doryn and did exactly the same thing. Doryn''s eyes met hers. She thought she saw gratitude, then his eyes closed and he drifted away.


    Valerie stood up. The two men had moved away from her, Avon standing in front of the great stone barrier that had brought them all here, Bakra facing him.


    "Well," said Avon, looking at Valerie, "what now?"


    "You must be the Emperor''s son," said Bakra. "Lord James Avon, the butcher."


    "Prince Bakra, the coward," Avon rejoined. "Will you have Valerie fight your battle here too?"


    "I''ve waited a long time to kill you," said Bakra. "I''ll do it myself."


    Bakra struck first. He thrust the point of his blade and Avon parried, turning the blade aside. They broke off, circling each other. Parry, counter-parry. Testing each other''s skill. Valerie watched, transfixed, wondering whether to step in...


    She had the pendant. Slowly, as if in a daze, she put it on around her neck. As for the other jewels... She backed up against the wall of the chamber and moved towards the wooden case.


    Avon cried out. Bakra had caught him a glancing blow against his arm, but his armour held fast.


    She reached into the case. Yes! The Sceptre. A light, short staff, burnished with gold and thrumming with power. It surged through her, like lightning, like fire, like the deep cracking of the earth splitting open.


    She set the Sceptre on her lap and reached in again. The Masked Crown. A slim, elegant headpiece of rubies and gold. She lifted it out of the case and felt a burst of inspiration. Setting the crown upon her head, she thought, I could bring to life any idea.


    The seal sang to her.


    It''s time.


    Avon drove Bakra back with a two-handed swing. The prince stumbled into the empty case, losing his footing. He fell and rolled away as Avon''s blade stabbed into the sand. Valerie yelped, snatching the Golden Sceptre close to her chest¡ªthat was rather too close. Avon''s eyes met hers, but Bakra leapt at him, and he was forced to retaliate.


    She was halfway to the stone block before they realised what she was doing.


    "Valerie," said Bakra hoarsely. Both men were panting. "I told you not to break the seal."


    "And why is that?" Avon asked. He was still closest to the door, holding his ground.


    "This is my magic," she said. "I worked for this. All of you wanted to use me¡ªeven you, Bakra, you threw me to the wolves without a thought to get back your throne. It''s my magic, and I''m breaking that seal for me."


    At the word me, she threw out an idea: a cloud of darkness that erupted around both Avon and Bakra, blinding them. They cried out in confusion.


    She darted over to the stone door and pressed her hands against the stone flesh...


    The seal can only be broken by a woman.


    The seal can only be broken by one thrice-blessed.


    The seal can only be broken by one wielding the Masked Crown, the Kestrel''s Eye, and the Golden Sceptre.


    The seal shone brilliantly, a kaleidoscope of colours: blue sky, yellow sand, green grass, red roses, purple berries, silver leaves, the burnished orange of a kestrel''s wing...


    The Sceptre glowed, and the seal shattered into a million tiny fragments. Air whooshed over her head as the great stone boulder rolled away, revealing an entrance as black as night.


    She stared, breathing hard. She''d done it. She''d broken the seal. Whatever lay beyond it was waiting for her.


    Valerie faced the darkness and stepped through it.

 1.44. Goldentree

    "I saw the goldentree atop the mountain. I spoke with it. And the goldentree revealed the truth of all things. These truths I will now share with you."


    Maska''s Testimonium, I:VII


    She walked.


    She sensed that she was in a tunnel, but she couldn''t see anything more than a foot ahead. Her breath misted in the cold air.


    Presently, a light appeared. Far-off and high up. She turned towards it, quickening her pace, and as if a veil had been lifted the tunnel opened up.


    She was approaching the foot of a hill. Thin, straggly grass grew in places, but the way up was covered in boulders and scree. The sky above was pale grey, the world shrouded in mist.


    Except for what awaited at the top of the hill.


    Bakra had been right.


    There was no elixir. No monster. No treasure chamber.


    At the top of the hill stood a tree. As tall as a tower with leaves and branches of purest gold, radiating light.


    The goldentree.


    Tears pricked her eyes. This was it, the royal family''s greatest secret. The goldentree had been here all along. They''d built the palace around it, somehow, or found a way to connect them...


    She climbed. Shrapnel slid and shifted beneath her feet, but she found a path. It had been walked before.


    "Valerie..."


    She started, panting, looking around. That voice...


    "Valerie."


    A cold wind buffeted her. No, she thought. She redoubled her efforts, scrambling up the hill. The goldentree''s leaves shimmered. And she sensed a presence, like a rush of air, approaching from the brink of the hill...


    She ran the last few feet to the crest as the ghostly figure of Queen Shikra materialised before her. Behind the queen¡ªshe gasped¡ªlay the land beyond the goldentree, a ruined forest, all that remained of the silvertrees.


    It''s the same place. This place... Where I go when I convene with the silvertrees... The goldentree was here all along.


    "Wait!" Queen Shikra cried, and as the ghostly figure rushed towards her, Valerie did the only thing she could.


    She ran to the goldentree and embraced it, pressing her hands against the bark. A heady, golden light filled her. She drank it in, giddy with its power. The feeling was indescribable. Hot and cold, bitter and sweet, hard and soft, painful and pleasurable, all in a single moment¡ªa fragment¡ªa frozen portrait of eternity. It was euphoric.


    The light expanded. And she found herself inside the light, inside the tree...? She looked down at a sea of stars. She looked up at a black cloth, as if the sky had made itself soft and close.


    She felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a great truth. The goldentree did not exist by chance. It had an origin, like everything did¡ª


    Then Shikra''s hand reached into her chest and pulled her out.


    Valerie''s heart lurched. She cried out¡ª


    And then she was floating above the goldentree, the eerie, flat-lit landscape far below her.


    What?


    She tried to scrabble around, find a purchase, something solid, but there was nothing. She was nothing. She had no anchor, no point of view. She was here and she wasn''t.


    "Look."


    She felt that presence again, Shikra''s. Somehow it directed her attention. First to the queen''s green eyes, bright, catlike, as that ghostly figure shone with a golden light. Then to the chamber below the temple, where her darkness had dissipated, and Avon and Bakra were locked in battle. But they were hardly moving, as if they were trapped underwater, or in one of those dreams where time slowed down...


    What''s going on?


    She couldn''t speak. She had no mouth.


    But there was the goldentree below... She focused her perspective, and all at once she saw herself: Valerie, head bowed against the tree in a trance-like state...


    Shikra had no body either. But she could speak, move, take a form of some kind... This ethereal magic, this presence without matter... Valerie could do it too. She looked down and saw transparent hands. She imagined the red dress, its shape, lithe limbs, dark hair...


    "Well done."


    The queen''s smile lit up the heavens.


    Valerie took in an imaginary breath. "Your Majesty. Is it really you?"


    "Yes. You can save me, Valerie. You can bring me back. I''ll show you how."


    The queen gestured with a glimmering hand, and Valerie descended into the silvertree forest with her. That golden halo... The blessing of the goldentree. She recognised it around Shikra, as she felt the same power within herself.


    It is her. The queen.


    They were passing through the forest, the ruins of the silvertree stumps still a sad sight around her. One living tree ahead bathed them in its splendour, and Valerie felt a shock of recognition.


    "Your tree," said Shikra, turning to face her. "The tree where you received your first blessing."


    The silvertree at St. Maia, still standing. So her dream had been true. It occurred to Valerie that the spell was probably intact only because she had survived.


    "I¡ªI don''t understand," she said.


    "I''ve been waiting for you," said the queen, her voice soft and kind. "Guiding you. And now that you''re here, all we have to do is step through..." She gestured at the silvertree. "And everything will be restored."


    It was too much. Without the anchor of her body, she felt lost and confused.


    "I don''t..." Her form flickered; she controlled it. "What do you mean, guiding me? You''ve been gone for over two years. How are you here? What is this place?"


    "Of course." The queen shook her head. "Forgive me. You have no idea how many times I''ve tried to fix this. You''ve done incredibly well to get here, and now that you have the blessing of the goldentree too, it''s time for you to know what that means. I must warn you: the truth I am about to reveal may be unsettling. It will change everything you have ever known. Do you wish to hear it?"


    She trembled. Did she want to finally hear the truth? After chasing the blessings of the silvertrees, grabbing on to any scrap of magical knowledge she could find, there was only one answer to the queen''s question.


    "Yes!"


    Shikra gestured around them. "This place is a kind of limbo. It exists outside the normal boundaries of our world. The trees exist in both planes, but what happens in one affects what happens in the other. Our connection to the goldentree gives us an anchor to this world too, a form of existence in spirit and without body. So when I died, out there in the physical world, the goldentree brought me back here. I''ve been wandering this place ever since. Look. Take a look at the tree."


    Again, Shikra pointed, and again Valerie directed her attention as instructed, to the silvertree of her first blessing.


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    And she saw through the tree. High Priestess Glynda holding her hand, a younger Valerie with her head bowed and her eyes closed, both of them glowing with the tree''s power. Beyond them, dark and barely visible, the square lawn and the crowd around the court, acolytes in their brown robes, priestesses in grey, the villagers...


    She recoiled. It was...


    It was real.


    "Each silvertree," said Queen Shikra, "is a portal. When you connect with the tree, you leave an imprint, a memory. From here you can return through the silvertree to that imprint and start over. That is the gift of the goldentree. The chance to make things right."


    For a moment she couldn''t speak. The implications were sinking in, profound, world-shaking.


    She swallowed. "You can... you can travel into the past?"


    "You were blessed before I died. Before the purge. Before the war. We can go back and stop it all."


    "I..." Her mind was a whirlwind. "If I step through that tree, you''ll be alive again?"


    "Yes."


    "And I''ll be... I''ll be eighteen, the day of my blessing? Will I forget all of this? Everything that happened after?"


    The queen clasped her hands, expression patient. "You won''t forget. No one else will know except the two of us."


    "You said you guided me..."


    "I saved your tree," said Shikra. "I told Glynda what to do, to give us a way back."


    Glynda... How swiftly the High Priestess had acted, how she had known that the silvertree was in danger, that Valerie was the person who needed to protect it...


    "And Anwen''s book," the queen continued. "I gave him that information for you, Valerie. So that you would come into your power and find me."


    His interview with the queen... Then, that meant...


    "You knew," she said, dazed. "You knew what would happen. You''ve been through this before."


    Many times, she''d said. Valerie''s entire form quivered. If she had bones, they''d be chilled. If Shikra could go back to the past, change the order of events, with no one else the wiser... then who knew how many times she''d rewound the timeline, what Valerie''s life had been like in those other futures.


    "Have... have we met before?" she whispered.


    "Yes," said Shikra. "That is why I chose you. I don''t believe I can do this alone."


    "And all the other times... You couldn''t go back to the past yourself? You had help?"


    "The Drakonians didn''t know what they were doing when they destroyed the trees," said Shikra. "They thought they were taking away the priestesses'' power. But they were denying me my way back. Only three trees can hold your imprint at any one time, and all my trees were burned. I was almost lost for good. I put safeguards in place once I knew what would happen. But we still lose the war. I haven''t found a way to win it yet."


    "And you think I can..."


    "We have limited time to change events." Shikra moved forward, taking her hands. Valerie felt the charge of magic, the power thrumming between them. "But with your help, we have a chance. I have a plan. I will guide you." Her face shone with hope. "Are you ready?"


    Ready?


    Ready to step into the past, to face an unknown future¡ªto rely on Shikra''s knowledge of events, follow her instructions to save the silvertrees, defeat the Drakonian Empire, and restore Maskamere.


    Everything she had ever wanted.


    Except for the unknown quantity, the most important unknown of all: what would happen to her? What place had the queen designed for Valerie in this future of hers?


    Shikra had ruled Maskamere for thirty-two years before the invasion. Perhaps this war wasn''t the first time she had turned back the timeline. Maskamere''s queens were known for being long-lived. Now she understood why. There was no elixir, but the goldentree did offer a kind of immortality. A chance to cheat death.


    And Shikra wanted her help to do it. Why me? The first time this had happened, before the queen knew about the attack at the harvest festival, the war, everything that followed, who had saved her from this limbo? Was it me? Or someone else?


    "Valerie?"


    She swallowed. "What do you want me to do?"


    "Go to Drakon." The queen clasped her hands. "The invasion of Maskamere is conceived, planned, and launched from the Drakonian capital. It''s beyond my reach, but not beyond yours. You can use your connection with Lord Avon to convince him not to go to war."


    Lord Avon... The queen knew about them, somehow. Perhaps in a different timeline...


    "But if I go back," she whispered, "it''ll be before we met."


    "And you will have the advantage of already knowing him."


    "I''ll remember and he won''t?"


    "That''s right."


    "What about the goldentree''s blessing? Will that disappear?"


    They''d be going back to her very first blessing. Everything she''d achieved since then wiped out...


    Shikra shook her head. "The goldentree is transcendent. Its power lives in you now and forever. It''s why you''ll remember."


    She would remember, and she would keep her power. If the queen was telling the truth.


    Something was nagging at her, a thought that occurred now: Avon had been right. The royal family wasn''t chosen. Valerie had reached out to the goldentree, and it had offered its gift freely. Maybe she was distantly related to the royal family, but if she counted as a relative, then so did everyone in Maskamere.


    The royal family wasn''t chosen, but they chose not to share. In all the centuries since Maskamere''s founding, there had only ever been one person who wielded the goldentree''s power at any one time, and that person was always the queen. When the queen died, her successor stepped in.


    Would Shikra truly allow someone else to wield the goldentree''s power? Even if Valerie succeeded, if she convinced Avon to prevent the war and changed the course of history, what would happen after that? In the best case scenario she would return to Maskamere as one of the queen''s loyal subjects. In the worst...


    "Valerie?" Shikra was starting to look concerned. "Valerie, please. This is our chance to save Maskamere. To bring back everyone you care about¡ªyour family. Your mother."


    The shock of that thought rippled through her, the world blurring and reforming. Everyone she could see through the silvertree portal: her family, friends, the priestesses, the entire village. She could save them all.


    Unless they failed, in which case Shikra would wipe the timeline and start again.


    Unless Shikra was lying, in which case she wouldn''t remember any of this anyway, and the future would be out of her control.


    Unless she was a pawn, to be used and discarded, as she suspected Gideon had intended to use her, as Avon had tried to coerce her into working for the Empire. They''d all tried and they''d all failed. She did not want to be a piece in someone else''s master plan, even if that someone was the queen.


    Valerie took a step back. "How do I know that I can trust you?"


    Surprise flashed in Shikra''s eyes. The ghostly form flickered, becoming less solid.


    "I am your queen. Why wouldn''t you trust me?"


    "You made me forget," said Valerie. "It was you, wasn''t it? The night of the invasion... I helped Glynda to protect the silvertree..."


    "If you had remembered, you would have returned to the village. I needed you in the palace."


    Not would have, she thought. Did. Shikra must have encountered this problem in a previous timeline and applied a quick but effective fix, which was to simply eliminate the option from Valerie''s mind.


    And with that, the implications of Shikra''s actions became clear. Everything Valerie had done... Everything she thought she had achieved... Not a path she''d taken of her own volition, but one she had been pushed into. An unwitting tool to be wielded as the queen saw fit until she fixed the timeline the way she wanted.


    It was one thing to help her, with Anwen providing a source of knowledge that she was hungry for anyway. But to take a choice away from her...


    Valerie felt incredibly cheated.


    "You manipulated me." Her voice shook. "You lied to me, you lied to all of us. About the goldentree, about the blessing. No one else in Maskamere knows what the trees really do."


    "The people cannot know such things." Shikra''s eyes were wise and sad. "That knowledge is our burden. We keep it secret to protect everyone. Think of the big picture¡ªthis is about the future of Maskamere. We can''t let it fall into tyranny and squalor."


    "No," she said. "No, I agree. But I have the power of the goldentree now. I''ll save Maskamere myself."


    And she turned away, skimming through the vibrant air, facing the light of the goldentree. She sensed a surge of anger as Shikra followed.


    "What are you doing? You''d condemn Maskamere? You won''t even save your own family?"


    "My family is dead," she said steadily. "You should be too."


    Moving without a body was a strange thing, a change of perspective rather than a physical exertion of the limbs. Her phantom feet didn''t touch the forest floor. The goldentree hill loomed before her. She could see herself¡ª


    "I''m sorry, Valerie. But I can''t let you go."


    Icy hands gripped her. The queen''s magic¡ªher will¡ªclosed around her like a vice. She froze. And at the same time, Shikra''s ghostly figure ascended to the goldentree, to her body...


    No.


    She fought, lashing out. My will. My power. My body.


    "We have to save Maskamere. We have to go back."


    She thought of how the rough bark felt against her palms, the solid press of the ground beneath her feet, the air on her skin, the breath in her lungs. Everything that it felt to be human and to have a body...


    Her body rushed towards her. Or she rushed towards her body.


    And then, abruptly, she fell into the chamber. Valerie flailed, disoriented, as the great stone boulder rolled back into place, and the magical seal began to reform. She heard footsteps, grunts, the clashing of swords¡ª


    No time had passed, she thought in shock. And then, with equal shock, her body leapt up. With a flick of her hand, Avon''s sword was knocked from his grip. Another flick, and he fell to his knees.


    But she hadn''t done any of it. Panic filled her and then was swept away.


    Leave this to me.


    "Kill him, brother," her voice commanded.


    Bakra''s eyes widened. "Shikra."


    He stepped over Avon, who was straining against the invisible force pinning him to the ground, eyes wide with fear. Shikra watched, triumphant. Valerie watched, terrified, a passenger in her own body.


    Bakra raised his sword...


    No.


    She wrenched¡ª


    Shikra''s spell vanished for only a moment, but it was enough. Avon grabbed the hilt of his sword, and then her magic struck again, but the blade flashed, and with a guttural cry he brought up his sword to block Bakra''s strike. He kicked up, foot connecting with Bakra''s knee, knocking the prince down.


    Air blasted from her fingertips, but it did nothing against the sword. Avon rose to his feet and cleaved Bakra''s head from his shoulders.


    Her mouth screamed. Avon turned to her. He was bloodied, limping, a bruise darkening his jaw.


    Her fingers snapped and fire billowed out like the breath of a dragon, but Avon raised his sword and it ate up the flames.


    No, she tried to say. No, I''m still in here!


    But her mouth wasn''t hers. Her body shook, torn between two wills fighting for control, and then Avon drove his blade through her heart.


    She stared at him. His eyes met hers unblinking, fierce, blue, and wet with tears, but his mouth was a grim line.


    Idiot! Why¡ª


    Her heart gave one final shudder. The pain was overwhelming.


    Then there was no pain at all.

 1.45. The Girl in the Scarlet Gown

    "My mission is to leave Maskamere a better place than I found it. If I can do that, I can die in peace."


    Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen


    The girl in the scarlet gown lay in an open casket. The blood had been sponged away, though it was hard to tell with the deep red of the dress, and her hands were clasped over her chest, holding a bouquet of red roses. Her hair was pinned up as it had been that night, a pile of dark curls. Her skin was smooth, her eyelids burnished with kohl, her cheeks rosy, her full lips painted in red.


    She looked like a painting. She looked almost alive.


    To those paying their respects in the temple, she elicited mixed reactions. Some of the ladies, like Flavia, openly wept. Others, like Lady Mona, were solemn but unmoved. Some were surprised that Captain Doryn lingered. He said nothing but bowed his head over the casket for longer than most.


    There were notable absences too, including Lady Melody, who was in mourning for Lord Gideon and refused to enter a heathen temple.


    But Lord Avon did attend. He had struck the killing blow, the end of this foolish mission to discover the last of Maskamere''s secrets. Isaac, Lord Dryden, had warned him of the follies of pursuing Maskamery magic. It had cost him Valerie''s life and almost his own.


    "I''m sorry, James." Ophelia looked at him with teary blue eyes from the other side of the casket. "I think she was good for you."


    He returned his sister''s gaze. "Was she?"


    She''d brought out every impulse in him, the good and the bad. He''d wanted to control her, to please her, to claim her, to subdue her. Above all else he''d wanted to make her sorcery his own, to prove that magic could be harnessed for the good of the Empire.


    And now, thanks to his mistakes, she was dead.


    She looked like a painting. A flat, frozen canvas, a moment in time. Serene, cold. The mortician had tried to preserve her beauty but had captured only the likeness, not the spirit. Her spirit lived in the way her eyes flashed, her mouth moved, her sharp words, and the arch of her neck and shoulders...


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    He''d never said that. Never told her the true strength of his feelings.


    She had known it anyway, he thought. Always seemed to guess at what he was thinking, anticipated him before he anticipated himself...


    Ah. He was getting sentimental.


    He put his hand into his pocket and drew out a piece of gold-lined paper. Unfolded it to reread the words written there in her hand, as he had done several times already since discovering the letter in her chambers.


    James¡ªFor the avoidance of doubt, you should know that I didn''t want to betray you. Gideon might have me killed. If I''ve played our game wisely, he ought to lose, but if not, I''d hate to have my reputation ruined posthumously.


    I''ve been thinking of all the things I haven''t said to you. And in case I don''t get to say it: you''ve been a worthy opponent. I hope we get to fight again.


    With all due respect,


    Valerie


    He sighed, rubbing his eyes. She was an enigma. And despite opening the letter with the words for the avoidance of doubt, he felt that she hadn''t given him any answers. He kept trying to read some emotion into her words, some affection, awe, or even, heaven forbid, love.


    A worthy opponent!


    Was that the highest praise he could expect to receive from someone of her temperament? A girl of high ambition, whose many admirable qualities were the exact opposite of the ideal Drakonian woman: bold, impatient, proud, outspoken. Yet they''d formed a connection¡ªdespite?¡ªbecause of?¡ªhis status as Chancellor. He had transformed Maskamere, held her in the palace for months against her will, and for that she called him worthy.


    His thoughts were spiralling. It was pointless to speculate. He ought to be pleased at how events had turned out. Maskamere under the Empire''s control, the prince dead, the last of the Abbesses dead, the rebels captured. By any reasonable measure, this was a victory.


    As for the girl... She was dead by his own hand, and he could only hope that whatever malevolent spirit had possessed her had perished too. If it was Shikra¡ªas Bakra had called out to her¡ªthen this foolish quest had achieved one thing: they''d destroyed the royal family for good. Maskamere could finally move on from the tyranny of their rule and build a new way of life enlightened by the Empire.


    His fingers brushed the rim of the coffin, then tightened before he turned away. He could not bear to touch her.


    Behind him, Ophelia gasped. He turned back.


    "James!" she squeaked.


    And Valerie woke up.

 2.1. Resurrected

    Smoke burns her nostrils. The courtyard has become a battlefield. Drakonian soldiers cut down acolytes and priestesses alike, a blur of robes and blood. And standing ablaze, illuminating the dead and the living in awful silhouette¡ª


    *


    Valerie woke up in a coffin.


    Narrow walls boxed her in. The cushioned floor pressed against her back. Above, a vaulted ceiling created a strange sense of vertigo. She looked from side to side, disoriented, a little flare of panic quickening her breath. Where was she? How had she gotten here?


    Roses¡­ She smelled roses.


    A bouquet pricked her clasped hands, the petals matching her scarlet gown. She had made this dress for the queen, imbued with her power.


    The memories came flooding back. She¡¯d worn the gown in her meeting with Prince Bakra, the last surviving member of the Maskamery royal family. He¡¯d come to the royal palace to set a trap for the Drakonian Chancellor, Lord Avon, and asked Valerie to help him oust the Drakonians from the capital.


    But Avon had been one step ahead of him. She¡¯d led the prince into the palace temple where he and Avon had come to blows¡­


    ¡°James!¡±


    A girlish voice with the punctuated vowels of a Drakonian accent.


    Ophelia.


    Valerie sat up, dislodging the bouquet, and braced her hands against the rim of the casket.


    Two shocked faces met hers: Lady Ophelia, Lord Avon¡¯s sister, and Avon himself. They both wore black, Ophelia¡¯s blonde curls covered by a veil, her small hands clinging to her brother¡¯s arm. And they weren¡¯t the only ones present. Other visitors in black sat on the pews with their heads bowed or waited at a respectful distance.


    Were they¡­ mourning her?


    Her breath caught. She recognised this place: the palace temple, with its pillars carved into the shape of the silvertrees, the great stained glass window depicting Maska standing before the goldentree, and the worn stone steps that led to the chamber and the sealed door beneath.


    That door had been sealed by the queen. Bakra had forbidden Valerie to open it. Avon had wanted to claim the chamber¡¯s treasures for himself.


    Instead, Valerie had stepped through the door alone. Through it, she had encountered the royal family¡¯s greatest secret: the goldentree, the source of the queen¡¯s magical power.


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    But she hadn¡¯t been alone.


    The queen, she thought. I met the queen, and then I ran and she possessed me, and Avon¡­ he¡­


    Her heart shuddered. She remembered the pain of that final stab, the cold steel that had pierced her chest¡­


    ¡°You killed me!¡±


    She meant to shout it, but her voice came out as a shocked whisper instead. Ophelia¡¯s hands flew to her mouth.


    Avon had turned as pale as a ghost. ¡°Guards!¡± he said hoarsely.


    People were starting to notice. Gasps filled the temple. Those closest to the coffin backed off, handkerchiefs aflutter. One of the ladies fainted.


    Then someone screamed, and panic let loose.


    ¡°Everyone else leave!¡± Avon¡¯s voice cut through the noise. ¡°Now!¡±


    Two of the guards, the cowards, approached her from behind and grabbed her by the shoulders. She protested as they hauled her out of the coffin, and meanwhile the lords and ladies were fleeing the scene, Avon hurrying his sister away¡­


    ¡°Take your hands off me!¡± she hissed, and one of the guards let go as if he¡¯d been scalded, which surprised her.


    The other yelped. ¡°Hey! What are you playing at?¡±


    ¡°Throw her down,¡± the first guard said. Unlike his companion, he was Maskamery. ¡°She¡ªshe¡¯s resurrected, you don¡¯t want to mess with that.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on,¡± said the other guard, but she looked at him and he seemed to think better of it, shoving her forward.


    Her knees hit the stone floor with a painful thud. She clutched at her neck¡ªthe pendant¡ªbut found nothing. The Kestrel¡¯s Eye was one of three crown jewels that Valerie had used to open the way to the goldentree. It held the power of restoration. But she no longer had it, nor the other two jewels, so she would have to heal herself.


    Doing just that, Valerie got to her feet, a little shaky.


    Avon had returned. The guards brandished their muskets. Empty of mourners, an ominous quiet descended over the temple.


    ¡°Please,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Avon interrupted her.


    He wasn¡¯t armed. No sword at his hip. Perhaps the Drakonians considered weapons inappropriate for mourning attire. And he would be missing it, she knew, because Avon¡¯s sword was no ordinary blade. It could deflect magic designed to cause harm. Without it, he was vulnerable.


    ¡°I¡¯m Valerie,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s me, my lord, I swear it. I¡¯m not the queen, and I¡¯m not here to fight. Please don¡¯t kill me.¡±


    She held up her hands for whatever good that might do her. She¡¯d cheated death once, but Valerie wasn¡¯t at all confident that the spell which had saved her before would work again. Nor did she fancy a bullet to the head.


    ¡°You were dead,¡± Avon said. ¡°You¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± she said quickly. ¡°I¡­ What happened?¡±


    A muscle in his face twitched. In the time she¡¯d spent imprisoned in the palace, she¡¯d become adept at reading him, but right now his eyes were fathomless.


    A long moment passed. Sweat clung to her brow. Avon stared at her and she gazed back, praying, hoping that he would spare her.


    ¡°Put her in the cellar,¡± he said at last. ¡°Strip her down, put her in irons. Take everything off¡ªdown to the last hairpin. And fetch Captain Doryn.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t hide her dismay, a full blown shudder running through her body. ¡°No, please¡ª¡±


    The butt of one of the guard¡¯s muskets jabbed her in the shoulder. Valerie stumbled forward.


    As she passed by Avon, as his cloak stirred the air when he turned away, she felt the urge to lash out, or reach out¡ªsomething. As if her touch might convince him that she was Valerie, she was alive, and she meant him no harm.


    The pain of his blade burned deep in her heart.


    He¡¯d done that to her. Killed her. And he hadn¡¯t known that she would come back.


    Tears smarted in her eyes.


    She let the guards take her away.

 2.2. The Cellar

    ¡ªthe silvertree.


    The Drakonian men have spotted her. Shots punctuate the air. One of them must be the one that explodes in her thigh; she doesn¡¯t know which. She cries out, losing her footing¡ª


    *


    They took her to the cellar below the kitchen. Dry, cool and windowless, it served as a storage room for wine barrels and sacks of grain. It also contained a human-sized iron cage, empty except for a few bits of straw. Valerie stopped short in disbelief.


    ¡°Strip her,¡± the lead guard ordered.


    She flinched away from the first hand that touched her and gave the man such a wounded look that he fell back. That didn¡¯t last long.


    The guards had been quiet and wary as they¡¯d marched her down, all business. But when more of them grabbed her and it became clear that Valerie wasn¡¯t resisting, they began to jeer and poke. Her hair was pulled roughly out of its bun, and the beautiful scarlet gown she¡¯d worked so hard on was all but torn off. One man slapped her backside and she yelped, blinking tears out of her eyes.


    No, she wouldn¡¯t show them that she was scared.


    They shoved her into the cage, where she fell heavily on her side. She scrabbled away as fast she could, curling up against the metal bars.


    The last guard met her eyes as he turned the key in the lock. ¡°Whore.¡±


    Dogs. She imagined turning them all into dogs with a flick of her hand, stupid hairy beasts with lolling tongues and flea ridden fur.


    Then they were gone, and the cellar plunged into darkness. Valerie exhaled a shaky breath. She felt almost as if she were floating, unable to see herself, and with little sense of anything beyond the hard floor of the cage. Gradually, her eyes adjusted, and the blackness eased into a deep gloom. The tiniest chink of light escaped from a gap in the door above. Enough to make out the outline of her hand when she held it up in front of her.


    She was sore and bruised. Could she at least heal herself?


    I¡¯m blessed by the goldentree. Come on.


    But summoning her magic was like trying to wade through thick mud.


    That was no accident, she knew. Lord Avon had ordered her locked up in an unfamiliar place to curb her power.


    He promised to make me queen.


    Ha. She had been a fool to believe him.


    Not that she didn¡¯t understand his actions. After all, Shikra had tried to kill him. But what had happened to the queen? Had she gone back to the goldentree? Found another body to possess? The possibilities were disturbing.


    Her backside ached. She shifted uncomfortably against the iron bars. Mastery over the self. The first and most basic level of power. Valerie closed her eyes, focusing. She shut out all her thoughts¡ªand there were many of them jostling for attention, the memories of everything that had happened since the battle in the temple, worries over the fate of her allies, Markus, Iora, her family, the prince¡¯s death¡­


    She breathed, in and out, in and out. Focusing on her awareness of here and now, the cool dry air of the cellar brushing against her skin, the breath in her lungs. In and out.


    Then, one by one, she healed away her bruises. The task vexed her; she felt drained in every possible sense of the word. She kept recalling the guards¡¯ hands groping her body, their snide insults, the indignity of it all. It shook her in a way she had never been shaken before.


    They deserve nothing but death.


    That thought comforted her momentarily.


    But even with her flesh intact, she was still naked and shivering in a cage. Valerie wondered if it had been placed here to contain her, if Avon had anticipated that he might someday need to lock her up in the palace. She looked around, straining her eyes to make out the shape of the room.


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    Across from the cage, she spotted a near empty burlap sack by the other sacks of grain. It might be within reach¡­ Valerie stuck her arm through the gap in the metal bars and, after a minute or so of fingers scrabbling, managed to grab the sack and pull it through into the cage. There she tore a hole in the base, shook out the last of the grain, and pulled it over her head.


    The material was rough and scratchy, but at least it covered her.


    She was glad that she had done it too, because only a few minutes later light poured into the cellar from the steps above, and Avon entered. A glowing blade illuminated him, casting strange shadows over his features. He¡¯d come armed this time.


    He stopped in front of the cage, and she stared at him balefully.


    ¡°Talk to me,¡± he said. ¡°Tell me what happened.¡±


    ¡°You killed me.¡±


    ¡°Before that.¡± His fingers curled around the bars. ¡°I saw you go into the chamber.¡±


    Part of her wanted to refuse him. If he was going to demand answers, the least he could do was treat her with respect. But that would only prolong her imprisonment.


    ¡°I went into the chamber,¡± she said, ¡°and I found Queen Shikra. She was trapped in there without a body. She said that I could bring her back.¡±


    ¡°And you did.¡± His voice was cold.


    ¡°Not willingly. I didn¡¯t know that she would possess me. She¡­ She did that by force.¡±


    ¡°You fought back?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I saved your life. You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    That was true. After the queen had possessed her, Valerie had wrested back control of her will long enough to give Avon a chance to fight back. And he¡¯d taken it, first by killing Prince Bakra and then turning his blade on her.


    The same blade he had drawn now, glittering like his eyes in the dark. ¡°But you were happy to let me fight the prince. We all wanted what was inside that chamber¡ªyou got there first.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t wrong, but she wasn¡¯t sorry, and she wouldn¡¯t apologise. She got to her feet, smoothing the burlap sack over her knees, and approached the metal bars. To her gratification, Avon stepped back.


    ¡°What else did you find in there?¡± he asked. ¡°Was it only the queen?¡±


    She curled her hands around the bars, deliberately choosing the same spot he¡¯d retreated from. The iron was still warm from his touch. ¡°Are you going to let me out?¡±


    ¡°Not until I know it¡¯s you.¡± He shook his head. ¡°How are you alive, Val? Is this your sorcery or hers?¡±


    ¡°Mine.¡± She realised that didn¡¯t clarify. ¡°It was the gown. It holds a spell of resurrection¡­ It brought me back.¡±


    ¡°Just you?¡±


    ¡°I think both of us. I don¡¯t know. I can¡¯t feel her anymore.¡±


    He still looked suspicious, his brows drawn. How was she supposed to prove that she wasn¡¯t the queen?


    ¡°I have to tell you the truth,¡± she added. ¡°You know that.¡±


    Avon hadn¡¯t given her the blessing of two silvertrees without exacting his price: first, a vow not to use her magic to harm him or any Drakonian, and second, a promise to only tell him the truth. In this situation, the curse might actually prove beneficial, she thought, since it meant that he could trust her.


    ¡°But the queen doesn¡¯t,¡± he said, and her heart sank.


    The queen could lie to him. Shikra had made no promises to Avon, which meant that if the queen still possessed her, she could be deceiving him.


    What could she say that only Valerie would say? She tilted her head, looking up at him through the bars.


    ¡°Do you remember the last time you locked me up in the palace, my lord? You put me in my bedchamber. Then you stabbed me in the hand.¡± She held it up. ¡°This one. Do you want a go at my other hand this time?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather not,¡± he answered. But he hadn¡¯t sheathed his sword.


    ¡°We danced in Enyr,¡± she went on. ¡°That was the first time you kissed me. I didn¡¯t want you then. You gave me the blessing of the silvertree. My second blessing. We took the third in Bolebund the night the city was attacked. You gave me all this power, and now you¡¯re terrified. You don¡¯t know what I can do.¡±


    He said nothing, watching her. Waiting for her to slip up, she thought. More talk could get her killed.


    ¡°I wrote you a letter,¡± she said. ¡°Did you read it?¡±


    His mouth twitched. A moment later, he slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a crumpled piece of paper.


    Her heart leapt. So he had read it.


    ¡°A worthy opponent,¡± he said, quoting her words. ¡°High praise.¡±


    ¡°I meant it.¡±


    He stepped forward. Hesitated. Reached out. His fingers brushed over hers for only a moment before he let his hand fall back by his side. Her skin tingled where he had touched her.


    ¡°What happened to the resistance?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Gone.¡±


    ¡°All of them?¡±


    ¡°Dead or captured, yes. The war is over.¡±


    She almost didn¡¯t dare to ask. ¡°What about¡­¡±


    ¡°We informed your family of your passing.¡± His expression softened for the first time. ¡°Had you not awoken today, your body would have been returned to them.¡±


    ¡°Will you let me see them?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d let Valerie see them. Not her.¡±


    ¡°You promised,¡± she said. ¡°You promised that you¡¯d let me go after I opened that door. No matter what, you said.¡±


    ¡°I promised Valerie. I made no such promise to the queen.¡±


    He didn¡¯t believe her. And why would he? She could give him her entire life story, every moment they¡¯d shared together, and he might still suspect that Shikra had somehow plucked it from her mind.


    She huffed out a breath in frustration. ¡°I¡¯m not the queen! It¡¯s me, Valerie, I swear it on my life. What else can I do to prove it to you?¡±


    If he suspected that the queen still lurked within¡­ He would kill her. She couldn¡¯t see any other way that would end. He¡¯d done it once already.


    Avon looked at her for a long moment. She swallowed, catching her breath.


    ¡°I would have a second opinion,¡± he said at last. ¡°Someone else who knows you.¡±


    Her heart rate spiked. ¡°Someone else?¡±


    ¡°The rebel you saved. Markus.¡±

 2.3. Reunion

    ¡ªand crashes into the gravel.


    Every breath is a battle, choked up by smoke and pain. She drags herself up. If she can only get out, past the burning tree, past the corpses strewn across the courtyard, then she can fix the wound.


    The blade pierces her back like ice. She can¡¯t. She can¡¯t get up. Nostrils full of blood. Her body knows before her mind accepts the truth¡ª


    *


    She didn¡¯t meet Markus immediately. Lord Avon departed, leaving Valerie alone in the dark, hungry, thirsty and bone-tired. She smelled cooking spices and roasting meat in the kitchens above, which only made her stomach rumble more.


    Eventually, someone did remember her: a guard came down with a kitchen maid, who handed her a cup of water and crust of buttered bread.


    Valerie scoffed it down, then told them bluntly that she needed to relieve herself. The kitchen maid fetched a chamber pot. She squatted over it, the guard¡¯s cold eyes on her the entire time, and allowed herself to feel the tiniest scrap of satisfaction that he had to deal with cleaning this up.


    As the guard locked the cage door, as the maid retreated with the chamber pot, neither of them spoke to her. She sensed that same terror as when she¡¯d woken up, as though she were a ghoul come back to life. Something to be feared or shunned.


    She¡¯d take fear, for now. It was the only thing keeping her alive.


    Valerie sat down on the straw-strewn stone, hugging her knees. She was going to see Markus. Her fellow rebel, friend from the north, and ex-lover. How miserable he must be, caught by the Empire with no hope of escape.


    Could she do anything to help him? To set him free?


    Only if Avon believed that she was Valerie and not the queen. She had to convince him of that first. Markus would back her up.


    After that¡­ With the prince dead and the resistance crushed, she had no easy way out. Should she have trusted in Shikra¡¯s grand plan? The queen had shown her a way out of this place, a way to restore everything they had lost. The silvertrees, the war, the throne, even her family. With the power of the goldentree, they could rewind the clock and make things right.


    So the queen had promised.


    But Valerie had refused. She couldn¡¯t blindly put her faith in the queen with no understanding of what she might be walking into.


    I¡¯ll save Maskamere myself.


    But how?


    Lost in her reverie, Valerie blinked when light spilled down into the cellar again. Captain Doryn descended the steps towards her. He was Avon¡¯s loyal captain of the guard, another man who owed her his life. His craggy face betrayed not a flicker; he was the picture of stoicism.


    ¡°Doryn,¡± she said, scrambling up. ¡°Hey.¡±


    He was carrying a bundle of grey material over one arm. He unlocked the cage, then thrust the bundle at her.


    ¡°Put this on.¡±


    He turned his back on her, stiff and formal. Valerie unfolded the grey bundle. It was a plain linen dress, more of a smock really¡ªthe same uniform that all the maid servants in the palace wore, minus the apron, and a pair of matching plimsolls. Of course they wouldn¡¯t give back her own clothes. This would have been taken from a maid¡¯s wardrobe.


    She changed. Anything was better than wearing a sack.


    When she¡¯d finished, Doryn cuffed her hands and marched her up through the servants¡¯ quarters. The place was dark and virtually deserted.


    ¡°Where is everyone?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer. They exited via the servants¡¯ entrance, where Valerie shivered as a cold wind buffeted her. The sun had set, and clouds obscured the moon. In the dark courtyard, a carriage awaited them, the black-liveried guards blending into the background. The horses stamped their hooves, restless.


    Guards ushered her into the carriage, which was small enough that her knees knocked against Doryn¡¯s. Still he said not a word.


    The horses kicked forward, Valerie bumping against Doryn¡¯s leg. She settled her cuffed hands on her lap.


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    ¡°Do you really have nothing to say?¡±


    He¡¯d shifted so they weren¡¯t touching, staring out of the window.


    ¡°Doryn? Does everyone know? I mean, that I died and came back?¡±


    His eyes narrowed. All that armour couldn¡¯t be comfortable. The imperial guards wore helmets and body armour. Some carried muskets, others more traditional blades. Doryn¡¯s hand stayed on the hilt of his sword.


    ¡°The Chancellor has ordered that you be kept out of sight,¡± he answered.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a ghost,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m here, Doryn. Why won¡¯t you look at me?¡±


    He still wouldn¡¯t meet her eyes.


    ¡°You don¡¯t trust me.¡± She kept her tone gentle, nonthreatening. ¡°I get it, I wouldn¡¯t either. You don¡¯t even know if it¡¯s really me. But for what it¡¯s worth, if you¡¯re wondering about what happened in the temple¡­ Why I saved you¡­ It¡¯s because you were kind to me. We¡¯re both outsiders. Both living at the Empire¡¯s mercy. And you don¡¯t deserve to die for them.¡±


    She watched him carefully as she spoke. His knuckles dug into his palms, his mouth a grim line. But then he turned his head, finally meeting her gaze, and his eyes flickered with some emotion she couldn¡¯t quite interpret.


    ¡°I mourned you.¡± His voice was matter-of-fact. ¡°It¡¯s a strange feeling to be in the midst of grief and guilt and to have it all swept away.¡±


    She said nothing. Getting him to admit any emotion at all was difficult enough.


    The silence lingered.


    Then Doryn sighed, shaking his head. ¡°If it is you, my lady, know that I risk my life to prove your innocence. I do not consider my debt repaid.¡±


    She was quiet for a moment. ¡°Thank you for telling me.¡±


    After that, the silence in the carriage didn¡¯t seem quite so tense. They stopped at a place that Valerie unfortunately knew well: the fortress that stood guard over Jairah, the capital of Maskamere. Overlooking the coastline, it was intended to be the last line of defence outside the city. Today, it was occupied by Drakonian soldiers and used as a barracks.


    She had been here twice before. The first time had been after their attempted assassination of the Chancellor, Lord Avon. She and Markus had been caught and thrown in the dungeon. The second time had followed a second attempt on the Chancellor¡¯s life. She and another rebel, Iora, had attempted to poison him.


    Both times she had escaped with her life because Avon needed her magic. That was no longer the case. If the queen lurked in the temple chamber, he wouldn¡¯t want to face her again. Her utility to him was rapidly fading.


    Outside in the chilly air, she contemplated fleeing. She could probably distract Doryn and run. But what use would that be? She¡¯d be hunted down.


    No, it was better to co-operate. The sooner Avon believed her, the sooner she could win back her freedom.


    When Doryn and his guards took her down the steps into the dungeon, Valerie began to shiver. The place stank of sweat and fear, the light from the fire braziers only making the shadows seem blacker. She had been tortured here, dunked into a water trough until she gasped for mercy.


    Hollow-eyed men stared at her from behind the bars. Prisoners of the Empire.


    Rebels, she thought. Survivors from Prince Bakra¡¯s ill-fated resistance.


    ¡°Valerie?¡±


    She flinched, glancing sideways before looking away. The voice was scratchier than Markus. And the face looked familiar, one of the Sun family, but she didn¡¯t remember his name. Her stomach churned.


    Doryn hurried her on.


    There was nothing she could do for these men. They were here for Markus.


    Finally, they descended into the deepest part of the dungeon. Her heart jumped. There, behind the bars, Markus was slumped on the ground, a chain around his ankle. Dirt smudged his face, but he didn¡¯t appear to be injured.


    Doryn stopped a few feet away and nodded at her.


    Valerie glanced at him. ¡°Will you believe him if he says it¡¯s me?¡±


    Doryn didn¡¯t reply. He simply watched, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. A horrible suspicion stole over her, that Avon hadn¡¯t sent her to speak with Markus, that in fact it had all been a ploy to get her into the dungeon where they could lock her up indefinitely¡­


    ¡°Val?¡±


    Markus got to his feet, his eyes wide. No choice, she thought. She had to play the hand she¡¯d been dealt.


    Valerie rushed to the cell. ¡°Markus! Are you okay? Are you hurt?¡±


    His gaze swept over her, frowning at her attire. ¡°I¡¯m fine, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Me too.¡± She smiled. ¡°Look at us. Back in the dungeon. People will start to think we¡¯re making a habit of it.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± He indicated Doryn. She couldn¡¯t blame him for being suspicious.


    ¡°I asked to see you.¡± She reached out through the bars, and to her relief he took her hands. ¡°Listen, I can get you out of here. But I need your help first.¡±


    He stared at her. ¡°We had a chance to kill him, Val. We had a chance, and you didn¡¯t take it.¡±


    Her stomach clenched. He hadn¡¯t forgotten what she¡¯d done in the temple, then. And he wouldn¡¯t understand the truth, so¡­


    ¡°I needed him to get the crown jewels. So I could open the chamber and find out what was in there.¡± She lowered her voice to a whisper, conscious of Doryn nearby. ¡°And I did¡ªwhat I found in there... it changes everything.¡±


    That it does.


    Her throat closed up. She froze, pinned by fear.


    And as easily as slipping a loose tunic over her head, Shikra took over.


    She felt the queen¡¯s will take control of her hands, clasped around Markus¡¯s. Her stance, shifting ever so slightly towards him. And her mouth¡ª


    ¡°I found the queen,¡± Shikra whispered. ¡°She isn¡¯t dead, Markus. She¡¯s alive. We can bring her back.¡±


    ¡°The queen?¡±


    Shock flared in Markus¡¯s eyes, but also hope. He wanted to believe her.


    ¡°Listen,¡± said Shikra, a note of urgency entering her voice. ¡°Do you trust me?¡±


    Markus nodded.


    Valerie¡¯s mind whirled in a storm of panic that her body failed to express. Had the queen been here all along? Watching, waiting, deciding when to make her move¡ª


    Doryn is right behind us, she sent furiously, aiming the thought at the other mind occupying her body. Shikra hadn¡¯t looked back once; she had the vague sensation of the captain¡¯s gaze on the pair of them, but she couldn¡¯t see what he was doing.


    Watch and learn.


    ¡°Okay,¡± said Shikra. ¡°I can save you, but you have to do exactly as I tell you. Do you promise?¡±


    What are you going to do with him? Stop it!


    Markus, the poor, love struck idiot, she knew what he was going to say before he said it.


    He nodded, breathless. ¡°I promise.¡±


    The next words that came out of her mouth were so soft and so sad, they left a crushing weight on Valerie¡¯s heart:


    ¡°Then die.¡±

 2.4. Gone, But Not Lost

    ¡ªshe is going to die.


    The world turns slowly to mist. Even the presence of the silvertree fades. She will never say goodbye to her mother, her cousins, her aunts and uncles¡­ Never again laugh or cry or stand proud. Never make a difference.


    Her last feeling is anger at this world that¡¯s dark and cold and unforgiving. Then the darkness seeps through into numbness, and she feels nothing ever again.


    *


    Her hands were like vices. They gripped Markus in a wave of pure, concentrated power that shot through his veins and straight to his heart. His eyes went wide. His cheeks red. Then an awful, constricted sound gargled out of his throat.


    He clutched at her, and all she could see were the whites of his eyes, like a rabbit¡¯s, bloodshot and wild.


    ¡°No!¡±


    Valerie wrenched back control, stumbling away from the cell until Doryn caught her. She was gasping for breath. Her chest hurt. It didn¡¯t seem real, any of it, the pain in her lungs, the sight of Markus collapsing into the sandy ground, the creeping awareness of that other presence inside her. The queen occupied not only her mind, but her entire body. They were like two children awkwardly stuffed into the same dress, fighting over the sleeves, tearing the fabric¡­


    You know how to save him.


    ¡°Lady Valerie!¡±


    Doryn turned her around¡ªshe couldn¡¯t stop her chest heaving, as if she¡¯d lost control of her body altogether¡ª


    Calm down. Here, let me¡ª


    Numbly, Valerie let the queen take over. Her breathing slowed. The trembling stopped. She wiped the tears from her eyes.


    Doryn¡¯s face was the picture of suspicion.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± She hiccoughed. ¡°Markus, he just collapsed¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sorcery,¡± he growled.


    Alarm shot through her. He doesn¡¯t believe you! He already thinks I¡¯m a liar.


    Doryn snapped his fingers, and two guards rushed down into the dungeon to examine Markus. They opened the cell door. Shikra stared at the body. Still. Motionless.


    One of the guards knelt down by Markus, checking his pulse.


    Valerie would have held her breath. But Shikra¡¯s hold over her body carried no such uncertainty. She already knew the answer.


    ¡°Dead,¡± the guard confirmed.


    Let me explain! He won¡¯t believe you!


    Some of the panic in her head must have gotten to Shikra, because her body gave a little shiver. And then Shikra let go, Valerie catching her breath.


    At once, shock and grief hit her like a tidal wave. Bile rose in her throat; she forced it back down. Forced back the tears, the shaking, the sheer pressing weight of everything she had done.


    She looked up at Doryn. ¡°He¡­ He¡¯s dead?¡±


    ¡°You did this,¡± said Doryn. ¡°I saw you¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She shook her head. ¡°No, but it¡¯s my fault, I¡­ He made an oath.¡±


    That confused Doryn enough to make him hesitate. She sensed the other guards watching her, their hostility pricking goosebumps on her arms.


    She went on: ¡°He swore under the light of a silvertree that he would kill Lord Avon. He swore that to me. And when I took his hands¡­¡± Her own hands trembled, the hands that had taken Markus¡¯s life away. ¡°He triggered the curse.¡±


    ¡°Curse?¡±


    None of these men understood how magic worked. None of them knew what might or might not trigger a curse, so who were they to say that she was lying?


    She stared at Doryn with plaintive, teary eyes. ¡°I can explain. To Lord Avon. If you take me back to the palace¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Doryn¡¯s face hardened. ¡°You¡¯ll stay here until Lord Avon decides what to do with you.¡±


    No amount of pleading would sway him. As the guards hauled Markus¡¯s body out of the cell¡ªshe couldn¡¯t bear to look¡ªtwo more of Doryn¡¯s men shoved her in.


    Valerie sank down into the corner of the cell and buried her head in her hands.


    Markus was dead.


    Like the rest of her family. Everyone she had grown up with. Her entire village, lost. She¡¯d let them die not once but twice, first when she had abandoned them on the night of the invasion to flee for her life, and second when she had refused the queen¡¯s invitation to step through the silvertree and restore Maskamere.


    Markus was dead, and there was only one way to bring him back.


    What was she supposed to do? She had no power here. Shikra had set her world on fire, and she could either let it burn or cede control.


    ¡°You¡¯re a better liar than that.¡±


    That was Shikra¡¯s voice, not a whisper in her mind, but somehow real. Present. Here.


    Valerie shuddered.


    And opened her eyes to the queen¡¯s bedchamber. This wasn''t the space that Valerie had adapted for herself, with her dressmaking tools and materials, but the room as it must have looked before she had occupied it. Shelves full of magical books, a standing golden harp playing a gentle melody, and the queen¡¯s bed draped in red and gold silk.


    And sitting on that bed¡­


    No longer a ghost, no glowing figure with the light of the goldentree blazing around her. The queen was as solid as the room itself and more magnificent: wearing the scarlet gown that Valerie had made for her, the Kestrel¡¯s Eye around her neck, the Masked Crown upon her head, and the Golden Sceptre in her lap.


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    All the trinkets that Valerie in her hubris had worn that night she¡¯d entered the temple, imagining that she would one day be queen.


    Shikra patted the space on the bed beside her. ¡°Please. Sit.¡±


    Valerie didn¡¯t move. ¡°Get out of my head.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to.¡± Shikra clasped her hands. ¡°But first we must return to the temple.¡±


    ¡°You killed Markus.¡± Her voice trembled. ¡°To make me go back. Stupid move. They know now, they¡¯ll know it was you. They¡¯ll kill us first.¡±


    ¡°Avon won¡¯t kill you. If he was going to, he would have done so already.¡±


    ¡°He already did!¡± She shook her head, pacing around. This was¡­ insane. All of it. Dying, waking up, talking inside her head to the dead queen. ¡°Why are you doing this? What do you want?¡±


    ¡°You already know. I want to save everyone. All the horrors you¡¯ve experienced, all the suffering, all the loss¡­ We can make it stop.¡±


    She almost laughed. ¡°Stop? You murdered him!¡±


    ¡°And you can save him. This timeline is a dead end. But we can make a better future.¡±


    Shikra¡¯s tone was infuriatingly gentle. All those years she had admired the queen, wished she could be like her¡­ And yet, looking at Shikra now, that beautiful, ageless face, those eyes so full of wisdom¡­ Valerie saw only an empty facade.


    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend we¡¯re in this together,¡± she spat. ¡°You want to use me like everyone else.¡±


    Shikra rose to her feet, and Valerie took an instinctive step back. The queen towered over her, and she moved with a regal grace that made Valerie feel clumsy and coarse. Her bare feet sank into the soft carpet, the silk gown brushing the floor as she closed the few feet between them.


    ¡°How then will you save Maskamere?¡± Shikra asked. ¡°Do you believe you have a future with Avon? He will only ever seek to control you.¡±


    ¡°Funny.¡± Valerie gritted her teeth. ¡°I¡¯m getting the same impression from you.¡±


    The queen¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°I am trying to free us! To unshackle us from the tyranny of Drakonian rule.¡±


    ¡°So we can go back to living under your rule.¡±


    ¡°No, so that we can save the thousands of lives lost to this war! Was I such a terrible queen? Did you suffer under my reign?¡±


    Valerie looked away. No, she hadn¡¯t. She had longed for nothing more than to return to the Maskamere she had once known, the place where she had been happy. But not as the queen¡¯s puppet. She didn¡¯t trust that for one second.


    But if she didn¡¯t go back, her family and Markus would be lost for good.


    ¡°Why?¡± Shikra asked. ¡°Why do you reject me? Why did you side with the oppressors?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°You saved Avon. You killed my brother.¡±


    ¡°You killed¡ª¡± She stopped, pursing her lips. ¡°Avon killed your brother. I just made sure it was a fair fight.¡±


    Shikra laughed. For a moment it was as if the mask slipped, a dark, ugly look shining through her eyes. Then the queen shook her head.


    ¡°Men like him are very beguiling, but¡ª¡±


    Irritation prickled her skin. ¡°He¡¯s not beguiling. I didn¡¯t choose him. I chose myself.¡±


    A long moment of silence followed, softened only by the soothing melody of the harp and the gentle breeze from the open window. The bed drapes fluttered behind them. Shikra exhaled, then turned around, going to her desk where she picked up a golden pen.


    ¡°Choosing yourself only means you¡¯ll end up alone.¡± She began scratching a few lines on a sheet of paper. ¡°And none of us can survive on our own. When I first met you, you were nearly broken. A vicious little thing. I took pity on you. I took you in and you blossomed. You had an instinct for manipulation, and you never gave up. That¡¯s how I knew you¡¯d be perfect for this mission.¡±


    Valerie¡¯s heart raced. The queen was talking about a previous timeline, some other incarnation of Valerie that she had erased from existence. And wasn¡¯t that a form of mass murder, if one really thought about it? Every single life in every single timeline that Shikra had ever turned back¡­ gone forever.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t me.¡±


    ¡°You even deceived me,¡± Shikra went on, the nib of her pen scratching against the paper. ¡°I believed you when you told me how much you loved your family, how deeply you missed them. And yet you refuse to save them.¡±


    The words were a stab wound. Valerie had no answer when she¡¯d been wrestling with the same dilemma herself. Hadn¡¯t she as good as killed her own family by refusing to go back and save them? Wouldn¡¯t anyone else have jumped at that chance in a heartbeat?


    Silently, Shikra held out the sheet of paper she had been writing on. Valerie took it.


    I saved your life. I can save them too.


    Valerie looked up. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Have you dreamt of dying?¡±


    A shiver ran through her. Wait¡ªshe had. Before she¡¯d woken up in the coffin, she¡¯d dreamed about the Drakonian invasion again, except that in the dream she hadn¡¯t escaped. She¡¯d been shot down like all the other girls, stabbed in the back and left to slowly bleed out.


    Maybe that was her brain¡¯s way of processing the impossible reality of surviving her own death. Or maybe¡­


    ¡°You¡­ did you do that?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Shikra. ¡°I dream about it too. The past isn¡¯t wiped out. We all lived it. It¡¯s our curse to remember it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying it was real?¡±


    The queen nodded. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t intervened before the invasion, you would be dead.¡±


    The idea unnerved her. Not only that she had survived thanks to Shikra manipulating events, but also the thought that all of those alternative futures had in fact happened, she just didn¡¯t remember them. How many were there? Would she dream of them all?


    A stab of pain twinged through her forehead.


    Valerie swallowed. ¡°I don¡¯t know that. None of this is real. We¡¯re dreaming right now, aren¡¯t we? If this is some vision you put in my head¡­¡±


    In answer, Shikra held up the instrument she¡¯d been writing with. A golden fountain pen, one that looked familiar¡­


    ¡°The pen¡­¡± Realisation struck.


    ¡°It cannot lie. And nor do I.¡±


    Shikra had been writing with the golden pen she kept in her chambers, a pen spelled to only write the truth. In the waking world, the pen no longer existed. Valerie had smashed it after using it to convince Lord Avon that she needed a third blessing to open the door beneath the temple.


    But this was a dream-vision, not the real thing. She couldn¡¯t trust it.


    ¡°I won¡¯t abandon our people.¡± Shikra¡¯s eyes glistened. ¡°Your loved ones are gone, but they¡¯re not lost, Valerie. Please. Help me save them. Save your family. Save Maskamere.¡±


    Valerie shook her head, but she had no answer. She¡¯d meant to leave the queen behind, trapped with the goldentree. Instead, they were stuck together. And Shikra had already made it clear that she would destroy whatever remained of Valerie¡¯s life to get what she wanted.


    Could she fight the queen? Push her out somehow? But she¡¯d tried that, wrested back control only to lose it again. And she wasn¡¯t sure if she wanted to push it further. If she could destroy the queen, then the queen could most certainly destroy her.


    ¡°Well?¡± said Shikra. ¡°Will you do the right thing?¡±


    ¡°Not like I have a choice,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°Val?¡±


    She started. Avon''s voice pierced her consciousness, echoing through their dream. Of course, Shikra heard it too.


    ¡°Time to wake up,¡± she said.


    And just like that, the queen¡¯s bedchamber dissolved away. Valerie opened her eyes.


    She was hunched in a corner of the cell. Her back ached from where her spine had pressed into the wall; without thinking, she healed the bruises away.


    Lord Avon stood outside the cell looking in, iron bars once again separating them. For once, she was glad of it. His precautions were keeping him safe.


    Shikra¡¯s voice whispered in her mind. Convince him to take you back to the temple.


    She would have punched her own face if only it wouldn¡¯t hurt her too. Maybe I¡¯d have a chance of doing that if you hadn¡¯t murdered my friend.


    He wants you alive, Shikra responded. Appeal to him. I¡¯ll take over when I need to.


    She shivered.


    Avon tapped his fingers on the prison bars. ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, you¡¯ve surprised me.¡±


    She looked away. ¡°Did Captain Doryn tell you what happened?¡±


    ¡°He did. Is it true?¡±


    She¡¯d lied to everyone else. But she couldn¡¯t lie to Avon. She was still bound by her oath to tell him the truth.


    Which gave her an idea.


    Valerie braced herself against the dungeon wall. Would she stay upright? She hoped so. If this gambit worked, she wouldn¡¯t want to wake up with a concussion.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you,¡± she said, ¡°but you need to listen. Really listen.¡±


    He frowned, then nodded.


    Valerie took a breath. ¡°Queen Shikra didn¡¯t kill Markus. She didn¡¯t possess me, and she isn¡¯t watching you right now.¡±


    For a moment, silence reigned. Avon stared at her. Even if she hadn¡¯t told him to listen, he seemed utterly bereft of anything to say.


    Why would you say that? You¡¯re giving us away¡ª


    She felt Shikra¡¯s will close in, but not before drowsiness swept over her. The curse was kicking in. Her limbs became heavy. Her eyes fluttered shut.


    And like a light going out, Valerie fell into slumber.

 2.5. The Absence of Magic

    On the morning of her blessing, her cousin Aster rushes into the women¡¯s quarters to warn them that the Empire is about to attack. All able-bodied men must go to the border. Everyone else must stay at home. Queen¡¯s orders.


    The villagers gather around the bonfire that was meant to be lit for the harvest festival. Faces full of shock and fear and worry, and when High Priestess Glynda comes down to the bonfire, she tells them¡ª


    *


    She didn¡¯t wake up in a coffin. That was an improvement.


    It was unfortunately the only improvement, because when Valerie¡¯s eyes fluttered open and she breathed in salty air, she noticed one thing immediately.


    She was in a place with no magic.


    The room swayed. Wooden boards creaked. The tiny cabin was familiar. She was lying on a bunk bed aboard Lord Avon¡¯s personal vessel, the Stormdrake, and she only had to turn her head to find Avon sitting in a winged armchair beside her.


    He cocked his head. ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    Valerie sat up, trying to decide that for herself. Her head¡­ Somewhat woozy. Her throat was dry. Her limbs drowsy, but some quick exercise would solve that. Still, she was conscious of the absence of magic. No magic, no sorcery. No power.


    She swallowed. ¡°A little thirsty, my lord.¡±


    He nodded, standing up, and walked over to a side table from which he poured a glass of water from a flagon. Then he returned, passing the drink to her, and she sipped it gratefully.


    He settled back in his chair, crossing his legs. ¡°Let me see. Did I understand your riddle? The queen wasn¡¯t dead. She murdered your friend. And rather than give in to her possession, you cried out to me for help.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡± She hesitated.


    Avon was smart. Valerie had counted on that when she had revealed the queen¡¯s presence to him. She had also counted on his mercy. The sensible course of action would have been to kill her. He¡¯d already done that once. But if he still cared about her, if he had any feelings for her at all, then she had given him a chance to find a different solution.


    ¡°Try something,¡± said Avon, watching her. ¡°Lie to me.¡±


    She looked at him, wrinkling her nose. Her grey dress felt stiff and dirty. Slept in for too long. At home, she would have refreshed herself with magic. No such luck here.


    ¡°I love you,¡± she said, and he flinched.


    For a moment, there was silence, except for the waves crashing outside the ship.


    Avon¡¯s face darkened. ¡°Something else.¡±


    ¡°Jairah is the capital of Drakon.¡±


    A simple factual statement. No room for interpretation or uncertainty. It ought to have triggered the curse.


    Nothing. She remained awake.


    ¡°There,¡± said Avon. ¡°No magic, no curse. No queen. You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    So he had chosen to save her. He must have taken her out to sea, beyond Maskamere¡¯s shores and into the open waters where the silvertrees¡¯ influence couldn¡¯t reach. She ought to be grateful or at least relieved, but her chest still felt tight. Where exactly were they? How long had she been asleep?


    Avon spoke again before she could ask. ¡°Why did she kill Markus?¡±


    Because she wants to turn back time and undo the entire war, and she needs my body as a vessel to do it.


    No. She couldn¡¯t give Avon yet another reason to kill her.


    ¡°To make me do what she wants.¡±


    ¡°Which is what?¡±


    ¡°Killing you.¡±


    ¡°Why not do it herself?¡±


    Avon¡¯s eyes were sharp, knowing. He could catch her out in a lie if she wasn¡¯t careful. She needed a story that would gain his sympathy without making her sound like the queen¡¯s pawn.


    Valerie took a breath. ¡°She already tried. In the temple. She wasn¡¯t happy when I stopped her. So she killed Markus and told me that I wasn¡¯t to interfere again. Either I let her do it, or I kill you myself.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± he said. ¡°That was quick thinking, using the curse against her.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    ¡°Ha. I suppose that makes us even.¡± His smile faded. ¡°I am sorry about your friend. We couldn¡¯t wait for his funeral.¡±


    Markus¡¯s funeral¡­ She could hardly bear the thought. She would have spent it wracked with guilt over not following the queen, the fact that her actions had indirectly caused his death¡­ It was a mercy to be spared that.


    I saved your life, the queen had said. I can save them too.


    Valerie blinked tears out of her eyes, looking away. ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°Drakardia. The Imperial Seat.¡±


    She nearly spat out her drink. Drakardia! The capital of Drakon, the very heart of the Empire. Hundreds of miles from Maskamere, far from the sea and even farther from the silvertrees that blessed her with their power.


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    ¡°We can¡¯t!¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯ll kill me.¡±


    In the eyes of the Drakonian Empire, she was a witch and deserved nothing but the pyre. And after everything that had happened in Maskamere, after revealing herself to the palace court, she could hardly deny the charge.


    ¡°Not as long as you¡¯re with me.¡±


    He¡¯d said something like that before. But that had been at the court in Jairah, where Avon¡¯s word was law. Taking her to Drakardia was practically a death sentence.


    ¡°We have to turn back.¡± She stared at him, desperate. ¡°The queen is gone. You only needed to take me to a place without magic to get rid of her. Not all the way to¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not turning back.¡±


    His tone was final. It brooked no argument.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Nor do I, yet,¡± Avon replied. ¡°The Emperor has summoned me.¡±


    The Emperor. Avon¡¯s father. The man who had ordered the invasion of Maskamere. The last orders Avon had received from his father had been to take Bolebund, the last free city in Maskamere, and destroy the last of the silvertrees. He had accomplished the former, but not the latter.


    If the Emperor knew that Avon had disobeyed his orders¡­


    ¡°His message didn¡¯t give a reason,¡± Avon continued, ¡°but I can guess. We may both have to defend ourselves.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Her throat dried up. She gulped down more of the water, feeling sick. ¡°Why go then? Why not stay in Maskamere?¡±


    ¡°My father would be even more displeased, and we would have only delayed the inevitable.¡±


    It was the implication of his words that disturbed her most. That he had no choice. That he¡ªAvon, the man who seemed to hold such absolute authority¡ªwas at the beck and call of his father, and she was being pulled along in his wake.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± said Avon. ¡°I will speak on your behalf. You will act as you did at the palace when your magic was revealed.¡±


    ¡°As your loyal servant.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    His pet witch, she¡¯d said then, with a degree of levity she did not feel now. She did not mind being a cat with a collar when they both knew that she could unsheathe her claws if she so wished. But a cat without claws, that was something different.


    ¡°And once we¡¯ve spoken to the Emperor, we¡¯ll go back, won¡¯t we? You¡¯ll take me back to Maskamere.¡±


    She didn¡¯t like how uncertain she sounded. How she was already pleading with him, already dependent on his good will.


    Avon didn¡¯t shy away from her gaze. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°When it¡¯s safe.¡±


    Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it back down, standing up. That wasn¡¯t a promise. Neither of them had said it, but he had to be thinking it too: what if Shikra possessed her the moment she set foot in Maskamere? What if it was never safe for her to return?


    Had she escaped the queen only to be thrown straight back into the clutches of the Empire?


    ¡°I need some air, my lord.¡±


    ¡°And a change of clothes, I should think,¡± said Avon. ¡°Take all the time you need.¡±


    *


    Lord Avon departed the small cabin with a promise that he would send a servant to attend to her. In the meantime, Valerie was left alone.


    She felt shaky.


    Okay, she thought. Deep breaths. She could figure this out.


    Ducking under the low door, she exited the cabin into Avon¡¯s quarters. The movement of the ship had her feeling queasy, and she took a moment to regain her balance. Then she looked around. A map on the table showed the sea routes the Drakonians used to traverse the Empire. Next to it: a flagon of wine and a loaf of bread and cheese on a platter. She ripped off a crust of bread and chewed it, hoping it would settle her stomach.


    Avon had said he would take her back to Maskamere when it was safe to return. Which meant he didn¡¯t believe that the queen was gone for good. And why would he? She didn¡¯t believe it either. They might have banished Shikra temporarily, but Valerie remembered what the queen had said at the goldentree.


    ¡°Our connection to the goldentree gives us an anchor to this world too¡­¡±


    The world of the goldentree, that strange magical realm she¡¯d visited whenever she¡¯d convened with the silvertrees¡­ The goldentree acted as a tether to that world. Shikra had claimed that when she died, the goldentree had brought her spirit back.


    So, when Valerie had severed Shikra¡¯s connection to her body by crossing over into a land without magic, it stood to reason that Shikra would have snapped back to the realm of the goldentree.


    Which left her with a real dilemma. Because she wanted to return home. Valerie had the power of the goldentree, a power she¡¯d barely begun to explore, and Maskamere was the only place in the world where she could wield that power. Her home, her family, her ambitions¡ªthey all led back to Maskamere.


    But if she did go back, what would happen?


    Valerie sat down at the table and reached for the map, tracing over the coast of her homeland.


    She wanted two seemingly contradictory things.


    To save her family. Save Markus. Restore the silvertrees.


    And stop the queen.


    But she couldn¡¯t choose who to save. If she did what Shikra wanted and returned to the night of her blessing, then her family would be alive again, but so would Shikra. Valerie had no idea how the queen had planned to stop the war. The night of her blessing was the same night as the invasion¡ªsurely too late to prevent it.


    What else had Shikra wanted her to do? Go to Drakon, she¡¯d said. Find out how the war had begun. Valerie didn¡¯t know how that was supposed to happen either.


    In the meantime, she had to deal with her current situation. The ship was travelling northeast across the Triatic Sea. Valerie scanned their most likely course on the map. Once they reached Drakon, she had no easy way back.


    Could she convince Avon to help her? Telling him the truth was risky, but¡­


    ¡°My lady?¡±


    Valerie started. She¡¯d been so lost in thought, she¡¯d missed the soft knock at the door. The girl who entered was a little older than herself, wearing the grey servants¡¯ uniform, and carrying a dress.


    ¡°Priska.¡± Valerie caught her breath. ¡°Priska, what are you doing here?¡±


    The other girl curtsied. ¡°The Chancellor asked me to come with you.¡±


    ¡°To Drakon? Is he mad? It¡¯s dangerous!¡±


    Priska Steward was her lady-in-waiting, one of many Maskamery women pressed into servitude by the Empire. She had helped Valerie once or twice gathering information in the palace, but had otherwise gone unnoticed, carrying out her duties as a faithful servant of the Empire.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am. I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°You had no choice.¡± Valerie shook her head as Priska draped the gown over a chair and came over. ¡°I know. He¡­ He knows we¡¯re friends, I think. I suppose he thinks he¡¯s doing me a favour.¡±


    It meant that she wouldn¡¯t be entirely alone in Drakardia. But she wouldn¡¯t have wished this on Priska if she¡¯d had a choice. Valerie knew little about the Drakonian capital except from her lessons at the convent. The city was divided between the nobility and the servant class, she¡¯d read, a pattern she¡¯d witnessed every day living in the palace under Drakonian occupation, and the Drakonians were unforgiving masters.


    Which meant Valerie would have to do her best to protect Priska from whatever they were about to face.


    The other girl said nothing, helping her to wash and dress as they¡¯d done many times before in the palace. She tightened Valerie¡¯s corset, and Valerie took in an anxious breath.


    ¡°Did anyone send a message to my family? Do they know I¡¯m alive?¡±


    But Priska didn¡¯t know. Valerie stood up, feeling hemmed in by the dress and cabin both.


    ¡°My lady?¡±


    Valerie had been about to dismiss her. ¡°What is it?¡±


    Priska hesitated. ¡°I...I might be able to help. My mother was the Ambassador to Drakon. And my brother Titus was a Messenger. They were both in Drakardia when the war broke out¡­¡±


    Her heart raced. This was unexpected. ¡°They¡¯re in the capital?¡±


    Priska clasped her hands. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s been two years¡­ I haven¡¯t heard from them, but¡­ There¡¯s a chance, isn¡¯t there?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s always a chance.¡± Valerie squeezed the other girl¡¯s arm. ¡°You should look for them. Not for me, for yourself. We stick together, okay? I¡¯ll take care of you.¡±


    Gratitude lit up the other girl''s features. ¡°Thank you, my lady.¡±


    Valerie let her go, taking a minute to pace around the cabin before she readied herself to go outside. Her mind was already racing. Priska¡¯s family, the Stewards, were known as the right-hand women to the royal family. One of them had been an adviser to Prince Bakra during his rebellion. If Priska¡¯s mother still lived, she would surely be a valuable source of information about the war.


    And if she could find out how the war had started here and now, Valerie thought, then she¡¯d have something to bargain with against the queen when she returned.


    Now to find out who else was on this ship.

 2.6. The Stormdrake

    ¡ªthere will be no harvest festival. No ceremony. No blessing.


    Her heart sinks. She can¡¯t sleep. The night passes in fits and starts. Is Aster fighting for his life right now, defending them from the teeth and claws of the Empire?


    Surely they can send out a scout. The border is only two miles away. While her grandmother argues with the other elders, a man on horseback comes thundering into the village, and¡ª


    *


    With her face made up and a clean gown, Valerie felt a little better. She emerged from the dark of the cabin and squinted into the sunlight. The ship cut a steady course through the water, a deep blue merging with the bright clear sky, so that she could hardly tell where the sky ended and the sea began. Rocky land rose up on the starboard side, a fresh wind blowing along the coastline.


    She walked along the deck, breathing in the salty air. Ahead, Lady Ophelia looked out over the prow at the ocean beyond, her pink parasol shielding her from the sea spray. Her blonde curls were as bouncy as ever, youthful features flushed with excitement. Two ladies-in-waiting accompanied her.


    ¡°Lady Ophelia,¡± Valerie called.


    Ophelia turned and beamed at her. ¡°Lady Valerie! You¡¯re awake!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were returning to Drakon too.¡±


    As Valerie approached, twin boys in matching shorts and waistcoats came tearing across the deck. One of them carried a toy wooden dragon, the other a knight.


    ¡°Slay the dragon!¡±


    ¡°Roar!¡±


    Their excited screams carried all the way across the ship. A harried-looking maidservant followed, gathering up her grey skirts to chase them. Ophelia put a hand to her mouth, then gestured at her ladies-in-waiting.


    ¡°Go and help.¡± The maids hurried away, and Ophelia shook her head. ¡°They¡¯re such terrors. But Lady Melody has yet to emerge from her convalescence.¡±


    ¡°Lady Melody? She¡¯s with us too?¡±


    And the boys¡ªMelody¡¯s children. Seven-year old twins, they inevitably reminded Valerie of her cousin Lavinia¡¯s children, also twin boys. Drakonian or Maskamery, they had the same rambunctious energy.


    She still didn¡¯t know if Lavinia and her children had made it out of Bolebund after the city had been attacked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Ophelia, interrupting her train of thought. ¡°We¡¯re returning Lord Gideon¡¯s body to rest with his family. Lady Melody will join us in mourning. I was going to stay behind, but James insisted I come too.¡± She chewed her lip. ¡°I do hope Father won¡¯t be mad¡­¡±


    ¡°Who else is here?¡±


    Ophelia was happy to tell her. James alone had received the summons from their father, she explained, but Lord Avon wouldn¡¯t return home without an entourage. On the bridge, Captain Doryn bent his head deep in conversation with the ship¡¯s captain. And on the top deck, Lord Thorne stared down at them, thin-lipped and pale-eyed.


    Valerie didn¡¯t hide the disgust in her voice. ¡°What¡¯s he doing here?¡±


    ¡°Lord Thorne? He¡¯s here to give prayer. Every ship¡¯s crew must have a chaplain. Lord Thorne volunteered.¡±


    She didn¡¯t believe that for a second. Volunteered, yes. But only to serve the crew as their resident priest? No. And surely Avon hadn¡¯t wanted him here. He¡¯d told Valerie before that Thorne opposed him, that he opposed magic¡­


    ¡°Let¡¯s not talk to him,¡± she said. ¡°Ophelia, can I ask you a favour?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Ophelia at once. ¡°Anything.¡±


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    ¡°This will be my first time in Drakon. I survived the court in Jairah, but I think this will be different.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll help!¡± Ophelia answered before she even had a chance to ask the question, her eyes shining. ¡°Just as you helped me in Jairah. Ask me anything you want.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor summoned Lord Avon. Do you think that has anything to do with me?¡±


    Ophelia blinked. ¡°It must do. What happened to you¡­ It was a miracle. You¡¯ve been blessed.¡±


    That threw her off. ¡°Blessed?¡±


    ¡°By the Divine,¡± said Ophelia earnestly. ¡°This never happens to us. You¡¯ve been given a second chance.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡­¡± She didn¡¯t know how to let Ophelia down gently. ¡°What makes you think that?¡±


    ¡°James said so. He adores you, you know.¡±


    Her heart thumped. ¡°Is that what he¡¯s been telling everyone?¡±


    ¡°Well, people feared that you''d turned into a ghoul or a banshee. Honestly, it was a little frightening. But now that you¡¯re here, everyone can see that you¡¯re back to yourself.¡±


    So this was Avon¡¯s tactic, his argument to save her life. Divine intervention. Ophelia made it sound so simple. Valerie couldn¡¯t agree. Religious fervour lay at the root of the Drakonian hatred for witches; they believed the priestesses to be wicked and magic to be evil. How could he possibly turn that around?


    She suddenly understood Lord Thorne¡¯s presence on the ship.


    ¡°Ophelia,¡± she said, ¡°what I did, my resurrection, that was magic. It was a spell I crafted. Nothing divine.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t it be both?¡±


    ¡°Do you think your father would agree with that?¡±


    Ophelia hesitated, the brightness in her gaze fading. She turned away, looking over the windswept ocean. Above them, kittiwakes cried their thin, mournful cries.


    ¡°Father can be stubborn. There will be an argument, I think.¡± She clasped her hands. ¡°James will take care of it. He always does.¡±


    ¡°What is he like? The Emperor?¡±


    Again, Ophelia hesitated. ¡°He is a great man. You may not see it at first, but he really wants what¡¯s best for all of us.¡±


    ¡°What does he think is best?¡±


    ¡°Ladies!¡± A cheery male voice interrupted them. ¡°May I say you are both looking utterly divine today.¡±


    Valerie turned, startled. The man approaching them clasped a hand to his breast. He wore a Drakonian style waistcoat, shirt and breeches, a turquoise blue silk handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket, but his features were Maskamery. Thick dark brows overshadowed dark eyes glinting with mirth. His hair was tied back, while a close-cropped beard covered his jaw and neck like the fur of a brown bear.


    Next to her, Ophelia let out a breathless giggle. ¡°Lady Valerie, may I introduce Lord Falconer?¡±


    The man winked, bending down to kiss Valerie¡¯s hand when she lifted it. He was pushing forty judging by the lines on his skin, but lean and well-built nonetheless. The way he carried himself reminded her of the military officers back home, and the family name confirmed it. The Falconers were known for their prowess in battle.


    ¡°We met at dinner,¡± he said. ¡°You know, the one where my rival dropped dead from poison. I got away with it too.¡±


    So he¡¯s one of Ophelia¡¯s suitors, she thought. Several Maskamery noblemen¡ªtraitors¡ªhad come to Jairah to woo the Emperor¡¯s daughter. One had lost his life to an attempted poisoning gone wrong, but apparently this incident had not put off Lord Falconer.


    ¡°Funny,¡± said Valerie. ¡°I thought I got away with it.¡±


    Falconer laughed, and she smiled sweetly. She was telling the truth: it had been her friend Iora, a member of the resistance, who had poisoned the goblet at dinner, and Valerie who had created a distraction that allowed her to do it.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re both wicked,¡± said Ophelia. ¡°Lord Falconer is joining us to speak to the Emperor! Isn¡¯t that exciting?¡±


    She beamed. Valerie frowned. Falconer might be Maskamery, but she wouldn¡¯t consider him an ally, far from it. The fact that he¡¯d joined in this farce of courtship meant that he¡¯d surrendered to the Drakonians.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to speak to the Emperor? What for?¡±


    ¡°Why, to ask permission to marry this lovely lady, of course.¡±


    Now she understood Ophelia¡¯s excitement. Valerie did her best to hide her distaste. ¡°Congratulations.¡±


    Falconer grinned. ¡°Funny lot, these Drakonians. Bit of pomp and ceremony, and they give you a woman, just like that.¡±


    He was looking at Valerie as he said it, and her skin crawled. She curled her hand around Ophelia¡¯s arm. ¡°Pleased to meet you, Lord Falconer. I wish you both well.¡±


    ¡°Ah, don¡¯t say things you don¡¯t mean,¡± he said cheerfully. ¡°I¡¯ll let you two ladies catch up.¡±


    He bowed before retreating. Valerie felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her sails. She waited until he had disappeared to the bridge, then turned back to Ophelia, who was brimming with a kind of hopeful anxiety.


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust him,¡± said Valerie.


    Ophelia¡¯s face fell. ¡°What? But he is Maskamery like you¡ª¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s going to get eviscerated at court, talking like that.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s the perfect gentleman at court. I¡¯m sure he was only jesting.¡±


    ¡°Do you like him?¡±


    Ophelia wrinkled her nose. ¡°His sense of humour is strange, it¡¯s true. But he is very friendly and warm, and he speaks from the heart.¡±


    ¡°But?¡±


    ¡°But what?¡± Ophelia shook her head. ¡°My father will decide what¡¯s best for me. I hope that whatever happens, you¡¯ll support me in that.¡±


    Valerie had been ready to ask more questions, but she stopped, taken aback. Ophelia didn¡¯t usually push back so strongly. And she was right, after all, that it didn¡¯t matter what either of them thought of her suitors. If Ophelia was to be trapped with a man like Lord Falconer, it would be because the Emperor decreed it.


    Maska help me, she thought. First Priska, now Ophelia. As if she didn¡¯t have enough trouble trying to save her own life.


    Without magic, she was going to need all her courage and all her wit to survive.

 2.7. A Provincial Town

    ¡ªher heart leaps. It¡¯s Aster. He¡¯s alive, thank Maska, but¡­


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s fine,¡± he says¡ª


    *


    The sun was setting when they arrived at the port town of Gladstone.


    The ship had travelled north along the Gulf of Drakon, passing the province of Carthal to the west and Drakon itself to the east. Valerie had watched the western coast go by: the rocky cliffs, the gulls and skuas sweeping back and forth, the occasional fishing village or farmhouse, and at one point an abandoned watchtower, its battlements crumbling at the top of a cliff.


    They disembarked at the northernmost point of the Gulf, Lord Avon taking her hand as she stepped off the ship.


    ¡°Welcome to Drakon,¡± he said.


    Valerie shivered. Drakon! This was it, her first steps on Drakonian soil. The Empire had always seemed like a distant colossus, a great beast that swallowed up other nations in its wake. Now, with Avon¡¯s hand firm around hers, she felt the jaws of the beast closing in.


    The Stormdrake was easily the grandest ship in the harbour, dwarfing the fishing boats nearby. Beyond the harbour, men were packing up their wares at a fish market. Smoke drifted up from squat brown buildings.


    A squad of imperial guards marched up to meet them. Dressed in black, they cleared the jetty, men on horseback corralling the townsfolk who had begun to gather. Valerie hung back, her skin prickling. A short conversation with Avon and Doryn ensued before the senior officer handed over the reins of one of his horses.


    ¡°Lady Valerie. Lady Ophelia.¡±


    Avon waved the two women over and explained the situation. They were to rest overnight as guests of the town¡¯s Baron before continuing their journey to Drakardia. His house was but a short ride away.


    And so the procession began: Avon, Valerie, Ophelia and Doryn rode on horseback while the rest of the party followed on an open-top carriage¡ªlittle more than a fancy painted cart.


    That party consisted of Lord Falconer, Lord Thorne, and a sombre Lady Melody in her mourning attire along with her two children.


    What a fun ride that must be, she thought.


    But as pink streaks deepened into a red sky, her sense of unease grew. It seemed that news of their arrival had spread. Townsfolk lined the streets, waving and cheering. Old men with leathery faces and bent backs. Women and children, bright-eyed, in rough-worn, colourful garb. And the working men from the fish market, stinking of brine.


    Avon did not acknowledge the crowd, but Ophelia did. She smiled and waved back at the children, and the townsfolk loved it. A flaxen-haired girl tossed a bouquet of forget-me-nots into her path; the horses swiftly trampled them underfoot. Others waved bright blue handkerchiefs, craning their necks for a glimpse of the Emperor¡¯s daughter.


    ¡°Lady of the sea!¡± they called to her. ¡°In our bones!¡±


    The chant followed them¡ªin our bones¡ªand a chill ran through Valerie¡¯s spine. She didn¡¯t know what it meant. And she caught curious eyes staring at her too, heads bent together, whispers¡ªdid they know who she was? Would this crowd cry burn the witch and cheer as they dragged her to the pyre?


    Stop it, she told herself sternly. You¡¯re scaring yourself.


    Her fears, of course, were unfounded. The procession reached its end without incident. They passed through an open gate and into a gravel courtyard, the imperial guards forming a blockade behind them. The crowd disappeared.


    Valerie dismounted her horse after Avon, a servant taking the reins, and looked around. Before her stood a grand manor built from sandy brown stone, quite different to the pale limestone that dominated Maskamery architecture. Ivy blanketed the walls, giving the windows the appearance of eyes framed by bushy green brows.


    The nobleman who stepped forward to greet them sported an even bushier mop of hair and a salmon pink face from which protruded a bulbous nose and thick lips. A blue handkerchief poked out from his waistcoat pocket.


    ¡°Lord Avon! How long has it been? A year? Far too long!¡±


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    ¡°Baron Foxley.¡± Avon shook the Baron¡¯s hand. ¡°Forgive me for imposing on you at such short notice. Your hospitality is without equal.¡±


    ¡°Not at all. You are my most honoured guest. My lords! Ladies! Welcome, welcome.¡±


    Foxley greeted them all with great enthusiasm, shaking the hands of the men and kissing the hands of the ladies.


    Everyone, that is, except for Valerie. The Baron¡¯s gaze passed over her without meeting her eyes, and he strode past her without a single acknowledgement. Stung, Valerie glanced at Avon, but though his mouth tightened, he said nothing.


    They entered the manor, where Valerie almost took a step back. Black soulless eyes stared down at her. Antlers sprouted from moth-eaten fur. It was the head of a stag, stuffed and mounted on the wall in some grotesque parody of life.


    And they called the Maskamery barbaric.


    Unsettled, she barely had time to take in her surroundings before Foxley whisked Avon away. A servant in black and white livery¡ªthe butler, Ophelia called him¡ªshowed the rest of the party into the drawing room to relax before dinner.


    Valerie perched on the edge of an armchair and tried not to look too uncomfortable. It was all so dark, she thought. Dark wooden beams, wooden floor, heavy velvet curtains. If not for the high ceiling, she would have found the room stuffy and oppressive.


    And why had the Baron drawn Avon away? Had he heard news of the Chancellor¡¯s consort? Did some dark fate await her?


    An unlit stone fireplace dominated the room. Her eyes were drawn to the hanging banner above it, which depicted the silver dragon from the Drakonian flag, a serpentine creature with long trailing fins, on a backdrop of sea blue.


    ¡°I thought the Drakonian flag was black,¡± she said, looking at Ophelia.


    ¡°Oh,¡± said Ophelia, sitting down next to her, ¡°that¡¯s the flag of Yirona. Our¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s obsolete,¡± Lord Thorne interrupted her. ¡°A historical curiosity, nothing more.¡±


    ¡°What were they saying out there? They called you the lady of the sea.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an old name,¡± said Ophelia, glancing again at Thorne. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t talk like that in the capital. This is a provincial town.¡±


    Thorne had the face of a man forced to drink spoilt milk. ¡°Uneducated peasants. They don¡¯t know any better, but we do.¡±


    In the silence that followed, Valerie regretted saying anything.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Lord Falconer, who had sprawled with limbs crossed loosely on the velvet couch and looked far more at home than she did, ¡°does anyone know what¡¯s for dinner?¡±


    *


    Valerie did not enjoy dinner.


    It seemed mildly promising at first. A candlelit dining table awaited them, the soft light creating an intimate, cosy atmosphere, and the food smelled delicious. Unfortunately, she was placed at the end next to a silent Lady Melody and opposite Lord Thorne¡¯s pinched frown. She wanted to continue the conversation with Lady Ophelia, but the other girl was seated between Lord Falconer and Lord Avon.


    ¡°So,¡± said Baron Foxley, ¡°did you get the chance to visit home?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± said Avon. ¡°My business in the capital cannot wait.¡±


    ¡°Home?¡± Valerie asked, but no one heard her.


    Falconer chuckled. ¡°Doesn¡¯t your family own a grand castle around here?¡±


    ¡°Own, yes,¡± said Avon. ¡°We haven¡¯t lived there in almost a century.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t blame you,¡± said Foxley. ¡°Castles, eh. Terribly draughty and full of rats.¡±


    A manservant walked around the table pouring the guests wine, but somehow passed over Valerie.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± she said, prompting a loud tut from Thorne.


    It took her two tries to convince the manservant that yes, she also wanted her goblet filled. Melody didn¡¯t look at her once even though in any other circumstance she felt sure that the other lady would have delighted in correcting her.


    Meanwhile, the guests had moved on to discussing Lord Falconer¡¯s travel plans.


    ¡°Oh, absolutely,¡± he said, ¡°the cathedral is top of my list. Assuming I don¡¯t get kicked out for my heathen ways. Ex-heathen, I should say.¡±


    Thorne dabbed his mouth with a napkin. ¡°The church doesn¡¯t discriminate against a true son of the Divine.¡±


    ¡°Appreciate it. It¡¯s not often we Maskamery make it to the capital. Lady Valerie, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±


    She blinked. ¡°Yes. We¡¯re very fortunate.¡±


    The Baron acted as though she hadn¡¯t spoken. ¡°Good to know you¡¯re one of the good ones. Mission successful, Thorne?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps a work-in-progress.¡±


    Valerie speared her fresh-caught tuna with a fork, her temper fraying. The fish tasted good, but its bed of mashed turnip and potato was unforgivably bland. And the Baron continued to ignore her.


    She couldn¡¯t stand it any longer. When dessert arrived, Valerie made her excuses and slipped away.


    The stairs creaked as she climbed up to the second floor, taking in the panelled walls, the high whitewashed ceiling, the dead pike mounted at the top of the staircase. This was an austere place, she thought, decorated by someone with no love for pretty things and no awareness of the Maskamery concept of beauty.


    ¡°My lady!¡±


    Valerie turned back. Priska chased after her, gathering up her skirts.


    ¡°Priska? When did you arrive?¡±


    The servants had the unenviable task of transporting their luggage from the ship to the manor. They¡¯d still been unloading when she¡¯d set off from the harbour.


    ¡°Just now.¡± The girl puffed out a breath. ¡°I can show you to your room?¡±


    Fine. She let Priska lead the way.


    Her designated room was smaller and plainer than she had expected, with bare wooden beams and flooring, a wardrobe and dressing table, and a chamber pot beneath the bed. A door led out to a small balcony, the only point of interest.


    ¡°Get some rest,¡± she advised Priska. ¡°We¡¯re still a long way from Drakardia.¡±


    The maid departed.


    Valerie headed to the balcony, where she looked out over the stables with a frown. This didn¡¯t seem like a room for a lady. Wasn¡¯t this the servants¡¯ courtyard?


    Foxley¡¯s doing, she thought. He was openly insulting her. Which meant he knew she was a witch, and Avon hadn¡¯t done a thing to stand up for her tonight, so probably the Emperor had already ordered her death and there was nothing Avon could do¡­


    Stop it.


    Ugh. Being noticed spooked her. Being ignored spooked her. She couldn¡¯t jump at every little thing if she was going to make it to the capital¡ª


    The floorboard creaked behind her. The hairs on the back of Valerie¡¯s neck stood on end.


    And then a man¡¯s hand closed around her shoulder.

 2.8. A World of Maybes

    ¡ªto visible relief all around. ¡°There was no attack.¡±


    *


    Valerie jerked back. ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°Sorry. Did I startle you?¡±


    Lord Falconer.


    He let go of her, clasping his hands behind his back, but she didn¡¯t believe that contrite expression. And her heart was still racing.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°I saw you escape,¡± he said. ¡°Can¡¯t say I blame you.¡±


    He joined her on the balcony, to her disquiet. She shifted another step away from him. A quick glance told her that the courtyard was empty. No one would see if he threw her off. Not that she¡¯d die, at least not on impact. It wasn¡¯t that far down. She¡¯d break a few limbs and bleed out slowly.


    Valerie collected herself. ¡°Lord Falconer, please. It¡¯s not appropriate for a lady and a gentleman to be alone.¡±


    A Drakonian custom, of course, but they were in Drakon.


    ¡°Ah, well, I¡¯m not much of a gentleman.¡± He gave a crooked smile. ¡°Let¡¯s drop the titles, shall we? When it¡¯s just the two of us. The name¡¯s Rufus.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Are you this hostile to everyone you meet, or did I make a bad first impression?¡±


    ¡°Very bad,¡± she said, ¡°but you can¡¯t be surprised by that. Did you think I¡¯d congratulate you for abandoning everything we hold sacred? Forsaking Maska, the silvertrees¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, Maska never did much for me anyway.¡± He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the iron railing. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s only words. You should know.¡±


    She looked at him sharply. ¡°Know what?¡±


    ¡°I heard you were resurrected. A resurrected witch.¡±


    ¡°A resurrected priestess,¡± she corrected him.


    He scratched his beard. ¡°Ah, words. They don¡¯t know the difference, do they? It¡¯s all an insult to them. But you¡¯ve been sharing the Chancellor¡¯s bed for¡­ how long now? You must have a few tales to tell.¡±


    ¡°Not to you.¡± He was fishing and not being subtle about it. ¡°What are you doing here, Rufus?¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± His next words were slow and deliberate. ¡°I¡¯d like to know why a resurrected priestess in bed with the Drakonian Chancellor is lecturing me about abandoning our faith.¡±


    She clenched her teeth. He was trying to get a rise out of her. She wouldn¡¯t give him the satisfaction.


    ¡°I follow Maska¡¯s teachings,¡± she said. ¡°I always have, and I always will. The Empire took everything from us, but they can¡¯t take that.¡±


    Saying the words emboldened her. She still had faith. Faith in Maska, faith in the silvertrees. No matter what happened, no matter what she felt for Lord Avon, she was proud to be Maskamery. He wouldn¡¯t ever change that.


    ¡°In that case, I admire your principles.¡±


    She stared at him again, but his expression was unreadable. A laconic smile, fathomless eyes. She wanted to punch him.


    Well, Rufus, she thought, if that¡¯s how you want to play¡­


    ¡°Falconer,¡± she said. ¡°I know that name. A branch of your family lived over in the neighbouring town from mine before the war. Three brothers and their uncle. They all abandoned Maskamere, went off searching for glory in the north. The rest of the family split up. I met one of the mothers who¡¯d been left on her own and fixed the holes in her shoes. She died in my convent the night the Drakonians invaded.¡±


    He pressed his hand to his heart. ¡°May Maska weep for her. Your family too. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re not judging me for the actions of my distant relatives. Rest assured, my own are more than enough to condemn me.¡±


    Again, he¡¯d stumped her. He was worse than Lady Melody.


    Valerie pursed her lips. ¡°That depends what you¡¯re being condemned for. Whose side are you on?¡±


    He pushed off from the railing. ¡°Now you¡¯re asking the right question. Me, I take no one¡¯s side. I want a happy life with a pretty girl, that¡¯s all. Wish me luck, won¡¯t you?¡±


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    He walked off, waving at her.


    ¡°She¡¯s half your age!¡± Valerie called after him.


    ¡°You¡¯re one to talk!¡±


    The bedroom door slammed shut behind him. She shook her head, annoyed. He was a complication. She hoped not a serious one. Besides, Avon might be older, but not that much older. Not that she knew where the two of them stood anyway.


    That was something she ought to fix.


    Valerie stepped back inside, but before she could venture out into the hallway to find Avon, there was a brief rap at her door and then Avon himself stalked in. He raised his eyebrows when he saw her.


    ¡°What was Lord Falconer doing here?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you got us,¡± she said. ¡°We were conspiring to kill you.¡±


    ¡°Valerie.¡±


    He said it with the tone of a man whose patience had worn thin. Perhaps the dinner hadn¡¯t been much fun for him either.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said. ¡°I think he wanted to know where my loyalties lie.¡±


    ¡°I expect you confounded him, then.¡±


    ¡°Are you really going to let him marry Ophelia?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my father¡¯s decision. But I will be keeping a close eye on him.¡± He offered his arm. ¡°Come. Our chamber is just upstairs.¡±


    ¡°Our¡­¡± Suddenly she realised what Priska had done for her. ¡°That¡¯s all right, my lord. I¡¯m happy to stay here.¡±


    There was a pause. ¡°I see,¡± said Avon. ¡°How long are you going to be angry with me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not angry with you.¡±


    He gave her a questioning look, and Valerie shook her head. She retreated, sitting down on the plain woollen bed.


    ¡°We should talk.¡±


    He took the implied invitation, moving over to sit down next to her. Valerie¡¯s heart jumped. How odd he looked here, she thought. His presence seemed too large for the room.


    She met his eyes. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m angry with you because you killed me?¡±


    ¡°That seems like the obvious conclusion.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. I don¡¯t blame you, my lord. I would have done exactly the same.¡±


    ¡°What is it then?¡±


    She paused, struggling with herself. Somehow it was harder to get the truth out than to lie. Was she angry? Was there a part of her deep down that resented him for killing her, the fact that he¡¯d been able to do it without hesitation?


    ¡°Sometimes I don¡¯t know how I feel,¡± she admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t like how I¡¯m feeling right now, but that¡¯s not surprising, is it? You saw how the Baron treated me. He acted like I don¡¯t exist.¡±


    ¡°I noticed,¡± Avon said. ¡°That¡¯s an old superstition. If you don¡¯t see the witch, she can¡¯t see you. It¡¯s supposed to protect you from being cursed.¡± He looked thoughtful. ¡°I wonder if there¡¯s some truth to it.¡±


    ¡°There isn¡¯t,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s just rude. Is that how it¡¯s going to be in Drakardia?¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯ll find less superstition in Drakardia and more outright hostility.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not very comforting.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect it to be a long trip.¡±


    Especially not if they kill me, she thought. Then it would be a very short trip indeed.


    She sighed. ¡°What do you want from me, my lord? In Drakardia.¡±


    ¡°I believe we have a chance to convince my father that pursuing magic in Maskamere is the right strategy. I want your help to do that.¡±


    ¡°Okay. But then I want your help to kill Shikra.¡±


    She¡¯d come to this conclusion during the voyage. The same thought kept plaguing her, the one that had first sowed the seeds of mistrust during their encounter at the goldentree. No one but the queen had ever held its power. Yet Valerie had grasped it, had even imagined herself on Maskamere¡¯s throne. Did the queen envision a place for Valerie in her future? Or did Shikra view her as a rival¡ªa pawn that dared to challenge her power?


    And what would a queen do with such a pawn?


    Avon laughed, sharp and sudden. ¡°Such loyalty to your queen.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a threat to both of us.¡±


    ¡°And seemingly impossible to kill. Do you know why?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s tethered her spirit to the palace temple somehow. That¡¯s how she survived.¡±


    ¡°Can you break that tether?¡±


    Valerie hesitated. She hadn¡¯t told him the full story, but even if she did, she had no answer. Not yet, anyway.


    Instead, she curled her hands in her lap, fingers digging into her palms. ¡°I don¡¯t know. There¡¯s a lot I don¡¯t know. My lord¡­¡± She looked up at him. ¡°If you could go back to before the war, would you change your mind about invading Maskamere?¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Invading Maskamere was not my decision.¡±


    ¡°Then whose was it?¡±


    ¡°The Council were all in favour, as I recall. You won¡¯t find anyone in the capital sympathetic to your cause.¡±


    ¡°But if you could persuade the Emperor¡­¡±


    ¡°Why would I? We¡¯ve barely begun to explore Maskamere¡¯s riches. Besides, what¡¯s done is done. There¡¯s no use in dwelling on the past. Why do you ask?¡±


    Again, Valerie hesitated. If she told Avon this, she couldn¡¯t undo it. Not in this timeline, at least. And he¡¯d given his answer. He wouldn¡¯t want to undo his victory. She¡¯d have to trick him or fight him, or¡­ or give up on going back altogether. Maybe it just wasn¡¯t possible to get everything she wanted.


    She was in a horrible limbo, a world of maybes. Not in mourning for Markus, because¡ªwell, he wasn¡¯t gone, was he? He was maybe gone. Only a silvertree away.


    ¡°Valerie?¡±


    She blinked. Avon¡¯s brow furrowed. Of course, he had no idea why she was so lost. And part of her ached to tell him. But¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything when I¡¯m ready, I promise. I know I can¡¯t go home right now. You¡¯d never trust that I was me, and I¡¯d be scared of the queen getting hold of me again¡­¡± She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ll think of something. But in the meantime, I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    It would give her time to gather intelligence in Drakardia. Find out how the war had begun. Figure out a way to return to Maskamere.


    Avon nodded. Then he reached out to brush her cheek, and Valerie shivered at his touch. ¡°I am glad you¡¯re alive,¡± he said softly. ¡°I¡¯d rather not lose you again.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she whispered.


    He regarded her for a moment. ¡°A deal, then. We consider ourselves allies.¡±


    ¡°Not allies. Friends.¡±


    He gave a small smile, then chucked her chin. ¡°I¡¯ll take that.¡±


    Avon departed, and Valerie let out a breath. Her heart was racing. She¡¯d placed her life in his hands, but not her future. Not yet. And she couldn¡¯t tell if the churning in her stomach was warning her against trusting him or against not trusting him. Maybe there were no good choices.


    Maybe she was going to her death in Drakardia when she could have avoided all this had she simply told Avon the truth.


    Maybe telling Avon the truth would only play into the queen¡¯s hands.


    Maybe this was how the queen felt, constantly weighing up her choices, making one and then starting over if she didn¡¯t get the outcome she wanted. Just the awareness of that possibility was eating away at her, even though she¡¯d rejected Shikra¡¯s offer in the realm of the goldentree.


    Valerie passed her hand over her forehead. She was giving herself a headache. Forget the queen, she told herself. Shikra was a problem for another day.


    Tomorrow, she would arrive at the capital.

 2.9. Strange History

    The shadow of war still hangs over them when Valerie finally receives her delayed blessing.


    As the trees shed their leaves and the borderlands communities brace themselves for the chilliest winter in years, she studies with feverish intensity. High Priestess Glynda gives her a book bound in thick red leather and embossed with her name.


    The Book of Shadows.


    She touches it and¡ª


    *


    Valerie slept fitfully that night and awoke the next morning with a distinct sense of unease and the lingering image of a book she had never read.


    She felt as if Shikra was tormenting her from afar, plaguing her with visions of what might have been. None of it made sense. If the Empire hadn¡¯t invaded and Valerie had gone on to study magic at the convent, then why hadn¡¯t that timeline continued? And why was she still having these dreams, even here in Drakon?


    ¡°Are you all right, my lady?¡± Priska asked.


    Valerie folded her hands in her lap. She was seated at the dressing table, Priska braiding her hair. The room felt cramped and stuffy. She wished she¡¯d had the foresight to open the window.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said. ¡°Bad dreams. How about you?¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± The girl lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°I stayed with Cilla. She promised not to tell.¡±


    ¡°Cilla?¡±


    ¡°Lady Ophelia¡¯s maid. Should we go up for breakfast now, my lady? I mean, before the others see us.¡±


    Valerie opened her mouth to ask why, then stopped. Priska was right. As Lord Avon¡¯s favoured companion, she shouldn¡¯t have spent the night in the servants¡¯ quarters. Whether she liked it or not, they had to maintain appearances.


    So, for the next five minutes or so, they played an ungainly and slightly ridiculous game of hide and escape. Priska signalled to Valerie to make a dash for it along the corridor. Then they tiptoed up the stairs and into the drawing room where they ran into the butler, who promptly turned his nose up at Valerie and walked away.


    No one said a word of it at breakfast. Then again, no one said a word to her at all.


    Valerie couldn¡¯t wait to leave. Finally, with their bags packed and their bellies full, the party spilled out into the manor grounds where Baron Foxley wished them a fond farewell. A group of three carriages awaited them. Avon threw an arm around the Baron¡¯s shoulder and whispered something in his ear that made the Baron turn pale.


    Her skin prickled. The Baron turned to her, his watery eyes meeting hers for the first time, and gave a stiff nod.


    ¡°A pleasure to meet you, my lady,¡± he said. ¡°Have a safe onward journey.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± she said, swallowing her surprise. ¡°I¡¯m grateful for your hospitality.¡±


    ¡°There,¡± said Avon. ¡°No one exploded. Let¡¯s be off, shall we?¡±


    Valerie hid a smile.


    The next and final stage of their journey began at the town¡¯s edge. Valerie stepped out of the carriage, brimming with curiosity. They¡¯d arrived in the yard of a low building¡ªshe might have guessed a farmhouse¡ªexcept for the glimpse of strange machinery beyond its walls. A man in uniform bowed and showed them through a gate to a raised stone platform.


    ¡°Is that a¡­?¡±


    ¡°Train,¡± Avon finished for her. ¡°I¡¯d hoped to take you on your first trip in Maskamere, but consider this a preview of our work.¡±


    She¡¯d seen a railway under construction once, during her travels with Avon. Men laying out the tracks, the metal glinting in the Maskamery sun. But this was different. The train resembled an elongated carriage¡ªseveral carriages, in fact¡ªjoined together by interlocking metal hooks. It sat fat and gleaming upon the track, steam rising from its nose.


    On the far end of the platform, servants hauled their luggage into one of the carriages along with a wooden box that had to be a coffin¡ªLord Gideon¡¯s coffin. Lord Thorne was looking at it too. As he turned back, he caught her gaze, and Valerie felt a stab of unease. Thorne¡¯s eyes were cold.


    Rufus whistled. ¡°What a marvellous contraption.¡±


    ¡°A private convoy,¡± said Avon. ¡°Ladies first.¡±


    ¡°This way!¡± Lady Ophelia gestured excitedly.


    One of the porters held the carriage door open for them. Lady Melody stepped in first, dressed in black and holding hands with her two boys. Valerie hadn¡¯t quite worked out whether her continued silence was a Drakonian tradition or Melody was just being petulant.


    Valerie followed next, Priska right behind her, and found herself in a narrow carpeted corridor. Windows set at regular intervals let in plenty of light from one side, while three enclosed booths faced her from the other. Melody and her children had already disappeared into one. Valerie hesitated. She didn¡¯t particularly want to be stuck in a booth with two rowdy children and a mute parent.


    Then Ophelia tapped her shoulder. ¡°Here. Ladies, you take that one.¡±


    The maidservants bobbed their heads and disappeared into the first booth. Valerie and Ophelia took the second.


    The seats were made of fine leather, the table sturdy polished oak. Bookshelves were set into the walls, filled with leather bound volumes, as well as a shelf of board games and a wooden cabinet upon which sat a silver tea tray and several glass tumblers. Even the windows were dressed with velvet curtains, tied with golden tassels.


    Ophelia noticed her staring and giggled. ¡°It¡¯s cosy, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯ve several hours to Drakardia, so it¡¯s a good time to curl up with a good book.¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Do you have any books about Drakon?¡±


    ¡°Histories? Oh, but they¡¯re so dull¡­¡±


    Still, Ophelia pointed at one of the shelves. Valerie bent down to look when the train rumbled into life. She jumped up to peer through the window instead, and her mouth fell open. How quickly the land sped past! The closest objects were merely a blur, her eyes settling on this post or that tree for only a moment before it disappeared out of sight. The rattling of the wheels vibrated through her bones.


    ¡°How fast does it go?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Twice as fast as a galloping horse,¡± Ophelia replied. ¡°It would have taken us days to reach the capital by coach.¡±


    In Maskamere, before the war, the queen¡¯s Messengers travelled at great speeds using seven-league boots. Valerie had always wanted to get hold of a pair to replicate the spell. Her best effort resulted in what Markus had jokingly called seven-yard socks, which had allowed him to race around the Crescent store for the better part of a day before the socks had worn out.


    But the Drakonian invention was better. This train could move hundreds of people together. Even armies, she thought. What an advantage that must have given them during the war.


    Speaking of¡­


    She returned to the bookcase. Going into enemy territory, she needed to arm herself with all the knowledge she could find. She grabbed a volume that looked fat and promising.


    And so, for the next couple of hours, Valerie devoured several hundred pages of History of Our Glorious Empire, a book that in turns enthralled and appalled her.


    She started with the final chapter concerning the conquest of Maskamere, which painted such a peculiar picture of the war that Valerie felt as if she¡¯d stumbled into some strange alternate world. The author made no effort to hide his bias against the queen, whom he described variously as corrupt, wicked and capricious. He took it for granted that witchcraft was evil, that the silvertrees had to be destroyed, and that the embrace of the Empire was something to be desired.


    However, the account gave little insight into Drakonian military strategy beyond the destruction of the silvertrees. The attack had been two-pronged: the navy had invaded Jairah in the south and wiped out the royal family while the purge had begun in the north, with Lord Avon leading the army¡¯s swift advance over land. All of that she already knew.


    If Queen Shikra had known all this too, then why hadn¡¯t she been able to stop it? In the dream, there had been a warning¡ªthe queen had sent word to the north. Something must have gone wrong, but what?


    She flipped back to the earlier chapters which gave an exhaustive account of the Empire¡¯s growth and expansion in the last century. One phrase in particular made her frown.


    ¡°Ophelia,¡± she said, ¡°what is the doctrine of exceptionalism?¡±


    Ophelia looked up from her romance novel. ¡°Exceptionalism? It¡¯s how we describe what makes Drakon special. We are the most enlightened nation in the world.¡±


    That sounded like a line she had learned, Valerie thought. What nonsense the Drakonians taught their children.


    ¡°I see,¡± she said. ¡°You know, we have a name for that in Maskamere too. We call it Drakonian arrogance.¡±


    ¡°Arrogance?¡± Ophelia¡¯s brow creased. ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t mean to sound¡­ I mean, have I offended you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Valerie quickly. She couldn¡¯t argue with Ophelia. It was like kicking a puppy. ¡°No, of course not. Actually, that reminds me. Why was Lord Thorne being so funny about that flag in the Baron¡¯s house?¡±


    ¡°The flag of Yirona?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it was a little cheeky of the Baron to display it. Like Lord Thorne said, it¡¯s obsolete. It¡¯s nothing, really.¡±


    Ophelia was a terrible liar. Her cheeks had flushed, and she wouldn¡¯t meet Valerie¡¯s eyes.


    Valerie persisted. ¡°It¡¯s your flag, isn¡¯t it? Is that why Thorne didn¡¯t like it?¡±


    ¡°No, nothing like that. It¡¯s the flag of the old Republic. Did you read about it? The founding of Drakon?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°Yirona used to be an independent republic. And Drakon, I mean the old Drakon, used to be a monarchy. Then the union happened. Yirona and the old Drakon joined together, and that¡¯s how the new Republic of Drakon was formed.¡±


    ¡°So Yirona was conquered by Drakon?¡±


    The thought unsettled her. Had some ancestor of the Avon family experienced the same thing she had¡ªsubjugation by a foreign power? Had the Empire completely absorbed them?


    Not completely, she thought, if Avon¡¯s countryman still displays the old flag when he visits.


    But Ophelia shook her head. ¡°It was a mutual arrangement. I think that¡¯s my favourite part of the story¡ªhow we came together peacefully. I wish it could always be that way.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡±


    Valerie¡¯s thoughts had strayed. She went back to the first chapter of the book about the Empire, only to discover that it was volume two and the missing story of Drakon¡¯s founding was presumably in the first book. She snapped it shut.


    ¡°Do you mind if I get some air?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Ophelia peaceably.


    Valerie gave her a quick smile, then rose and exited the booth. Back in the corridor, she pressed her face up close to the window and watched the Drakonian countryside go by. Fields of cattle and sheep, interspersed with hedgerows and woodland. Had they left Yirona behind? She wondered what place Avon called home. A grand manor? A castle?


    Perhaps he would say he belonged to the capital. And perhaps she was grasping at nothing. But if the Drakonian Empire was after all a collection of disparate parts, it made sense that not all those parts might be fully united. The book had spoken of the challenges of ruling over such vast and distant territories.


    She didn¡¯t know if that would help her. But she had to look for the fault lines. Two years ago, according to Avon, the Drakonian Council had been united in their decision to invade Maskamere. She needed to know what would divide them.


    Behind her, a child¡¯s laughter drifted over the rattling of the train.


    Valerie turned around. She¡¯d taken the measure of everyone on this journey. Everyone, that is, except Lady Melody. And she didn¡¯t want to let this chance pass her by.


    She tapped on the door of the third booth before entering.


    ¡°Lady Melody?¡±


    Melody gazed out of the window from a corner of the booth, her face and hair uncovered. Her two boys played with puzzle blocks on the carpet. At Valerie¡¯s intrusion, Melody rested her hand on her chin, her expression the definition of Drakonian haughtiness.


    ¡°I¡¯m in mourning,¡± she said acidly.


    ¡°Does that mean we can¡¯t talk?¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve already barged in¡­¡± Melody shrugged. ¡°Sit.¡±


    She took the invitation gladly. And then hesitated. Where to begin¡­?


    ¡°How are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Quite badly. You needn¡¯t have asked.¡±


    ¡°I know it¡¯s been hard.¡± Valerie reached out across the table, but Melody didn¡¯t take her hand. ¡°A lot has happened, but¡­ I hope we can stay friends. And if you¡¯re mad at me¡­ Well, I¡¯m hoping you¡¯ll forgive me.¡±


    Melody stared at her. ¡°Forgive you? For murdering my consort, you mean.¡±


    She flushed. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d expect an apology to come before forgiveness. But you¡¯re not sorry, are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Of course she wasn¡¯t sorry. Gideon deserved to rot. ¡°He was a cruel man. He hurt my people. He tortured me.¡±


    ¡°Would that I could simply murder everyone who hurt me.¡± Melody shook her head. ¡°What¡¯s done is done. The rest of us can¡¯t come back from the dead.¡±


    There was a hardness in Melody¡¯s tone whenever she spoke of magic. She wondered, had Melody¡­?


    ¡°Did you know?¡± Valerie asked. ¡°That I was a witch, before Lord Avon revealed it?¡±


    ¡°No. I knew that you came from the resistance¡ªthat was an open secret. But not about your witchcraft. Lord Gideon didn¡¯t share all his secrets with me.¡±


    ¡°But you helped me,¡± said Valerie. ¡°You took me to see my family¡­¡±


    Melody sniffed. ¡°I did as I was told. And I¡¯ve been questioned enough already, so I don¡¯t care to repeat myself.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± The answer came to her as soon as the question left her mouth. Melody would have been suspected of conspiring with Lord Gideon after his betrayal. She must have convinced them that she was innocent, but the interrogation wouldn¡¯t have been pleasant. ¡°They let you go, didn¡¯t they? And you¡¯re going back to Drakardia, to your husband?¡±


    Melody gave a short laugh, an odd, bitter sound. ¡°No, darling. I¡¯m going back to beg for mercy from my benefactor.¡±


    Valerie frowned. ¡°Benefactor?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story. And it¡¯s my problem, not yours.¡±


    ¡°But I could help.¡± Melody¡¯s eyes turned to flint. Valerie continued gamely on: ¡°Let me make it up to you. We¡¯re going to need allies in Drakardia, both of us.¡±


    ¡°Oh, darling. You have no idea what you¡¯ve done. Has anyone told you what to expect?¡±


    She didn¡¯t know what to say. ¡°Not really.¡±


    ¡°The same as the rest of us.¡± Melody spoke with calm finality. ¡°Consequences.¡±

 2.10. The Dragons Spine

    ¡ªrecoils, overwhelmed.


    ¡°It¡¯s locked?¡±


    ¡°Sealed,¡± says Glynda. ¡°Only you can open it, and it will only show you that which you¡¯re ready to learn.¡±


    That night, Valerie lights the oil lamp in her study with a practised flick of her hand and sets the book down on her desk. She unclasps it, trembling, then¡ª


    *


    Lady Melody¡¯s parting words did nothing good for Valerie¡¯s nerves as she returned to her booth. She felt as if she was jumping headfirst into a trap.


    ¡°Look!¡± said Lady Ophelia. ¡°Drakardia.¡±


    The sun had set behind distant mountains. A pale fog descended, obscuring their view. And from the dim twilight, the city of Drakardia emerged.


    A great, sprawling mass, its lights shone through the gloom like fireflies in a marsh. Street lamps illuminated tightly packed dwellings. The occasional green was quickly swallowed up by monstrous blocks of stone. It went on and on, seemingly without end. Jairah, Bolebund, Orlin: they were stick villages in comparison. Drakardia dwarfed them all.


    The train raced over a bridge, and Valerie gazed out at a river crowded with boats, some as large as the Stormdrake. The buildings on the riverfront were enormous too: great towers, halls and courthouses. Drakonian flags fluttered on high; Drakonian pennants flew on the mastheads of the ships; Drakonian banners draped between tall windows.


    ¡°The Senate House,¡± said Ophelia, pointing at one of the state buildings. ¡°And the Cathedral of All Eternity.¡±


    Imposing. Impenetrable. Imperious. The cathedral was breathtaking in scale. Its walls stretched along the bank, crowding out the buildings on either side like a man sprawling with his legs unnecessarily far apart. Marble archways and pointed spires reached a dizzying height into the sky. The people walking by looked like specks.


    Valerie looked on the heart of the Empire, and her own heart quailed.


    But other parts of the city were less than grand. Beyond the river, narrow alleyways zigzagged past soot-covered buildings and towers belching out smoke. A series of wagons rolled past the train, each pulled by thin bony horses held by thin bony men. They were gone before she could look again.


    The train continued on its way. In the distance, a lake shimmered under the clouded sky. The tracks curved towards it, the city flashing by. A dark mass became visible through the mist. Another bridge crossed from the mainland over the lake to¡­


    ¡°Is that an island?¡±


    ¡°The Dragon¡¯s Spine,¡± said Ophelia. ¡°Home.¡±


    Grand villas dotted the island, each with their own grounds. But the view was quickly lost to the misty lake, the train now racing across the water.


    ¡°The Dragon¡¯s Spine,¡± she repeated. ¡°The Emperor lives here?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s our summer home,¡± Ophelia explained. ¡°Father spends his week at the Congress and returns here to rest on holy days. Oh, but he should be back tonight. We sent a message ahead to let him know, and I told Rufus¡ªI mean, Lord Falconer to be on his very best behaviour, so¡­¡±


    She took a breath, and Valerie realised for the first time that Ophelia was nervous too. Of course. She was about to present her suitor to her father. And, Valerie thought, her stomach dropping, Lord Avon is about to present me.


    The train slowed down when they reached the shore. Finally, they halted, and as Ophelia held out her arm with a warm smile, Valerie felt an immense sense of gratitude that she wasn¡¯t alone.


    *


    Only Lord Avon, Lady Ophelia, Rufus, Valerie and their servants had the privilege of staying in the Emperor¡¯s private residence during this visit.


    That included Captain Doryn and his guards, who escorted them through an iron-wrought gate and into the grounds. The clipped hedges and rounded tree tops created an odd, artificial air. Valerie couldn¡¯t say whether this villa was larger or grander than the rest, but she would not have guessed it belonged to the Emperor himself. There was no Drakonian flag, no ornate statues, no obvious insignia. Servants lined up by the entrance dressed in black livery not unlike the standard uniform of a Drakonian guard.


    A man with a handlebar moustache came to greet them. ¡°Welcome home, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Moss,¡± said Avon, giving the man an affectionate clap on the back. ¡°See to it that Captain Doryn and his men receive a warm welcome, will you? We¡¯ve had a long journey.¡±


    ¡°Very good, my lord.¡±


    Meanwhile, the door to the villa opened, and a woman stepped out. Tall and blonde, her upturned nose and arched eyebrows gave her a supercilious look. She wore a pale pink shawl drawn around her shoulders, her hands clasped over her pregnant belly.


    ¡°Lord Avon,¡± the woman said, dipping her head. ¡°Lady Ophelia.¡±


    Avon bowed, the woman lifting her hand for him to kiss. ¡°Mother. I see congratulations are in order.¡±


    Valerie blinked, startled. Mother? But the woman looked no older than Avon himself.


    Ophelia curtsied. ¡°We¡¯re so glad to be back, Mother. Is Father here?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll join us for dinner. Who are your guests?¡±


    Valerie was hanging back along with Rufus, unsure how to behave. Rufus stepped forward and mimicked Avon¡¯s gesture, leaning forward to kiss the back of the woman¡¯s hand.


    ¡°A pleasure, my lady,¡± he said.


    Sycophant, she thought. But Ophelia looked pleased as she introduced him, so he must have behaved appropriately.


    ¡°Lord Falconer,¡± Ophelia finished, ¡°may we introduce our stepmother, the Empress Juliana.¡±


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Juliana smiled a cool smile. ¡°Delighted.¡±


    ¡°And may I introduce Lady Valerie,¡± said Avon, placing his hand on the small of her back to nudge her forward.


    Valerie attempted an awkward curtsy. ¡°Pleased to meet you, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Juliana corrected her.


    Valerie frowned, cheeks heating. The Empress hadn¡¯t corrected Rufus.


    ¡°You must have had a long journey,¡± Juliana continued. ¡°Please, come in. Make yourselves at home.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Avon. ¡°It¡¯s our house. Summon Edrick to my quarters.¡±


    He took Valerie¡¯s arm and swept past Juliana, whose expression was a mask of forced calm. Valerie had no idea why things were so tense. Avon¡¯s manservant hauled their luggage through the hallways; Priska followed at her shoulder.


    They entered a set of rooms panelled in dark wood: a lounge, study, bedchamber and adjacent bath chamber. Avon whispered a quiet word to Priska, who dipped her head and departed.


    Valerie folded her arms, feeling very unsure. ¡°The Empress¡­¡±


    ¡°Our mother in name only,¡± Avon answered, guessing her unasked question correctly. ¡°Father¡¯s latest wife.¡±


    ¡°Latest? He¡¯s had more than one?¡±


    Avon had shucked off his coat and was now directing his manservant to run a bath. ¡°She would be the third. Our mother passed a decade ago. Father remarried shortly after, but his new wife produced no heirs. Lady Juliana has been quick to remedy that.¡±


    She was burning with more questions, but the mention of his real mother stopped her. Poor Ophelia would have only been a child when their mother died.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said after a moment.


    ¡°No matter,¡± said Avon briskly. ¡°Would you like to...¡± A soft knock at the door interrupted him. ¡°Enter.¡±


    A matron walked in holding the hand of a child, a small boy with tousled dark hair. Valerie blinked in surprise, then she remembered what Avon had said earlier.


    ¡°Father!¡±


    ¡°Edrick.¡± Avon dropped into a crouch as the little boy ran to him, then swept him up in his arms. ¡°Look at you! You¡¯ve grown into a proper little man.¡±


    The warmth and affection in his tone was palpable. And the little boy was basking in his father¡¯s praise. He was a miniature Avon, dressed like him in a shirt, waistcoat and trousers, his hair the exact same shade of brown, his eyes bright and inquisitive.


    She felt a strange pang watching them. Like Avon, this boy had no mother.


    ¡°I caught a fish!¡± Edrick spread his arms. ¡°It was this big! Gaffer showed me how.¡±


    ¡°Did he? That¡¯s an enormous fish. Are we having it for dinner?¡± Avon glanced up, catching her eye, and gestured for Valerie to join them. ¡°Edrick, I want you to meet my companion, Lady Valerie.¡±


    She crouched down next to him so that she could address the little boy at eye level. ¡°Hey there.¡±


    The boy¡¯s eyes met hers. Blue as the ocean, she thought, like his father. ¡°Val''rie.¡±


    ¡°Now, then,¡± said Avon. He took her hand, standing up, and Valerie rose with him. ¡°How do you address a lady?¡±


    Edrick looked at her for a moment. Then he did the perfect imitation of a bow before holding out his hand. ¡°A pleasure, my lady.¡±


    Valerie couldn¡¯t help but smile. She let Edrick take her hand and kiss the back of it. ¡°The same to you, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± Avon corrected her as Edrick stepped back, looking pleased with himself. ¡°He¡¯s Master Edrick until he comes of age. All right, be off with you.¡±


    He ruffled the boy¡¯s hair and sent him on his way. The matron curtsied, then the pair of them departed.


    Valerie looked at Avon. ¡°You¡¯ll have to tell me the correct forms of address. That¡¯s the second time I¡¯ve gotten it wrong today.¡±


    Avon nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll learn.¡±


    She walked around the room, taking it in. ¡°Edrick seems like a sweet boy. How old is he?¡±


    ¡°Almost five. I feared he had forgotten me.¡±


    ¡°It didn¡¯t look like it.¡±


    ¡°Well, my father spent very little time with me as a boy. We were brought up by our governess. I always thought to do better, but¡­¡±


    ¡°You were called away,¡± she said softly. To Maskamere. To war.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Avon cleared his throat. ¡°My sister¡¯s quarters are just along the hallway. Now, I think it¡¯s better that you stay with her. I¡¯m not sure that Lord Falconer appreciates the value of chastity before marriage.¡±


    ¡°Chastity?¡±


    She heard the word in Lady Melody¡¯s voice for some reason. It took her a moment to remember why: Melody had explained the concept in one of their etiquette lessons. Chastity meant no intimacy outside of the marriage bed.


    This definition had left Valerie even more confused. After all, Melody and Lord Gideon weren¡¯t married.


    ¡°Nor are you and Lord Avon,¡± Melody had replied. ¡°We¡¯re all terrible hypocrites.¡±


    Avon was looking at her, and she suddenly realised what he had said. ¡°Oh! But¡­ Is that all right? Won¡¯t your father be expecting us to¡­?¡±


    ¡°Let me worry about that.¡±


    ¡°Then how should I behave?¡±


    ¡°Be your usual charming self.¡±


    There was a twinkle in his eye. Valerie looked away. She wanted to be playful, but the words caught in her throat.


    ¡°I¡­¡± She stopped. ¡°I¡¯m scared. I¡¯m scared that if I put one foot wrong, I¡¯ll¡­¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t let that happen.¡± He stepped forward, taking her hands, and the warmth of his skin sent heat curling through her. ¡°You¡¯re not going to die here, Val. Trust me.¡±


    The gentleness in his tone calmed her. And his face, usually stern, lingered perhaps with a trace of the affection he had shown to Edrick. She craved it. His kindness, his favour.


    Her life depended on it.


    She smiled up at him. ¡°Thank you, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Well, then,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll see you at dinner.¡±


    *


    To her relief, Ophelia didn¡¯t question their new arrangement. In fact, she seemed excited by it.


    ¡°I always wanted to have a sister,¡± she confessed. ¡°We¡¯ll make up a bed for each of us. Would you like to take the first bath?¡±


    Valerie refused, feeling that she was already imposing as Ophelia¡¯s guest. Her quarters were better than Avon¡¯s in her opinion, both lighter and airier. Instead of wood panelling, the walls in the drawing room were white and decorated with artwork of exotic birds, and she found a comfortable seat in an alcove overlooking the gardens.


    She wasn¡¯t sure if Ophelia was being polite or if the girl was really that naive about the relationship between herself and Avon. Surely not. And while Valerie appreciated that he hadn¡¯t pressed the issue, she did wonder what the Emperor would make of their arrangement.


    Lady Melody¡¯s lessons in etiquette hadn¡¯t covered a scenario like this.


    Still, she ran through it again mentally while she bathed and dressed. By the time she was ready, everyone else had already gone down for dinner. They rose to greet her when she stepped through the arched doorway: Ophelia and Rufus on one side, Lord Avon on the other, and Lady Juliana at the far end of the table, turning to face her.


    Valerie swallowed. Her empty stomach was a pit of nerves.


    ¡°Lady Valerie.¡±


    Avon bowed. One of two male servants stepped forward to pull out her chair, Valerie seating herself next to Avon.


    At least she had dressed for the occasion. She was a proper Drakonian lady tonight: fitted corset, ankle-length gown, pinned-up hair. Valerie had secretly added her own flair too, an embroidered pattern of her signature roses flowing around the skirt. And though she couldn¡¯t imbue it with any magic, it was some small comfort to know that she was wearing a piece of home.


    Juliana greeted her. ¡°Lady Valerie. Good evening.¡±


    The plates had been set, fine porcelain and silver tableware, but the food and drink had yet to be served. Four large covered trays awaited in the middle of the table, alongside bottles of wine in porcelain boats filled to the brim with ice cubes. But the servants retreated to stand unobtrusively with their backs to the walls, making no move to serve the food.


    One seat remained: a wing-backed armchair at the head of the table.


    ¡°Are we waiting for...?¡±


    ¡°The Emperor,¡± said Juliana, at the same time as Avon answered, ¡°Father.¡±


    Juliana flushed and apologised to Avon for interrupting him. He waved her off. An awkward silence descended.


    Rufus caught her eye, frowning at her, and she shrugged in response. No, she had no idea what to do either. A minute or so passed. Juliana gazed serenely at her lap. Ophelia fidgeted. Avon was still. Valerie felt sure she could smell the food hidden on those serving trays and hoped the Emperor would hurry up before it all went cold.


    Where was Edrick? Perhaps he was considered too young to dine with them. She thought of the meals with the Crescent family and how they all piled together around the table, mothers and infants and everyone in between. A wave of homesickness ran through her.


    A sharp rap on the door startled Valerie back to the present. In stepped the servant who had welcomed them when they¡¯d arrived: Moss, the man with the handlebar moustache.


    The man bowed. ¡°May I present His Excellency, Emperor Reinard, Commander of the Drakonian Empire and Chancellor of the Republic of Drakon.¡±


    Juliana, Ophelia and Avon got to their feet at once, scraping their chairs back. Valerie and Rufus hastily followed suit.


    Moss stood aside. In his place, another man stepped forward. Valerie¡¯s stomach flipped. Here he was at last.


    Avon¡¯s father.

 2.11. Dinner with the Avons

    ¡ªopens the first page.


    The paper is pleasingly thick and creamy. There¡¯s the title, Book of Shadows, in handwritten black ink. But then the letters shimmer, rearranging themselves:


    Let¡¯s play a game.


    Valerie frowns. The ink bleeds and reforms¡ª


    *


    The resemblance between father and son was immediately apparent. Though his hair had turned grey and his face was lined, Emperor Reinard stood proud and straight-backed, broad-shouldered, with an intelligent, piercing gaze that assessed each of the guests in turn. His nose was aquiline, his jaw strong, his mouth thin. He was dressed in a waistcoat and tails in the manner of Drakonian noblemen, but the waistcoat was emblazoned with a silver dragon, the symbol of Drakon, and decorated with a jewelled brooch in the shape of a claw.


    Seeing him provoked a jumbled mix of feelings. Hatred, to be sure. This man had brought war to her realm. Then the cold sweat of fear, knowing that he could have her executed with a word. And finally, a strange sense of curiosity that kept her from looking away. This Emperor had ruled Drakon for twenty-three years. He had not begun the Empire¡¯s expansion, but he had continued its success.


    What did he want now?


    ¡°Has my food gone cold again?¡± the Emperor asked in a deep, grumbling voice.


    Avon bowed. ¡°I hope not yet, Father.¡±


    ¡°Father!¡± Ophelia curtsied, her voice bursting with excitement.


    Juliana and Rufus curtsied and bowed too, and Valerie copied them. She was starting to feel like a trained dog.


    ¡°Ophelia.¡± A hint of warmth entered the Emperor¡¯s tone, and he held out his arms. Ophelia dashed to hug him. ¡°Now, now, who is your suitor?¡±


    Rufus bowed again so deeply that Valerie thought his nose would scrape the carpet. ¡°Lord Rufus Falconer, Your Excellency. It¡¯s an honour to meet you.¡±


    Reinard shook Rufus¡¯s hand, Ophelia beaming beside him. They exchanged several pleasantries, commenting on the weather and the journey overseas. Meanwhile, Valerie¡¯s stomach continued to churn. She glanced at Avon, who had clasped his hands behind his back, seemingly unperturbed.


    ¡°Sit, sit,¡± said Reinard, gesturing at Ophelia and Rufus. Then he turned to Avon. ¡°Now, my son. It¡¯s good to see you returned home.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s good to be home,¡± Avon replied.


    ¡°And you¡¯ve brought a companion.¡±


    Reinard¡¯s eyes slid to her. Hazel flecked with green. Not at all like his children. And unlike his children, his gaze was dark and disapproving.


    ¡°I have,¡± said Avon. If he noticed his father¡¯s expression, he didn¡¯t acknowledge it. ¡°Father, meet Lady Valerie.¡±


    Valerie dipped her head. ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Your Excellency.¡±


    The Emperor reached out for her hand, and she let him take it. Her hand vanished into his, her wrist looking small and delicate, and she had the sudden mad thought that he might snap it. Avon had stabbed that same hand not so long ago¡­


    But all the Emperor did was kiss the back of her palm. Then he straightened up, gaze sweeping her up and down.


    She sensed Avon tense beside her. The room was dead silent. Everyone watching.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Reinard. ¡°Pretty.¡±


    He let go and turned back to his seat. Valerie stood stock-still, paralysed by a sensation she had rarely felt before. Insignificance. As if her worth had been assessed and summed up in a single word, one that might describe a songbird or a colourful scarf.


    That attitude wasn¡¯t new, of course. She¡¯d been called everything from dazzling to exotic by Drakonian noblemen, at least some of whom had appeared to think they were paying her a compliment. But she didn¡¯t care what they thought of her. The opinion of the Emperor, on the other hand, could determine not only her own future, but the future of her country.


    I have to win him over, she thought.


    ¡°Sit,¡± said Reinard, and everyone did.


    They had to wait one more minute while Juliana said a prayer to the Divine, and then finally the servants uncovered the trays, revealing an entire roast pheasant, some kind of buttery potato and leek mash, and long sprigs of kale. Pheasant was a new dish for Valerie, but she was willing to try it.


    She was less sure about how this dinner was going to go. At the royal palace in Jairah, she¡¯d dined in hall with the lords and ladies where the conversation had been strictly trivial and polite. She assumed that the same social rules applied here, but one could never be sure with family gatherings.


    Valerie cut up small pieces of pheasant and observed the conversation.


    ¡°A delicious meal, Mother,¡± said Avon. ¡°You¡¯ve kept the house in good order.¡±


    Juliana inclined her head. ¡°Thank you, my lord.¡±


    But the Emperor had snubbed her, Valerie thought. He¡¯d greeted both his children and their guests, but neglected to say a word to Juliana. Was that normal or an insult?


    ¡°It¡¯s all just as I left it,¡± said Ophelia. ¡°I feel right at home.¡± Then she looked at Rufus and flushed. ¡°I mean, of course Maskamere was wonderful too. I hope one day I can make just as wonderful a home there.¡±


    Rufus waved a hand, swallowing a mouthful of mash. ¡°Don¡¯t worry yourself, my lady. We all long for the comfort of home.¡±


    Ophelia smiled, visibly relaxing.


    Juliana dabbed her mouth. ¡°And where do you call home, Lord Falconer?¡±


    ¡°Cirkra, Your Grace.¡± Rufus glanced at Valerie. ¡°The seat of northern Maskamere, since Bolebund was razed to the ground.¡±


    Valerie choked on her kale. She started coughing long enough that Avon placed a concerned hand on her arm.


    ¡°Valerie, are you quite all right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± she managed, grabbing for her glass of wine. She gulped it down, which helped.


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    Bolebund razed to the ground.


    It wasn¡¯t news, exactly. She knew that the Drakonian army had broken through and conquered the city, in no small part thanks to her own actions. But the words Rufus had used sounded so¡­ final. She¡¯d wondered about the fate of her cousin Lavinia who had fled to the city, but she hadn¡¯t asked Avon about it.


    Maybe she didn¡¯t want to know the answer.


    ¡°Cirkra is a port town,¡± said Avon. ¡°Not too far from Carth, which should make it a convenient stop on the route to Jairah. I daresay Lord Falconer will make it our base of operations in the north.¡±


    ¡°I look forward to it,¡± said Rufus.


    ¡°Do you know it, Valerie?¡± Juliana asked.


    The question felt rude, especially when she had only just gotten her breathing back to normal. But Valerie nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯m from the north too, Your Grace. But my home now is the capital, Jairah.¡±


    ¡°The palace, no less,¡± said Reinard, his gaze on her, ¡°isn¡¯t that right?¡±


    Valerie frowned, but Avon answered for her.


    ¡°The palace,¡± he said, ¡°yes. The seat of my court. It¡¯s rather splendid. We should arrange a visit.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Reinard was still looking at her. ¡°So what made you see the light?¡±


    She didn¡¯t understand. ¡°The light, Your Excellency?¡±


    ¡°The light of the Empire.¡±


    Oh. Half a dozen answers ran through her head. She couldn¡¯t tell him the truth, of course. She¡¯d experienced a Divine miracle? Accepted the inevitability of defeat? Swooned into her lord¡¯s strong and loving arms?


    Rufus nodded over at Avon. ¡°Perhaps this handsome fellow won you over.¡±


    ¡°He did, Your Excellency,¡± she said. ¡°And Lady Ophelia too; you¡¯ve been a wonderful friend. I couldn¡¯t ask for a better companion on my journey. I won¡¯t pretend that it¡¯s been easy. But I think when¡­ when you spend time with the people you once saw as the enemy, when you eat with them, laugh with them¡­ Well, I realised that I was grateful to your family for taking me in. And to Lord Avon, especially, for accepting me as I am. Any other Chancellor would have burned me at the stake. Lord Avon protected me.¡±


    Her heart fluttered with every word. She couldn¡¯t get a single one wrong. It all had to be perfect, said in the right tone, the right cadence, and with the right mix of gratitude, deference and resignation.


    Eyes downcast, she glanced around the room from under her lashes. Ophelia, of course, radiated joy. Juliana¡¯s polite smile gave little away. Rufus concerned her because he could quite easily call her out, yet he¡¯d chosen to help her. Only a raised eyebrow told her that he recognised the performance.


    ¡°Our arrangement is mutually beneficial,¡± said Avon, picking up where she had left off. ¡°I protect Valerie in return for her service. An apt metaphor for the benefits of Empire, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    He was looking at his father. And the Emperor was looking at her, smiling at her with cold, calculating eyes. She sensed in him a vulture circling with a patience born of experience.


    ¡°Quite,¡± he said softly.


    ¡°Oh, you are so unromantic!¡± Ophelia chided her brother. The tension dissipated. Valerie shifted in her chair, relieved.


    Avon chuckled. ¡°I think I get that from you, Father. You should hear how he proposed to Mother.¡±


    With that, the conversation returned to lighter topics. Reinard regaled the guests with the story of his failed marriage proposal to his first wife, which had been so dry and business-like she¡¯d demanded that he try again. Valerie returned to her meal, laughing when the others laughed though she didn¡¯t get the joke. At the other end of the table, Juliana listened in stony silence. Still, the Emperor¡¯s mood seemed to have lifted.


    Had she made a favourable first impression? Hard to say. She hoped so.


    Dessert rolled around: some kind of trifle decorated with raspberries. Valerie found it almost too sweet and ate slowly. She was still wrestling with the basic question of how and whether to join in the chatter. Drakonian custom dictated that ladies ought to be demure and let their lords speak first, but ladies were also expected to be entertaining, charming and delightful in social situations.


    She didn¡¯t feel up to being any of those things right now.


    ¡°Have you seen Edrick today?¡± Reinard asked Avon.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Avon replied. ¡°He seems to be in good health.¡±


    ¡°He was delighted to see us,¡± Ophelia added.


    Reinard¡¯s gaze was still fixed on Avon. ¡°It¡¯s past time you had another. Always have a spare.¡±


    Avon¡¯s mouth tightened. Valerie glanced at Juliana, whose expression had flickered, one hand shifting to her belly.


    ¡°How is Edrick¡¯s education progressing?¡± Avon asked.


    ¡°Well enough,¡± Juliana answered. ¡°His tutors are satisfied with his progress.¡±


    ¡°Satisfied?¡±


    The Emperor chuckled. ¡°You should know, my lady, satisfaction is not good enough. My house demands excellence.¡±


    ¡°I should like to speak to his tutors,¡± said Avon. ¡°Ensure they are up to standard.¡±


    Juliana¡¯s smile was brittle. ¡°Of course, my lord.¡±


    ¡°He spoke of going fishing with the Gaffer today,¡± Avon went on.


    ¡°The Gaffer?¡± Reinard frowned. ¡°The gardener?¡±


    ¡°Yes. The boy shouldn¡¯t be mingling with servants or commoners without prior approval. How was this allowed to happen?¡±


    The question itself was not aimed at anyone in particular, but Avon¡¯s gaze fell on Juliana, and the attention of the other guests followed him.


    ¡°They get along perfectly well,¡± said Juliana, a flush creeping into her cheeks, ¡°and the child needs a father figure. Of course, His Excellency has his duties to perform, and you were¡­¡±


    ¡°I have my duties to perform also.¡± Avon matched the chilliness of Juliana¡¯s tone perfectly. ¡°As you well know.¡±


    ¡°Of course, my lord.¡± Juliana glanced at the Emperor, but he said nothing. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to the governess.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Rufus, ¡°I must confess, this is all very enlightening. I never had much of a father figure in my youth. Lots of uncles.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have a father?¡± Ophelia was wide-eyed.


    ¡°None of us did.¡± Rufus looked at her, but Valerie said nothing. She knew this was not a safe topic for dinner. ¡°One thing I¡¯m glad is changing in Maskamere. I love my nieces and nephews, snot-nosed brats and all, but it¡¯ll be quite something to raise my own child.¡±


    That annoyed her enough to speak up. ¡°A man like you? You¡¯ve probably fathered half a dozen children already.¡±


    Shock rippled around the dining table.


    Rufus chuckled. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t like to say.¡±


    ¡°I imagine you¡¯ll like to say you haven¡¯t,¡± said Avon, ¡°if you wish to take my sister¡¯s hand in marriage.¡±


    There was a short silence.


    ¡°Right,¡± said Rufus. ¡°No kids.¡±


    ¡°The more I hear about Maskamere, the more dreadful it sounds.¡± Juliana shook her head. ¡°If only Emmett had never set foot there.¡±


    ¡°He performed his duty for the Empire.¡± Reinard¡¯s eyes were not sympathetic. ¡°He¡¯ll receive his honours.¡±


    Valerie glanced at Avon. ¡°Emmett?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Lord Gideon,¡± he murmured back.


    Gideon. Well, now she¡¯d lost her appetite.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry that we must be the bearers of bad news, Mother,¡± said Ophelia. ¡°We were all shocked to hear it.¡±


    ¡°But it isn¡¯t all bad news,¡± Avon added. ¡°We¡¯ve destroyed the last of the rebels, and Maskamere is now flourishing under the Empire¡¯s rule. Our guests tonight are proof of that: a new dawn of friendship and prosperity. Shall we drink to that?¡±


    Rufus raised his glass. ¡°Happily.¡±


    Avon held out his glass to her. ¡°To friendship and prosperity.¡±


    The others at the table followed suit, some with more enthusiasm than others. Valerie was one of the less enthusiastic ones.


    ¡°To friendship and prosperity,¡± she echoed.


    But as they drank, she couldn¡¯t help but feel that the seeds of conflict still lurked right there under the surface.


    *


    The servants whisked their empty plates away. Valerie¡¯s stomach roiled. Dinner had come to an end, and she had enjoyed it about as much as she had expected. She sensed no warmth on the part of either the Emperor or Lady Juliana towards her, but that was no surprise. Rather, she wondered at Avon¡¯s coldness towards Juliana. The Emperor¡¯s wife would soon give birth to Avon¡¯s newest sibling. He ought to be treating her with the utmost respect.


    But that was a Maskamery way of thinking.


    As Avon rose from his seat, she did the same, leaning up to whisper in his ear. ¡°Can we talk?¡±


    He met her eyes, then nodded.


    Rufus got up. ¡°It¡¯s been an honour, Your Excellency. Good night, ladies. Gentlemen.¡±


    He bowed and departed. Ophelia started moving towards the door too when the Emperor waved a hand.


    ¡°Ophelia, stay. Family meeting. Begone, the rest of you.¡±


    Juliana bid them good night, then retreated through the door and out of sight. One by one, the servants in the room did the same. That left Valerie, Avon and Ophelia at the dining table with the Emperor.


    Valerie stayed where she was, clinging to Avon¡¯s arm.


    Reinard¡¯s gaze fell on her. ¡°The girl too.¡±


    Avon shifted to dislodge her grip, but Valerie wouldn¡¯t budge. She¡¯d behaved almost impeccably all night. He couldn¡¯t say she hadn¡¯t tried, especially in these uncomfortable shoes. She¡¯d played the part she had been given, the same as Rufus. But unlike Rufus, she had another agenda at play.


    It was time to take a risk.


    Valerie cleared her throat. ¡°I¡¯ll stay.¡±


    ¡°Valerie,¡± Avon warned her.


    She ignored him, fixing her gaze on the Emperor. ¡°Your Excellency, are you going to talk about Maskamere? I helped Lord Avon stop the rebels. Whatever it is you want to do next, I can help with that too.¡±


    She sensed the contained anger in Avon. His jaw had gone tight, his shoulders tense. He could yell at her later. The Emperor stared at her, and she was hoping, praying, that her guess was right and Reinard resembled his son in more than just looks. Avon had never been able to resist her impertinence.


    ¡°I apologise,¡± said Avon stiffly, ¡°for my paramour¡¯s impertinence.¡±


    Ha, she thought.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to offend, Your Excellency. I only wish to say that I¡¯m here to serve your family. I hope you¡¯ll give me a chance to prove that to you.¡±


    Reinard laughed. It was not an amused laugh.


    ¡°So,¡± he said. ¡°We finally meet the witch.¡±

 2.12. Family Meeting

    Does free will exist?


    Yes


    No


    Her frown deepens. She tries to turn the page, but they won''t budge. The words yes and no glow, as if demanding an answer.


    ¡°Yes!¡± she says, after a second failed attempt. ¡°Yes¡ª¡±


    *


    For a moment, no one spoke.


    ¡°Father,¡± Ophelia began.


    Emperor Reinard ignored his daughter. ¡°This is family business.¡±


    He walked past all of them, heading for the arched doorway where Juliana and Rufus had exited seconds before. Valerie expected him to tell her to leave. Instead, the Emperor¡¯s head poked out, looking around, then he closed the double doors with a firm shove.


    Checking for eavesdroppers, she realised. There was no trust in this household at all.


    The Emperor returned to the head of the table and clasped his hands behind his back. A chandelier hung above him, his metal brooch reflecting its crystalline light.


    ¡°Discretion,¡± said Reinard, ¡°is a virtue. The walls have ears. And a witch¡¯s loose tongue may be cut from her mouth. Do you understand?¡±


    Valerie swallowed. ¡°Yes, Your Excellency.¡±


    But inwardly, a rush of triumph shot through her veins. He¡¯d let her stay.


    ¡°Obedience,¡± Reinard went on, ¡°is also a virtue. One that I expect from both of my children. Would you not agree?¡±


    Ophelia lowered her gaze. ¡°Yes, Father.¡±


    Avon did not. ¡°Do make your point, Father.¡±


    ¡°Come here.¡±


    Slowly, deliberately, Avon moved forward. Valerie hadn¡¯t let go of his arm, and she kept hold of it now, walking in step with him around the table. Together, they faced the Emperor.


    Reinard smiled thinly. She trembled under the Emperor¡¯s gaze, but his wrath was not directed at her.


    It was all directed at Avon.


    ¡°I granted you extraordinary responsibility in Maskamere. I sent you to purge the land of magic; you failed. I sent you to destroy the witches; you return with one on your arm. I sent you to take control¡ª¡±


    ¡°And I have,¡± Avon interrupted him. ¡°I have not failed¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The Emperor¡¯s lip curled. ¡°No, you disobeyed. You deliberately, flagrantly, repeatedly refused to follow my direct orders. I¡¯ve received reports of your conduct in Maskamere. The silvertree at Bolebund, unburned. Your consort, a witch. A declaration¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bolebund was defeated.¡± Avon¡¯s voice rang with passion. ¡°I took control. I vanquished Maskamere, just as you asked. Forgive me if I didn¡¯t wish to burn down the entire country doing it!¡±


    The Emperor took another step forward, seething, but Avon did not back away. Valerie squeezed his arm, offering what reassurance she could. Ophelia was watching them with big round eyes.


    ¡°Did you think you would be allowed to act as you pleased? You declared your support for the pursuit of witchcraft.¡±


    ¡°You know my position¡ª¡±


    ¡°And I said no! You divide us, you make the family look weak, you parade your devil whore before the entire court¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lady Valerie is neither a devil nor a whore,¡± said Avon quietly, ¡°and you would do well to listen to me. You cannot strip the realm of magic and reap the land as if nothing happened. The people depend on magic. They are in desperate need of modernisation. The Empire can offer them that, but it would be ridiculous to miss out on the benefits of sorcery because of some centuries-old superstition.¡±


    ¡°Spare me your lecture. I can save you from one foolish mistake, but this¡­¡±


    The Emperor passed his hand over his eyes. No one spoke. The silence in the room hung like a weight around her neck.


    She cleared her throat. ¡°Magic isn¡¯t bad, Your Excellency. Lord Avon knows that. We want the Empire to learn it too.¡±


    It was the most milquetoast way of putting it she could think of, but the Emperor only snorted.


    ¡°This chance is ours to take,¡± said Avon. ¡°But not if our family is divided. Support me, Father. What¡¯s done is done, but allow me to make the argument for our long-term prosperity. I convinced the council in Maskamere. I¡¯ll convince them here.¡±


    ¡°Is that your plan?¡± Reinard chuckled. ¡°Then you shouldn¡¯t have killed Emmett Gideon.¡±


    The weight became a sense of foreboding. The coffin that had travelled with them all the way from Jairah¡­ Lord Thorne¡¯s presence¡­ Lady Melody¡¯s warning¡­ And one name that kept coming up.


    Gideon.


    Her insides twisted with dread.


    Avon¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Gideon was a traitor.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I received your letter. So did others. Already his father calls for justice. You could have blamed someone, anyone else. Blame the witch. Say he fell out of a window. Anything other than claim responsibility¡ª¡±


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    ¡°I claimed responsibility,¡± said Avon, ¡°because I was responsible. I won¡¯t deny it. He attempted a coup, Father¡ªyou cannot fail to grasp how serious this is. We must show our enemies that they have failed and we are untouchable.¡±


    ¡°Untouchable,¡± Reinard sneered. ¡°The only untouchable thing in this room is that witch, who according to several hysterical reports dropped dead and then picked herself up out of her coffin as if nothing happened.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Valerie began, but Avon shot her a look and she shut up.


    ¡°Valerie¡¯s resurrection is best left a rumour,¡± he said. ¡°It will frighten our enemies more than it harms us.¡±


    ¡°Then you underestimate the harm it could do to us.¡± Reinard turned his glare on her. ¡°Do you truly wish to help us, witch?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Excellency,¡± she answered, though she had a sinking feeling that he was about to say something she wouldn¡¯t like.


    ¡°Then take the fall. You murdered Gideon. You take the blame.¡±


    And there it was.


    ¡°No!¡± said Avon at once.


    Ophelia¡¯s hands flew to her mouth. ¡°Father!¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Valerie¡¯s heart raced. ¡°I did kill Gideon, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°She did it because I ordered her to,¡± said Avon. ¡°It makes no sense to deny it, and it¡¯s too late anyway.¡±


    ¡°By our own laws she ought to burn.¡±


    The Emperor said this without looking at her, his eyes like coal. She felt as if she¡¯d been slapped in the face nonetheless. He was letting her hear all this¡ªwhy? To scare her? To challenge his son?


    This time Avon took a step forward. ¡°Kill Valerie, and I¡¯ll gut your wife like a fish.¡± His voice was deathly quiet. ¡°I¡¯m not the one sleeping with the enemy.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t breathe. These two men did not seem like father and son in this moment; they seemed about to kill each other. They stared each other down, Avon the taller of the two, younger, stronger. But Reinard¡¯s anger radiated out, an inexorable wave, old and strong in its own way too.


    If anyone else had threatened the Emperor like that, she felt sure, they would not have survived the night.


    ¡°Lady Valerie saved my life.¡± Ophelia stepped forward, eyes wide, hands shaking. But she continued: ¡°Please, Father. We¡¯re all on the same side; we should be working together. Not fighting.¡±


    Both men glanced at her, breaking eye contact if only for a moment.


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± said Avon. ¡°Listen to me for once, Father. Emmett Gideon made a deal with the Maskamery prince to betray me. He brought the prince and his insurgents to the palace and ambushed us in the temple. Valerie and I stopped him. Now ask yourself why. Why would Gideon make so bold a move if he did not believe he had support here in Drakon? Who is sharpening the knife behind your back?¡±


    The Emperor¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°You have made us vulnerable. You will make amends. Cast off these foolish notions of magic before we are all accused of witchcraft.¡±


    ¡°You speak from fear.¡± Avon¡¯s voice dripped with disdain. ¡°Your cowardice will cost us everything we have built. I will make a future for our family¡ªkicking and screaming if I must. If you cannot find it in your heart to support me, at least do me the courtesy of not standing in my way. Ophelia, Valerie, come.¡±


    He beckoned to his sister, who rose to her feet and took his other arm. ¡°Sorry,¡± she mumbled.


    Avon gave a short bow. ¡°Good night, Father.¡±


    Reinard did not reply, but his face was like thunder.


    *


    They retreated back to Avon¡¯s quarters, where he collapsed into an armchair. ¡°Someone please fetch me a drink.¡±


    Ophelia obliged. Valerie looked around. Already papers had piled up on Avon¡¯s desk. Did he ever stop working? He stared off into the middle distance, resting his hand on his chin. She knew that look. His mind was furiously recalibrating, which meant that his father had been more hostile than expected.


    Valerie knelt down beside him. ¡°Was that a normal family meeting?¡±


    She¡¯d had her share of arguments with the Crescents, but nothing like that. Her heart was still pounding.


    ¡°It was one of the worst I¡¯ve seen,¡± said Ophelia in a small voice, returning with a glass of whisky. ¡°James, you cannot truly mean to continue without Father¡¯s support?¡±


    Avon blinked at her. ¡°What¡¯s the alternative? If I back down now, Valerie will burn, and my efforts will have been for nothing. My position is no more tenable.¡±


    ¡°Can you?¡± Valerie asked. ¡°Continue without him?¡±


    Avon drained his glass in one and put it down on the sideboard. ¡°I need both of you with me.¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± said Ophelia.


    ¡°Of course, my lord,¡± she agreed. Avon had defended her life; the Emperor had threatened to burn her. The choice was clear.


    ¡°Then we fight the good fight.¡± Avon laid a hand on his sister¡¯s arm. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Valerie echoed. ¡°For speaking up.¡±


    She was grateful, truly. Especially to Ophelia. Avon might have a ulterior motive for everything he did, but his sister didn¡¯t. She had defended Valerie out of the goodness of her heart, and Valerie didn¡¯t imagine that she¡¯d find such goodness anywhere else in the capital.


    They bid Ophelia good night, Valerie assuring her friend that she would join her soon. The night drew on. Valerie rearranged her skirt, sitting with her limbs tucked beneath her on the floor.


    When she looked up to Avon staring at her, she felt suddenly quite self-conscious.


    ¡°I was going to be angry with you,¡± he said. ¡°But I see now it made no difference. Father¡¯s mind was already made up.¡±


    ¡°It was a test, you know. Letting me be there.¡±


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the kind of thing you¡¯d do.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Avon smiled. ¡°Divine forbid I become like my father.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not like him, not really. I mean, you like me. Your father¡­¡± She grimaced. ¡°How do I get him to change his mind about me?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t I already answer that?¡±


    She waved a hand. ¡°Be charming isn¡¯t enough. I need specifics.¡±


    ¡°I wish I could tell you,¡± said Avon, ¡°but I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know either.¡±


    She stared at him. Valerie had been thinking of the Emperor as her enemy, not Avon¡¯s. He was meant to be a bridge between them.


    But there was no bridge. Perhaps fathers and sons in Drakon didn¡¯t get on like mothers and daughters in Maskamere. She didn¡¯t know. Still, it seemed sad. Avon had fought battles for this man. Invaded realms, slaughtered innocents. But Reinard saw only a disobedient son.


    ¡°All he talked about was destroying us,¡± she said. ¡°You know, all we wanted was to be left alone. We never did anything to you. Why does he hate us so much?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t hate you. You know that.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°The Empire destroys that which it perceives as a threat. You were right to offer your help to my father. That is how he needs to see you. Clearly, that¡¯s going to take some time.¡±


    And until that time, the noose was practically around her neck. Or rather, kindling for the pyre.


    ¡°Would you really kill Juliana if he kills me?¡±


    She didn¡¯t know how to feel about it. Part of her, selfishly, enjoyed that he¡¯d stood up for her no matter what that entailed. But the woman was with child.


    ¡°If necessary,¡± said Avon. ¡°It¡¯s no coincidence that Emmett Gideon became so bold when he did. We had better hope that child is not a boy. If it is, I expect an attempt on my life to follow shortly.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°Lady Juliana is a Gideon. Your Lord Gideon¡¯s niece, to be precise. Treat her as you would a spy.¡±


    Valerie gaped at him. Juliana, a Gideon. No wonder the woman had stared daggers at her. And the Emperor had married her¡­ She was carrying his child, Avon¡¯s half-sibling¡­


    ¡°They¡¯d get rid of you so that¡­ so that Juliana¡¯s son is first in line? But what about Edrick?¡±


    ¡°Edrick would not survive such a plot,¡± said Avon. ¡°The seat of the Emperor is not mine to inherit, you understand. It¡¯s elected like every other position. But I do stand to inherit my father¡¯s estate. And if the Avon family were to fall under the influence of the Gideons¡­ Well, that would bring to an end a long-standing rivalry.¡±


    ¡°But we killed Lord Gideon.¡± She was just now beginning to appreciate how significant that might be.


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Avon. ¡°We killed Lord Gideon.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand. What is your father doing? He married Lady Juliana.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m quite irritated about that too.¡±


    She had thought that she might have the measure of Emperor Reinard, but this revelation changed everything. There was the old adage of keeping your enemies closer, and then there was marrying one of them and fathering her child in a society where inheritance passed through the man. Reinard had potentially jeopardised the future of his own firstborn son, all because he couldn¡¯t keep his dick to himself.


    Why?


    Valerie shifted. ¡°Why won¡¯t he support you? Does he despise magic that much?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Avon. ¡°He¡¯s afraid of the Patriarch.¡±

 2.13. The Funeral

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± High Priestess Glynda tells her, ¡°but there will be no blessing tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, kid,¡± Aster tells her, ¡°but I have to go. Queen¡¯s orders.¡±


    Something¡¯s going to happen at the harvest festival¡ª


    *


    She¡¯d asked the obvious question. ¡°Who is the Patriarch?¡±


    Lord Avon had answered. ¡°Rupert Gideon, the head of the Divine church, de facto leader of the Senate, and Emmett Gideon¡¯s father. He is the second most powerful man in Drakon. Some might argue the most powerful. Of course, there¡¯s one thing about being in second place. You always have an eye on the man ahead of you.¡±


    Valerie had shivered then to hear those words, and she shivered now, her boots muddy under a damp grey sky as the funeral procession approached its destination.


    A freshly dug grave awaited them, surrounded by marble tombstones. They were in the shadow of the great cathedral, its spires pointing mournfully into the heavens, but the procession itself was no grand affair. The family wanted a small, private funeral, Avon had told her, and so the cathedral had been closed to the masses.


    The marchers carrying Lord Gideon¡¯s coffin arrived first: four men in black who lowered the casket into the grave.


    Then the other mourners gathered. They¡¯d marched in silence, and they bowed their heads in silence.


    She looked for familiar faces. The Empress, Lady Juliana, stood beside a tall man she didn¡¯t know, her eyes downcast, gloved hands clasped. Lady Melody she recognised even behind her veil, holding the hands of her two boys who were fidgeting less than usual. Another woman, a lady who looked to be in her forties, clutched a white lily to her chest. Lord Thorne had swapped his usual white bishop¡¯s robes for a gown of black.


    Somewhere in this group lurked the men who had plotted against the Emperor and his family, or so Avon believed. Valerie hadn¡¯t wanted to attend the funeral. But he insisted that they must, and so she stopped by the grave too, Avon holding her hand.


    On his other side, Lady Ophelia and Rufus bowed their heads. They were not close to the coffin, for which Valerie was grateful. She was conscious that she had taken Lord Gideon¡¯s life, and some of the people here knew that.


    Perhaps the Patriarch knew.


    Speaking of¡­


    The iron gate leading to the cathedral¡¯s great entrance flung open. A guardsman in Drakonian black livery sounded a deep, mournful note on a horn. And stepping through that gate¡­


    Rupert Gideon shuffled towards the grave in no great rush. All eyes followed him.


    Dressed in the white robes of the Divine priesthood, a golden collar and embroidered gold sleeves set the Patriarch apart from the other holy men she had seen in Maskamere. She had an impression of an enormous white mass, tufts of white hair poking out from beneath his white cap, pale thick fingers clutching at his holy book, and pale thick lips that stretched into something resembling a human smile.


    ¡°Welcome, friends.¡±


    His voice was not what she had expected: soft, whispered, almost sibilant. He cut a path through to the coffin, the mourners scattering and then resettling like a flock of black crows around this pale man.


    ¡°Friends,¡± said the Patriarch, his watery gaze drifting between each of them, ¡°we are gathered here today to pray for salvation for my son, Lord Emmett Gilbert Gideon. Only a chosen few ever escape the cycle of torment in this earthly life and ascend to oneness with the Divine. To purify the soul is a task that may take many lifetimes. Emmett was one of the holiest of men¡­¡±


    As the Patriarch extolled the many virtues that Lord Gideon most certainly had never possessed, Valerie looked again at the mourners. Those standing by the grave must be his closest family, she thought. Then, for a second, she locked eyes with Lady Juliana, and the sheer hatred in the other woman¡¯s eyes shook her to the core.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Juliana definitely knew who was responsible for her uncle¡¯s death.


    ¡°Death is not the end,¡± the Patriarch droned on. ¡°For we escape the filth of this mortal life only to be thrown into the next¡ªunless we atone. We pray that Emmett Gideon reaches his final end and the ascension that he so richly deserves. We purify his soul.¡±


    The Patriarch raised his hand and scattered white petals over the grave.


    ¡°We purify his soul,¡± the mourners chanted.


    Valerie blinked. She hoped they weren¡¯t expecting her to join in.


    ¡°We proclaim him blameless,¡± said the Patriarch, tossing another handful of petals over the grave.


    ¡°We proclaim him blameless,¡± the mourners chanted.


    She suppressed a snort. Avon remained silent beside her.


    ¡°We proclaim him pure,¡± said the Patriarch, with a final flourish.


    ¡°We proclaim him pure.¡±


    Finally, the Patriarch stepped back from the grave. The woman holding the white lily approached in his place, eyes wet with tears, and let the flower fall gently on to the coffin.


    ¡°Be at peace,¡± said the Patriarch, dry-eyed.


    The four men who had carried the coffin now shovelled dirt over the casket, filling in the grave. The lady who had dropped the white lily quietly sobbed.


    When the casket was covered, Lord Gideon''s family members lined up by the grave. The other mourners approached them one by one, little pockets of conversation breaking out amongst those waiting. Valerie joined Avon at the back of the line.


    ¡°Say nothing,¡± Avon whispered. ¡°I¡¯ll pay our respects.¡±


    She looked up at him. ¡°Who are they?¡±


    The murmur of voices provided enough cover for their conversation. Avon pointed out each of the family members in turn.


    ¡°The Duke of Hennich, Grimmauld Gideon.¡± The tall man who had been standing with Juliana. ¡°Emmett¡¯s older brother and Lady Juliana¡¯s father.¡±


    ¡°And the lady with the lily?¡±


    ¡°Lady Florence. Lord Gideon¡¯s widow.¡±


    His wife! Valerie couldn¡¯t help but stare at the lady with burning curiosity. She had not met a single Drakonian wife in Maskamere. Or, well, she had, but those wives were also courtesans, playing companion to the Drakonian lords. It was all rather complicated.


    Lady Melody was one of those courtesans. Married to some other man she¡¯d never talked about, now here paying her respects in front of her dead lord¡¯s wife. What did wives think of courtesans? What did courtesans think of wives? There was still so much she didn¡¯t understand about Drakonian society.


    There were other family members too: a boy barely grown, Lord Gideon and Lady Florence¡¯s son; the Duke of Hennich¡¯s wife; and the Duke¡¯s son and his wife.


    And every one of them with a reason to hate her. Valerie swallowed.


    They reached the front of the line after Ophelia and Rufus, whose gracious condolences appeared to be well-received.


    ¡°My condolences,¡± Avon murmured, shaking the hand of each person he passed. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for your loss.¡±


    Valerie kept her head bowed and her mouth shut.


    Then they reached the Duke of Hennich, Grimmauld Gideon. Older than his brother, his grey hair was receding at the temples and deep frown lines creased his forehead, but the biting smile he gave them very much resembled the other Gideon.


    ¡°You should have been arrested the second you set foot on Drakonian shores.¡± The Duke refused to shake Avon¡¯s hand. ¡°How dare you come here and pretend to show respect.¡±


    ¡°Arrested?¡± Avon cocked his head. ¡°For what crime?¡±


    Valerie nearly gasped. Others around her certainly did. The Drakonians had so many unspoken social rules, but they could be vicious when they chose.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play the fool,¡± the Duke snarled. ¡°I promise you this, Avon, I will see that justice is done for my brother.¡±


    ¡°Justice has been done,¡± Avon countered. ¡°But I won¡¯t disrupt your grief by bringing it up now.¡±


    ¡°The Senate will hear of this.¡±


    ¡°Let them hear it.¡± Avon¡¯s retort was impressively smooth. ¡°I shall be quite happy to tell the Senate all about your brother¡¯s crimes. Do you really want the Senate to hear about that?¡±


    ¡°Now, now.¡± The Patriarch stepped in, laying a hand on his son¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Let us not be so quick to accuse. Justice will prevail in the end.¡±


    The Patriarch¡¯s cold gaze settled first on Avon, then on Valerie. He did not flinch, and she did her best not to flinch either. She remembered the implacable gaze of the dead man in the casket. Lord Gideon had tortured her with water, threatened her, plotted against her. He was a man who had taken a dreadful glee in hurting others.


    The Patriarch¡¯s gaze was equally dreadful, equally implacable, but there was no joy in those pale watery eyes. Only fathomless depths, like the nothingness of the ocean, a great maw come to swallow her whole.


    She might have cowered. But she''d already faced the Emperor, and she had Avon at her side. What was one more old man who wanted to kill her? Valerie lifted her chin and stared right back.


    ¡°Your Eminence,¡± said Avon, bowing. ¡°As ever, I appreciate your measured approach. Our condolences for the loss of your son.¡±


    The Patriarch chewed his lip. Beside him, the Duke simmered with anger.


    ¡°Yes, we¡¯ll put this dreadful tragedy behind us,¡± said the Patriarch, which struck her as odd, like he was saying it about some other man who had died rather than his own son. ¡°But you are summoned to the Senate, Lord Avon. We have questions regarding your governance of Maskamere. Several troubling issues have come to light.¡±


    Avon gave a tight smile. ¡°As I said, I shall be happy to answer any questions from the Senate.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow, then.¡± The Patriarch licked his lips. ¡°And bring your witch.¡±

 2.14. Intimate Conversations

    ¡ªtomorrow. That¡¯s what everyone keeps whispering.


    A day passes. Her younger cousin Lukas whines about not being able to join the front with the other men.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t even give me a real sword.¡±


    ¡°Tough!¡± she snaps. ¡°Fight with a stick if you have to. If the Drakonians come¡ª¡±


    *


    ¡°What does it mean?¡± Valerie asked in the carriage on their way back. ¡°Being summoned to the Senate?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the Patriarch¡¯s weapon against me,¡± Lord Avon answered. ¡°He knows he can¡¯t directly accuse me of murdering his son, so he¡¯s going to use the Senate to question my conduct in Maskamere instead. Just as Father predicted.¡±


    ¡°But what can the Senate do? Who are they?¡±


    Avon sighed. ¡°A bunch of fusty old men in robes. The pillar of our republic.¡±


    He explained: the Senate was designed to balance the distribution of power in Drakon by acting as an executive body overseeing the Emperor¡¯s Council. It had no legislative power as such; only the Council could change the law, but it elected the Council members and could remove any of them except for the Emperor himself. That included the governors of Drakon¡¯s vassal states.


    ¡°Like you?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Avon. ¡°My father appointed me Chancellor of Maskamere, and that appointment was ratified by the Senate. However, if they believe me unfit to continue holding that post¡­¡±


    Her stomach dropped. She thought back to the confrontation with Reinard, all the mistakes he had accused his son of making. Defying the Emperor¡¯s orders to destroy the silvertree in Bolebund, declaring his support for magic, openly consorting with a Maskamery witch¡­


    To the Senate, it would appear that their Chancellor had gone rogue.


    ¡°They could remove you,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Then you could finally be rid of me,¡± he joked. ¡°Just like you wanted.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that. Right now, you¡¯re Maskamere¡¯s only hope.¡±


    He looked at her then, his expression flickering. She¡¯d spent the entire morning hanging on his arm, pretending to be his good obedient witch. Letting him hold her hand. Letting him speak on her behalf. But here, in the quiet of the carriage, they had a brief respite from the never ending performance.


    Valerie felt the sincerity of her own words and looked away, her cheeks hot.


    After a moment, Avon said, ¡°I don¡¯t expect any support from my father. We¡¯ll face the Senate alone.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°But you were right. You have to stand together.¡±


    ¡°My father isn¡¯t known for being easily persuaded. He¡¯ll come around when he sees the tide of opinion turning.¡± Avon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes alight with a familiar fervour. ¡°The Senate will hear my vision for the Empire¡¯s future. The Patriarch seeks to humiliate me; he couldn¡¯t have given me a better voice if I¡¯d asked him myself.¡±


    ¡°He said I have to be there with you.¡±


    ¡°Yes. He¡¯ll question you too.¡±


    Oh, Maska, she thought. I¡¯m not ready for this.


    ¡°What do I do? What do I say? Do I tell them the truth?¡±


    ¡°Tell them the truth,¡± said Avon, ¡°but our version of it.¡±


    They spent the afternoon rehearsing their story in his chambers. Avon wanted her pitch perfect; he warned her that the Patriarch would try to trip her up. As the hours wore on, she felt quite ill: sick with worry, sick of her ignorance, sick of having to rely on Avon for her very survival.


    Finally, when she thought she couldn¡¯t bear a second more, Lady Juliana knocked at their door.


    ¡°My lord. The Emperor wishes to see you.¡±


    Avon rose. Valerie began to stand up too, but Juliana shook her head.


    ¡°Alone,¡± she said.


    Avon briefly clasped her shoulder before departing. The gesture, though welcome, gave her little comfort. Juliana retreated without so much as a word, and Valerie slumped forward with her head resting on the desk. She was tired, bone-tired. A small spell would have picked her up, but¡­


    Stop it, she thought. You¡¯re not utterly useless. You survived eighteen years before the blessing. Can¡¯t give up now.


    She thought of Markus lying dead in the dungeon, Shikra¡¯s last gambit to force her to carry out the queen¡¯s mission. If things went badly here, she would flee back to the goldentree and undo it all. But with the way things were going so far, in all likelihood she¡¯d be dead before she had a chance to reverse anything.


    Come on.


    She forced herself up. Her first two days in the capital had made one thing clear: she needed allies. She couldn¡¯t assume that Avon¡¯s protection would see her through.


    Well, then. Valerie slipped out of the chamber and closed the door behind her, already formulating a plan.


    *


    ¡°You missed dinner,¡± said Ophelia, looking up when Valerie entered their quarters. ¡°Did my brother keep you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Valerie scanned the chamber, distracted. ¡°Oh¡ªPriska, can you run me a bath?¡±


    The other girl had been lurking in a corner. She sprang up and nodded. ¡°Yes, my lady.¡±


    ¡°You must have been busy,¡± Ophelia teased.


    She looked very comfortable, lounging on the sofa in a long flowery robe with her hair loose and a book in hand. Valerie sat down on the opposite couch, glancing over at the doorway where Priska had disappeared into the bath chamber.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you heard it at the funeral, but¡­ Lord Avon and I have to go to the Senate tomorrow.¡±


    Ophelia put her book down, sitting up. ¡°The Senate? But why?¡±


    By the time Valerie had finished explaining, Ophelia¡¯s eyes were wide as saucers and she had entirely ruined the cosy vibe.


    Valerie shrugged. ¡°If you have any advice¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been to the Senate,¡± Ophelia confessed. ¡°I didn¡¯t think they ever invited ladies to speak.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t surprise me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Val.¡± A tear tangled in Ophelia¡¯s eyelash; she blinked it away. ¡°We¡¯ve made such a terrible first impression, haven¡¯t we? That awful dinner with Father, and the funeral today¡­¡±


    She trailed off. Valerie couldn¡¯t disagree. Not that she expected the seat of the Empire to be some wonderful utopia. But even Avon had been taken aback by the hostility they¡¯d faced.


    ¡°I¡¯ve survived worse,¡± she assured Ophelia. ¡°Was your father at dinner?¡±


    ¡°No. Just Mother.¡±


    ¡°Did she say anything?¡±


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°About what happened at the funeral.¡±


    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t talk about it. I didn¡¯t want to bring it up either. The funeral must have been so trying for the Empress, and¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    The other girl hesitated, then slumped back in her seat. ¡°She did ask why we were sharing a room.¡±


    Alarm shot through her. ¡°She noticed that already?¡±


    ¡°I said that I was teaching you how to be a Drakonian lady, and Lord Avon thought it best for us to share quarters so that you could see how a lady behaved. So if she asks you¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say the same,¡± said Valerie quickly. ¡°Is this a bad thing, Ophelia? If the rest of the Gideon family finds out, could they use it against us somehow?¡±


    She wasn¡¯t sure herself. Courtesans were expected to serve their lords, but no one had ever questioned her accommodations in the queen¡¯s quarters in the royal palace.


    Ophelia¡¯s brow creased. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡±


    Priska poked her head around the door. Her bath was ready. Thankful for the distraction, Valerie made her excuses.


    Stick to the plan. Avon hadn¡¯t worried about their living arrangements, so she would have to trust in his judgement. She had more important things to focus on.


    When the door to the bath chamber had closed, steam filling the air, she and Priska could finally talk.


    ¡°Have you had a chance to look for your family?¡±


    The other girl¡¯s hands were full of soap lather. Valerie sank blissfully into the hot water, stretching out her limbs. Her headache had retreated. This, at last, was something she could appreciate about life in the capital.


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± Priska trembled with contained excitement. ¡°I met my brother.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s wonderful! How is he?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s doing good. I found him in the Embassy¡­¡±


    With Valerie¡¯s encouragement, Priska described how she¡¯d pretended that she had an errand to run in order to sneak out and search for her family in the city. She¡¯d never seen the girl so animated, her face flushed, her eyes shining.


    ¡°When we met, it was like¡­¡± Her voice caught. ¡°It was like I remembered who I was. Before the Drakonians. I¡¯d forgotten what it was like to have a family¡­¡±


    Inevitably, the faces of her own family flashed through Valerie¡¯s mind. Her mother¡¯s face, fuzzy. Her grandmother. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Aster, who kept reappearing in her dreams, variations upon variations, like a fractured reflection in a mirror.


    How many times had they died screaming?


    ¡°My lady?¡±


    She blinked at Priska¡¯s concerned face. ¡°Go on. Your brother¡¯s name is Titus, right? You said he was a Messenger? What about your mother?¡±


    But Priska shook her head. ¡°It was just Titus.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all right.¡± Priska sat back, kneeling on the tiled floor. ¡°I¡¯ve spent all this time alone, so even finding Titus was¡­ I don¡¯t know, more than I could have hoped for.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d feel the same way. What¡¯s his situation now? Was he a prisoner of war, or did he surrender to the Empire, or¡­?¡±


    ¡°A prisoner of war. We both thought we were the only Stewards left.¡±


    But they¡¯d found each other. She wondered how many Maskamery had scattered beyond the border, how many families had been separated. Were there others in Drakardia? It wouldn¡¯t hurt to ask around, but in the meantime Titus offered a clear lead. He might know something about the war. He might even have met the queen.


    ¡°Is he¡­?¡± She cleared her throat. ¡°Is he on our side?¡±


    Priska didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Yes. Should I pass on a message?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to meet him,¡± she decided. ¡°Do you think you could arrange that?¡±


    ¡°Of course, my lady.¡±


    Priska rinsed out her hair, then Valerie stepped out of the bath and let the maid wrap a towel around her. She was conscious not of her bare flesh nor the water dripping from her hair, but rather of how easy it had been to take Priska for granted. She couldn¡¯t remember the last time she had asked Priska about her family back in the palace.


    But the Stewards were powerful and respected. Or they had been, before the war.


    ¡°Priska¡­¡± She paused, biting her lip. ¡°Can you¡­ can you call me Valerie? At least when it¡¯s the two of us.¡±


    Priska blinked. ¡°Of course, m¡ªSorry.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a Steward. I¡¯m a Crescent. I don¡¯t want us to forget that. We¡¯re in this together.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± The girl ducked her head. ¡°I¡¯d given up before you arrived. Then I saw you fighting¡­ You never stopped trying to escape. And when you came back to life, like St. Morta, I thought¡­ maybe there¡¯s hope. Do you think so?¡±


    ¡°I know so.¡± Valerie smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll make a rebel of you yet.¡±


    Rebelling wasn¡¯t always about grand battle strategies or high profile assassinations. Those like Priska who worked quietly in their Drakonian masters¡¯ homes could still help in their own ways.


    And judging by Priska¡¯s embarrassed smile, she had the girl¡¯s loyalty.


    *


    Later, when darkness had fallen and the oil lamps had been snuffed out, Valerie lay in her makeshift bed in Ophelia¡¯s room and tried not to fret about facing the Senate. She wasn¡¯t the one being held to account. And no one had dragged her to a bonfire yet¡­


    Ophelia spoke. ¡°Valerie?¡±


    She shifted onto her back. ¡°Mmm?¡±


    ¡°Do you really think Rufus is untrustworthy?¡±


    Ophelia¡¯s voice sounded small and uncertain.


    Valerie clasped her hands over the bed covers. What bubbles they all lived in, she thought. While Valerie had spent the day preoccupied by the Patriarch and her own machinations, Ophelia must have been worrying about something else altogether.


    ¡°No,¡± she answered. ¡°I said that because I thought I couldn¡¯t trust him, but that doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t. Honestly, I hated all of your suitors before you even met. They were Maskamery men who had accepted Drakonian titles and converted to your church. To me, they were all traitors.¡±


    ¡°Traitors?¡±


    ¡°To the cause. If you¡¯re not fighting the Empire, you¡¯re supporting them. That¡¯s what the resistance taught us.¡±


    ¡°I thought you gave up on that. You saved my life from the rebels.¡±


    That lie again. ¡°I know. It¡¯s just¡­ hard, sometimes, to accept that we lost the war. I¡¯ve been dreaming about it.¡±


    ¡°The war?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m caught up in the invasion again, or waiting for it to happen, and then I die.¡±


    It felt good to tell someone. A small weight off her chest.


    ¡°Val, I¡­¡± Ophelia sounded on the verge of tears. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say.¡±


    Valerie stared up at the vague grey of the ceiling. With nothing to focus on, nothing bright or distinct, her awareness turned inward. The air in her lungs. Her back and limbs resting on the bed. The pillow against her head. This living body of hers, the most precious thing in the world, could so easily be extinguished. She knew that better than most.


    ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°if you want my advice on Rufus, I¡¯d say get to know him. You don¡¯t have to rush these things. Take the time to find out who he is. And if you don¡¯t like him¡­ don¡¯t marry him.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s already asked my father for his blessing¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you think your father will agree?¡±


    ¡°I think so¡­ but Father was so mad at us. I disobeyed him. I¡­ I¡¯ve never done that before.¡±


    ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Ophelia whispered. ¡°Scared, I think. He loves us, truly, but¡­¡±


    ¡°I get it. That¡¯s how I felt about your brother too. You know your family is terrifying, right?¡±


    That got a small laugh. ¡°Not me. I¡¯m scared of everything.¡± She paused. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m being silly, complaining like this when Father¡¯s support is so much more important for you. Worrying about Rufus must seem so trivial.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not trivial. It¡¯s your life, Ophelia. Your future. You don¡¯t want to be stuck with a man who¡¯ll make you miserable for the rest of your life.¡±


    The other girl didn¡¯t reply. Valerie turned on her side, trying to make out Ophelia¡¯s face tucked in bed across from her.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she said softly, ¡°even if your father makes the final decision, it¡¯s your opinion that matters. If you don¡¯t feel it¡¯s right, I¡¯ll find a way to get you out. I¡¯m good at that.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°You stood up for me. I¡¯ll stand up for you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ophelia whispered.


    The words were soft, but tinged with gratitude. She felt a rush of love for the other girl, whom she had known for such a short time, but who always spoke with sincere feeling. People like that were rare in this world.


    ¡°Ophelia?¡±


    ¡°Mmm?¡±


    ¡°Rufus is Maskamery. He should know how to treat you. If he ever makes you feel nervous or uncomfortable, tell him to stop, all right? And tell me if he doesn¡¯t. I¡¯ll make sure he regrets it.¡±


    There was a muffled laugh from the other bed. ¡°I bet you will.¡±

 2.15. The Senate

    ¡°¡ªwe run, got it? That¡¯s our only chance.¡±


    As the sun dips low in the sky, one of the priestesses dashes into the village with a horrible message. The Drakonians have broken through the border.


    They flee to the convent. Valerie clings to her mother with one hand and grasps Lukas¡¯ hand tightly with the other. Glynda closes the gates¡ª


    *


    Valerie walked arm-in-arm with Lord Avon into the Patriarch¡¯s court.


    The Senate House¡¯s great stone visage greeted her, flanked by statues of twin wyverns on either side of the entrance. One of the wyverns appeared to be taking off, its feathery wings spread in a frozen leap. The other¡¯s head pointed down, wings folded and teeth bared as if pouncing on its prey.


    They stepped through the double doors into a gleaming hall. Avon hurried her through, their footsteps echoing between the marble columns. A group of noblemen passed them by, while attendants watched from every door. All stared at her. Valerie ignored them, acting like she didn''t care. But her mouth was dry.


    She would not have known where to go, but Avon steered her around a corner and through into another, smaller hall. Stone steps led down into a wide, round chamber. Light poured down from a circle of glass in the ceiling, illuminating a mosaic on the floor. The tiles depicted a regal woman with flowing white hair standing on the prow of a ship. In her left hand, she held aloft a shining crystal. In her right, a set of brass scales.


    Valerie¡¯s eyes were drawn to the figure, and then to the seats arranged in concentric circles around the main floor. Senators in purple robes whispered and nudged each other as they approached. Old men, whiskery men, bearded men. Drakonian faces, pale and sharp.


    Her stomach flipped. This court would decide their fate.


    One section of the chamber was cordoned off, a viewing box of sorts. The men here were dressed differently¡ªshe recognised Lord Thorne in his bishop¡¯s robes, and then to her shock Captain Doryn, who looked up and grimly met Avon¡¯s eyes.


    Avon showed her to the box. There they sat to await their turn, for the Senate had many things to discuss.


    Valerie took a shaky breath, smoothing out her skirt. Priska had applied a copious amount of powder beneath her eyes that morning to conceal the shadows. The sick feeling in her stomach hadn¡¯t gone away, to the point that she wondered if she was actually coming down with something. And she couldn¡¯t heal.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a court of law,¡± Avon had told her. ¡°Don¡¯t forget that. They can¡¯t convict you, and they can¡¯t pass any sentence. But we are on trial. Consider every word you say.¡±


    ¡°What about your father? What did he say?¡±


    ¡°He gave me some poor advice,¡± Avon had replied, ¡°which I shan¡¯t take.¡±


    He wouldn¡¯t be drawn on what that advice had been, but it didn¡¯t make her feel any better knowing that Avon and his father were still at odds. The Emperor wasn¡¯t here.


    Below them, an old man standing on a wooden podium droned on to the others. She searched the faces of the senators again. In a sea of purple, one man wore white and gold. He sat in his marble chair like a throne.


    The Patriarch.


    As Valerie stared, fingernails digging into her palms, the Patriarch looked up and met her eyes. His mouth curved into a slow smile, and she looked away, trembling with fear and disgust.


    Next to her, Avon¡¯s hand brushed over hers. ¡°Stay calm.¡±


    The Patriarch rose to his feet. ¡°We thank the noble senator for his most brief introduction.¡± The old man shuffled off the floor to smiles and a few chuckles. ¡°Now, to the next order of business. We the Senate have summoned Lord James Avon here today to discuss his governance of Maskamere. The Senate has noted certain irregularities of late concerning the decisions of the Maskamery Council and the conduct of its Chancellor. To that end, we invite the esteemed bishop, Lord Eugene Thorne, to the floor.¡±


    Startled, Valerie glanced across at Thorne, who was already making his way out of the box. Several faces craned up to look at Avon and her, but then Thorne stepped on to the podium and the chamber hushed into silence.


    ¡°Honourable gentlemen,¡± said Lord Thorne, ¡°noble senators, and Your Eminence, I thank you for allowing me the chance to speak. For the past two years, I have served as Bishop in the Royal Palace of Jairah. My mission was to spread the Divine word to the people of Maskamere and to provide holy service for the lords and ladies of the palace. As such, I was an honorary member of Lord Avon¡¯s Council, and it was my privilege to provide ecclesiastical advice to the Chancellor as and when required.¡±


    He licked his lips.


    ¡°It was some four months after Lord Avon¡¯s arrival in Maskamere that I noticed a disturbing change in his behaviour. He had taken in a Maskamery girl, a courtesan, from among the prince¡¯s insurgents. Almost immediately he sought to promote witchcraft and pardon those who practised it. Not a single witch has burned since Lord Avon became Chancellor, nor a single silvertree cut down.¡±


    ¡°Regrettable,¡± said the Patriarch, ¡°but can you offer the Senate any particular evidence, Lord Thorne?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Thorne. ¡°A matter I witnessed myself. As part of my mission, I had taken another Maskamery girl under my wing, intending to set her on a righteous path towards the Divine. Unfortunately, she proved too stubborn in her heathen ways, and I dismissed her. Lord Avon himself came storming into my chapel, his Maskamery girl on his arm, to insist that I take care of my charge¡ªan entitlement she did not deserve. He was quite open about the fact that his consort had put him up to this. It was her idea. She whispered in his ear, and Lord Avon listened.¡±


    Whispers flowed around the Senate. Valerie clenched her fists in her lap, bursting with outrage. She glanced at Avon. Cool as ice. And more of the senators were staring¡­


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You believe that Lord Avon was influenced by this courtesan,¡± said the Patriarch.


    ¡°More than that,¡± Thorne answered. ¡°I believe she put a spell on him. The girl is a witch by her own admission and by Lord Avon¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°You witnessed this?¡±


    Thorne shook his head. ¡°The entire court did, Your Eminence. Such was the flagrant arrogance displayed by this witch. She believed she could get away with anything. Lord Avon had her strike a criminal down dead in front of the court and then amuse the courtiers with her magic tricks.¡± His lip curled. ¡°They spoke openly of promoting witchcraft. That was when I wrote to you, Your Eminence. I knew I had to bring this matter to your attention.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Lord Thorne.¡± The Patriarch nodded, and Thorne stepped off the podium. ¡°Captain Doryn.¡±


    She nearly jumped. Doryn! Why had the Patriarch summoned him? Would he really testify against them? She looked at Avon, who gave an imperceptible shake of his head.


    Doryn¡¯s loyal, she thought. He won¡¯t betray us¡­


    Standing on the podium without his armour, Doryn looked deeply uncomfortable. ¡°My lords,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Captain Doryn,¡± said the Patriarch. ¡°You serve as the head of Lord Avon¡¯s personal guard.¡±


    ¡°I do, Your Eminence.¡±


    ¡°Have you also witnessed Lord Avon consorting with a witch?¡±


    ¡°I have, Your Eminence. It was no secret.¡±


    ¡°And after meeting this witch, did you notice any change in Lord Avon¡¯s behaviour?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    The Patriarch¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°You deny Lord Thorne¡¯s word?¡±


    Doryn hesitated. Sweat beaded his brow. The tension was immense just watching him; Valerie couldn¡¯t imagine what it was like down there. She held her breath.


    ¡°I don¡¯t deny Lord Thorne his opinion, Your Eminence.¡± Doryn spoke in a slow, measured tone. ¡°I can only offer my own.¡±


    She glanced again at Avon. A muscle in his face twitched. That was a good answer.


    ¡°What of the witch?¡± the Patriarch asked. ¡°What did you glean of her intentions?¡±


    ¡°I believe she intended to flee.¡±


    ¡°What gave you that impression?¡±


    ¡°She tried to flee,¡± said Doryn drily.


    ¡°Lord Thorne tells us that she killed a man. Did you witness that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen her kill four men,¡± Doryn answered, eliciting more murmurs around the chamber. ¡°Including your son, Your Eminence.¡±


    The ripple that went around the chamber was more pronounced, but it wasn¡¯t shocked. The Senate already knew that she had killed Lord Gideon, then. Great.


    ¡°Yes,¡± said the Patriarch softly. ¡°My son. How was this witch allowed to murder my son without consequence?¡±


    ¡°Because the Chancellor commanded it.¡±


    Whispers filled the chamber. Senators craned their heads to look at herself and Avon, their stares hostile. Her face burned. This line of questioning could only damn them, and it seemed like the Patriarch knew it because he pressed his point.


    ¡°What happened, Captain? What events led to my son¡¯s death?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Doryn cleared his throat. ¡°I and my men were ordered to escort Lord Avon into the palace temple. Lord Gideon and his men brought the witch to us. Lord Gideon¡­ claimed that the girl was a thief. The confrontation turned violent. That¡¯s when the Chancellor gave the command.¡±


    ¡°Why would the Chancellor command such a thing?¡±


    Doryn shook his head. ¡°I am not privy to the reasoning of my superiors, Your Eminence.¡±


    ¡°So you would follow a man who used a witch to kill his own people?¡±


    Maska help him, she thought. How was he going to answer that?


    Again, Doryn paused. ¡°I serve Lord Avon,¡± he said. ¡°If I believed that he was not fit to govern, I would escalate the matter to the capital.¡±


    The Patriarch¡¯s eyes were implacable. ¡°Do you have a soft spot for this witch?¡±


    Doryn stiffened. ¡°No.¡±


    But he looked rattled. Maybe she only saw it because she knew him, but if anyone in the Senate sensed it too¡­


    It doesn¡¯t matter, she thought, as the Patriarch thanked Doryn for his time and the captain departed the floor with obvious relief. He didn¡¯t pursue the question because he doesn¡¯t want the truth. He only needs to sow enough doubt to turn them against Avon.


    And she would soon be facing this monstrous interrogation too. But first¡­


    ¡°Lord Avon.¡±


    A pang went through her as Avon approached the floor. She felt his absence in the empty seat beside her, as if a protective layer had been stripped away. Doryn returned to the next seat over, and she wanted to thank him, but she didn¡¯t think it would be wise to do so now.


    Avon stepped up to the podium. He cut a stark figure on the floor in his black coat, the sleeves embroidered with silver wings. If he was angry, he hid it well. Valerie would have been seething.


    ¡°Well, Lord Avon,¡± said the Patriarch. ¡°We¡¯ve heard some serious concerns about your conduct in Maskamere. What do you have to say?¡±


    ¡°As ever, I appreciate your concern, Your Eminence,¡± said Avon, ¡°and I¡¯m pleased to hear that the Senate is taking such an interest in my little province. Maskamere is a unique and special realm. I believe its many riches will be of great benefit to the Empire. As for my conduct, you should first of all be assured that neither I nor Lord Thorne nor any of our companions are bewitched. The influence of Maskamere¡¯s magic extends only to its borders. If any enchantment had been laid upon us, it would have broken the second we departed Maskamere¡¯s shores, and my witch would not have lived to tell the tale.¡±


    He glanced up at Valerie, then back to the Senate.


    ¡°Perhaps it will dismay you more to know that I pursued her of my own volition. I took in this girl knowing that she was a witch and intending to make use of her powers to consolidate our hold over Maskamere. To that end, she has served me well.¡±


    The Patriarch fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve. ¡°The Church forbids it. Such unholy magic is, after all, blasphemy. Did we not burn the silvertrees to erase the evil of witchcraft from this world?¡±


    ¡°We burned the silvertrees to win the war,¡± Avon replied. ¡°I believe magic is part of the Divine creation. A natural phenomenon like anything else. I took the advice of a scholar who has been studying these matters for decades and set myself the task of taming a witch. In that I succeeded. The girl now acts at my will.¡±


    He was playing it right, she thought, scanning the faces of the senators. They had used this same tactic at the court in Jairah. The Drakonians sought to destroy any power they could not control. Avon was telling them that he had mastery over both her and her magic.


    ¡°Then you take full responsibility for her actions.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Avon. ¡°Nor did I act in secret. I would not hide in the shadows in pursuit of some dark task as if it shamed me. Quite the opposite: I had the confidence of the Council in Maskamere before I proceeded. Lord Gideon himself spoke out in favour.¡±


    ¡°In favour of magic?¡± The Patriarch sounded disbelieving.


    Avon nodded. ¡°Lord Thorne can confirm it.¡±


    All eyes turned on the bishop. Thorne squirmed. ¡°Yes,¡± he admitted. ¡°Lord Gideon supported it.¡±


    More murmurs rippled among the senators. In some faces, doubt replaced hostility. It would be fitting, she thought, if his son¡¯s machinations caused the Patriarch to lose this argument.


    ¡°If Lord Gideon supported your blasphemy,¡± said the Patriarch, ¡°why did you kill him?¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, Your Eminence,¡± said Avon, ¡°but you are not Master of Justice, and I am not standing trial for killing a man. It¡¯s my duty as Chancellor to act in the interests of Maskamere and the Empire. That is what I did, and if you wish to hold me to account for it, I suggest you try me in a real court.¡±


    Silence fell. Valerie held her breath. The Patriarch¡¯s jowls quivered, his cheeks white with rage.


    But he said nothing.


    ¡°My honourable gentlemen,¡± Avon continued, warming to his theme, ¡°let us not be distracted by tales of witches and bogeymen. Magic has great potential not only to further our progress in Maskamere but across the Empire. Imagine that power in our hands. To build, to grow, to heal, to defend¡ªto expand the frontiers not only of the Empire but of human knowledge itself. That is my vision for Drakon. I shall of course be grateful to have your support.¡±


    ¡°And what of the girl? Is she part of this vision?¡±


    Avon glanced up at her. ¡°Lady Valerie is proof that witches can be made to serve the Empire like anyone else. We need not fear her.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± said the Patriarch. ¡°Are you something of a wizard yourself, Lord Avon?¡±


    Avon''s jaw tightened. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°No, of course I would not deign to practise such an art. But I would see it used for our benefit.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said the Patriarch. ¡°Let us see if the girl agrees. Bring the witch to the stand.¡±

 2.16. The Vote

    ¡ªas the last of the villagers hurry through.


    ¡°No one can get in,¡± she tells them. ¡°We sit tight until the queen sends aid.¡±


    When the Drakonians break through anyway and her mother cowers beneath the broken stained glass window and begs¡ª


    *


    Avon stepped down from the podium, and, mouth dry, Valerie made her way towards him. Their eyes met. His gaze was stern, serious, but with a flicker of worry. She hoped she didn¡¯t look completely terrified.


    Then he disappeared behind her, and Valerie continued the last few steps to the podium alone. There she stood before this sea of old white-haired men and found not one sympathetic face among them. Her chest constricted.


    The Patriarch held up his hand to quieten the murmuring senators. As he did so, a ring on his middle finger flashed in the light coming from the glass window above. It was quite distracting, she thought dimly. Ornate and oversized, like the man who wore it, and set with a stone that resembled a swirl of liquid silver.


    The Patriarch addressed her. ¡°Your name, girl.¡±


    She focused. ¡°Valerie Crescent.¡±


    ¡°Are you a witch?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a priestess, Your Eminence.¡±


    ¡°How did you come to be with Lord Avon?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I was a member of the resistance in Maskamere. I got caught breaking into the palace.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s an understatement.¡± One of the senators handed the Patriarch a leather-bound file, from which he glanced over a sheaf of paper. ¡°You were charged with the crimes of treason and attempted murder. An assassination attempt on Lord Avon¡¯s life, no less. You¡¯re currently serving an eighteen-year repentance, is that correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And how are you serving that repentance?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ With Lord Avon. Serving Lord Avon.¡±


    ¡°Serving him how?¡±


    She flushed. ¡°As his consort.¡±


    ¡°I see. And you were happy to play the whore, were you? Or was your seduction a trap for the Chancellor you had already tried to kill?¡±


    One or two senators coughed. Others smirked. Valerie imagined setting the entire place on fire. Why should only her own people burn? She¡¯d melt the smile off the Patriarch¡¯s face like wax from the world¡¯s ugliest candle.


    Focus. Don¡¯t let them get to you.


    She controlled herself. ¡°I didn¡¯t seduce him. I had to serve him, as part of my repentance.¡±


    ¡°Did Lord Avon know you were a witch when he selected you as his companion?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And did he expect you to perform your witchcraft as part of your service to him?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The Patriarch waved a hand. ¡°Do tell.¡±


    Every question was a trap. Every second she¡¯d minded her words in the palace, every dinner, every nightcap, had prepared her for this moment. She¡¯d navigated that snake pit. She would survive this one.


    Valerie took a breath. ¡°My magic was part of my service to Lord Avon. There was a chamber underneath the palace temple that was locked by a spell. He wanted me to open it.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°He thought it contained some kind of treasure.¡±


    ¡°And did you open it?¡±


    ¡°I tried,¡± she said. ¡°But Lord Gideon came to me first. He told me that he wanted the treasure for himself. He said that if I worked with him, he¡¯d help the resistance and restore the prince to the throne. I¡ª¡±


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    The Patriarch¡¯s voice became dangerous. ¡°You¡¯re saying Lord Gideon was a traitor? You¡¯re accusing my son?¡±


    ¡°No, Your Eminence. I thought it might be a trap¡ª¡±


    The Patriarch snorted.


    She went on gamely: ¡°So I went back to Lord Avon. I told him that Lord Gideon planned to meet me in the temple. Captain Doryn told you what happened then.¡±


    Avon had warned her not to directly accuse Gideon. A softer approach would be more palatable, he¡¯d said, and make her story easier to believe. Looking around this chamber, she didn¡¯t think it was working. These men had already made up their minds.


    The Patriarch drew out another paper from his file. ¡°Do you recognise this?¡±


    She squinted at it. Gold-lined paper¡­


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a letter. One written by you to Lord Avon before that night in the temple.¡±


    Her mouth fell open. The letter! How could it have fallen into the Patriarch¡¯s hands? Around her, the senators murmured, some craning their heads to get a closer look.


    She glanced up at Avon, half-hidden in the box. He was leaning forward, hands gripping the railing, knuckles white. He looked as shocked as she felt.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­¡± The Patriarch¡¯s lip curled. ¡°James,¡± he read, then looked up. ¡°Rather familiar, referring to your master by his first name.¡±


    She flushed again. Was he really going to read it out in front of the entire Senate?


    ¡°For the avoidance of doubt,¡± the Patriarch continued, ¡°you should know that I didn¡¯t want to betray you. Gideon might have me killed.¡± He paused. ¡°What is this betrayal you refer to?¡±


    They hadn¡¯t practised this. She had no prepared answer. Of course she didn¡¯t. How could she have known? How could the Patriarch stand there speaking the words that she had so carefully penned for Avon¡¯s eyes only? He had taken something precious, something private, and exposed it like a bloody heart for the entire Senate to see.


    She felt sick.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Valerie swayed on her feet, the chamber blurring around her. It took a moment to steady herself. ¡°I thought that Lord Gideon might force my hand. I had to pretend to work with him to lure him into the temple. But if he killed me first, I didn¡¯t want Lord Avon to think that I¡¯d betrayed him. That wasn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°That sounds like you were covering your tracks,¡± the Patriarch interrupted. ¡°As does this.¡± He read on: ¡°If I¡¯ve played our game wisely, he ought to lose, but if not I¡¯d hate to have my reputation ruined posthumously.¡±


    Murmurs from the lords in the Senate. She said nothing. In the box above, Avon whispered to Captain Doryn.


    ¡°Our game,¡± the Patriarch repeated. ¡°Our game. Sharp words, clever words, from a conniving witch. What fun you were having, conspiring to murder my son.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to kill anyone. He tried to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking of all the things I haven¡¯t said to you,¡± the Patriarch continued. Each word pierced her like a dagger in the heart. ¡°And in case I don¡¯t get to say it: you¡¯ve been a worthy opponent. I hope we get to fight again.¡± He shook his head. ¡°How sweet,¡± he sneered. ¡°Is that a witch¡¯s twisted declaration of love? Or more poisonous words to cloud the Chancellor¡¯s mind and turn him against my son?¡±


    ¡°No! No, that¡¯s not¡ª¡±


    She couldn¡¯t get a word in. He talked over her.


    ¡°How does she sign off this exchange, the Chancellor¡¯s tame and obedient witch? Does she declare her love? Her fealty? No. The letter ends thus: With all due respect, Valerie.¡± The Patriarch waved the letter aloft, addressing the entire Senate. ¡°A convicted criminal addressing her master as an equal. Astonishing.¡±


    ¡°It was honest!¡± said Valerie. ¡°Because I do respect him. And not because he has a fancy title. I respect him because he earned it.¡±


    She realised her mistake as soon as she said it. Every one of these senators had a fancy title, and every one of them expected to be respected for it. They glowered at her, and Valerie wished that she could snatch up these accidents of birth and toss them into the lake.


    ¡°You see,¡± said the Patriarch, ¡°this letter is proof of what I¡¯ve suspected since the news of my son¡¯s death reached Drakon. Lord Avon is not to blame. He was deceived. He is still being deceived¡ªby this duplicitous witch.¡±


    ¡°No¡ª¡±


    ¡°And that, dear gentlemen, is why I¡¯m afraid Lord Avon is not fit to be Chancellor of Maskamere. He is bewitched.¡±


    Avon leapt to his feet. ¡°I am not bewitched! This is an attack on my character, Your Eminence. I will not stand for that.¡±


    The Patriarch leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with malice. ¡°Then kill her. Put her to the pyre as she and her kind deserves.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t stop trembling, hot and cold shivers running through her body. This man, this Patriarch, the sway he had over the Senate was clear to see. The men looked at her with murder in their eyes.


    ¡°No,¡± said Avon. ¡°Her punishment was decided in Maskamere. I signed a contract; I won¡¯t break it.¡±


    ¡°Well, then,¡± said the Patriarch. ¡°Eminent gentlemen, I put it to you that Lord Avon¡¯s judgement has been clouded by this witch, whose own crimes are both abundant and evident. While there remains any doubt whatsoever over his soundness of mind, he cannot be fit to hold office, nor to represent the will of the Drakonian people, nor to serve for the good of the Empire. I therefore raise a motion of no confidence against Lord Avon as Chancellor of Maskamere. Let us vote.¡±


    Valerie was ushered off the floor and back to their corral for guests. Meanwhile, attendants in red uniforms rolled out a strange contraption into the middle of the floor: a trolley table with two shelves. Two giant hourglasses were fixed to the bottom shelf, each of which connected to a glass tube that poked out of the top shelf. This contraption was wheeled around in a full circle while the senators watched, then the attendants threw a velvet cloth over the table, covering it completely.


    She collapsed in her seat. ¡°What are they doing?¡±


    ¡°Voting,¡± Avon said. ¡°Each senator has a chip. The tube on the left says aye. The tube on the right says nay.¡±


    As she watched, the senators lined up to place their votes. Each of them carried a block of wood about the length of her palm¡ªthe chip¡ªand dropped it into one of the tubes. The cloth covered the process in such a way that no one could see which tube each senator selected.


    With three hundred senators, it took a horribly long time to get through them all. After that, the attendants removed the cloth and counted every chip out loud, removing them from the hourglasses one by one, but it was already obvious who had won.


    Valerie¡¯s heart sank.


    The verdict came in: the motion had passed by a vote of 192 to 108. The Patriarch declared the result with an air of finality.


    ¡°The motion is passed,¡± he said. ¡°We reconvene in thirty days. Dismissed.¡±

 2.17. Good News, Bad News

    ¡ªthem to spare her daughter, Valerie screams. Don¡¯t hurt us! Let them live. Please.


    Soldiers cut them down. Her mother lies dead in her arms. There¡¯s so much blood.


    When the blade pierces her heart, it¡¯s almost a blessing.


    *


    Avon stalked into his quarters. ¡°Fuck!¡±


    Valerie followed him. She¡¯d never seen him so rattled, and that rattled her. He¡¯d been silent on their way back, staring out of the carriage window with a strange, ferocious intensity, the air around them oppressively thick. She knew better than to disturb him then. Now... she didn''t know how to react.


    His manservant stepped forward with a short bow, but Avon didn¡¯t even see him. She dismissed the man with a quiet word, then shut the door behind her, remembering that the walls had ears.


    ¡°Avon?¡±


    ¡°The letter!¡± he said. ¡°How in the Divine¡¯s name did he get hold of the letter?¡±


    He rummaged through his desk as he spoke, sweeping aside a small pile of papers. Valerie didn¡¯t know what evidence he hoped to find. The thief wasn¡¯t likely to leave a calling card.


    ¡°What does it mean? The vote of no confidence¡­¡±


    ¡°It means,¡± said Avon, ¡°that I am no longer Chancellor of Maskamere. The Senate has thirty days to reelect the position.¡±


    She suppressed a shiver. ¡°But the Emperor¡­¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Father can¡¯t do anything. It¡¯s the Senate¡¯s decision.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean you can¡¯t go back to Maskamere?¡±


    She was relying on him for exactly that. To protect her. To protect Maskamere. Already the Patriarch had called for her to burn. How long before the rest of the court came after her?


    ¡°Not yet,¡± said Avon, running a distracted hand through his hair. ¡°I¡¯m not barred from standing for reelection. Since I¡¯ve been away, the Patriarch has stuffed the Senate with even more of his sycophants. I¡¯ll have to buy some votes.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ you stand for reelection, convince enough people in the Senate to vote for you, and you¡¯ll be Chancellor again?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and perhaps I¡¯ll cut the Patriarch¡¯s balls off while I¡¯m at it,¡± he muttered. ¡°Now there¡¯s a plan.¡±


    ¡°What can I do to help?¡±


    She was all eagerness. Any other outcome would be disastrous for her. Meanwhile, having uprooted the contents of his desk, Avon began to put his papers back in order, placing every file with exacting precision.


    He looked at her. ¡°You saw how the Patriarch targeted you. Blamed you for the death of his son. Made me look like the love-struck fool for defending you.¡±


    Her heart sank. She was a liability. That was the worst thing she could be.


    ¡°That¡¯s why the Emperor wanted me to take the fall. He said it again, didn¡¯t he? When he summoned you to speak with him?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Avon unfolded a note, then, irritated, balled it up and tossed it into the fireplace. ¡°I told you it was poor advice. We cannot give credence to this argument of bewitchment. And if I admit that I was wrong about you, it casts doubt over my judgement. My father is playing into the Patriarch¡¯s hands.¡±


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    ¡°But defending me plays into his hands too. You said it yourself, he used me against you.¡±


    She didn¡¯t speak her deeper fears, though she worried he might hear it in her voice. If she became a rope around Avon¡¯s neck, how long would it take before he cast her aside?


    ¡°Because he knows those crusty old fools are afraid of change,¡± said Avon. ¡°It¡¯s not an impossible task, but it will take time. We must be patient, careful and discreet.¡±


    She grimaced. ¡°But we don¡¯t have time.¡±


    Thirty days sounded both far too long to be trapped in the capital and far too short to achieve anything meaningful. Besides, no one had ever accused her of being patient, let alone careful. Words like that made her itch.


    ¡°I know.¡± He collapsed into his chair. ¡°Believe me, I know.¡±


    ¡°Maska,¡± she said. ¡°Can¡¯t we just¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°Kill them all?¡± he said drily.


    She approached the desk, running her hand over the dark polished wood. ¡°If we found a way to get my magic back, I could do it. I¡¯d kill all your enemies for you. Anyone you want.¡±


    His mouth curved upwards, and she felt oddly pleased that she¡¯d gotten a smile out of him after such an exhausting day.


    ¡°A most generous offer. But you forget that killing Lord Gideon is what got us into this mess.¡±


    ¡°No, I know.¡± She finished circling the desk and leaned against it instead, facing him. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±


    There was a long pause. Silences were funny things, she thought. Each had their own character. This one made her breath catch. He tilted his head up at her, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair.


    ¡°Start by finding out who filched the letter. I want to know who my enemies are. And Valerie?¡±


    ¡°My lord?¡±


    ¡°Trust no one,¡± Avon said. ¡°No one, do you hear me? There¡¯s not a person in this court without a knife behind their back.¡±


    Right, she thought. No one seeking power played fairly. They all wanted to kill her or use her, and she¡¯d survived this long by doing the same.


    But she only had time to nod before a loud rap at the door startled them both. Avon sat up straight; Valerie jumped, turning around.


    ¡°James?¡±


    A girlish voice, muffled but recognisable nonetheless.


    Avon rose. ¡°Enter.¡±


    ¡°James!¡± Ophelia burst into the room, petticoats aflutter. ¡°Oh, I have the most wonderful news¡ª¡±


    She stopped at the sight of them. Avon gave a tight smile. ¡°What is it?¡±


    Ophelia held up her hand. A diamond ring sparkled on her finger. ¡°I am to be married!¡±


    She ran to her brother and hugged him. Valerie got out of their way, a lump rising in her throat. Avon looked over at her, and his expression did not relax.


    ¡°I take it Lord Falconer proposed.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ophelia laughed, dashing over to hug Valerie too. ¡°Oh, he did everything perfectly! He must have taken advice from the servants, I think. We went for a turn in the gardens after luncheon, and I didn¡¯t think anything of it at first, but he was saying the most romantic things, and then he got down on one knee and showed me the ring¡­¡±


    The smaller girl practically vibrated in her arms. She tried to smile. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Mother¡¯s ring,¡± said Avon, frowning.


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Ophelia stepped back to show them both. ¡°Father kept it all these years. He always said that I should have it some day.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad one of us has Father¡¯s blessing.¡±


    Ophelia¡¯s face fell. ¡°What is it? Were you not to be at the Senate today?¡±


    Avon only sighed.


    Valerie took it upon herself to explain: ¡°The Patriarch raised a motion of no confidence against Lord Avon as Chancellor of Maskamere. They passed the vote.¡±


    ¡°They removed you as Chancellor?¡± Ophelia shook her head furiously. ¡°They can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid they can.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Another head shake. ¡°But this is awful. James, I am supposed to live in Maskamere. I can¡¯t get married if you¡¯re not there; I couldn¡¯t bear it. And Valerie¡­ Will you have to return alone?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    But she¡¯d already thought about it. If Avon failed to win back his position, she would have to find her own way home...


    ¡°That won¡¯t happen.¡± Avon took his sister¡¯s hand. ¡°Forgive me, Ophelia. Congratulations on your engagement. Valerie and I both look forward to attending your wedding.¡±


    ¡°But what about¡­¡±


    ¡°You needn¡¯t worry,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of everything. I only ask one thing of you.¡±


    Ophelia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Look out for Edrick. Valerie and I have some work to do, and we may not always be as present here as I would like. I need you to watch over him.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    ¡°Chin up. It¡¯ll be all right, I promise. I¡¯ll always protect you.¡±


    Ophelia buried her head into her brother¡¯s shoulder, Avon wrapping his arm around her waist. He held out his other hand to Valerie.


    ¡°You too.¡±


    She joined them, pressing against his shoulder in a mirror image of Ophelia. His solid weight was comforting. Avon kissed the top of her head.


    She met Ophelia¡¯s eyes, seeing her own feelings reflected in the smaller girl¡¯s gaze. Here, then, was her shield. Him and only him.


    No, she thought. No, that won¡¯t do at all. She couldn¡¯t forget that Avon was playing this game too. If he went down, she would not go down with him.


    She had her task. Thirty days to win the election with Avon¡­ or escape without him.


    The clock was already ticking.

 2.18. Wild Accusations

    She wakes up to girls screaming.


    The courtyard has become a battlefield. Drakonian soldiers cut down acolytes and priestesses alike, a blur of robes and blood. The bullet tears through her thigh first. Then a blade through her back. The world turns to mist.


    It happens again¡ª


    *


    The next morning, Valerie awoke with a renewed sense of purpose. She ignored the nightmares, the stress, the creeping sense that everything and everyone was conspiring against her, and focused instead on the one thing that felt achievable: finding out who had stolen that letter.


    While Priska and the other ladies-in-waiting prepped Valerie and Ophelia for breakfast, she considered her options. Who had both the motive and the means to steal the letter?


    The name that popped into her head was the most obvious suspect: Lady Juliana.


    ¡°Oh, no!¡± Ophelia gasped when she brought it up. ¡°You can¡¯t possibly accuse Mother¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a Gideon. She has reason to want revenge, and she¡¯s living right here with us. Avon kept the letter in his bedchamber. The last time he saw it was the night we arrived, so it was probably stolen while we were at Gideon¡¯s funeral.¡±


    ¡°But Mother was at the funeral too,¡± Ophelia pointed out.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t seem like the type to get her hands dirty. I bet she got one of the servants to do it.¡±


    Avon had told her one thing before he¡¯d departed for the day. The guards hadn¡¯t reported an intruder, which meant either they were in on it or the thief hadn¡¯t broken in. Which of the servants had access to their chambers? That was what she needed to know.


    She met Priska¡¯s eyes through the mirror. The other girl had almost finished braiding her hair. ¡°Priska, when we were at the funeral, did anyone come into Avon¡¯s quarters?¡±


    Priska hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡± Ophelia addressed her ladies-in-waiting. ¡°Did you see anything?¡±


    They were a mother-daughter pair, Valerie had learned. Cilla was training in the art of being a lady¡¯s maid under the supervision of her mother Edith. But neither had any useful information.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask the other servants,¡± she decided. ¡°Ophelia, can you distract Lady Juliana for the day? I don''t want to be interrupted.¡±


    Ophelia readily agreed. And so after breakfast, Ophelia vanished arm-in-arm with Juliana to enjoy a stroll around the garden with Edrick. That left Valerie free to move about the villa.


    Where to start? There was Avon¡¯s manservant, whose name Valerie had never learned, but whom Avon trusted implicitly. She quickly realised why: his stolid silence was no accident. The man had no tongue. When she asked him about who had entered the chamber, she got only a shake of the head.


    Valerie wondered briefly how the man had lost his tongue. But that wasn¡¯t today¡¯s mystery.


    She moved on to the guards, starting with Captain Doryn.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already inquired,¡± said Doryn when she approached him, ¡°and no one saw anything out of the ordinary. Lord Avon ordered that only his staff were to be allowed in his quarters. No one visited, and I found no sign of a break-in.¡±


    ¡°But that means there¡¯s a spy. A traitor.¡±


    ¡°Lord Avon handpicked his most loyal men to accompany us,¡± said Doryn. ¡°I trust all of them with my life. But I fear you are right.¡±


    She bit her lip. Doryn could be the traitor. Any of them could be.


    ¡°Right,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯re getting to the bottom of this. Fetch all the servants, now. I want them in the drawing room.¡±


    Doryn bowed. ¡°As you wish, my lady.¡±


    She paced around the drawing room while she waited, thinking.


    Could the thief have gotten in and out undetected? A secret door, perhaps? But no, this was Avon¡¯s family home. Surely he would know of any such entrances. It had to be one of their own people. Or perhaps¡­ Her heart sank. Perhaps Juliana had gotten what she wanted through trickery rather than betrayal. If Juliana had ordered one of the servants to fetch a letter from Avon¡¯s quarters, made it sound as if the letter belonged to her¡­ They might not have questioned it.


    Presently, the door opened, and one by one the servants shuffled in. They lined up in front of Valerie: four ladies-in-waiting, including Priska, Edith and Cilla; three valets, including Avon¡¯s manservant; two house maids, the butler, the cook, the housekeeper, the matron, the gardener, the groom, and eight guards. The room that had seemed so spacious, with its gilded fireplace, lounge seats and grand piano standing on a fine-weaved rug, now began to feel quite stuffy.


    Doryn came to stand beside her, a stern, reassuring presence.


    Silence.


    Valerie looked over each of them in turn. Some met her eyes, others bowed their heads. Several looked nervous, but she saw irritation and confusion among the retinue too.


    ¡°A theft took place here two days ago,¡± she began. ¡°A letter was stolen from Lord Avon¡¯s bedchamber. No break-in was reported. Either you all failed to notice the thief, or one of you is the thief. So, I¡¯m giving you all the chance to talk. Did anyone see anything? Did one of you take the letter, even by mistake? If you speak up now, Lord Avon and I will be lenient.¡±


    Again, silence. No one spoke.


    If only she had her magic. She could have demanded the truth from any of them.


    Valerie pursed her lips. ¡°Anyone?¡±


    ¡°Answer the lady,¡± said Doryn. ¡°If you don¡¯t speak up now, you will regret it.¡±


    ¡°We were guarding his Lordship¡¯s quarters, my lady,¡± said one of the guards, indicating himself and the guard to his right. ¡°We already told the captain: nothing happened.¡±


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    Edith spoke up. ¡°We didn¡¯t go near Lord Avon¡¯s chambers, my lady. Me and Cilla were busy attending to her Ladyship.¡±


    ¡°Is that true?¡±


    Nods from the guards. She went down the line and eliminated them one by one: not the house maids, not the housekeeper, not the cook¡­ Most of them had not ventured into Avon¡¯s quarters, and the guards confirmed it.


    ¡°What about Lord Falconer? Where was he?¡±


    She didn¡¯t think Rufus had done it since he¡¯d been at the funeral and would have had little opportunity to steal the letter after that, but she wanted to rule out all the possibilities. His valet confirmed that he had spent the evening in his guest room. The guards corroborated his story.


    ¡°All right,¡± said Valerie. ¡°You can leave.¡±


    The eliminated suspects shuffled out. That left Doryn, Priska, Lord Avon¡¯s manservant, and three guards, including the two who had been on duty. All of them had gone in and out of Avon¡¯s quarters.


    ¡°What about you?¡± she asked, pointing at the third guard.


    He was pale, thin and sweaty. Looked a bit ferrety for her liking. ¡°I did a sweep of the rooms before Lord Avon¡¯s return like I always do, my lady. That¡¯s my job.¡±


    ¡°And you saw nothing out of place? You didn¡¯t notice anything missing?¡±


    ¡°No, my lady. His Lordship keeps lots of documents. I don¡¯t look at ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°She went off in the middle of the day.¡± Another guard pointed at Priska. ¡°I saw her leave.¡±


    Valerie frowned. ¡°Priska?¡±


    The girl flushed, shifting from foot to foot. ¡°I¡ªI was running an errand for you, my lady.¡±


    Valerie was about to open her mouth and ask some very confused and annoyed questions when the desperate look in Priska¡¯s eyes suddenly made sense.


    That was the day she¡¯d gone looking for her brother Titus.


    But she couldn¡¯t say that in front of the others. It was a secret between the two of them.


    ¡°Right,¡± said Valerie, covering her surprise. ¡°And you were in Lord Avon¡¯s quarters because¡­?¡±


    ¡°Moving your things, my lady.¡±


    Since she¡¯d switched rooms from Avon to Ophelia. She didn¡¯t particularly want to dwell on that either.


    ¡°Are you all sure you didn¡¯t see anyone else?¡±


    She questioned the other guards, but they had little to say. They confirmed only that Priska had gone out during the middle of the day and that Avon¡¯s manservant had not left the house. But there were no accusations and no confessions. Whoever had done it, they¡¯d left no trail.


    Valerie waved her hand in frustration. ¡°Go.¡±


    The servants departed. Doryn looked at her, expression serious. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my lady.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill whoever it is,¡± she fumed. ¡°If I had my magic¡­¡±


    ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s what they¡¯re afraid of. That letter was damaging to both you and his Lordship. Whoever took it knew that.¡±


    She frowned. He was right. And the letter had been secret anyway¡­ She¡¯d left it in her chambers at the palace in Jairah for Lord Avon¡¯s eyes only. She supposed it was possible that one of the palace servants had peeked at it before he¡¯d found it, but otherwise no one should have known about it. Had the thief searched the room for incriminating evidence and happened to stumble upon it?


    ¡°Whoever took it wanted to damage us,¡± she murmured. ¡°Or they accepted a bribe from Lady Juliana. But they couldn¡¯t have been ignorant. Juliana wouldn¡¯t have known about the letter.¡±


    Her earlier theory of Juliana tricking someone into taking it couldn¡¯t be true, then. Which made things worse. Whoever had done it had chosen to betray them.


    ¡°Doryn,¡± she said. ¡°It would break my heart if it was you, you know that, right?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare, my lady.¡±


    She searched his face. ¡°Do you think I bewitched Lord Avon?¡±


    He¡¯d been witness to her possession by Queen Shikra. Seen her kill. Seen her manipulate. But he¡¯d also said that he¡¯d mourned her.


    A troubled expression flickered in his eyes. ¡°I cannot answer such a question, my lady. Forgive me.¡±


    ¡°But you defended us at the Senate.¡± She laid a hand on his arm. ¡°Thank you. I won¡¯t forget that.¡±


    He nodded, and Valerie stepped back, letting him go. Alone, she let out a deep breath. A knot had formed in her stomach. She¡¯d narrowed down their options to six suspects, which was something, if not a definitive answer.


    It worried her that Priska remained among those suspects. They spent every day together, and right now Priska¡¯s connections were her only possible escape route outside of Avon. But then, she thought, it would be equally devastating to learn that Avon¡¯s most trusted men had betrayed him. Unless they¡¯d missed something, there were no good outcomes here. No wonder she felt paranoid.


    There was one more avenue left to explore. Valerie steeled herself before searching for Lady Juliana.


    *


    She didn¡¯t have to look too far. Outside, Ophelia and Edrick were running barefoot across the lawn. They were both in high spirits, Ophelia giggling as she tried to catch the little boy and the patchwork blanket that flew aloft like a cape behind him. Nearby, the matron bent down to clear up the scattered remains of their picnic.


    Seated in a wicker chair, Lady Juliana had chosen a rather more sedate activity: knitting a pair of baby boots propped up on her pregnant belly.


    Quietly, Valerie came over and took one of the empty wicker seats.


    ¡°They look like they¡¯re having fun,¡± she said after a moment.


    Edrick had the pure, uncaring energy of a child at play. She remembered playing like that with the village children, oblivious to the world. She¡¯d pretend to be a great sorcerer and strike down anyone who moved, and then when one of her playmates caught her, they would split into teams, boys versus girls, to rescue her. Most of the time the boys played the rescuers and the girls the captors. Occasionally they¡¯d reverse it, but that never worked as well because the boys were faster and always caught the girls too quickly¡­


    She glanced at Juliana. ¡°Your Grace¡­ I just wanted to say¡­ I didn¡¯t know that you were related to Lord Gideon. I¡¯m sorry for your loss.¡±


    ¡°Your sympathy isn¡¯t necessary.¡±


    Juliana¡¯s words were as cold as her eyes, the knitting needles like knives in her hands.


    A few moments passed in awkward silence. Ophelia and Edrick flopped down in the grass.


    She tried again: ¡°I made a pair of boots like that for my cousin Lavinia¡¯s baby. She had colic. So I weaved a spell into the boots to calm her down. She put them on her little feet, and it was an instant transformation¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Juliana interrupted her. ¡°I¡¯d ask that you don¡¯t speak of witchcraft in my household.¡±


    Valerie clasped her hands in her lap. Right. Forget the niceties. She wasn¡¯t about to befriend this woman.


    ¡°Did you hear what happened at the Senate?¡± she asked instead.


    ¡°Yes. Will you be leaving soon?¡±


    Well, she clearly didn¡¯t want Valerie here any longer than necessary. On that point they agreed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Valerie. ¡°That depends on Lord Avon.¡±


    ¡°Why are my servants telling me that you¡¯ve been accusing them of theft?¡±


    ¡°Because there¡¯s been a theft. Didn¡¯t Lord Avon tell you?¡±


    Juliana looked up at her, then down again. ¡°That¡¯s for his guards to investigate, not you.¡±


    ¡°Actually, he¡­¡±


    She was interrupted by Ophelia and Edrick dashing over to greet them. Ophelia collapsed in the last empty chair. ¡°Mother! Valerie! I¡¯m parched. Shall we have a drink? Edrick, would you like some lemonade?¡±


    The little boy¡¯s eyes shone. ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°Matron!¡± Ophelia called. ¡°Bring us some lemonade!¡± She smoothed over the folds of her skirt. ¡°So, what are we talking about?¡±


    ¡°Lord Avon¡¯s stolen letter,¡± said Valerie. ¡°Your Grace, do you know anything?¡±


    Juliana¡¯s mouth thinned. ¡°Why would I know anything?¡±


    ¡°Well, it was stolen by someone in this house¡­¡±


    She had thought Juliana¡¯s expression cold before. This look was pure winter: deep, dark and unforgiving.


    ¡°What exactly are you implying?¡±


    ¡°Nothing!¡± said Ophelia hurriedly. ¡°Your Grace, I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to apologise,¡± said Valerie, and then had to pause when the matron came over with the promised lemonade.


    ¡°Say thank you,¡± said Juliana.


    Edrick bowed before taking the offered drink. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    He seemed oblivious to the tension between the three ladies. Ophelia tugged at the matron¡¯s sleeve. ¡°You know what, can you take Edrick back to his room? I think he¡¯s had enough fresh air for today.¡±


    No one except the little boy protested. Once the two of them had gone, Ophelia looked between Valerie and Juliana.


    ¡°Would you like to try some lemonade, Mother? It¡¯s delicious.¡±


    Juliana ignored her. ¡°I heard about your wild accusations.¡± She was looking at Valerie. ¡°Your arrogance is astonishing. I¡¯ve been mourning my uncle, the man that you murdered. And you have the gall to sit at my table, eat my food, and accuse me of being a common thief. What are you hoping to achieve?¡±


    Ophelia¡¯s mouth fell open. But Valerie much preferred this, a direct challenge. She was equal to that.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for the truth, Your Grace,¡± she said.


    ¡°Ladies?¡±


    Valerie turned around, startled. Moss, the butler with the handlebar moustache, approached them across the lawn. He bowed.


    ¡°Lady Valerie, the Emperor would speak with you.¡±


    Her heart leapt into her mouth. ¡°Now?¡±


    ¡°Yes. If you would come this way, my lady¡­¡±


    Numbly, she stood up. As the butler led her back towards the villa, Valerie glanced behind her. Ophelia¡¯s brow creased in worry. But Lady Juliana¡­


    The Empress was smiling.

 2.19. Consequences

    ¡ªand again and again. Pain layered upon pain. Until, in the dead of night, a miracle happens.


    *


    After facing the Senate, Valerie hadn¡¯t thought it possible that the pit in her stomach might get worse. She was wrong. Following the butler into the east wing of the house, she thought of all the things the Emperor might say or do to her, and it was all she could do not to turn and bolt right there and then.


    They reached a closed door no different from the rest in a hallway no different from the rest.


    The butler gave it a single rap.


    ¡°Enter.¡±


    He opened the door and gestured for her to go inside. Valerie clenched her fists. The Emperor wouldn¡¯t kill her, would he? He couldn¡¯t.


    The scariest thing was that in the moment she couldn¡¯t think of a reason not to.


    She entered a study not unlike Lord Avon¡¯s, with wood panelled walls and shelves stuffed with books. A large bay window might have let in some light except for the heavy curtains blocking the glass. Instead, a veiled oil lamp burned red on the desk and candles flickered on the mantelpiece, giving the entire room an ominous glow.


    Well, he wasn¡¯t sitting here reading in that light.


    Emperor Reinard stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing at a portrait of a white-haired man in military uniform.


    ¡°Lady Valerie,¡± he said without looking at her.


    ¡°Your Excellency.¡±


    She curtsied, feeling a stir in the air as the door closed behind her.


    ¡°Come here.¡±


    A lump formed in her throat. She crossed the few feet to stand beside him. The man in the portrait wore a brass-buttoned coat and bicorne hat, his hand resting casually on the sword at his hip. A ship awaited in the harbour behind him, while a raven perched on a rock in the foreground.


    ¡°Lord Owain Avon,¡± said the Emperor. ¡°Eleventh Duke of Yirona and Admiral of the first Drakonian fleet.¡±


    She looked at him. ¡°Your ancestor?¡±


    ¡°A man of singular vision. When the monarchy drove Drakon into bankruptcy, he had the foresight to envision a different future.¡±


    ¡°He started the Republic?¡±


    The tension bubbling within her hadn¡¯t gone away. It simmered, made her shift on her feet, restless and confused. She didn¡¯t understand why she was getting a history lesson. What was the purpose of all this?


    But the Emperor nodded thoughtfully, seeming content with her playing along.


    ¡°Yes. From the ashes of the old kingdom and the might of Yirona¡­ The Republic of Drakon was born. At every stage of the Empire¡¯s history, my family has been instrumental in its expansion. But even after one hundred and eighty years, some still regard us as foreigners.¡±


    ¡°Foreigners?¡±


    ¡°Foreigners,¡± said the Emperor, turning on Valerie with sudden and frightening intent. ¡°Yironians. Seafaring pirates who stole Drakon from its people and now sit at its very heart.¡±


    His eyes blazed. He spoke with an intensity that rivalled his son, and she felt it like a physical blow. But here she didn¡¯t have Avon to shield her. Instead, she instinctively stepped back, raising her hands.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand¡ª¡±


    ¡°Of course you don¡¯t.¡± He advanced on her as he spoke. ¡°You know nothing of the noble families of Drakon. You know nothing of our history.¡±


    Valerie backed away, trembling. She thought of the book she had read on the way to the capital, her half-forgotten lessons in the convent, Lady Melody¡¯s indoctrination into the world of courtly manners¡­ But these were feeble things. The Emperor was on a tirade, and she dared not inflame his ire further.


    ¡°I want to learn, Your Excellency,¡± she said earnestly. ¡°I really do, I¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll learn,¡± he said, with a foreboding tone that sent chills down her spine. ¡°You will not jeopardise my legacy. When my son¡¯s good name is called into question, so is mine. So is our entire family. Those slithering snakes at court are all too eager to bite. They look at you and see a feast. Have you grasped this yet, witch? Do you think by destroying us, you will save yourself?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to destroy you! Your Excellency, please¡ª¡±


    ¡°You bewitch my son. You corrupt my daughter. You openly practise witchcraft¡ª¡±


    Her back hit the wall. She gasped for breath, trying not to panic. ¡°Why do you hate magic? Why are you against Lord Avon¡¯s plan?¡±


    He towered over her, a force of pure, cold rage. No, not anger, she thought. Fear. Avon had been right to call him a coward. Maybe he saw himself as an outsider. Maybe his enemies in the Drakonian court really were plotting to bring him down. Had fear truly blinded him to the opportunity Avon had presented?


    Reinard¡¯s lip curled. Then he stepped forward and cuffed Valerie across the cheek. A cry tore from her throat; the blow froze her into stunned shock.


    ¡°That,¡± said the Emperor, ¡°is for speaking out of turn.¡±


    He moved away, clicking his fingers. Valerie looked up, cradling her bruised jaw, and gasped as another man emerged from the shadows. She hadn¡¯t even noticed him before. He was dressed in the attire of a valet, but it was like putting a frilly hat on a bear. The man was big, brutal and surly. He grabbed her by the arm, marched her over to the desk, and pinned her down.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Terror electrified her. She felt sure that at any moment he was going to snap her neck and that would be it. Instead, the manservant ripped away the fastenings of her corset.


    A fresh wave of panic coursed through her. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    The corset came loose, exposing her back. She was bent double, her cheek pressed against the mahogany wood.


    Then the switch lashed her back, and Valerie screamed.


    ¡°One lash,¡± said the Emperor, ¡°for disrespecting my wife.¡±


    It burned like fire. She couldn¡¯t see the weapon the manservant was using to flog her¡ªa rod of some kind, taut and hard. Her shoulders tensed, every muscle in her body desperate to get away.


    Another lash. An eruption of agony. A third immediately followed, and her world shrank in on itself, consumed by the pain.


    ¡°Two lashes,¡± said the Emperor, ¡°for whispering your poisonous words into my daughter¡¯s ear.¡±


    She could see him. Reinard. Tears blurred her vision, but he was leaning by one of the bookcases, watching her. Entirely unmoved.


    ¡°Three for your performance at the Senate House.¡±


    She screamed again. And again. And again.


    ¡°And four,¡± said the Emperor grimly, ¡°for bewitching my son.¡±


    Her entire back stung. The last few lashes struck the wounds that had already opened, and she felt as though she had been cut to ribbons.


    Finally, the manservant retreated. Valerie collapsed to the floor in a heap. It hurt to breathe. She gulped in air, the room spinning around her.


    ¡°Remove her,¡± she heard Reinard say.


    The butler came in and took her away.


    *


    Somewhere between leaving the Emperor¡¯s quarters and arriving in Lord Avon¡¯s, Valerie lost consciousness. She woke up to Priska¡¯s concerned face hovering above her. That, and a damp flannel on her forehead.


    ¡°Valerie!¡±


    ¡°Maska,¡± she muttered. Her back throbbed. She wished she could pass out again.


    Priska ran her a hot, salty bath, which hurt so much she whimpered at first, but maybe the steam helped to clear out her lungs because she did start to breathe more easily after a few minutes.


    The matron came in, took one look at her and said, ¡°Well, I¡¯m not surprised.¡±


    ¡°Go away!¡± she snapped.


    So it was Priska who stayed with her, Priska who washed off the blood and dead skin, and Priska who helped her into bed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she kept saying. ¡°This is all my fault¡­¡±


    Valerie lay down on her stomach, head resting on a fluffy pillow, back sore and tender. Priska dabbed a soothing ointment on her raw-red flesh. She tried not to grimace.


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault, Priska.¡±


    But the girl seemed distressed. ¡°No, it is. I¡­¡± She looked around the empty bedchamber. ¡°The letter,¡± Priska whispered. ¡°I took it.¡±


    Valerie felt as if the heavens had turned upside down. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡­ I was trying to help.¡±


    ¡°Help?¡±


    She nearly laughed. After getting herself flogged for suspecting Lady Juliana of stealing the letter, now Priska chose to confess that it had been her all along?


    ¡°We thought we could use the letter to discredit Lord Avon,¡± Priska whispered. ¡°So maybe he wouldn¡¯t come back to Maskamere¡­¡±


    ¡°We? Who¡¯s we?¡±


    ¡°Titus. He had the idea¡ª¡± Priska whirled around, then froze.


    She¡¯d heard something that Valerie hadn¡¯t, because a few seconds later Avon stalked in. His eyes met hers, then his face darkened.


    ¡°Out!¡± he ordered Priska.


    The girl fled.


    Avon approached, and a tiny shiver of fear ran through her veins. She didn¡¯t like him seeing her like this, half-naked and vulnerable. Especially with the welts on her back. She hadn¡¯t seen them herself, but they felt ugly.


    She felt the weight of him sitting down on the bed and tensed.


    ¡°Relax,¡± he said. Then he frowned at her injuries. ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Ten,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°Only ten? That¡¯s lenient.¡±


    He leaned over, and she shuddered as something cold touched her back. The balm. Avon was taking over where Priska had left off. She forced herself to relax, but then the implication of his words sank in and she had to suppress another shudder.


    ¡°So is this how Emperors rule? He just beats anyone he doesn¡¯t like?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s how fathers rule,¡± said Avon. ¡°We¡¯re in his household; we are his guests. I¡¯ve reminded him not to damage my property, but you need to take greater care.¡±


    Any sympathy she might have felt for him instantly vanished. Maska, she thought, I hate them all. These stupid people, with their stupid rules and their stupid rivalries, and their stupid, unfounded, undeserved sense of superiority. She wished she wasn¡¯t flat on her stomach. She would have leapt up and punched him.


    Instead, she turned her head and risked a neck crick to spit out the angriest response she could muster:


    ¡°I was following your orders!¡±


    ¡°In the most bare-faced, disruptive way possible. I didn¡¯t expect you to throw the entire household into havoc. Have you any sense of self-preservation?¡±


    The annoyance in his voice stood in stark contrast to the gentleness of his hands on her skin. It didn¡¯t soothe her.


    ¡°Obviously not,¡± she shot back, ¡°since I already died once.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± he said after a moment, ¡°I would like you to think more than two seconds ahead if you¡¯re capable of that, Valerie. I told you not to trust anyone, and you voiced your suspicions about Lady Juliana in front of at least three servants. What exactly did you think was going to happen?¡±


    ¡°I thought she¡¯d be rattled. Which she was.¡±


    ¡°So you chose to provoke her.¡±


    ¡°She already hates me. I didn¡¯t ruin some blossoming friendship.¡± She sighed. ¡°Not like it matters.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± he said sharply.


    He stopped applying the ointment, leaning back to stare at her.


    She swallowed, then sat up. The silk sheet slipped; she lifted it to cover herself. ¡°Sorry, my lord. I shouldn¡¯t have said that.¡±


    ¡°If you can¡¯t take this seriously¡­¡±


    ¡°I am! I¡¯m the one who could die here, Avon, do you think I don¡¯t know that? Is this some game you¡¯re playing, you and your father? If I¡¯m your property, then isn¡¯t he disrespecting you by hurting me?¡±


    At last she thought she saw something like guilt flicker in his eyes. He looked away. ¡°I¡¯ll deal with it.¡±


    ¡°Can you promise he won¡¯t do it again?¡±


    He looked back at her and frowned. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°It felt like a threat.¡± She let an edge of fear put a tremor in her voice. ¡°Like next time he¡¯ll kill me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what he wants.¡±


    ¡°Then what? What does he want?¡±


    She was tired and battered and confused. Even at her best, it would be hard to figure all of this family history out. She hadn¡¯t been at her best for some time.


    Avon replaced the stopper of the ointment bottle, then shifted away from her and put it down on the bedside table. He did all of this at a maddeningly slow pace. She didn¡¯t have the energy to yell at him for it.


    When he finally spoke, it was with the same slow and deliberate precision. ¡°He doesn¡¯t want to kill you himself. He wants me to do it.¡±


    To prove that he wasn¡¯t bewitched. To stop her from being a weight around Avon¡¯s neck, the cause of all this fear and doubt¡ªall because she was a Maskamery witch.


    Was that three death threats now? If she counted this as a new one.


    ¡°You should,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯ll never have a better chance. You¡¯d be free of all these rumours. The Senate would have to reelect you. And you¡¯d never have to worry about me or the queen again.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, ¡°and to do that would be admitting failure. It would be giving up. This crisis is only the first obstacle in a long road ahead. If magic is ever to be accepted in Drakon, we have to fight for it. You have to fight for it.¡±


    ¡°I am fighting. I¡¯ve got the scars to prove it. What are you doing? Because from where I¡¯m standing, your plan has been a big fat failure so far.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re alive, aren¡¯t you?¡± His gaze burned into her. Obviously, she couldn¡¯t contradict him. ¡°Do as I say next time, Valerie. I¡¯d rather you survived unscathed.¡±


    ¡°Do you think I got hurt for nothing? You haven¡¯t even asked me if I found the culprit.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Did you?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Titus Steward.¡±


    Surprise flickered across his face. ¡°That¡¯s a Maskamery name.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°He got stuck here during the war and never left.¡±


    ¡°Interesting,¡± said Avon. ¡°Because I just learned today that Titus Steward is standing against me for the position of Chancellor of Maskamere.¡±

 2.20. Wolves Dressed as Lambs

    It starts with a blizzard. She runs to the window with her cousins and stares out at the flurry. Within minutes, she¡¯s freezing.


    The villagers light the bonfire in the square. That¡¯s when they see her¡ª


    *


    Priska tiptoed across the bedchamber with the air of a mouse skulking around an angry cat.


    Valerie hadn''t yet gotten out of bed. Eyes heavy-lidded, she watched the maid set down a tray of fruit and pastries on the nearby coffee table alongside a pot of tea. Judging by the sunlight streaming through the window, morning had long since passed. Avon was nowhere to be seen.


    The steam curling in the air from the teapot brought with it a refreshing aroma. Her stomach rumbled. Priska glanced at her, then began to edge away.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Valerie sat up, wincing as pain shot through her spine. ¡°Don''t you dare sneak off.¡±


    Priska flinched. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I didn¡¯t want to disturb you, I¡­¡±


    She picked up the pot of tea, then put it down again. Maybe she had hoped to leave Valerie her refreshments and escape for the rest of the day. Valerie wasn''t about to let that happen.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell Avon that you stole the letter.¡± She stared at the other girl, who seemed frozen in place. ¡°But he¡¯ll work it out soon enough. Don¡¯t you want me to protect you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Priska fidgeted with a loose thread on her smock. She couldn¡¯t meet Valerie¡¯s eyes. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean for this to happen, I didn¡¯t think¡­¡±


    ¡°You said your brother put you up to it. What is he up to?¡±


    ¡°Helping us!¡± said Priska earnestly. ¡°We¡¯re all fighting Lord Avon, aren¡¯t we? We¡¯re all trying to escape him.¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    The girl flushed scarlet. Pathetic, she thought. Didn''t even try to come up with an excuse. She didn''t think Priska''s intentions were nefarious, but the welts on her back were too fresh to feel forgiving.


    ¡°I need to know these things!¡± she went on. ¡°I need you to tell me before you go off and do something stupid. I¡¯m fighting this battle. I¡¯m doing it my way, and I don¡¯t need you messing it up.¡±


    ¡°I''m sorry.¡±


    Every time Priska uttered the word, her head seemed to droop more, her voice becoming more despondent. But her hangdog expression only infuriated Valerie, who was finding it harder and harder not to despise the maid every time she looked at her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care that you¡¯re sorry. I care that you don¡¯t do it again.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Priska whispered.


    ¡°Do you want to make it up to me? What about that meeting with Titus you were supposed to arrange? Have you at least managed that?¡±


    The maid looked up. ¡°I was going to tell you. He said you could meet him for dinner tomorrow, but with your back¡ª¡±


    ¡°Forget my back. I¡¯ll be there.¡±


    Maybe Avon could sway enough votes without her help, but she couldn¡¯t leave that to chance. She''d hobble to that dinner if she had to. Titus had struck the first blow when he''d handed over the letter to the Senate. She had to figure out his strategy.


    More to the point, she wanted that alternative escape route.


    ¡°Okay.¡± Priska hesitated. ¡°How do I get you there? Titus lives at the old Maskamery embassy, but you can¡¯t go on your own...¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Priska. That is not my problem. You solve it, okay? Give me that tea.¡±


    *


    The rest of the day passed in an irritable haze. Priska fussed over her; Valerie snapped at her. Avon did not reappear; Doryn came in, turned beet red at her state of undress, and handed her a handwritten note signed from Lord Avon before departing in haste.


    Meeting with Father. Rest while you can.


    She tried not to dwell on how he might be faring with the Emperor. If the last few days were anything to judge by, she had little faith in his success.


    Around suppertime, Ophelia came in and brightened up the room with her chatter.


    ¡°I brought you some chamomile. I used to make it for James too whenever he¡­¡± She trailed off.


    Valerie took the tea, sitting propped up against the pillows. ¡°I feel like one of the family now,¡± she joked. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Ophelia smiled. ¡°It¡¯ll help you sleep. Mother used to say that a good night¡¯s sleep cures all. That is, our real mother.¡±


    ¡°You must miss her.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes I do. Especially now.¡± Ophelia sipped her tea, eyes downcast. There was a wistfulness in her tone whenever she spoke about her mother. ¡°There¡¯s so much I wish I could ask her.¡±


    ¡°About marrying?¡±


    ¡°About growing up. All the things I¡¯m supposed to know, but no one tells me. Oh, but that reminds me. We¡¯re starting the wedding planning tomorrow!¡± She leaned forward. ¡°Do you think you could join us? Of course, I understand if you¡¯re still feeling under the weather, but¡­ I would really love you to be there.¡±


    Valerie didn¡¯t know how to respond. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about weddings. I don¡¯t know how I can help.¡±


    ¡°Just being there will help, I promise.¡± Ophelia lowered her voice. ¡°But please can you be polite to the Empress?¡±


    *


    She couldn¡¯t say no to Ophelia, of course. The next morning, Priska wrapped her up in bandages so tight she felt like she might pass out. Then she dressed in her Drakonian lady¡¯s attire, corset and all, and walked down to join the other ladies in the sitting room.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Ophelia was there, looking pretty in pink, while Lady Juliana sported a loose cotton shawl, a raised eyebrow and a yard¡¯s worth of knitting in her lap. But they had other guests too: she didn''t expect to find Lady Florence, the woman who had been Lord Gideon¡¯s wife, sitting primly next to Juliana.


    The final surprise came when their wedding planner walked in.


    Ophelia rose to her feet. ¡°Lady Melody!¡±


    ¡°Darling.¡± Melody moved with a brisk air, greeting each of the ladies one by one. She had ditched her mourning attire for a burgundy gown with off-the-shoulder puffy sleeves, her hair pulled back into a pristine bun. Where she had been living since returning to the capital, Valerie had no idea.


    ¡°Lady Valerie.¡± Melody kissed her cheek. ¡°You don¡¯t look well.¡±


    Priska had once again applied a copious amount of make-up, this time to cover the bruise on her jaw. But she felt battered. Quite apart from the flogging, she¡¯d also endured a week of stress and poor sleep. It all piled up, she thought, and she had become too reliant on magic to smooth these ills away.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said.


    ¡°The poor thing came down with a fever.¡± Juliana settled back down with her knitting. ¡°Are you sure you wouldn¡¯t like to lie down?¡±


    How she would like to stab that knitting needle into Juliana¡¯s eye.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Melody, ¡°shall we begin?¡±


    Ophelia¡¯s eyes shone with excitement. Juliana and Florence sat on either side of her like a pair of floral guards, forcing Valerie to perch on the end of the couch next to the Empress. She frowned as Juliana and Florence shared a glance that she couldn¡¯t quite interpret. Was it disapproval?


    Melody opened a disconcertingly thick notebook. ¡°Now, traditionally the wedding takes place in the homeland of the groom to welcome the bride to his family, but perhaps in this case we should reconsider?¡±


    ¡°Marry in Maskamere?¡± Juliana shook her head. ¡°No, dreadful. Have it in the cathedral. It¡¯s the only place that will suit the Emperor¡¯s daughter.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but what about Rufus¡¯s family?¡± Ophelia asked. ¡°He was so looking forward to inviting them¡­¡±


    ¡°They can come to Drakon,¡± said Juliana.


    ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s better if they don¡¯t,¡± Florence added. ¡°Keep it small. It¡¯ll be more civilised.¡±


    ¡°Civilised?¡± Valerie said, unable to stop herself.


    ¡°Oh, but¡­¡± A tiny frown creased Ophelia¡¯s brow. ¡°This is the family I¡¯ll be spending the rest of my life with. I would like to meet them.¡±


    Juliana sniffed. ¡°You¡¯ll have the rest of your life to do that, sweet.¡±


    ¡°Do they have any suitable venues in Maskamere?¡± Florence asked.


    ¡°The royal palace,¡± said Valerie. ¡°It¡¯s as grand as any place here.¡±


    ¡°Well, of course, the venue should be a holy place,¡± said Ophelia. ¡°There is a chapel in the palace.¡±


    She made a face. ¡°It¡¯s small and ugly. What about the temple?¡±


    Florence seemed scandalised by the very suggestion. ¡°A heathen temple?¡±


    ¡°Not the temple, of course,¡± said Melody. ¡°But the palace is beautiful. And the chapel could suffice for the ceremony itself.¡±


    While Melody was talking, Juliana leaned over to murmur in Valerie¡¯s ear. ¡°Keep your suggestions to yourself. I don¡¯t want to hear another word about the temple where you murdered my uncle.¡±


    ¡°You should visit,¡± Valerie whispered back. ¡°I¡¯ll show you how I did it.¡±


    She might pay for that later, but the look on Juliana¡¯s face was worth it.


    The conversation moved on. Wedding planning was a complicated business. They discussed the guest list, the set menu, the decorations and the music, Melody scribbling notes on each in her book.


    Valerie said little. Despite her best efforts, her back was throbbing again. She thought of the silvertree, the one that had survived the burning of her convent, hundreds of miles from here. The solace it would offer her. Or the goldentree hidden beneath the Royal Palace of Jairah, its whispered power that lay dormant within her.


    Dormant, but not gone. Or else she wouldn¡¯t be having these dreams.


    Finally, Melody snapped her notebook shut and stood up. ¡°Well, that¡¯s enough for today, ladies. I¡¯ll have plans drawn up for our next meeting. Oh, and Valerie? You¡¯re not doing anything tomorrow, are you? You must join us for the fitting.¡±


    Valerie hadn¡¯t been listening. ¡°What?¡± she said.


    ¡°The wedding dress fitting,¡± said Melody. ¡°I insist. I want your expertise.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Sure.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t entirely sure what she had just agreed to, but it made Ophelia beam in delight, so it couldn¡¯t be that bad. Melody kissed Ophelia¡¯s cheek, then the other ladies, including Valerie, and departed. Florence followed shortly after, leaving Valerie with Juliana and Ophelia.


    She was debating how to make her excuses too, when Juliana sighed. ¡°It¡¯s awfully sweet of you to take pity on her, but is she really needed? Think of Lady Florence.¡±


    ¡°I know, Mother,¡± said Ophelia, ¡°but there are so few people familiar with Maskamere, and Lady Melody offered to help. I want my wedding to celebrate both our cultures¡ªmine and my husband¡¯s. That¡¯s why I asked Lady Valerie to join too.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Valerie said, startled. ¡°Sorry, what do you mean by taking pity on Lady Melody? Is something wrong?¡±


    Juliana shot her a dirty look. ¡°Her husband died.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°The fool drank himself to death and ran up horrendous gambling debts, so she doesn¡¯t have a coin to her name. She¡¯s already begging my father for scraps. I expect he¡¯ll toss her out. Really, Ophelia, you¡¯re only delaying the inevitable.¡±


    This was a lot to process. Valerie frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t want to help her?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a common whore,¡± said Juliana. ¡°She¡¯ll crawl back to the gutter where she belongs.¡±


    ¡°But she has children. Her boys¡ª¡±


    ¡°Children of a whore.¡±


    Valerie didn¡¯t know what to say.


    ¡°She¡¯s a dear friend,¡± said Ophelia, whose cheeks had turned pink. ¡°Isn¡¯t it charitable to help a friend in need, Mother?¡±


    ¡°That woman is no charity case, nor is she your friend. Don¡¯t be fooled.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Ophelia stood up, blinking tears out of her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I don¡¯t agree!¡±


    And she dashed out of the room, petticoats aflutter. Valerie clasped her hands in her lap. A pit had formed in her stomach.


    She took a breath. ¡°Why don¡¯t you trust Lady Melody?¡±


    Juliana had a way of looking down her nose at someone that implied the object of her attention was so far beneath her as to be worthy of nothing more than a pigsty. She couldn¡¯t help but wonder if this haughtiness formed part of a Drakonian lady¡¯s education. Melody had a similar look, only less despising and more long-suffering.


    She felt the force of that look now as the Empress regarded her.


    ¡°You have been educated by courtesans,¡± said Juliana, ¡°so perhaps you fail to see how they seek to climb beyond their station. There are two types of courtesans, Valerie. Those who seek penance from the Divine, whom a lord sees fit to take into his care. And those who worm their way into a gentleman¡¯s heart and slowly hollow him out, bit by bit, extracting every ounce of wealth and social favour they can until he is left broken and destitute. The worst of them all are both. Wolves dressed as lambs, pretending to be redeemable. Which one are you?¡±


    She thought of the courtesans in Jairah. Sweet, joyful Rose, who could light up any room with her smile. Wise Mona, whose social grace smoothed over the most fractious interaction. Nervous Amilia, who was always the first to know any palace gossip. And Flavia¡­ Her mouth tightened. Poor, innocent Flavia, the Maskamery girl who had been taken into Lord Thorne¡¯s ¡°care¡± and then tossed aside.


    Out of that group, Melody was certainly the sharpest. The ringleader of the palace ladies, someone Valerie looked up to with a mixture of respect and exasperation.


    Hearing Juliana badmouth these ladies now, she felt a strange kind of loyalty to them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t recognise that description, Your Grace. The duty of a courtesan is only to provide companionship. Isn¡¯t that what wives do too?¡±


    Juliana¡¯s gaze turned cold. ¡°Tell Ophelia to drop this pretence at charity.¡±


    Valerie opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was no arguing with that icy facade. She rose, bowed her head, and exited the drawing room.


    *


    She found Ophelia in their shared bedchamber. The smaller girl flung herself at Valerie at once.


    ¡°Oh, look! I¡¯m shaking.¡± She held up a trembling hand. ¡°I¡¯m such a coward.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Valerie enclosed the other girl¡¯s hands in her own. ¡°You were brave. You stood up to her.¡±


    ¡°Truly, she terrifies me.¡±


    ¡°Me too.¡±


    ¡°Was I wrong, do you think?¡± Ophelia¡¯s lip wobbled. ¡°I¡¯m not so close to Lady Melody as I made out...¡±


    ¡°No, listen.¡± She squeezed Ophelia¡¯s hands. ¡°You¡¯re the kindest person I know. I honestly don¡¯t know how you grew up here and managed to be so kind, but don¡¯t ever lose that. We need more people like you in the world.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Ophelia whispered.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    She let the other girl step back, giving her space. Ophelia looked at her hands, clenching them into fists and breathing in and out until the trembling ceased.


    Then she looked up. ¡°Better. Thank you.¡±


    Valerie smiled.


    Priska entered the chamber, clearing her throat. ¡°My lady¡­¡±


    Her heart skipped. Time to go. Valerie made her excuses to Ophelia, then followed Priska out of the villa.

 2.21. Escort

    ¡ªa figure floating in the tempest. Gold is her sceptre and gold is her crown. The queen raises her staff to the heavens.


    The sky crackles with lightning. A bolt strikes a man on horseback¡ªa Drakonian soldier. Valerie clings to her mother, awestruck and terrified.


    The figure descends. ¡°Where is the man with Maska¡¯s sword?¡±


    *


    She didn¡¯t expect Rufus to be her escort.


    ¡°Well, you can¡¯t go on your own,¡± he said.


    Drakonian ladies weren¡¯t permitted to travel anywhere in the capital without a man accompanying them. Valerie found the whole thing ludicrous, even more so given that servants could travel alone. But she had instructed Priska to tackle that problem for her, and now she had no option but to accept the solution on offer.


    Rufus led the way, striding over to the waiting carriage. A few drops of rain pattered down, and Valerie dashed the last few feet to join him in the courtyard while the guards opened the gate. She¡¯d borrowed Priska¡¯s rough worn travelling cloak, the hood pulled over her head, but she wore her own silver buckled boots. The disguise was flimsy at best.


    Still, the fading light might work to her advantage. Clouds darkened the sky, her breath misting in the damp air. Rufus held out his hand, and she climbed in after him, hoping the guards wouldn¡¯t recognise her in the gloom.


    She knew this plan wasn¡¯t foolproof. Priska would claim to anyone who missed her that she was laid up in her sickbed, but someone could easily have spotted her leaving. Nor could they avoid Rufus¡¯s valet, since he was driving the carriage. And she hadn¡¯t even thought about what to do when she returned¡­


    Despite this, Rufus remained obnoxiously cheerful. He adjusted his waistcoat as the carriage set off and whistled a tuneless ditty.


    Valerie craned her head to watch the guards through the narrow rear window and didn¡¯t relax until the gate and the villa had faded into the twilight. Trees swallowed up the road, bent and swaying under the weight of the steadily increasing rain. They descended towards the bridge that led into the city.


    ¡°You all right?¡±


    She let out a breath, turning back to Rufus sitting opposite her. He had a shrewd look about him, forehead wrinkled in concern.


    ¡°Yeah. You?¡±


    ¡°Never better.¡± He patted the scarlet and gold-trimmed handkerchief arranged artfully in his breast pocket. ¡°Put on my Drakonian best for dinner with the Duke of Arden. What do you think?¡±


    She thought he looked like a parody of a Drakonian gentleman. Even more so than their first meeting, he had imitated their foppish style to an elaborate degree, with a laced up shirt and frilly sleeves. A top hat and tails completed the look. But her eyes were drawn to the handkerchief.


    ¡°I like the colours,¡± she said.


    He grinned. ¡°It¡¯ll be quite the party, so I hear. They like their foreign guests to put on a show. Lord Avon wants me with him to talk up Maskamere. Never stops, does he? But don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll drop you off first.¡±


    She stared at him. Avon was attending some party without her? Not only that, he¡¯d recruited Rufus to help him? A flash of jealousy prickled through her, and she swallowed an angry response. Of course he wouldn¡¯t wait for her to recover. Whoever the Duke of Arden was, Avon probably needed his vote at the Senate.


    ¡°Good,¡± she said, deciding to treat this as a stroke of luck. ¡°You know where I¡¯m going, right?¡±


    ¡°Aye. Priska told me.¡±


    ¡°Did she tell you why?¡±


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    ¡°No. I have a feeling it¡¯s best I don¡¯t know.¡±


    She twisted her mouth. ¡°This won¡¯t end well if you get caught.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s not get caught.¡±


    Valerie frowned. How could he say that with so little care? He didn¡¯t seem worried at all. And why had he agreed to help in the first place?


    ¡°You¡¯re putting your marriage at risk,¡± she pointed out. ¡°What¡¯s in it for you?¡±


    He spread his hands. ¡°I¡¯m doing you a favour, Valerie. One Maskamery to another.¡±


    Outside, the rain lashed down. Judging by the gas lamps and the tightly packed buildings, they¡¯d crossed the bridge and entered the city, but it was impossible to see any detail. The rain drummed on the roof of the carriage in time with the clip-clopping of the horses¡¯ hooves, so that she felt as if they were enclosed in a strange watertight cocoon.


    And she didn¡¯t understand this man cocooned with her. She¡¯d never asked for his help. Quite the opposite: she¡¯d been openly hostile.


    ¡°Why?¡± she asked. ¡°So that I¡¯ll owe you?¡±


    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare to impose a debt on a priestess. My time is offered freely. You can thank me if you like.¡±


    Not likely. He irritated her like the slowly healing scars on her back; she shifted in her seat to displace the itch. Rufus watched her.


    After a moment, he said, ¡°I am trying to help. Promise.¡±


    So did Priska, and she¡¯s why the Emperor had me flogged.


    Her annoyance at Priska hadn¡¯t gone away either. The maid had put her into this position. Forced her to rely on a man whose loyalties she couldn¡¯t be certain of, when for all she knew he could be a double agent.


    ¡°I think you should focus on helping Lord Avon,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯ll find that safer.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± He leaned back, crossing his legs. ¡°What do you think about this election?¡±


    Valerie blinked. ¡°Avon¡¯s election?¡±


    ¡°Our election. Your beau Lord Avon up against our boy Titus. Who would you vote for?¡±


    He was fishing again. Avon did this too, but he was careful, precise. Rufus questioned her with all the subtlety of a brick to the face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t get a vote,¡± she said, ¡°so it doesn¡¯t really matter, does it?¡±


    ¡°Any reason your beau isn¡¯t escorting you to dinner?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re his companion at the party. You tell me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want him to know,¡± Rufus observed. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Why are you so nosy?¡±


    ¡°Why are you so prickly?¡±


    She bit back a sharp retort. He didn¡¯t even look mad, only curious, and admitting that he was the source of her irritation would do her no favours.


    ¡°Look,¡± she said, ¡°it¡¯s been a long week, and I can¡¯t say or do anything here that won¡¯t get me into trouble. I didn¡¯t want to involve you in this. And you shouldn¡¯t try to help me. It won¡¯t do you any good.¡±


    In the pause that followed, the rain beating down outside seemed to amplify. The carriage wheels rattled beneath them.


    ¡°You know,¡± said Rufus, ¡°I can¡¯t work you out.¡±


    He let the silence hang in the air, but Valerie didn¡¯t fill it. She wouldn¡¯t be drawn into explaining herself. He observed her still, and she smoothed her features into her blandest possible expression, the one she used to deflect Avon¡¯s interrogations.


    Finally, Rufus shook his head with a wry smile. ¡°I see. You like to play hard to get. Lord Avon¡¯s a braver man than me.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to tell him where I¡¯m going tonight?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°No, I¡¯ll be a good dog and keep my big mouth shut. Figure that¡¯ll be safer.¡±


    Relief washed over her. ¡°I think it will.¡±


    But she couldn¡¯t entirely relax. If she was in his position, she¡¯d squirrel away this information for another rainy day and have it ready to use against her. She had the unsettling feeling that Rufus knew that¡ªthat he saw straight through her¡ªwhich didn¡¯t help.


    Maybe he wasn¡¯t a schemer like the rest of them. Maybe he was a good person at heart. She never liked to assume that.


    Her doubts vanished as the carriage came to a halt, and a fresh wave of anxiety swooped through her stomach. They¡¯d arrived.


    The valet opened the carriage door, and the rain¡¯s volume instantly doubled. It was pouring in sheets. Valerie peered out at the dark street and shivered.


    The valet unfurled an umbrella and she stepped out, ducking her head. She could barely make out her surroundings: a tall building, an elegant cast-iron gate fashioned in a pattern of intertwining roses, a short path flanked by sodden flower beds, and then a porch¡­


    Footsteps hurried behind her; Rufus had followed. He hunched over, half under the umbrella, half getting soaked by the rain.


    She wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself. ¡°Don¡¯t you have a party to get to?¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t go in alone,¡± he said seriously. ¡°At least let me show my face.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s Maskamery. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Rufus shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know when we¡¯ll be back to collect you. These Drakonians do like to drone on.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± she insisted. ¡°Go.¡±


    Rufus didn¡¯t look convinced, but he didn¡¯t press the matter any further. He bowed, then returned to the carriage, the valet doing his best to hold the umbrella aloft. Valerie watched him go with a pang. She would feel so much better doing this with someone she trusted, but Rufus didn¡¯t make that cut.


    Nor could she tell him the real reason he wasn¡¯t invited. The conversation she was about to have would only implicate her in the eyes of the Drakonian court, and Avon wouldn¡¯t be happy if he found out either. It would be unfair to drag Rufus into it.


    Well, too late for second thoughts. She was stuck out here on her own. The porch sheltered her from the rain, but the cold seeped through her cloak. Best not wait any longer.


    When she knocked at the door, the man who answered was tall, curly-haired and whip-thin. He gazed at her with sea-green eyes.


    ¡°Valerie Crescent,¡± he said. ¡°Come in.¡±

 2.22. Titus

    Her grandmother pushes through the crowd. ¡°Your Majesty, help us! What is happening?¡±


    ¡°The invasion has begun.¡± The queen¡¯s voice is somehow vast and distant. ¡°We must defend the realm.¡±


    A light and limber feeling steals over Valerie¡¯s limbs. As one, the villagers follow their queen, from the most stooped elder to the smallest child. They¡¯re not flying, but it feels like floating, the way¡ª


    *


    Entering Titus¡¯s home was like stepping back into Maskamere. Light and airy, she admired the lamps that set the walls awash with colour¡ªcreamy white, deep orange, teal and rich wood-brown¡ªand the terracotta vases set at intervals along the hallway. Maskamery loved to paint their own murals on every available surface, and often the walls would end up several layers thick as each generation added their own artistic touch to their homes.


    Her nose twitched. Valerie suppressed a sneeze and realised that she was dripping water onto the mosaic floor.


    Titus took her sodden cloak, hanging it up on a nearby stand. ¡°Didn¡¯t Priska come with you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°She¡¯s covering for me back at the villa. I can¡¯t stay long.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± he said. ¡°I understand. You¡¯ve caused quite a stir.¡±


    ¡°So have you.¡±


    He clapped his hands. ¡°Yes! Well. Dinner isn¡¯t quite ready, so why don¡¯t I give you the grand tour?¡±


    The house had three floors: the basement, which Titus showed her briefly, where two harried servants were preparing their meal in a great stone kitchen; the ground floor, which included a large piano in the drawing room, the dining room where silver plates had been set out on the table, and a sunny conservatory overlooking the narrow overgrown garden; and the upper floor, which contained three bedchambers and two bath chambers.


    ¡°I use it as a study,¡± Titus said, showing her the tiny third bedchamber with its shuttered attic window. ¡°Quieter at the back of the house.¡±


    ¡°Do you live here alone?¡±


    ¡°I do. Quite the bachelor pad.¡±


    He led her back down the creaking spiral staircase. The house was old and a little rough around the edges. She¡¯d noticed cracked tiles, faded paintwork and moth eaten curtains.


    ¡°Bachelor pad?¡±


    ¡°Ah, the home of an unmarried man.¡±


    He sounded like a Drakonian, she thought. Traces of his natural accent slipped through, but he had the cut-glass vowels down pat.


    They returned to the dining room, where the servants poured them wine and set out a Drakonian dish of roast venison with root vegetables, the knives and forks arranged in the manner of Drakonian nobility. That disappointed her a little. Valerie and her family always served their food in bowls with large wooden spoons, everyone piling in to fill their plates¡­


    Titus watched her. ¡°How is it?¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± She speared a buttery potato. ¡°Thank you for inviting me.¡±


    ¡°Well, I wanted to meet you too.¡±


    Did you? Why?


    She took a moment to observe her host. His face was open, friendly, mild-mannered. Titus had fully adopted both the fashion and manners of Drakonian gentlemen, and in a much more natural way than Rufus. He looked like a well-to-do scholar in his trim blue waistcoat with everything tucked in. So what was he doing in this big old house alone?


    ¡°I heard you¡¯re standing for Chancellor of Maskamere,¡± she said.


    He smiled. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s been a long, hard road, but I¡¯ve finally gained the Senate¡¯s favour. And if I win¡­ I¡¯ll be able to go home.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯re standing? It¡¯s your only way out?¡±


    ¡°My only legitimate way, yes. It may appear that I live quite well, but¡­¡± He gestured around them. ¡°Well, I think you know what it¡¯s like to endure a luxurious prison.¡±


    Priska must have told him everything, she thought. And yes, perhaps she understood his position better than most.


    As if to remind her of that fact, her back twinged. Valerie suppressed a grimace and ignored it.


    ¡°I heard you were a prisoner of war.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I came to Drakon before the war.¡± He cut a piece of venison. ¡°This house was part of the old Maskamery embassy. My mother was Ambassador Markella Steward. I was the queen¡¯s Messenger.¡±


    ¡°Did you know the war was coming?¡±


    ¡°Yes and no. Relations had been going downhill. The Empire became more and more demanding. They threatened to invade, but it¡¯s not the first time they¡¯ve done that. We didn¡¯t expect them to actually attack when they did.¡±


    ¡°They threatened to invade and you didn¡¯t take them seriously?¡±


    ¡°We took them very seriously. We just didn¡¯t think they would start a war.¡± Seeing the look on her face, Titus put down his fork. ¡°Think of it like this. The Empire is a bully with a very big stick. That bully waves his stick at you and says, give me your food or I¡¯ll hit you with my stick. And you say, I¡¯ve been around for a thousand years and no one has ever successfully hit me with any stick, so back off. He responds with more stick waving and more demands, so you give him some food and that shuts him up for a while. Until he comes back for more.¡±


    ¡°So what made them finally decide to invade?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s only so long a smaller power can resist a larger power that wants to swallow it up. Ask your consort. Lord Avon was part of Drakon¡¯s last diplomatic visit to Maskamere. It didn¡¯t go well.¡±


    ¡°Was that when he asked the queen to marry him?¡±


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    ¡°Ah, so he did tell you. Yes. I think we were doomed right then, but we didn¡¯t know it.¡±


    Her mind raced. Was that the turning point, then? Avon¡¯s visit to Maskamere? The queen had turned down his proposal. She¡¯d wondered if the Emperor had taken his son¡¯s rejection personally.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± Titus went on, ¡°my mother and I were both in Drakardia when the invasion began. We spent months under house arrest. I kept hoping for good news, something that would turn our fortunes around. But the news was always bad. Eventually I gave up. I swore my allegiance to the Empire, and in return I got to keep the house. Not the worst deal, I suppose.¡±


    She wiped her mouth, thinking. ¡°What about your mother? What happened to her?¡±


    His face pinched. ¡°She passed away a little over two months ago.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I thought I was alone,¡± he said. ¡°I didn¡¯t imagine that I would ever see my sister again. I have you to thank for that, Valerie. I hope that, if I win, we¡¯ll return to Maskamere together.¡±


    She felt a twinge of sympathy. Like all of her people, he¡¯d lost a great deal during the war. But if he hoped to escape the clutches of the Empire, she would have to disappoint him.


    ¡°Even if you win, you¡¯ll be the Empire¡¯s puppet. You know that, right? They¡¯re not letting our country go.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± said Titus, ¡°but it¡¯s better that we¡¯re ruled by our own people, don¡¯t you think? The Empire can¡¯t be everywhere at once.¡±


    ¡°And you think that person should be you?¡±


    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t it? I have royal blood, you know.¡±


    She blinked. ¡°You do?¡±


    ¡°You see the eyes? Dead giveaway. They call it witch-green here.¡±


    Yes, he had the green eyes. They reminded her most of her fellow courtesan Flavia, who almost certainly also possessed royal blood, but that hadn¡¯t done the girl any favours. She was a Viper, and he was a Steward, both of them families who had lived in the palace and intermingled with the royal family for generations.


    Both all but wiped out.


    ¡°They killed anyone connected to the royal family,¡± she said. ¡°I saw Prince Bakra die myself. Why aren¡¯t they getting rid of you?¡±


    ¡°The prince was foolish. He openly defied them. I don¡¯t have an army, Valerie, nor a death wish. But I do have influential friends. Like you. You have Lord Avon¡¯s ear, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, feeling uneasy.


    ¡°Then we can work together. You help me win as Chancellor, and I¡¯ll take you back to Maskamere.¡±


    Her breath caught. She had planned to ask him exactly this, and here he was, offering it to her first. An escape route. A way out if Avon failed.


    Of course, he was also asking her to break her promise to Avon. If she helped him, she wouldn¡¯t only be using him as a backup plan, she would be actively sabotaging Avon¡¯s efforts to win the election.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± She didn¡¯t know how to react. ¡°That¡¯s quite an offer.¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s not. We could do with your magic. We¡¯ll need it to rebuild.¡±


    ¡°The Empire won¡¯t like that.¡±


    ¡°The Empire doesn¡¯t have to know.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like in Maskamere. The Empire will know. Believe me.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying no?¡± He tilted his head. ¡°I thought you were part of the resistance.¡±


    But the resistance hadn¡¯t survived for as long it had by accepting anyone who claimed to support them. They¡¯d always vetted new members first. Valerie had complained when they¡¯d done it to her, but she understood the logic.


    Titus had offered to help her. He had every reason to hate the Empire and every reason to want her support, and yet she didn¡¯t quite feel satisfied. Something was bothering her.


    As she pondered that, the servants returned and whisked away her newly empty plate. Dessert followed.


    Valerie stared at the pink mousse with its strawberry crown, then at Titus. ¡°What about the letter you stole?¡±


    ¡°That was perfect, don¡¯t you think? The Senate all think he¡¯s mad.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    He blinked. ¡°It had to be a surprise. I wanted to catch Lord Avon off-guard.¡±


    His answer suggested that it hadn¡¯t even occurred to him that he should have informed her, and that infuriated her more than anything else. She sipped her wine and fixed him with a hard gaze.


    ¡°For someone who¡¯s so keen to work together, I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t bother to warn me.¡±


    His mouth tightened. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯m not making myself clear. I don¡¯t appreciate being kept in the dark, and I especially don¡¯t appreciate being used as a scapegoat in someone else¡¯s plan. I want an apology. For throwing me to the wolves.¡±


    He stared at her, and for a fleeting moment something like rage flashed in his eyes. Then it was gone, and he shrugged, shifting in his seat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. My enemy is Lord Avon. Not you. Evidently you were caught in the crossfire.¡±


    ¡°If you want my help, you can¡¯t hide things from me. Understood?¡±


    The darkness hadn¡¯t quite left his eyes. ¡°Fine, yes. You¡¯ve made your point.¡±


    ¡°All right, then.¡± She straightened up, ignoring the discomfort in her back. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±


    ¡°Not much. Just stay by Lord Avon¡¯s side. The longer he keeps you around, the more votes I win.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it? Just being there is enough?¡±


    She said it with despondency. How could she change the tide of opinion so firmly set against her? If her mere appearance provoked fear and hatred¡­ Not even that, the mere whisper of her name.


    Titus nodded. ¡°Can I count on your support?¡±


    ¡°Can I count on you to take me home?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    His gaze was direct. She couldn¡¯t tell if he was lying. It would be easy for him to abandon her if he won the Chancellorship. He could return to Maskamere and leave her at the mercy of the Empire¡­ But if he wanted her help to rebuild, that gave him a reason to keep her around.


    All things considered, he seemed like a viable escape route.


    She pushed away her empty dessert glass. ¡°Okay. Let¡¯s work together. But we can¡¯t meet again like this. We¡¯ll use Priska as our go-between.¡±


    ¡°To send messages? Absolutely.¡± Titus leapt up, clapping his hands. ¡°Very good! Oh, but before you go, let¡¯s finish off our tour. I¡¯ve yet to show you the garden.¡±


    *


    Titus led her along a winding path through the garden and past an ornamental pond. Tall hedges loomed up on either side, making the narrow space feel even more hemmed in. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a damp mess of tangled shrubs and long grass that squelched beneath her feet.


    ¡°It¡¯s overgrown,¡± she observed.


    She didn¡¯t know why he was so keen to show it off. Valerie would have been embarrassed at the state of it if Titus had been her guest.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a gardener,¡± he confessed. ¡°And I¡¯m not much of one myself. Best I can do is grow a few tomatoes in the greenhouse¡­¡±


    The greenhouse stood at the very back of the garden, its glass panes covered in moss and creepers. Titus took a rusty old key out of his pocket and turned it in the lock. Valerie frowned when he opened the door for her.


    Why did he want her to go in there? A cramped, secluded space, away from the servants¡­ Unease fluttered in her stomach.


    ¡°You know, it¡¯s getting late,¡± she said. ¡°I need to get back¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± said Titus. ¡°No, look.¡±


    He gestured. Surely he didn¡¯t want her to admire his tomatoes. Against her better judgement, Valerie approached the greenhouse entrance.


    Then she gasped.


    A wave of warmth hit her. Not the heat trapped in the greenhouse, but something else she had never expected: magic.


    The world burst into colour. Her senses magnified, an awareness of her own body that flowed out from her heart through her fingertips and into the air around her. Every living thing thrummed with its own energy. And in the middle of the greenhouse, a vivid pulse shone with bright new life.


    ¡°A silvertree!¡±


    She dashed inside without thinking, drawn to that magical spark. And there it was, nestled on a trestle table jostling for space with a dozen other plant pots: a tiny seedling of pale wood and sharp silver-tinted leaves.


    It was barely the size of her hand. And it didn¡¯t glow like a mature tree; it seemed small and innocuous.


    She pressed her hands on the table, and pain shot up her spine. The welts she¡¯d staunchly ignored for the past day came back into full focus. Valerie closed her eyes.


    Heal, she thought.


    She wiped away the bruises, the scabs, the aches and pains, the tension in her back and shoulders, the fatigue behind her eyes. Searched her own body systematically, breathing in and out, smoothing every knot.


    ¡°You feel it then,¡± said Titus.


    She turned. He¡¯d followed her.


    ¡°We planted it last year,¡± he went on. ¡°It¡¯s been my most precious possession ever since. Valerie¡­ I want you to give me the blessing.¡±


    For a moment she couldn¡¯t speak. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Give me the blessing,¡± he said. ¡°Then I¡¯ll really show those Drakonians what for.¡±


    He stared at her with undisguised fervour in his eyes. Her heart sank. If she refused him¡­


    Valerie.


    She flinched. That voice! The queen. A whisper in the air, a distant summons¡­ Miles and miles of land and ocean lay between herself and the goldentree, and yet that thread of gold still connected them. Enough to hear the queen.


    Enough to respond.


    ¡°Valerie?¡± said Titus.


    Valerie turned away, casting out with her magical senses. She breathed in the warm moist air, the scent of ripe tomatoes, and then the greenhouse disappeared altogether.

 2.23. False Promises

    ¡ªher feet eat up the ground, climbing the familiar route past the bubbling stream and towards the convent.


    A horse screams.


    Valerie darts through the trees, losing track of her mother, her cousins¡­ Shots fire through the dark. Then she sees a sight she¡¯ll never forget¡ª


    *


    ¡°Hello again,¡± said the queen.


    Shikra perched on the royal bed in her red silks and golden crown like a falcon atop its roost. The evening sun filtered through the gossamer drapes, casting the chamber in a soft amber light. A gentle, lilting melody enriched the air, the harp¡¯s strings plucked by invisible hands.


    Valerie breathed in the scent of magic, of home. Her bare feet sank into the thick carpet.


    She swallowed. ¡°Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in Drakon,¡± Shikra observed. ¡°The capital?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°At the¡­ the old Maskamery embassy. They brought a silvertree here. It¡¯s tiny, barely a sapling.¡±


    ¡°They being the Ambassador? Markella?¡±


    ¡°Or Titus, her son. I spoke to him today. Ambassador Markella is dead.¡±


    Valerie trembled as she spoke. Her eyes never left Shikra, trying to discern any emotion in that serene, ageless face.


    The queen tilted her head. ¡°You¡¯re hurt.¡±


    And she rose, Valerie shrinking away as the queen approached. Pain blossomed in her back. The lashes, she thought. She¡¯d healed them moments before, but her dream-self hadn¡¯t caught up with reality¡­ or else the queen had sensed her injuries and summoned her into this world a wounded bird.


    Silently, Shikra circled her, pausing to examine her back. ¡°What happened?¡±


    She hadn¡¯t expected to hear sympathy in the queen¡¯s voice. Furiously, Valerie willed the scars to disappear.


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°Did Avon hurt you?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± She was annoyed at even having to justify herself. ¡°It was the Emperor.¡±


    ¡°Then Avon failed to protect you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you care.¡±


    ¡°I do care.¡± Shikra returned to her seat in a rustle of red silk. ¡°My priestesses protect us from such brutality. Those living in the shadow of the Empire are not so fortunate.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to teach me that the Empire is bad, Shikra.¡±


    ¡°Are we on first name terms now?¡± The queen smiled, her cheek dimpling. ¡°Perhaps we should be. I¡¯m sure you have much to share.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± She shifted on her feet. ¡°I¡¯m starting to remember.¡±


    ¡°Remember what?¡±


    ¡°The things that happened before. The time you rewound. The time we met. Maska¡¯s sword¡­ It¡¯s Avon¡¯s sword, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Shikra frowned. ¡°That sword is a great treasure that was stolen from us. I¡¯d hoped you might help me to get it back.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you wanted me to go back to Drakon?¡±


    Was the key to stopping the war not a person, but a weapon? She had witnessed the blade¡¯s power firsthand. The sword that had pierced her heart¡­


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    ¡°What else do you remember?¡±


    But Valerie didn¡¯t answer. She paced around the chamber, her mind a whirlwind of questions. How could the queen lose a treasure like that? And how did she expect Valerie to take it back? Avon already had the sword on the night of the invasion. It was too late to stop him then.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± she said. ¡°You can rewind time. How can you let anything be stolen from you?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes victory comes at a cost.¡±


    Valerie waited, but the queen said no more.


    She shook her head in frustration. ¡°If you want my help, you have to give me more than that. I¡¯ve been trying to figure things out here in Drakon, but I don¡¯t even know where to start.¡±


    Shikra regarded her for a moment, and Valerie stared back. Neither had mentioned their last encounter, how she had used the sleeping curse to escape Shikra¡¯s grasp, but the tension hung heavy in the air between them. She had rejected the queen¡¯s command twice now.


    But here, at last, she was negotiating with Shikra on her own terms. Giving the slightest suggestion that she had followed the queen¡¯s bidding in Drakon, that she might be willing to help. Would Shikra take the bait?


    Instead, the queen said, ¡°What do you know about Titus Steward?¡±


    Valerie blinked. ¡°He¡¯s standing for election as Chancellor of Maskamere. He wants to go home.¡±


    ¡°Not now. Then. His involvement in the war.¡±


    ¡°He was a prisoner of war.¡±


    ¡°I doubt that,¡± said Shikra. ¡°He betrayed me.¡±


    The light in the chamber dimmed. Her heart raced.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°He was a traitor. He passed on information about Maskamere¡¯s defences and other vital information to Drakon to aid their invasion.¡±


    Valerie listened to all of this, the breath constricting in her chest. Titus a traitor? But then¡­ the dinner. Everything he¡¯d promised her.


    All lies.


    And he was standing over her shoulder at this very moment, demanding the blessing.


    She felt sick. ¡°If you already know that Titus is a traitor, why didn¡¯t you stop him?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡± Shikra glanced at the window, the drapes swaying. ¡°I executed Titus Steward and all of his fellow Messengers who had conspired against me, and still the Empire invaded. Titus is not the cause. Someone else influenced the Emperor. That is what I want you to discover.¡±


    The Patriarch?


    She almost said the name out loud, then bit her lip. Shikra wanted this information. She couldn¡¯t give it away for nothing. And she had no real evidence yet; she couldn¡¯t say for sure who or what had instigated the war.


    ¡°I see,¡± she said.


    ¡°Have you learned anything of interest?¡±


    Valerie saw it clearly now, the opportunity before her. She grasped it at once.


    ¡°I would be delighted to share everything I¡¯ve learned, Your Majesty,¡± she said, ¡°on one condition.¡±


    The harp played a discordant note. An eddy of cold air whistled about her neck and shoulders, and the moonlight shining through the window threw the chamber into sharp, monotone relief.


    The queen stared at her. ¡°And what would that be?¡±


    ¡°I want to return to Maskamere. I¡¯ll tell you what I¡¯ve learned then, but only if you don¡¯t possess me. My body is mine. You have to respect that.¡±


    ¡°I would agree to that,¡± said Shikra, ¡°if only I could trust you to return me to my body.¡±


    Because she was still trapped, lost between realms. For all that Shikra had conjured this vision of the palace and its splendour, she had no real power here. The advantage lay with Valerie.


    She let that thought give her confidence, straighten her back. The queen¡¯s sharp gaze pierced her, but she stepped forward nonetheless. Sat down on the bed. Looked at her as if they were equals.


    ¡°You can trust me,¡± she said. ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten what happened to Markus. There¡¯s no future for me here without the people I care about. I¡¯m willing to help you, Your Majesty, I just¡­ I don¡¯t want to lose myself in the process.¡±


    She cradled the emotion within her, letting it spill out in her voice, in beseeching eyes. This was not a playact to deceive but something better: real, true, heartfelt pain.


    Shikra gazed back at her.


    ¡°Very well,¡± the queen murmured. ¡°Let us swear under the light of the goldentree.¡±


    And the royal bedchamber dissolved away. She and Shikra stood at the peak of a lonely hill, bathed in the light of the goldentree. Its canopy was the sky, its enormous trunk a great, inviting door. Shikra took Valerie¡¯s left hand in her own. Their right hands pressed against the rough bark. Heat and power looped through her, not as potent as the real thing, but potent enough.


    ¡°Does this¡­¡± It seemed a silly question. ¡°Does this count?¡±


    ¡°We make it count.¡±


    This image of the goldentree was no more real than the image of the queen¡¯s bedchamber, preserved in its original state before the war. So a promise made under its boughs couldn¡¯t be binding¡­ Unless they made it so.


    Valerie frowned. Did she understand the queen¡¯s meaning?


    ¡°Go on,¡± Shikra prompted her. ¡°Speak your oath.¡±


    She recalled the traditional words. ¡°I, Valerie Crescent, do swear that the oath I make is binding and true. If I speak falsely, may I surrender my body to Queen Shikra¡¯s possession. I swear this under the light of the goldentree. I will tell Queen Shikra what I¡¯ve learned about the war when I return to Maskamere, and I will step through the silvertree at St. Maia if and only if she doesn¡¯t possess me.¡±


    It¡¯s not real, she thought. It¡¯s not a binding oath. I can break it without consequence.


    As long as she believed so, would that make it true?


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Shikra dropped her hands. ¡°I¡¯ll await your return. But don¡¯t take too long. Your tree at Bolebund is already gone.¡±


    For a second, as Valerie turned away from the goldentree and towards the flat, grey landscape below, she glimpsed the charred remains of a silvertree, one of many stumps that had once comprised Maskamere¡¯s great forest.


    But before she had a chance to recognise it, the waking world intruded. Valerie opened her eyes, startled, as a man¡¯s shadow loomed behind her.


    ¡°Valerie?¡±

 2.24. False Allies

    Queen Shikra stoops over a fallen Drakonian soldier like a bird of prey, sceptre in one hand and a glowing sword in the other. She plunges the blade into the man¡¯s heart¡ª


    *


    Disoriented, Valerie stared at the slab of wood obscuring her field of vision, then realised belatedly that she was looking down at the trestle table in the greenhouse. Reeling upright, she stumbled backwards and almost tripped over a plant pot.


    Titus caught her. ¡°Valerie! Are you okay?¡±


    She righted herself. ¡°Sorry¡ªyeah.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were about to faint. What happened?¡±


    Something flashed at the corner of her vision. She blinked, focusing, and then did a double take as she turned to face Titus.


    His wrist was glowing.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    He frowned. ¡°What¡¯s what?¡±


    ¡°Your hand. Show me.¡±


    She pulled back his sleeve, revealing a shimmering glyph that pulsed under the surface of his skin. Lines and circles bled together like ink on paper, constantly shifting and merging, but always returning to the same basic shape: a sort of stick figure. Her fingertips touched the mark. And like a knot unfurling, the glyph¡¯s meaning revealed itself.


    Vessel.


    Titus snatched his hand away. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Titus, you¡­¡± She looked up at him. ¡°You¡¯ve been enchanted.¡±


    ¡°What? No, I haven¡¯t. What are you talking about?¡±


    But a wild light had entered his eyes, and she remembered what Shikra had told her, that he was a traitor. She had to tread carefully.


    ¡°It¡¯s a tracking spell,¡± she lied. ¡°I see the mark on your skin. Did the queen ever tell you that she tracked her Messengers?¡±


    He lifted his wrist and stared at it. ¡°No, I¡­ I don¡¯t see anything. And she never said anything either. You¡¯re telling me that the queen bewitched us?¡±


    She stepped out of his reach. ¡°That¡¯s what it looks like. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    For a moment, he didn¡¯t speak. She watched him carefully, the frown lines on his face, the way he stared at his own wrist like a foreign object. He showed no sign of disbelieving her. So he really didn¡¯t know about the glyph.


    Had the queen put it there? For what purpose?


    ¡°I¡­¡± He looked up, shoving his hands in his pockets. ¡°Well, thank you for telling me. That¡¯s not the revelation I was expecting, but¡­ Thinking back, it doesn¡¯t surprise me. Her Majesty never did trust those of us who ventured beyond our realm. If you give me the blessing, do you think I can remove it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she said, ¡°but I can¡¯t do that right now. This tree is too weak. It¡¯s only a seedling; it needs time to grow before we can tap into its power.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± he said. ¡°Can you remove it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said again. ¡°It¡¯s not my spell¡­ I don¡¯t know how. If it helps, no one else can track you with it, and it doesn¡¯t work away from the silvertree anyway. So it won¡¯t do you any harm.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Right.¡±


    She understood his concern. After all, she could make up any story she wanted and he would be none the wiser. But since he was lying to her, it was only fair to balance the scales.


    ¡°I should go,¡± she said gently. ¡°I need to return before Lord Avon finds out I¡¯m gone.¡±


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    He looked at her. ¡°When will it be ready? The silvertree¡ªhow long does it need to grow?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But there are silvertrees still left in Maskamere. I can give you the blessing then, I just¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    She hesitated. ¡°I need to know I can trust you with it. There are so few of us left.¡±


    No one but hedge witches and petty sorcerers, those who had learned to conceal their magic from the Empire. She might well be the last Maskamery priestess.


    Valerie rested her hand on the trestle table, feeling the life in the smooth wood, the ripe tomato vines, and the tiny silvertree seedling beside her, the most precious living thing between here and the shores of her realm.


    She missed home so, so much.


    Meanwhile, Titus regarded her with a calculating look.


    ¡°You were taught not to give the blessing to people like me,¡± he said. ¡°I understand. That¡¯s something we¡¯ll both have to move past.¡±


    Over my dead body.


    She didn¡¯t consider that Shikra might have been lying about Titus. Why would the queen deceive her? It offered no benefit. No, Titus fit in perfectly here in Drakon. He was a snake through and through.


    ¡°Thank you for showing me this,¡± she said. ¡°It means more than you know.¡±


    ¡°And thank you for being honest.¡± He gave a small smile. ¡°That means a great deal to me too.¡±


    She smiled back, wondering if he knew she hadn¡¯t told him the truth.


    As long as he didn¡¯t call her out, it didn¡¯t matter. And to her relief, Titus didn¡¯t question her further. Rufus hadn¡¯t yet turned up to collect her, but Valerie didn¡¯t want to wait. Happily, Titus obliged her request for help, summoning one of his menservants to escort her back to the Emperor¡¯s villa. They bade their farewells.


    Alone in the carriage, Valerie contemplated what she had learned.


    Titus was no true ally. That didn¡¯t mean she couldn¡¯t use him to escape Drakon. It only meant she had to be more careful about it.


    The more disturbing revelation was the one she¡¯d concealed from him. She¡¯d felt it in the moment she had touched him. She could have passed through the glyph and occupied his body just as the queen had possessed hers. More than that, she could have wiped him clean, a blank slate ready and waiting for another soul to fill it.


    A vessel.


    The spell was surely of Shikra¡¯s making. But why would she mark Titus of all people? He lived outside Maskamere, making the glyph useless. Unless she¡¯d meant to possess him when he returned? To pose as an ally of the Empire?


    It seemed far-fetched, but the queen hadn¡¯t been forthcoming about her plans. Did she make a habit of possessing other people? She¡¯d done it with Valerie, after all, but without a glyph it hadn¡¯t gone so smoothly. Maybe Titus wasn¡¯t the first person she had marked. Maybe Shikra regularly jumped bodies in the same way other people changed clothes.


    Maybe she had no idea who the queen really was.


    She shivered at the thought. How could she fight someone who wouldn¡¯t stay dead, who wore bodies like gowns, who could literally reverse time itself? If only she were stronger! That fleeting glimpse of magic had lifted her spirits, but the dull dark of the carriage brought her mood right back down.


    No, she thought. Focus on the positive.


    Against all odds, she had engineered herself a way out. It didn¡¯t matter what happened in the election. She¡¯d struck a bargain with both contenders to take her home, and Shikra had promised not to possess her when she returned. Of course, she had no guarantee that Shikra would uphold her end of the bargain, but she hoped the queen¡¯s hunger for knowledge would keep her at bay, at least for a time.


    After all that, what stood in her way?


    Time.


    The clock was still ticking. If the silvertree at Bolebund had been destroyed, that cut off one avenue to the past. Two viable silvertrees remained: the tree in Enyr, which could take her back to her trip with Avon; and the tree at St. Maia, on the day of her blessing before the war began. If the Emperor ordered another purge before the election concluded, both trees could be lost and with that any chance of reversing her fortunes.


    The Emperor, it seemed, presented the biggest obstacle to her success. Why had he invaded Maskamere? The Patriarch¡¯s influence threatened him, yes, but surely not enough to drive him to war. What was she missing?


    Maybe I¡¯m overthinking it. It¡¯s just greed, like Titus said. A larger power swallowing up a smaller one.


    But that didn¡¯t explain the timing of the attack¡ªthe precise series of events that had led to this particular decision at this particular time. Most likely several factors had influenced the outcome. Yet she found herself wanting one simple explanation or at least a catalyst that had tipped the scales. Something she could go back and change.


    It¡¯s easy to think that if only I could go back and change one thing, everything would be different. But maybe it¡¯s not that simple.


    After all, if it were that easy, Shikra would have already done it.


    That thought stayed with her as the carriage pulled into the grounds of the Emperor¡¯s villa. Valerie instructed the manservant not to escort her to the entrance. Instead, she jumped out and brushed off Captain Doryn¡¯s suspicious questions about where she had been.


    ¡°Avon knows,¡± she told him, ¡°and you¡¯d do better not to ask. Tell no one I was gone.¡±


    That shut him up. She couldn¡¯t do much about the other guards who had seen her, but she sneaked in through the back entrance and hurried upstairs. Fortunately, she encountered no one else inside the villa except for one passing servant she quickly avoided.


    Feeling rather pleased with herself about that, Valerie headed for Ophelia¡¯s quarters expecting to find her friend or Priska waiting for her.


    Instead, Lord Avon perched on the edge of her bed with the air of an ominous crow.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°Where have you been?¡±

 2.25. Truth

    ¡ªhe shudders and goes still.


    The war has only just begun.


    *


    She froze. Dread swooped through her stomach and snatched her breath. For a moment, words escaped her.


    Avon stood up, and she quickly closed the door. ¡°I needed some air¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie.¡± He stalked towards her. ¡°You visited another man¡ªmy rival, no less¡ªin secret. You were with him in his house alone. Do you have any idea what kind of scandal that will cause?¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t be any worse than being a witch.¡±


    His eyes flashed. In a moment, he had closed the few feet between them. He grabbed her by the shoulders, shoving her up against the wall.


    She cried out in shock. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    He hadn¡¯t manhandled her like this since Maskamere. His hand curled around her throat and she shuddered, heart rate spiking. But he hadn¡¯t yet squeezed; she could still breathe. In fact, she realised, he was far more controlled than he had initially seemed, staring at her with icy intent.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Nothing happened,¡± she gasped. ¡°I know it¡¯s hard to believe, but not every man wants me.¡±


    ¡°Then what happened to your back?¡±


    She blinked, nonplussed. Oh. Slamming her into the wall should have hurt.


    ¡°Nothing¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± he said, twisting her around. ¡°Really.¡±


    A green-winged bird with a fan tail met her eyes; she breathed in the faint scent of wallpaper. Meanwhile his fingers worked at the lacing of her corset, and a shiver ran through her.


    ¡°Okay! I healed it, but I can explain, please¡ª¡±


    His fingers stopped. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you. Just¡­ let me catch my breath.¡±


    A long moment passed. She couldn¡¯t see him, but she felt his hand on her shoulder blade, sensed the shadow of his presence. Then the hand lifted and the shadow retreated. She turned to face him.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t deserve that,¡± she said, voice shaking. ¡°I visited Titus for you. I¡¯ve been helping you. Your father¡¯s enough of a brute without you being one too.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve yet to see any brutality from me.¡±


    The way he said it, quiet and matter-of-fact, did little to calm her nerves.


    She cleared her throat. ¡°Titus has a silvertree hidden in his garden. He wanted me to give him the blessing. I told him no, but I did get the chance to heal myself.¡±


    ¡°You used magic?¡±


    She nodded.


    One of her sleeves had slipped down from her shoulder; she pushed it back up, controlling her breathing. Avon stared at her. She could see his chest rising up and down too, his hands clenched into fists.


    ¡°I would have triggered the curse already,¡± she added, ¡°if I still had access to it.¡±


    He nodded slowly. The intensity of his gaze faded; he retreated to her bed, sitting down. She felt the tension between them ease and swallowed a sigh of relief.


    ¡°Do you remember when we were at the Baron¡¯s house?¡± she asked. ¡°There were things I didn¡¯t get to say then. I said I would tell you when I was ready.¡±


    He looked at her. ¡°Are you ready now?¡±


    She rolled her shoulders, collecting herself. This might be the biggest mistake of her life. Something she couldn¡¯t undo, might never be able to undo. But she needed Avon to trust her. And he had information that she needed about the war.


    Avon made room for her, Valerie sitting down next to him. There she rearranged the folds of her skirt, wondering how to begin.


    ¡°Titus wanted to see me. I wanted to find out what he was up to.¡±


    She told him as much of the conversation as she could remember. How Titus had asked for her support, how he had used the letter to discredit Avon and strengthen his own position, how he had promised to take her home. Then she told him about the glyph, how Titus had been unknowingly primed as a sorcerer¡¯s vessel.


    Avon frowned. ¡°A pawn?¡±


    ¡°But not a loyal one. He acted like he was on my side, but he¡¯s not. He was a traitor during the war.¡±


    ¡°A traitor to who?¡±


    ¡°To Maskamere. He gave away our secrets to the Empire. Didn¡¯t you know?¡±


    ¡°No, but that does explain his privileged position. How do you know? He didn¡¯t tell you that, did he?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°The queen did.¡±


    This part of the story took much longer. She went back to that night at the temple: her discovery of the goldentree, how Queen Shikra had appeared and showed her that the silvertrees were portals into the past, how her silvertree, the silvertree at St. Maia, was key to saving the realm.


    Avon listened to all of this without a word. When she had finished, the silence stretched on. He stared at his lap, face ashen. She couldn¡¯t blame him.


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    ¡°I know it¡¯s a lot,¡± she said quietly. ¡°It¡­¡±


    ¡°It changes everything.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    He must have a hundred questions. She knew she did. Valerie waited, letting him process.


    Finally, he looked at her for a long moment. ¡°She wants the sword. And she wants to persuade my father not to invade Maskamere. But to do that requires travelling back to the past.¡±


    Valerie nodded. ¡°Yeah¡­ That¡­ that¡¯s about the gist of it.¡±


    ¡°If she can reverse time, then why hasn¡¯t she already done it?¡±


    ¡°She has. But she¡¯s stuck this time. That¡¯s why she needs me to go back to the past. I have a body; she doesn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you do it? You could have gone back that night in the temple.¡±


    Valerie swallowed. ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t trust her.¡±


    He fell silent. She could almost hear the cogs whirring in his head. ¡°But now you¡¯ve promised to help her. Should I take it that you intend to go back?¡±


    ¡°I have to. She killed Markus. She¡¯ll keep killing people I care about until I do what she wants.¡±


    ¡°And what about Titus?¡± he asked. ¡°What does he have to do with any of this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe he¡¯s her back-up plan.¡±


    A second body to possess, another escape route. Maybe Avon would think of some other explanation. She couldn¡¯t think of one. She was conscious of his proximity, the way his gaze burned into her. Please believe me, she thought. I need your help.


    ¡°Look,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯m thinking maybe we should do what she wants, at least until we figure out how to stop her. Do you think you could persuade your father not to invade? We could go back and¡­¡±


    ¡°And what?¡± he said. ¡°I never objected to the war, Val. Why would I?¡±


    His face was hard. He¡¯d told her this already when she¡¯d asked him whether he would have stopped the war if he could, but she still felt the cold trickle of disappointment.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you feel any regret?¡± She stood up. ¡°You destroyed my home. You destroyed my people. My family is dead because of you. Markus is dead¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°How would you feel if it was your family? Your sister? Your¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± he asked, in a soft but dangerous tone.


    She stopped. Swallowed. ¡°No, my lord. But whatever victory you think you¡¯re holding on to here, it¡¯s not going to last. Even if you beat the Patriarch, there¡¯s still the queen. You won¡¯t have defeated Maskamere until you¡¯ve defeated her.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± he said, and he rose to his feet as well, reminding her that he was taller than her, bigger, stronger. ¡°You promised that you would help me in return for killing your queen. You promised Titus Steward that you would help him become Chancellor in return for helping you escape. And you promised the queen that you would bring her back to life in return for your own freedom. You can¡¯t keep all those promises. It appears to me that you¡¯ve been helping yourself. Conspiring behind my back.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not behind your back if I tell you, is it, my lord?¡±


    ¡°Do you think your transparent duplicity makes you any less duplicitous?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, ¡°but it doesn¡¯t make what I said any less true either.¡±


    He stared down at her, a muscle in his jaw twitching. In that moment, she wished that she had done more to gain his trust and less to betray it. He liked her despite her nature or even because of it, but he knew she was a scorpion. She¡¯d told him that many times over.


    And so the thought became ever more tempting, of wiping the slate clean, meeting Avon all over again¡­ He¡¯d never have to know. She¡¯d wrap him around her finger in no time and make him hers.


    ¡°What am I supposed to do with you,¡± he asked, ¡°when at every turn you prove your lack of loyalty?¡±


    ¡°You can do what you¡¯ve always done. Try to control me.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Or you could do something better. You could earn it.¡±


    ¡°Has anyone ever earned your loyalty?¡±


    ¡°You could be the first.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°Spoken like a true witch.¡±


    ¡°I am a witch,¡± she said. ¡°You know that. Don¡¯t act like you didn¡¯t want me dependent on you. You know what the real problem is? You¡¯ve never wanted me to choose you. You¡¯ve always wanted me to have no choice.¡±


    ¡°Well, perhaps if you didn¡¯t try to flee at every opportunity, I would be more inclined to allow you some freedom¡ª¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe if I had my freedom, I¡¯d be less inclined to flee!¡±


    ¡°Would you?¡±


    She could stand it no longer. Her impatience burst; she shoved at his chest, eyes blazing. ¡°I just told you everything. What more do you want from me? What more can you possibly take and still give me nothing in return?¡±


    ¡°Nothing?¡± He stood motionless, a granite slab impervious to her anger. ¡°After everything I¡¯ve done for you, after all I¡¯ve done to defend you¡ªyou call that nothing?¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t given me what I want. I want to go home, Avon, I want the silvertrees restored. I want my family back. And it¡¯s safe to go back now¡ªI made a deal with Shikra, we can¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Tears pricked her eyes. ¡°Are you going to force me to work against you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you as my enemy, Val. I¡¯ve made that very clear.¡±


    ¡°Then give me something! Anything. Tell me that you care. Tell me that you want to help.¡±


    It hurt, it honestly hurt, to have put so much faith in him, to have revealed all these secrets, only to get a stone wall in return. He could put her on a ship bound for Maskamere tomorrow if he chose to. And yet there he stood, unmoved.


    She searched his face. His furrowed brow, the tense line of his jaw. Had his gaze softened, even a little?


    ¡°I need to think,¡± he said quietly. ¡°This is not a time for hasty decisions¡ªfrom either of us, do you understand? We¡¯ll talk again in the morning.¡±


    She folded her arms. ¡°Fine. Go.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± he said. ¡°Your back.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°What about it?¡±


    ¡°You cannot have miraculously healed yourself. If any rumour of you using magic in Drakon is allowed to spread, it will discredit me and inflame fear and hatred of you.¡±


    ¡°So? I¡¯ll pretend it¡¯s still healing.¡±


    He looked at her, and she backed away, shaking her head. He couldn¡¯t be serious.


    ¡°Come on. There¡¯s no need.¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t hide it from me,¡± he said, ¡°and any of the servants may notice.¡±


    ¡°Priska won¡¯t say anything¡ª¡±


    She stopped. Actually, she didn¡¯t trust Priska. After the way the girl had screwed her over earlier and now finding out that her brother was a traitor, Avon¡¯s warning to trust no one seemed more and more apropos. Besides, how had he known that she¡¯d visited Titus? Assuming that Rufus had kept his mouth shut, he¡¯d probably gotten it out of Priska.


    So maybe Avon had a point. Still, she doubted his motives were that pure.


    ¡°You want to punish me, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Turn around,¡± he said.


    Fine.


    She obeyed, bracing her hands against the wall. Another exotic bird perched at her eye level, this one a golden oriole. The artwork was delicate, beautiful. Ophelia¡¯s quarters were the nearest thing to pretty she could find in this villa, and she focused on that rather than the shadow moving behind her.


    ¡°I get it,¡± she said. ¡°You and your father, I get it. The second I step out of place, you can¡¯t bear it.¡±


    Avon¡¯s footsteps closed in. Then the sound of something rustling; she guessed his belt undoing. She tensed.


    The belt struck. She yelped, tears springing to her eyes.


    ¡°You know,¡± she gasped, ¡°this is why we don¡¯t have fathers in Maskamere. Imagine doing this to your own child.¡±


    He struck again. She gritted her teeth.


    ¡°Imagine growing up like this. Did he hit you often? How old were you? Did he leave a scar?¡± She paused, waiting for a blow that didn¡¯t come. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    Her back smarted. She¡¯d have to get another round of tinctures to soothe it, but she¡¯d endured far worse.


    She turned to face him. He looked as pale as she¡¯d ever seen him, shoulders tense, mouth a grim line.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°Did I hurt your feelings?¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± he snapped. ¡°You were already healing. Your injuries shouldn¡¯t be worse.¡±


    Had she misjudged him? He was always so¡­ rigid, caught up in his own ideals of how a nobleman should behave. A lord wouldn¡¯t hesitate to discipline an unruly charge. How had Titus described it?


    The Empire is a bully with a very big stick.


    Then she¡¯d have to find a bigger one.


    ¡°You can leave now,¡± she said. ¡°Fetch Priska for me.¡±


    He opened his mouth, and she felt sure that he was going to reprimand her for failing to address him as my lord, but then he pressed his lips together, turned on his heel and swept out of the chamber. Before he closed the door, he turned back, and his gaze pierced her across the room.


    ¡°I¡¯m not my father.¡±


    The door slammed shut. Valerie sank down to the floor and let out a long breath.


    Maska help me.

 2.26. Trust

    In the darkest corner of an abandoned barn, Valerie huddles against a haystack and lights the tiniest spark by which to read the Book of Shadows.


    It¡¯s the first time in weeks she¡¯s been in a part of Maskamere that still has magic. They must be close to Jairah. And she must snatch any chance she can get to learn her craft before the Drakonians find her.


    She opens the book. Once again, the ink on the page forms into a question:


    Do you have a purpose?


    *


    The grey light of dawn had yet to show itself when Valerie slipped into Avon¡¯s bedchamber.


    The curtains were shut. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom. She moved like a ghost, treading lightly, and stopped to curl her hand around one of the bedposts. Darkness drained the colour from the room, but she made out his sleeping form, sprawled out and naked from the waist up¡ªat least that she could see¡ªhis hair delightfully mussed. Stubble darkened his jaw. His eyelids were closed, his breathing soft.


    She found herself staring at the hollow of his throat. And she remembered the sensation of his hand around her neck, the shock of him pressing her against the wall. What if she returned the favour? She could stop his breath. Choke the life out of him. Every night in the palace she had dreamt of another way to kill him. A knife in his heart. A pillow to smother him. Poison to drip between his lips.


    It had comforted her to imagine herself so dangerous, kept her from dwelling on fear.


    But the moment she had departed Maskamere¡¯s shores, everything was thrown out of balance.


    ¡°James,¡± she whispered. ¡°Are you awake?¡±


    He stirred. The name felt strange on her lips. There¡¯s power in a name, she thought. Someone had told her that once, though the memory escaped her.


    His eyes opened. Then she flinched as he shot upright and nearly lunged at her before catching himself.


    ¡°Valerie. What are you¡­?¡±


    ¡°The guards let me in. Didn¡¯t even search me. I could have slit your throat.¡±


    She climbed up on the bed and made a slicing motion across her neck.


    He slumped back against the pillow. ¡°It¡¯s too early for this.¡±


    ¡°Well, I woke up early. My back was hurting.¡±


    She pulled her silk robe around her shoulders, sitting with her legs tucked under her. He passed his hand over his eyes.


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°You said we could talk in the morning.¡±


    ¡°I meant after dawn.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re pretty like this,¡± she said. ¡°Like a startled owl.¡±


    ¡°Please either say something useful or leave.¡±


    She considered him. No, she hadn¡¯t come to torment him, no matter how much he deserved it. She hadn¡¯t slept soundly not because of her back, but because she knew she couldn¡¯t leave any ill feelings between them.


    ¡°I was thinking about what you said last night,¡± she began. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be your enemy either. We have too many enemies out there¡ª¡± she waved a vague hand¡ª¡°to be fighting in here. You accused me of being disloyal. And that hurt, because I¡¯ve shown more loyalty to you than I have to anyone in my life. You¡¯re the only one who knows about the queen and the goldentree. I haven¡¯t told anyone else. I told you everything¡ª¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me everything,¡± he said quietly.


    She tensed. ¡°What?¡±


    He sat up, leaning forward. ¡°I know about Priska.¡±


    It took her a moment to work out what he meant. ¡°The letter? I was protecting her, I didn¡¯t want¡ª¡±


    ¡°Are you protecting anyone else?¡±


    It was a sharp question softly asked. She suppressed a shiver.


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°No one else. You have to know the risk I¡¯m taking. You could keep me here if you wanted to. Stop me from ever going back.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps that would be safer.¡±


    ¡°If you think that, you may as well kill me now.¡±


    ¡°Val,¡± he said, shocked.


    ¡°No, I mean it.¡± She looked away. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m scared of. That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t say anything before. I¡¯m scared that you¡¯ll think it would have been better if I¡¯d never woken up after that night in the temple. It makes sense, right? They¡¯re all pointing fingers at me to make you look bad. I¡¯ve become a burden to you. That¡¯s why I had to look for another way out.¡±


    ¡°Spare me the excuses. I understand why you did it.¡±


    It was a sliver of hope, but she leapt on it. ¡°Then you¡¯ve changed your mind? You¡¯ll help me?¡±


    ¡°If by help, you mean take you back to Maskamere, no.¡±


    She could have slapped him. ¡°Avon¡ª¡±


    ¡°I said no.¡± He cut her off. ¡°Never go into enemy territory without a plan, Val.¡±


    ¡°Then help me come up with one! This election doesn¡¯t matter. None of it matters. We can¡¯t just sit around and waste our chance.¡± A horrible thought entered her head. ¡°Am I right to be scared? Was that your plan all along? To keep me here, powerless?¡±


    ¡°You know that¡¯s the opposite of what I want.¡±


    Was it? He¡¯d strung her along this far, hadn¡¯t he, with promises of a crown and magic and the silvertrees¡¯ restoration. But that future seemed further away than ever before.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Valerie.¡±


    The bed creaked as he shifted, moving forward to set his hand on her shoulder. She forced herself to meet his gaze, caught by its intensity. No walls between them. If he wanted to make her his consort, his pet, he could have done so already. She looked at his face, the harsh, uncompromising lines, the shape of his jaw.


    He was all stillness.


    ¡°Do you trust me?¡±


    She hesitated. ¡°You told me not to trust anyone.¡±


    ¡°Even so.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± She felt the thorniness of the question despite its apparent simplicity, like a thousand pinpricks digging into her skin. Could she trust him? Did it matter, when she¡¯d laid everything out for him and he¡¯d denied her at every turn? ¡°I trust you more than Titus. More than the queen.¡±


    ¡°Then trust me now.¡± He tipped up her chin. ¡°I have an offer to put to you, if you¡¯ll hear it. Give me twenty minutes. I need to get dressed.¡±


    He turned away, sliding off the bed. She stared at his retreating back as he padded into the bath chamber, then shifted over into the warm space he¡¯d left behind and made herself comfortable. The sun rose, its rays filling the chamber with light, and all the while hope filled her too.


    Avon listened to her. She counted on that. He would see the bigger picture here. He would see patterns and possibilities that she couldn¡¯t, and if only they could find some common ground, they would find a way through this together.


    She hoped.


    Presently, he emerged from the bath chamber, and Valerie allowed herself the luxury of putting her scheming to one side for a minute and instead simply admiring him as a specimen. Tall and lean, he moved with the easy grace of a predatory creature. Sometimes he loomed so vast in her mind that he seemed to carry the entire weight of the Empire within him, the teeth and claws of Drakon wrapped up in the shape of one man.


    But he was only a man.


    A small scar cut across his collarbone. He carried other imperfections too: callused palms, a bruise on his shoulder, crooked teeth. If she had her magic, if he let her, she could fix all that.


    Not the nose though. She¡¯d grown to like the aquiline nose.


    Avon stopped in the middle of the chamber, one hand holding up the towel wrapped around his hips. He raised an eyebrow at her. She raised hers back.


    No, she wouldn¡¯t look away.


    She watched him get dressed without comment. His manservant buttoned his waistcoat, polished his shoes. All in all, his morning routine took less than half the time of her own. Avon dismissed the man, then walked over to his desk where he opened a thick leather-bound book. He sipped his cup of tea and glanced over at her.


    ¡°Are you going to continue gawking, or would you like to hear what I have to say?¡±


    She tied her robe again and got up to join him. A second cup awaited on the tray; she poured the teapot without asking.


    Meanwhile, Avon began copying lines from his book to a blank sheet of paper.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re eager to return home,¡± he said, ¡°but going back to Maskamere isn¡¯t the answer. Not yet. You said yourself, you don¡¯t know how to stop the queen. I¡¯ll remind you that you promised to help me here first. Once you¡¯ve completed that task to my satisfaction, then I¡¯ll fulfil my end of the bargain to help you destroy your queen¡ªbut only when you know how to do it.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were going to make me an offer,¡± she said. This wasn¡¯t any different to what they¡¯d agreed before.


    ¡°I am.¡±


    He finished scratching the last line on his paper, then slid the sheet over to her. She took it and frowned. It was a list of names. Lords of Drakon, Masters of this and that. She recognised the Patriarch¡¯s name, Rupert Gideon, but most of them were unfamiliar.


    Valerie looked over at Avon, uncomprehending.


    He leaned back in his chair. ¡°These are the names of some of the most prominent men in Drakon. Some were members of the Emperor¡¯s Council that voted in favour of conquest against Maskamere shortly after I returned from my diplomatic visit. Others are influential members of the Senate, whose support could turn the tide in the election.¡±


    She looked down at the list. ¡°Which is which?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find out. I know you won¡¯t stop your little investigative side mission no matter what I have to say about it, so consider this a favour. I¡¯ve already spoken to the Duke of Arden. In the coming days, we¡¯ll cross off all the names on that list.¡±


    She was too stunned to speak.


    ¡°Any information you glean about the war is to be used only as a bargaining chip against the queen,¡± he continued. ¡°Not to undo everything we¡¯ve done.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°If what you say is true, then right now Shikra is trapped and powerless. This is our best chance to stop her for good. We cannot risk bringing her back to life.¡±


    She swallowed an angry response. They were in danger of retreading old ground.


    ¡°I understand,¡± she said instead.


    ¡°As for your present duties, I think it¡¯s time I properly introduced you to Drakonian high society.¡±


    ¡°As your consort?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Much as I disapprove of your scheming, you do exhibit all the qualities required to survive in this court. After your performance at the Senate, no one will believe you are some sweet naive girl under my power. I¡¯m going to let you do what you do best. Play your game of whispers, make your allies, strike your deals¡ªas long as you do it for me.¡±


    So he intended to unleash her like some viper into the Drakonian court. Something she¡¯d done must have impressed him. She felt a strange pride in that.


    Still¡­ ¡°I appreciate your confidence,¡± she said, ¡°but you should know that Titus thought this exact tactic would win him the election. The more visible I am, the worse you¡¯ll do.¡±


    ¡°Titus is surrounded by the Patriarch and his cronies. Not everyone in Drakardia is blinded by fear. The senators I¡¯ve spoken to are curious about you. It will be to our benefit to show off the woman behind the witch, so to speak.¡±


    In the face of his certainty, she didn¡¯t have enough evidence to contradict him. Regardless, she¡¯d soon find out.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°What about your father? Have you managed to convince him?¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t lay another hand on you. The rest will take time.¡±


    And back to their ticking clock. She frowned. What had he really offered her? A list of names that she could have found out anyway. She felt reassured that he had her back again, that he was even willing to let her play the spy, but¡­


    ¡°I want more,¡± she said.


    His brows rose. Then he stepped out from behind his desk. ¡°More?¡±


    ¡°I want the silvertree. Titus¡¯s seedling.¡±


    ¡°You want magic.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want magic. I need it like air. I¡¯m drowning.¡±


    The visit to the greenhouse had felt like finding an oasis in the desert. Besides, how else would she ever figure out a way to defeat the queen? She looked up at Avon, hoping that her feelings shone through, that he would see the sincerity in her eyes.


    He exhaled. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±


    Relief overwhelmed her. She grinned, then stopped immediately when he snatched up her wrists.


    ¡°I¡¯m showing you this confidence because you shared your confidence with me,¡± he said quietly. ¡°But if I sense even the slightest whiff of sabotage, I will not show you mercy. Do you understand me?¡±


    He recognised it too, the shift that had caused their argument the night before, the gulf that threatened to divide them. Their goals had diverged. He had no desire to undo the war. And the easiest way to change his mind would be to ruin his plans, to force him to go back.


    She could do it easily if she wanted to.


    ¡°I understand,¡± she whispered. ¡°I promise, I wouldn¡¯t ever do that to you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to that.¡± He let go, stepping aside. ¡°One more thing.¡±


    He rang a small bell on the wall, prompting his manservant to reenter the chamber. The man bowed. Avon whispered something in his ear that she didn¡¯t catch, and the man departed.


    ¡°Avon?¡± she said uncertainly.


    He held out his arm. ¡°This way.¡±


    He led her out of his quarters and into the hallway that connected his rooms with Ophelia¡¯s. Guards stood at both their doors. Valerie frowned, looking around, when Priska emerged from Ophelia¡¯s quarters. Catching sight of Avon, she dropped into a curtsy.


    ¡°Stand up, Priska.¡±


    She did, trembling. It was strange watching her. Valerie saw some of the same fear that she had gone through in Avon¡¯s presence¡ªthe terror of being at the mercy of an enemy and not knowing whether he might hold out his hand in grace or raise it to strike a blow.


    ¡°You are hereby dismissed from our service.¡± Avon spoke in a cold, even tone. ¡°Collect your things and begone within the hour.¡±


    Valerie gaped at him.


    Priska turned white. ¡°My lord¡ª¡±


    ¡°No arguments. Leave.¡±


    Priska¡¯s eyes found hers, filling with tears. ¡°My lady, please¡­¡±


    The girl was begging her, not only with her words, but with her very being. And she remembered the promise she had made¡ª


    ¡°We stick together, okay? I¡¯ll take care of you.¡±


    But she also remembered Priska¡¯s betrayal. The stolen letter. How foolish the girl had been.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care that you¡¯re sorry. I care that you don¡¯t do it again.¡±


    Avon nodded at his guards. ¡°Escort her out.¡±


    Tears flowed down Priska¡¯s cheeks. But she never took her eyes off Valerie, not when the guards approached, not when they dragged her, shocked and stupefied, away down the hallway and back towards the servants¡¯ quarters.


    Valerie stared back, a strange, unpleasant itch pounding behind her forehead, like she wanted to cry but the tears wouldn¡¯t spring out. Priska had betrayed her. She did not need Priska at her side.


    Avon¡¯s hand settled on her shoulder. ¡°Good,¡± he murmured.

 2.27. Bruises

    The question seems cruel, almost, in her current circumstances. Why is the book withholding the answers she desperately needs?


    ¡°Yes,¡± she whispers.


    The ink dissolves and reforms.


    Where did your purpose come from?


    *


    She didn¡¯t see Priska take her leave. Didn¡¯t say goodbye. Cilla, one of Ophelia¡¯s ladies-in-waiting, stepped in to get her ready, and that was that.


    Besides, she couldn¡¯t spoil Ophelia¡¯s happy mood.


    Today was Ophelia¡¯s day: the wedding dress fitting. The dress, she gathered, was the most important part of the wedding. It would be custom-made in white silk and only ever worn once, on the day of the ceremony.


    As a dressmaker, Valerie approved of this tradition.


    And despite the many far more pressing matters on her mind, she was looking forward to today¡¯s outing. She¡¯d barely gotten to explore Drakardia, and she was curious to find out how Drakonian tailors compared to her family¡¯s store in Jairah.


    When she stepped out of the white-and-silver imperial carriage with Ophelia and Lady Melody, Valerie was not disappointed.


    The sun beamed down on a gleaming street of tightly packed and elegant buildings, each one built of fine brick and decorated with its own unique insignia. Lords and ladies in jackets and petticoats strolled along the wide boulevard, while horse-drawn carriages rolled through the central strip flanked by tall trees.


    They entered the wedding boutique, a charming store with a whitewashed exterior and delicate gold signage that proclaimed itself a purveyor of the finest silks and wedding gowns for noble Drakonian ladies. Valerie couldn¡¯t help smiling as she drank it all in: the standing racks of gowns, mannequins elegantly posed around the shop floor, and shelves of shoes, jewels and dried bouquets. All white, silver and gold, all gorgeous. She had walked into paradise.


    The store owner, a grey-haired man in a pinstriped jacket, bowed deeply and greeted Ophelia by name. Very soon three assistants fussed over the Emperor¡¯s daughter, while Melody gave sharp instructions to prepare them some tea.


    Valerie browsed the gowns on display, taking note of the different styles and cuts. The craftswomanship was undoubtedly of high quality.


    Ophelia had vanished into the dressing room to take her measurements when Melody walked over.


    ¡°So, what do you think?¡±


    ¡°The dresses? They¡¯re beautiful. I haven¡¯t seen some of these materials before.¡± She picked up a gossamer-light gown, letting it slide through her fingers. ¡°Is this Dhonish silk?¡±


    Melody tittered. ¡°We have goods from every corner of the Empire. You stand in the very centre of the world. But I¡¯m glad it meets your standards. Help me pick out the best for Ophelia, would you?¡±


    They perused the gowns, Valerie automatically cataloguing each one, assessing its quality and potential fit. She glanced sideways at Melody. The other lady seemed as put-together as ever, sweeping about the store in her hooped gown and feathered hat. But she remembered how Lady Juliana had talked about her, the disgust in the Empress¡¯s voice¡­


    She let her hand brush Melody¡¯s arm. ¡°I heard about your husband. I¡¯m sorry for your loss.¡±


    Melody¡¯s mouth tightened. Then she turned away. ¡°Ophelia! Are you ready?¡±


    Valerie let it go. She joined Melody and Ophelia in the fitting room, where they spent the next two hours trying what felt like every gown in the shop while Ophelia dithered over which style she preferred. Long sleeves or sleeveless? One piece or two pieces? Figure-hugging or puffy skirt? What size of train? Valerie and Melody had strong but conflicting opinions on each of these matters.


    ¡°Bigger is all the rage, darling. You simply must make a statement.¡±


    ¡°Dress to suit your figure,¡± Valerie argued. ¡°You¡¯re the Emperor¡¯s daughter, you set the standard. Whatever you wear will become the fashion.¡±


    They finally settled on the first gown that she had picked out, Valerie leaving the assistant with detailed instructions on exactly how to adjust it. But the day wasn¡¯t done.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Melody, ¡°since we¡¯re here, shall we take a look at the evening gowns? That is, if you¡¯re planning to make your debut this season?¡±


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    ¡°Season?¡±


    Melody explained on their way out: ¡°Every summer, we introduce our noble sons and daughters to high society. It¡¯s a chance for every young lady to secure her marriage prospects with our most eligible bachelors. Didn¡¯t Lord Avon tell you? He¡¯s going to be the star attraction.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s what?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± said Ophelia, ¡°Father is very keen for James to remarry. He will be searching for a good match, I think.¡± Then she saw Valerie¡¯s face and flushed. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¡­¡±


    ¡°You needn¡¯t worry,¡± said Melody. ¡°He can perfectly well manage a wife and a mistress.¡±


    Her stomach dropped. They walked into the next store, the racks filled with gowns and accessories of all shapes and colours and for all occasions: day wear, evening wear, dinner wear, night wear¡­ It was a feast for the eyes, yet she barely saw it.


    What did it matter to her if Avon remarried? She had no claim on him. They had never slept together, let alone entered into any real relationship. Her status as his consort was a pretence, a way for him to keep her by his side while he employed her services as a sorcerer.


    But it did matter. She could tell by the way her stomach churned, her mouth turning dry. It mattered because she had to consider anyone entering into an intimate relationship with Avon a threat. She needed him infatuated with her and only her.


    And the lines of their relationship had become blurred¡­


    She grabbed a gown off the rack and made her way to the fitting rooms. There she hid herself in a small private booth, pulled the curtain across, and fished a piece of paper out of her purse. It was the list of names that Avon had given her earlier that morning. She¡¯d gone over it with Ophelia and added her own notes:


    Lord Terrence Canwell, Duke of Arden (Senate, A already met)


    Lord Beathan Rutherford, Archbishop of Arden (Senate?)


    Lord Theodore Warren, Duke of Glost (Senate?)


    Baron Madoc Frask, Master of Administration (Council?)


    Lord Rhys Avon, the Admiral (Emperor¡¯s brother, A¡¯s uncle, ex-Council)


    Lord Rupert Gideon, the Patriarch (head of the Senate)


    After they¡¯d parted, Avon had gone off to visit the Duke of Glost. He wanted the senators to agree to meet her. She had no doubt that he would work his way through this list, except perhaps for one name¡­


    ¡°Lady Melody?¡± she called. ¡°Can you help me with this?¡±


    She pulled one of the gowns over her head, letting it drape awkwardly around her shoulders.


    Melody came in and rolled her eyes. ¡°What are you doing? Arms up. That¡¯s it.¡±


    She turned Valerie around with a brisk, practised air and pulled down the fabric. Their eyes met through the standing mirror. That sharp gaze reminded her of a hawk, but there was something darker too. A deep sadness¡­ or fury. She couldn¡¯t tell which.


    ¡°Melody,¡± she began.


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to offer your sympathies for my husband, don¡¯t.¡± Melody began fastening her corset. ¡°He was a useless heap of dung, and now he¡¯s dead.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± she said, taken aback. ¡°Actually, I¡¯ve been meaning to ask you something else. What do you think of Lord Falconer?¡±


    ¡°As a marriage partner? I think he¡¯s a terrible mistake.¡±


    That startled her. ¡°Really? Why?¡±


    ¡°The Emperor¡¯s daughter is far too valuable to marry off to some blowhard from the provinces.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I was starting to like him.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t considered it that way. Valerie had been more concerned with how Ophelia would fare in this forthcoming marriage.


    Melody''s expression softened. ¡°Is he kind? That¡¯s something, I suppose. Most of us don¡¯t expect such treatment.¡±


    She thought of the bruises on her back, how Avon had insisted on punishing her again. He¡¯d treated it as normal. Valerie rolled her shoulders, grimacing. What did it matter if everything in Drakon was greater, richer, more opulent? She¡¯d choose the Crescent store in Jairah any day.


    ¡°Do you think you¡¯ll remarry?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I doubt it.¡±


    ¡°What about your benefactor?¡±


    Melody continued tightening the corset. Her fingers hadn¡¯t once slipped. ¡°What about him?¡±


    ¡°The Empress said you went to the Gideons for help.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± Melody¡¯s tone was frosty.


    ¡°Are you okay? It¡¯s not a trick question. I want to help.¡±


    ¡°How kind.¡± Melody looked away. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you have time to worry about anyone else. The capital hasn¡¯t been kind to you, has it?¡±


    ¡°You heard about the Senate, then.¡±


    ¡°Everyone did, darling.¡±


    So everyone was talking about her. And she hated feeling out of the loop. Valerie suppressed a sigh, shifting to dislodge Melody from tightening the gown any further. This dress didn¡¯t fit. She¡¯d picked it for the colour, a striking sky blue, but she didn¡¯t like the low neckline. Melody took the hint and started unlacing the corset instead, undoing her previous work.


    ¡°What are they saying?¡±


    Melody raised an eyebrow. ¡°They¡¯re saying you bewitched Lord Avon and got away with murder.¡±


    That sounded about right. She couldn¡¯t even feel angry about it. Did Avon really think that these people would accept her?


    ¡°I didn¡¯t bewitch Lord Avon,¡± she said. ¡°You have to believe me on that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you didn¡¯t need to.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the Patriarch who has it out for me. He¡¯s using me as a scapegoat to get at Lord Avon. You¡¯re connected to him, aren¡¯t you? Is there any way you could arrange a meeting?¡±


    Melody gave a soft laugh. ¡°So that you can bewitch him too?¡±


    ¡°I would if I could. Look,¡± she went on, guessing at what to say, ¡°if you¡¯re beholden to him in some way, we can help. I¡¯m not here to take pity on you. I want your help too.¡±


    Silence.


    The corset came loose. Valerie removed it, and Melody gave a soft gasp. Of course. The bruises on her back were still healing. She turned around, catching the other lady¡¯s disturbed expression for just a moment before Melody gathered herself.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Melody, ¡°why don¡¯t we choose a gown with a higher neckline? You¡¯ll look absolutely darling.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like that,¡± she said. ¡°Do you also favour a high neckline?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing quite so flattering.¡± Melody gave a tight smile. ¡°I¡¯d better see how Ophelia is getting on.¡±


    She pulled open the curtain. Valerie grabbed her arm. ¡°Will you at least think about what I said? Please?¡±


    Melody looked at her for a long moment. ¡°I¡¯ll take it under consideration.¡± She gave a small huff, and Valerie let go of her arm. ¡°Do you have any clue about this upcoming season?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡­ I mean, Ophelia is trying her best to help me, but¡­ She¡¯s not you.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Flattery will get you everywhere.¡± Had Melody¡¯s cheeks turned slightly pink? ¡°Fortunately for you, I¡¯m organising the summer ball. It¡¯s being hosted by the Gideons. I¡¯ll send you an invitation.¡±


    With that, she disappeared out of the fitting room. Valerie stared after her. Slowly, the anxiety she¡¯d felt after the revelation about Avon possibly remarrying bubbled away into something like triumph. Meeting with the Gideons. Check.


    She only hoped this summer ball was scheduled before the election.

 2.28. Flagrantly Committing a Crime

    She stares at the page. Why that question? Why not: What is your purpose? Or: How do you mean to achieve it? It¡¯s stupid. She doesn¡¯t understand why it¡¯s asking these questions in the first place. Is it some kind of test?


    Something scuttles up in the rafters, and Valerie jumps.


    ¡°Me.¡± She grits her teeth. ¡°Where else would it come from? Me. Please¡ª¡±


    *


    Over the next two days, letters flew back and forth from the Emperor¡¯s household. She received the promised invitation to the summer ball from Lady Melody, which was scheduled only a few short days before the election. Avon¡¯s uncle accepted an invitation to a weekend hunting trip. Valerie and Ophelia penned a letter to the Archbishop of Arden, who replied that he would be delighted to meet them for afternoon tea.


    Ophelia liked to paint, and she had a standing easel and canvas in her quarters. With her permission, Valerie set aside a rather lovely watercolour of the garden pond and drew herself a calendar counting down the days to the election. Gradually, they filled it up with the coming social engagements.


    But one name on her list eluded her. She still didn¡¯t know who Baron Madoc Frask was, let alone how to contact him. And since Avon had not prioritised meeting with him, she guessed that he was more relevant to her mission to learn about the war than Avon¡¯s mission to secure his reappointment as Chancellor.


    Their progress was both promising and frustrating. Avon had little time for her. Fortunately, the Emperor was also absent; during the week, he attended to matters of state and did not return to the villa. She began to think of it as another prison, an enclosure for the women and children to run around like cattle in a field. Always watched, always guarded.


    What was the difference, she wondered, between being protected and being held captive?


    On the third day, she had the bright idea of joining Edrick for his daily tutoring sessions. The tutor, a short man with thinning hair and thinner lips, did not appreciate her presence.


    ¡°Lady Valerie, I welcome your interest in the finer points of Drakonian government, but I am trying to teach the young master the geography of our Empire¡­¡±


    Edrick¡¯s quarters were like a miniature version of the adults¡¯. He had his own four poster bed, a ridiculous size for a child that small, but perhaps he¡¯d grow into it. A chest of toys stood open by the foot of the bed, including a toy wooden sword on the floor. For his lessons, however, he and the tutor sat around a table scattered with books. The tutor opened the cupboard behind him and brought out a most curious object: a model of the world, not a paper map, but a painted wooden globe.


    She scooted in next to Edrick. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    The tutor pursed his lips. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell the young lady, Master Edrick?¡±


    Edrick grinned, then reached out to spin the globe on its axis. ¡°It¡¯s our planet. It spins like that!¡±


    ¡°Very good, Master Edrick,¡± said the tutor. ¡°Do you see Drakon on there? Can you find it?¡±


    The little boy pointed to part of the landmass in the northern hemisphere. She peered at it. Each of the world¡¯s realms were labelled, including Drakon and its provinces: Carthal, Dhonis, West Lovinia¡­ Other parts of the globe were simply ¡°the Wilderness¡± or ¡°the Great Blue Sea¡±.


    ¡°What about Maskamere?¡± she asked. ¡°Do you see it?¡±


    Edrick shook his head, so she pointed to show him. Southwest of Drakon, a great peninsula jutted out to the west of the Triatic Sea. It was perhaps a third larger than Drakon. That surprised her. She hadn¡¯t quite realised the scale of the difference, if this representation was accurate.


    ¡°Are all provinces ruled in the same way?¡± she asked.


    ¡°They vary,¡± said the tutor, ¡°but they are all governed by a Council and led by a Chancellor or the local equivalent.¡±


    ¡°Like Father,¡± said Edrick.


    ¡°Do they always have the same people on the Council? Like the Masters of Health and Justice and all that?¡±


    ¡°Again, it varies according to need, but yes, they¡¯re broadly similar. Now, if we can return to the topic¡­¡±


    ¡°What about the Master of Administration?¡± she persisted. ¡°That¡¯s one we don¡¯t have in Maskamere.¡±


    The tutor sighed and pinched his nose. She¡¯d caused that look more than a few times both at the convent and at home in her village.


    ¡°Lady Valerie, once again I do appreciate your interest, but none of this knowledge is necessary for a lady, particularly not one of your standing.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    The man coughed. ¡°Please. I don¡¯t wish to make a scene.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°The Master of Administration is the spymaster,¡± said Edrick, turning the globe slowly with his fingers. ¡°He knows everything there is to know about the Empire, and he whispers it in Grandfather¡¯s ear.¡±


    She whipped her head around to the little boy, trying not to give away her excitement. ¡°Really?¡±


    The tutor rose to his feet. ¡°Lady Valerie, I must insist. I am teaching geography. You are distracting my pupil.¡±


    Cajoling didn¡¯t work. He turfed her out, but she didn¡¯t care; she was already thinking of how to catch Edrick later. Five years old he might be, but he was the grandson of the Emperor. His education level could be exactly what she needed right now.


    And if that didn¡¯t work, she¡¯d tell Avon to stop playing around and give her the information she needed already.


    So thinking, Valerie hurried back to her quarters to add another note to her list. Before she got there, however, Captain Doryn appeared in the hallway to block her way.


    He bowed. ¡°Lady Valerie, would you please come with me.¡±


    ¡°Doryn,¡± she said. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    He was wearing the black uniform of the imperial guards rather than his full armour, but he carried his sword at his hip, and the two guards accompanying him carried muskets. They looked serious.


    ¡°No need for concern, my lady. This way.¡±


    She frowned. This wasn¡¯t on her calendar. Doryn is Avon¡¯s man, she reminded herself. He wouldn¡¯t give her away to the Emperor, and if she had to make a list of Avon¡¯s people she trusted, Doryn would be very near the top.


    So she followed him, through the villa and outside into the grounds where an ebony carriage awaited them. Doryn held out his arm, and she climbed into the carriage with him, her heart beginning to thump. Typically, he was silent. As the guards whipped the horses into action, she folded her arms and stared at him.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°The old Maskamery embassy,¡± Doryn answered. ¡°We¡¯re going to take the silvertree.¡±


    *


    She had to admit, the audacity of it impressed her.


    They stopped outside Titus¡¯s house, Valerie, Doryn and both guards. She followed by his side as Doryn marched through the iron wrought gate and rapped on the front door.


    The door knocker was shaped like the head of a kestrel. A symbolic connection to the royal family. Then it opened, and a shock jolted through her.


    Priska.


    Instead of her grey servant¡¯s uniform, the other girl wore a pale blue long-sleeved gown with a frilled neck and cuffs. Her hair was pulled back into a prim bun. A Drakonian style. She turned milk-white at the sight of them.


    ¡°We¡¯re here to see Master Titus,¡± said Doryn.


    Priska hesitated. ¡°Is¡­ Is he expecting you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe he is.¡±


    Doryn didn¡¯t wait to be invited in. He barged past Priska with a brusque air, the other girl stumbling back. Valerie followed in his wake, then the guards.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Priska wrung her hands. ¡°Titus! Titus!¡±


    ¡°Hey, hey.¡± She grabbed the other girl¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s okay. They¡¯re not going to hurt you.¡± She could feel Priska trembling and lowered her voice. ¡°Tell him I didn¡¯t have a choice.¡±


    Priska blinked at her like a frightened deer. Then the noise of a door clattering startled them all; Valerie jumped. A burly manservant hurried through into the entrance hall, but Doryn¡¯s guard lifted his musket and the man froze.


    Doryn looked at Valerie. ¡°Where¡¯s the tree?¡±


    ¡°The garden,¡± she answered.


    He swept through without hesitation. Valerie let go of Priska and led the way. The excitement of it all made her heart race. Here they were, barging into another man¡¯s house, holding his servants at gunpoint, not even trying to hide their identities.


    She¡¯d reached the end of the hallway when footsteps stampeded down the stairs.


    ¡°What is the meaning of this? Who¡¯s there?¡±


    Valerie looked back, and Titus stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His face turned a blotchy red.


    ¡°You.¡±


    ¡°Go on,¡± Doryn urged her, and she lifted the latch, stepping through into the garden.


    Shouts echoed through the house. She hurried on, down the winding path, past the pond and to the greenhouse. Doryn followed.


    ¡°It¡¯s locked,¡± she said. ¡°Give me a second.¡±


    She laid her hand on the lock, the power of the silvertree just reaching the edge of her senses.


    Meanwhile, Titus had stormed into the garden, ignoring the guards and their muskets. ¡°This is an outrage! I know exactly who sent you¡ªI know her. Step off my property right now.¡±


    ¡°Stay back,¡± Doryn warned him.


    Valerie frowned. She felt the workings of the lock, but she was struggling to unpick it. Doryn glanced at her, then shook his head.


    ¡°Come here, my lady.¡± Then to his guards: ¡°Hold him.¡±


    ¡°How dare you!¡± Titus fumed with impotent rage as the guards restrained him. ¡°The Patriarch will hear about this!¡±


    Valerie moved aside, and Doryn smashed the greenhouse door with two decisive blows. The glass shattered, and the door swung open.


    Well, that worked, she thought.


    She stepped delicately over the broken glass, her eyes already on the trestle table. And faintly, far-off, came another call: the queen. The thread still connected them should she choose to follow it.


    Valerie ignored the call.


    Taking great care, she picked up the plant pot containing the silvertree seedling and hugged it to her chest. Closing her eyes, she healed the welts on her back for a second time. Then she stepped out of the greenhouse and into Doryn¡¯s shadow. He laid a protective hand on her shoulder.


    Titus stared at her. ¡°This is theft! Is Lord Avon mad? No, this is you, Valerie, isn¡¯t it? He¡¯s truly bewitched.¡±


    ¡°Master Titus," said Doryn, ¡°I bring a message from Lord Avon. He would like to remind you that magic is forbidden in Drakon, and that for a Maskamery man to pursue witchcraft in the capital would be looked upon very poorly. He therefore kindly offers to take this seedling and make no mention of its previous owner, to ensure your reputation remains in good standing.¡±


    The red had vanished from Titus¡¯s cheeks. He was white with rage. But he said nothing.


    Doryn nudged her forward, and Valerie started along the path back to the house. She avoided Titus¡¯s gaze, but she could feel him glaring at her. Alliance in tatters, she thought. Avon had given her exactly what she¡¯d asked for, but he¡¯d done it in a way that benefited only him. Whether Titus blamed her or Avon for this, it would be an uphill battle to regain his trust. Her words to Priska might help, but would he believe her?


    Doryn paused as he passed by Titus, and Valerie glanced back.


    ¡°Lord Avon will be at the Society Biologica this evening,¡± he said. ¡°He hopes you¡¯ll attend.¡±


    Titus spoke from between clenched teeth. ¡°Get out.¡±


    And so they departed, Valerie carrying the seedling like a precious infant, the servants staring after them, shocked and silent. Priska peeped out from a doorway but said nothing. Doryn shadowed her back to the carriage trailed by his guards, and no one tried to stop them.


    Safely enclosed inside the cab, Valerie allowed herself a moment to breathe. The soft warmth of the silvertree seedling embraced her. It was like a tiny taste of home.


    ¡°Are you all right, my lady?¡± Doryn asked.


    She blinked. ¡°Yes, of course. What¡¯s the Society Biologica?¡±


    He settled in his seat, indicating the street ahead. ¡°Our next destination.¡±

 2.29. The Society Biologica

    ¡°¡ªjust give me something useful. We¡¯re at war; I can¡¯t afford to waste time. I need to fight.¡±


    The ink paints itself on the page:


    There is no power without power.


    ¡°What?¡± she mutters.


    In times of war, people look for leadership. In times of war¡ª


    *


    The Society Biologica met in yet another stately building. Part of the university, Doryn told her, a centuries-old institution that predated the birth of the Republic itself.


    Clutching the silvertree seedling to her chest, Valerie peered up at the great iron gate before her. The sun warmed her back, the clear blue sky presiding over redbrick walls covered in ivy and honeysuckle. It wasn¡¯t anything like as tall or imposing as the cathedral, but it had the same air of ancient grandeur.


    A small outhouse lay snug inside the archway connecting the gate through to the inner courtyard. The porter manning the lodge wouldn¡¯t let them enter until Doryn spoke to him. The man frowned at her but let them through.


    ¡°What was that?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The Society is for members only,¡± Doryn told her. ¡°You¡¯re being admitted as a special guest.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    But he didn¡¯t answer.


    They passed into the inner courtyard, where a gravel path surrounded a square patch of lawn, and the university buildings enclosed them on all sides flanked by beds of flowers and shrubs. She breathed in the scent of rosemary. Young men in black robes hurried by, all of them carrying books and deep in conversation. One of them glanced at her curiously, and she tightened her hold on the silvertree seedling, feeling self-conscious.


    They made their way around to the back building, passing another small group, and Valerie realised suddenly that the square reminded her of somewhere quite different: her convent, St. Maia. These young men were students, and this was a place of learning. There was an air not only of peace, but of exclusivity, a serene bubble in which to learn the secrets of the world. Like the convent, only a chosen few ever walked these halls, except that in Maskamere those chosen few were the acolytes blessed by the silvertree, and here¡­ Sons of the nobility, perhaps? She didn¡¯t know.


    She did know that in any other circumstance, she would have been denied access. And she felt a familiar frustration mixed with elation at that fact: elation that her relationship with Lord Avon had allowed her such a privilege, and frustration that she needed him to gain access in the first place.


    ¡°This way, my lady.¡±


    Doryn steered her on. The path continued beyond the back building and into a garden of sorts, a secluded area with a fountain in the centre of a small lawn and well-trimmed hedges forming bird-shaped sculptures around the perimeter.


    Here they entered a greenhouse full of flowering plants. It was much larger than the greenhouse at the Maskamery embassy, a glass structure with high wooden beams and rows of desks facing a set of blackboards at one end. A classroom? Did the students come here to learn about these plants?


    And poring over a heavy book before one of those blackboards¡­


    ¡°Anwen!¡± she gasped.


    He wasn¡¯t alone. Avon leaned over his shoulder, both of them seemingly engrossed in whatever page they had opened. The old scholar frowned at some passage or other, spectacles slipping to the end of his nose. He pushed them up, then his gaze landed on Valerie, and he beamed.


    ¡°Lady Valerie!¡± She put the seedling down on one of the desks as Anwen hurried forward to vigorously shake her hand. ¡°How marvellous to see you, my dear. And what is this¡ªa silvertree?¡±


    ¡°For your demonstration,¡± said Avon, moving forward to join them.


    She looked at him, a flicker of understanding passing between them.


    Anwen was already peering at the seedling. ¡°Yes, yes, wonderful¡­¡±


    Avon¡¯s gaze fell on Doryn, waiting patiently behind them. ¡°How was it?¡±


    ¡°No trouble, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Very good. Wait for us outside. I don¡¯t expect there to be trouble, but it doesn¡¯t hurt to keep watch.¡±


    Doryn bowed and retreated.


    ¡°So, this demonstration¡­¡± she said.


    She was beginning to guess what was going on here. And when Avon and Anwen explained their plan for the evening¡ªAvon with a slight smile, Anwen with much enthusiastic gesticulating and the occasional scrawl on the chalkboard¡ªthe same thrill rushed through her that she had felt swiping the silvertree from under Titus¡¯s nose.


    ¡°Will you do it?¡± Avon asked.


    After she¡¯d faced the Patriarch and the Senate? Easy.


    She grinned. ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    *


    The meeting took place inside a lecture hall. A sea of men in waistcoats and tall hats jabbered away at each other, each clutching a thin paper booklet, while waiters moved around the crowd serving drinks on silver trays. The place smelled of whisky and sweat.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Wrinkling her nose, Valerie navigated the hall on Avon¡¯s arm. Faces turned to meet hers, eyebrows raising in shock, annoyance, even alarm. Avon strode through the crowd, acting as though he didn¡¯t notice.


    ¡°Witch,¡± she heard whispered again and again.


    An empty stage dominated one end of the hall, half-hidden by a velvet curtain. The show had not yet begun, but Valerie knew that Anwen had gone backstage to prepare, taking the precious silvertree seedling with him.


    A valet handed Avon one of the paper booklets; she craned around his shoulder to see what it was.


    On the Biomagical Properties of the Silvertree as Pertaining to its Mutualistic Relationship with Human Women, read the title.


    What a typically stuffy Drakonian way to describe it, she thought. But before she could say anything, Avon tucked the booklet into his pocket and addressed one of the gentlemen nearby.


    ¡°Master Titus. I¡¯m so pleased you could make it.¡±


    She ought to have recognised the curly hair. Titus turned around, drink in hand, and scowled at the sight of them.


    ¡°Delighted,¡± he muttered.


    He looked anything but delighted.


    ¡°I believe you know Lady Valerie?¡±


    The corner of his eye twitched. Titus was gripping his glass so hard, she thought he might accidentally break it. She would have enjoyed his fuming if only it was directed at Avon and not her too.


    ¡°I do,¡± said Titus stiffly. ¡°A pleasure, my lady.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to thank you,¡± she said, ¡°for taking in Priska. I left her my well wishes. I hope she passed them on.¡±


    Titus¡¯s face softened a fraction. ¡°She did. Thank you.¡±


    That might be the closest she got to exchanging a coded message. She doubted that Avon would let her speak with Titus alone. Nor would it be prudent to do so in a room full of onlookers.


    She glanced up at Avon, wondering if he had understood her meaning too, but in that moment the lecture hall plunged into darkness. She froze, startled. The crowd murmured. Then her eyes adjusted. The lamps around the main floor had been snuffed out or dimmed, leaving the spotlight only on the stage. Naturally, bodies shifted to face the stage, and a hush descended.


    Titus slipped away. She drew a little closer to Avon, holding tight to his arm.


    A man stepped up to the stage and clapped his hands. ¡°Gentlemen! Good evening! Welcome, one and all, to the Society Biologica¡¯s midyear meeting.¡±


    ¡°Jonathan Lynwood,¡± Avon murmured in her ear. ¡°Son-in-law to the Duke of Glost and very well-connected. We shall need his support.¡±


    Jonathan Lynwood stood tall and jolly on the stage, his curly hair the same shade of brown as his waistcoat, his soft features akin to a sculpture in beeswax: seeming malleable, even spongy.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± said Lynwood, ¡°my thanks to all of you for joining us. We have a most fascinating paper for your perusal this evening, written by a fine scholar who has lived for over thirty years in the country of his study. I speak of course of the realm of Maskamere, a place that has generated many a debate in these halls. For those gentlemen who have yet to cast their eyes over our southern province, allow me to share a few facts to whet your appetite.¡±


    He cleared his throat before continuing:


    ¡°The soil in Maskamere is by some measures at least ten times more fertile than the soil in Drakon. Connoisseurs will tell you that there is no finer wine, no finer bread and no finer oranges than that produced in Maskamere. You can even drink the water straight from the rivers without fear of disease, or so they say. I wouldn¡¯t try it myself.¡± He smiled, prompting a few chuckles from the audience. ¡°But it has long been said that a potion or tincture from Maskamere can cure any ill. Travellers from across the Empire and beyond visit Maskamere to bathe in its springs and be healed. A magical place indeed. But enough from me. May I introduce my good friend and esteemed scholar, Master Anwen Fairburn!¡±


    Lynwood bowed, stepping aside to a faint smattering of applause. Anwen leapt into his place, a twinkle in his eye, bushy eyebrows aloft and coat tail trailing behind him like a sage old fox. The curtains drew open to reveal the full stage, empty except for a marble plinth standing behind him.


    ¡°Magic!¡± said Anwen. ¡°What do you think when you hear that word, gentlemen? Magic. Magic as a stand-in for natural laws we do not understand, like the aether or a man¡¯s soul. Magic as a byword for the evils of witchcraft, dark sorcery that curses or bewitches us. Magic representing the strange and uncanny in fairy tales, stories to scare our children. Some of you do not believe that magic exists, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Those savages in Maskamere with their superstitions are no different to the Enyrn belief in the Great Serpent or the Lovinians¡¯ fondness for ghouls and revenants. No matter.¡±


    He paused, and Valerie looked around at the men in the room. All rapt, all silent. Anwen certainly had their attention, even if some looked dubious.


    ¡°We are all natural philosophers, aren¡¯t we?¡± Anwen asked. ¡°We hold firm to our guiding principle, that nature can be observed and understood. There is nothing in the universe we should not investigate, that we may discover the laws governing it and in so doing add to the body of Divine knowledge that benefits all mankind. When I first travelled to Maskamere over thirty years ago, I discovered an entire branch of knowledge yet to be investigated by a scientific mind. And I applied this guiding principle, to observe and to understand. Let me show you what I have learned.¡±


    He moved a pace to his right, revealing the empty plinth. The hall was utterly quiet.


    ¡°Magic,¡± Anwen went on, ¡°is a natural phenomenon. That is, specifically a biological phenomenon. And this is its source.¡±


    He gestured off-stage, and a young assistant stepped forward carrying the silvertree seedling in its pot. Murmurs flew around the audience. The seedling did not glow; its pointed silvery leaves barely caught the light. To the untrained eye, it appeared an ordinary plant.


    ¡°The silvertree!¡± The assistant placed the seedling on the plinth, Anwen introducing it with a flourish. ¡°I brought this specimen from Maskamere myself. Yes, erm, at Lord Avon¡¯s request.¡±


    Maska, she thought. Anwen was a terrible liar. She glanced around the room again, searching for Titus, and found him standing off to the side, arms folded, jaw set.


    ¡°And now,¡± Anwen continued, ¡°after three decades in Maskamere studying these extraordinary plants, I¡¯m delighted to have finally submitted my first paper on the topic to the Society.¡±


    ¡°What took you so long?¡± someone called, and a soft chuckle rippled through the hall.


    ¡°Quite,¡± said Anwen, not seeming offended. ¡°Perfection is the enemy of the good, they say. And only fools act in ignorance. For a long time I was ignorant. Before Maskamere became a province of the Empire, I advised the Council that sorcery in Maskamere depended on the silvertrees. There is a bond of sorts, a biological interdependence, between the priestesses¡ªwitches¡ªand the trees. No one in Maskamere is born a witch.¡±


    He began circling the plinth, gesturing from the seedling to himself.


    ¡°The woman interacts with the silvertree in a ritual they call the blessing. It is no Divine miracle, but a biological exchange of information that creates a bond between the woman and the silvertrees. Once that bond is forged, the witch¡¯s will is awakened. And where there are silvertrees, her will may become reality.¡±


    ¡°I and others before me have documented this phenomena, but until now it has not been precisely measured. I recently had the privilege of studying one such subject in depth over a period of several weeks. As she forged a bond with each silvertree, her powers grew in ways that were quite unexpected. I present the results of these experiments in my paper, which I hope you have all read and absorbed.¡±


    He was talking about her, she realised. All the tests she had performed with Anwen as they had sought to understand and improve her magic. He had written it all down, and now he was sharing the results with these men in much the same way he might talk about his beloved beetles.


    Valerie didn¡¯t know how to feel about that.


    ¡°One might say the silvertrees grant certain powers,¡± Anwen went on, ¡°but they also have their limitations. As scientists, we expect results to be repeatable. That is where we have failed when it comes to magic¡ªwe have called it superstition or witchcraft¡ªbecause we have been unable to demonstrate any real sorcery in the laboratory. But the reason for that is that certain conditions must be met, conditions that do not exist in Drakon. Until tonight.¡±


    He bowed his head, a note of excitement entering his voice.


    ¡°Lady Valerie, please come to the stage.¡±

 2.30. The Demonstration

    ¡ªold leaders fall and new leaders rise. In times of war, you must seize the opportunity for power lest your enemies take it from you.


    ¡°In times of war¡­¡± The phrase feels familiar. Then she remembers: it¡¯s from Maska¡¯s Testimonium. Although she doesn¡¯t recall the line about seizing power. ¡°Do you mean me? I have to lead? How?¡±


    *


    Valerie weaved her way to the front of the gathering, her eyes set on Anwen beckoning her to join him. Whispers followed her. She felt the eyes of the gentlemen following her too, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine.


    Gathering her skirts, she stepped up to the stage and into the light of the silvertree, and that tingle in her spine rushed through her whole body.


    Oh, the things she could do.


    What a difference it made to look down on the audience instead of up at the stage. To stand in the spotlight, not fade into the dark. To be the centre of attention¡ªnot to endure the Patriarch¡¯s interrogation, but to show these ignorant men her true self.


    ¡°Good evening, gentlemen.¡± She curtsied, then turned to Anwen. ¡°Master Anwen.¡±


    ¡°My dear,¡± he said, ¡°perhaps you could show us a light?¡±


    Easy enough. She lifted her hand and created a tiny spark that floated in the air. Even that simple display caused a ripple of consternation.


    Anwen squinted at the light, then turned back to the audience with a grin. ¡°You see! Magic¡ªa spontaneous creation, Lady Valerie¡¯s will made manifest. Now, I would like to test a theory with you all, right here on this stage.¡±


    He snapped his fingers and his assistant reappeared, rolling out a chalkboard on wheels and carrying a yardstick. It came to a stop between Valerie, Anwen and the marble plinth, giving the absurd impression of a miniature classroom where the silvertree seedling featured as a leafy decoration.


    Anwen cleared his throat. ¡°My hypothesis is that the silvertrees generate a magical field of sorts, something like a magnetic field. Beyond that field, magic cannot be performed and so this light cannot exist. I further hypothesise that the extent of that field increases with the tree¡¯s age. This is a very young tree, so the size of the field should be small. Lady Valerie, can you send your light over this way?¡±


    He indicated to his left, towards the other side of the stage. Valerie focused, and the spark shot past Anwen, briefly illuminating the brass buttons on his waistcoat, before disappearing by the point where the velvet curtains draped over the edge of the platform.


    ¡°There!¡± said Anwen. ¡°You see the exact spot here¡ªthe light vanished.¡± He hurried over to mark the spot by drawing a line in white chalk. ¡°Now, my lady, the other direction¡­?¡±


    Her side, then. Valerie recreated the speck of light and flicked her wrist. It shot off to her right, making it a little further past the velvet curtain before vanishing.


    ¡°Ah ha!¡± Anwen marked the spot again in white chalk, his assistant pulling back the curtain so that everyone could see. ¡°Now, if we measure the distance to the tree¡­¡±


    He used the yardstick to measure the distance from each mark, then recorded his results on the chalkboard. Valerie watched the audience while he did it. She saw many frowns, but no outright disgust or fear. The atmosphere was one of intense interest.


    ¡°You see,¡± said Anwen, ¡°the measurements are identical. Lady Valerie, if you would kindly raise your light into the air¡­¡±


    Valerie looked up. A chandelier hung above them, and a motif of winged infants and fluffy clouds painted the ceiling. She didn¡¯t think her magic could reach it.


    Besides, she had a better idea.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we think a little bigger?¡± she said.


    She held out both hands. This time, instead of a single spark, she created a dozen motes of light, then another dozen, a stream of glowing particles that she sent out in every direction. Each particle vanished the moment it passed beyond the silvertree seedling¡¯s reach. The effect was a dazzling sphere of light emanating out from her fingertips.


    An appreciative murmur rippled across the lecture theatre. She glimpsed Avon below the front of the stage, the light playing over his face, his eyes alight with an expression she had never seen before¡ªawe. Her stomach flipped.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Wonderful!¡± Anwen exclaimed.


    She let the light motes fade to find Anwen jabbing up at the air with the yardstick.


    ¡°Exactly as I thought!¡± the old scholar enthused. ¡°Well done, Lady Valerie, a beautiful demonstration. Gentlemen, we have witnessed the first proof of my hypothesis. A little difficult to measure that last display, but the radius looked about the same, yes? About ten feet? So, yes, a small field, as I predicted. We have also demonstrated that the field is spherical. So you see, as long as you have a silvertree and a willing practitioner, it is possible to not only study magic, but also to measure its effects. I am sure this experiment will be of great interest to the Society. Thank you.¡±


    He bowed, taking her hand, and Valerie curtsied too. She looked out at the sea of faces before her. Several still looked dazed. For a moment, she could have heard a pin drop. Then the audience broke into hearty applause. Her heart soared.


    ¡°Excellent work!¡± Lynwood leapt back on stage and shook Anwen¡¯s hand. ¡°Fascinating, thank you, Master Anwen. Now, gentlemen, do you have any questions?¡±


    Traditionally, when presented with a paper for discussion, the esteemed members of the Society Biologica had the opportunity to question its author on the particulars of his study. She had rather hoped they would skip this part.


    She recognised the first gentleman to raise his hand.


    ¡°Lord Gideon.¡±


    The Duke of Hennich, Grimmauld Gideon, fixed his gaze on her with a scowl, then turned his attention to Anwen.


    ¡°An astonishing performance,¡± he said, barely disguising the contempt in his voice. ¡°But how do you know the witch wasn¡¯t faking?¡±


    Her cheeks flushed scarlet. Valerie caught Avon¡¯s eye, suppressing a grimace. His expression gave nothing away.


    Fortunately, Anwen answered. ¡°An understandable concern, my lord. Of course, I know Lady Valerie to be an exceptional and highly trustworthy individual, but I wouldn¡¯t expect the Society to take my claims at face value. No, first of all, I will note that Lady Valerie was not aware of the precise experiment I intended to perform here tonight and so could not have prepared any trickery even had she been inclined to do so. It would also be quite the feat to produce these exact matching measurements by eye alone. However, if Lord Avon permits it, I would encourage any of you scholars to repeat the experiment in order to verify my results.¡±


    Valerie looked at Avon. The rest of the audience did too; he raised his voice to answer them.


    ¡°If any scholar wishes to repeat Master Anwen¡¯s experiment, you¡¯re welcome to come to me. My witch performs only at my command.¡±


    That got a few chuckles. Valerie¡¯s face couldn¡¯t get any hotter, and she quietly drew on her magic to calm herself.


    Lynwood pointed at another gentleman. ¡°Lord Becket.¡±


    A trim little man with beady eyes cleared his throat. ¡°Ahem. Master Anwen. I must inquire about the title of your essay. You say relationship with human women. What of the silvertrees¡¯ relationship with human men? Or are these trees exclusively of the philogynous persuasion?¡±


    Valerie had no idea what that meant. Anwen again answered the question, explaining that anyone could receive the blessing, but that women were particularly suited to it. She didn¡¯t bother to correct him. The questions that followed became increasingly tedious and technical, Valerie struggling to keep the boredom from her face.


    Until, that is, Titus raised his hand. She tensed.


    ¡°Master Titus.¡± Lynwood nodded. ¡°Our final question, if you please.¡±


    ¡°My question is for Lady Valerie.¡± Titus¡¯s eyes bored into her. ¡°Do you agree that women are particularly suited to magic?¡±


    Why would he ask that? Valerie hesitated. She felt that there must be some trick here, some strategy that she couldn¡¯t discern. Her eyes met Avon¡¯s, and he gave a slight imperceptible shake of the head. The atmosphere in the lecture hall wasn¡¯t hostile exactly; she sensed curiosity in the faces of the men peering at her, but also disquiet. Titus had violated some unspoken rule by inviting her to speak.


    ¡°Thank you for your question, Master Titus,¡± she said. ¡°I know that we both know the answer. I learned from Master Anwen that a good natural philosopher is curious about the world and everyone in it. They don¡¯t assume that they know everything. They look for knowledge outside of their own domain. I think that¡¯s one of Drakon¡¯s greatest strengths. You know there is wisdom to be found outside the Empire, if only you¡¯re willing to listen.¡±


    Some of the gentlemen shuffled their feet. She sensed them getting restless.


    ¡°Answer the question, woman!¡± someone called.


    ¡°Do you agree?¡± she asked. ¡°Is there wisdom outside the Empire?¡±


    A few people jeered under their breath, but more nodded. Both Titus and Avon were staring at her, ferocious and tense.


    She ploughed on, undeterred. ¡°So you agree. Some of you, at least. I hope you¡¯re angry, then, that your people destroyed so many Maskamery books during the war. You burned down our libraries. You killed the priestesses. Master Anwen has been reconstructing a thousand years of knowledge piece by piece, when any one of us could have told you that anyone can learn magic. There¡¯s no difference in capability, only in character. Before I met Lord Avon and Master Anwen, the only character I saw in Drakon was cruel and callous. If you want to be worthy of learning magic, it¡¯s up to all of you to change that.¡±


    Dead silence followed. Even Anwen looked lost for words; he stared at her, then at Lynwood. She swallowed. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Would they understand? Would they listen?


    ¡°Jonathan,¡± said Avon, his voice quiet but heard by everyone. ¡°Shall we wrap this up?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Lynwood hastily, stepping forward. ¡°Gentlemen, thank you! Do stick around for drinks. Let¡¯s have a round of applause for our esteemed speaker, Master Anwen Fairburn!¡±


    The scholars clapped, the dusty sound dulling the tension in the room. Anwen shook her hand vigorously, promising that he would meet her later, then Valerie stepped down from the stage and straight into Avon.


    He drew his arm around her waist. ¡°Well done.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Her heart was thumping. ¡°Was that last part too much?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± he acknowledged, ¡°but we do need to challenge preconceptions¡ª¡±


    ¡°James! You sly fox!¡± Lynwood slapped Avon on the shoulder. ¡°What a firecracker your girl is! Allow me to introduce my father-in-law, the Duke of Glost.¡±

 2.31. A Convincing Argument

    In the wake of the Dragon War, I led my people to salvation. My enemy poured scorn on me. He told me I could not succeed. He told me I was weak, and I did not believe him. I believed that I was strong, and I became strong. My people believed in me, and I became stronger still. I said to my enemy: You have forgotten that it is better to lead with love, not fear. And I said to my people¡ª


    *


    The gathering had split off into smaller groups, laughing and talking while waiters served more alcohol. Anwen had joined one such group; Valerie glimpsed his hands flying around as he engaged the scholars in conversation.


    Meanwhile, five or six whiskery old men already surrounded them.


    Avon inclined his head. ¡°Lord Warren. Please meet my consort, Lady Valerie.¡±


    The Duke of Glost, Lord Theodore Warren, was a large, red-faced man, powerfully built, with grey-flecked eyes and a bullish presence that suggested a constant imminent threat. He squinted at her.


    ¡°A pleasure, my lord,¡± she said.


    The Duke grunted.


    ¡°So,¡± said Avon, ¡°what did you make of Master Anwen¡¯s demonstration?¡±


    Lynwood¡¯s eyes brightened. ¡°Fascinating! I must admit I thought the paper was a bit mad¡­ but, well, seeing is believing, eh?¡±


    ¡°Exactly my point,¡± said Avon. ¡°Magic should be taught and studied, yet we shy away from it like superstitious fishwives.¡±


    ¡°For good reason,¡± Warren pointed out. ¡°It¡¯s inaccessible. Blasphemous.¡±


    ¡°And since when have men of science feared to venture into the unknown? You know my views on blasphemy.¡±


    ¡°That I do. Seems your Lady Valerie has views of her own.¡± Warren spoke plainly, without calculation, and fixed her with a brusque stare. ¡°What did you say about being worthy?¡±


    ¡°In Maskamere, we¡¯ve always been selective about who we give the blessing to,¡± she replied. ¡°That¡¯s why men are forbidden to receive it.¡±


    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°So you think men aren¡¯t worthy to learn magic?¡±


    ¡°You have to stop fearing it first.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    Lynwood nodded. ¡°We should learn from the Maskamery, you know. I don¡¯t know why the Council hasn¡¯t made it a priority.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll put it to them,¡± said Avon, ¡°as soon as this election is done.¡±


    Lynwood¡¯s convinced, she thought. Maybe he¡¯ll persuade the others. The Duke¡¯s expression settled into a frown, but he didn¡¯t contradict them.


    ¡°That fellow over there,¡± said Lynwood, ¡°Titus Steward, he¡¯s the one standing against you?¡±


    ¡°Backed by the Patriarch,¡± said Avon, and the men around them murmured. ¡°I won¡¯t underestimate him given the Patriarch¡¯s support, but I must confess I¡¯m mystified by the choice. He¡¯s Maskamery with very little understanding of how to govern a province of the Empire, and believe me the Maskamery are not ready to govern themselves.¡±


    ¡°I can believe that,¡± said Lynwood. ¡°I hope you didn¡¯t take offence to Master Titus¡¯s question, my lady.¡±


    ¡°It was a political question,¡± she said, ¡°not a scientific one. Would you like to hear my opinion on Master Titus, my lord?¡±


    Eyebrows shot up among the group, the men glancing at Avon. He remained composed; only Valerie felt the slight tension in his grip.


    Lynwood too glanced at Avon, seeking silent permission, before chuckling awkwardly. ¡°Well, now you¡¯ve piqued my curiosity.¡±


    ¡°Master Titus is a poor choice for Chancellor,¡± she said. ¡°Even if he could lead us, the Maskamery would see him as a traitor. They¡¯d sooner hang him than accept him as leader.¡±


    ¡°That is indeed problematic,¡± said Lynwood, whose face had flushed. ¡°Ah, but shall we get back to discussing Master Anwen¡¯s excellent paper? I would be particularly interested in hearing your opinion on¡­¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse us.¡±


    Avon smoothly exited the group, taking Valerie¡¯s arm in his.


    ¡°Okay?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he murmured back. ¡°If I squeeze your arm, say nothing.¡±


    Valerie nodded, and they made their rounds. She imagined Lady Melody with her list of guests¡ªand there were several she recognised from the wedding invitations¡ªreeling off each and every name, rank and region of origin. She had to learn that too.


    As for affiliation? She guessed that from the scholars¡¯ body language when they approached. Some smiled at Avon, some were curious, but others looked reluctant or even hostile. Avon made the same argument to each of them, couched in slightly different language: they had been presented with a great opportunity to study magic. And he was the safe option to lead Maskamere into a new relationship with the Empire.


    Of course, she was also looking out for the names on the list that Avon had given her. She found none until they joined the last group in the room. Six gentlemen whispered like school children at the back of the lecture hall. They included Grimmauld Gideon, the Duke of Hennich, who simply walked off when they approached.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I see the Duke didn¡¯t fancy the whisky,¡± Avon joked, but he didn¡¯t elicit a smile.


    ¡°Ah, you know how he gets.¡± A middle-aged man with smooth, plump cheeks and clever eyes held out his hand. ¡°Lord Canwell. My apologies, Lady Valerie, for my friend¡¯s rude exit.¡±


    The Duke of Arden! She straightened up at once. Canwell took her hand and kissed it.


    ¡°He¡¯s not the only one tired of this nonsense,¡± said one of the scholars, a thin man with long, greying hair. ¡°We¡¯re courting far too much controversy over a paper that should never have been published.¡±


    ¡°Why do you say that?¡± Avon asked.


    ¡°Floating lights and witchcraft? It brings the name of our Society into disrepute. The entire thing¡¯s a joke, begging your pardon, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not joking,¡± said Avon. ¡°I¡¯ve lived almost a year in Maskamere, and I¡¯ve witnessed magic far greater than a floating light. I assure you it¡¯s quite real.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and wyverns are made of magical rocks, and the Black Knights summoned a sea dragon. Should we start investigating all old wives¡¯ tales?¡±


    What a twerp, she thought.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lovely head of hair you have, sir,¡± she said. ¡°Shall I remove it?¡±


    The scholar turned beet-red, spluttering for a response. Avon gripped her arm, but she didn¡¯t need to say anything more. Valerie smiled sweetly.


    Canwell gave a startled laugh. ¡°A convincing argument! She¡¯s got you there, friend. What do you say?¡±


    The scholar shook his head, muttering his excuses. With that, the group seemed to have lost its appetite for argument and drifted away¡ªexcept the Duke of Arden. Avon had promised him a spectacle, he explained, and he was delighted to have received one.


    Canwell raised no further doubts on the veracity of their demonstration. The conversation instead returned to the legitimacy of magic as a topic of study.


    ¡°What does the Emperor have to say about it?¡± he asked. ¡°Should we expect a change of policy?¡±


    Avon¡¯s mouth tightened. ¡°Our policy in Maskamere will be determined by the election. The Emperor will support the outcome chosen by the Senate.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s neutral, then?¡±


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t like to put words into my father¡¯s mouth. Let me put this to you instead¡­¡±


    Avon spoke with typical eloquence, but Canwell had exposed a weakness, she thought. The Emperor had not endorsed his son. Granted, as far as she could tell, he hadn¡¯t spoken out against Avon either, but it must appear strange that Avon¡¯s own father was failing to openly support him.


    ¡°Lady Valerie?¡±


    She turned to find Anwen approaching her. His kindly face broke into a smile, and she couldn¡¯t help smiling back.


    ¡°You were wonderful, my dear, wonderful¡­ I hope I didn¡¯t give you stage fright, eh?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± she said. ¡°I enjoy putting on a show.¡±


    Avon had turned towards them too, frowning, and Anwen leaned forward. ¡°Lord Avon, may I borrow your prot¨¦g¨¦ for a minute? We¡¯ll be in the greenhouse if you need us.¡±


    He glanced at her. ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll join you shortly.¡±


    *


    She and Anwen returned to the greenhouse, where Valerie again felt the warm glow of the silvertree¡¯s magic. The seedling pot had been returned to one of the desks. Doryn stood there guarding it like a grumpy uncle saddled with an unwanted toy.


    ¡°Are we taking it back to the villa?¡± she asked. ¡°The silvertree?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no,¡± said Anwen, hurrying over to the teacher¡¯s desk. ¡°Lord Avon asked me to keep the seedling safe. You know where to go, Captain?¡±


    Doryn nodded. ¡°Are you ready to leave?¡±


    Anwen opened one of his books, flicking through the pages. ¡°In a moment. Would you mind waiting outside?¡±


    Doryn took the plant pot with him. She watched it disappear with a pang of disappointment. These few precious minutes of having her magic back had been so wonderful¡­ She didn¡¯t want to go back to being powerless. Avon had promised to bring her the seedling, hadn¡¯t he? So why was he sending it off somewhere else?


    The answer, of course, was obvious. Even as she thought about the possibility of bringing the seedling to the villa, she knew the risk was too great. If the Emperor didn¡¯t find and destroy it, the Empress would. She couldn¡¯t trust half the servants. The seedling was too small, too vulnerable.


    ¡°Where is it going?¡± she asked.


    Anwen chuckled. ¡°Even I don¡¯t know. Lord Avon has been very particular about the need for secrecy.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s right to be,¡± she said. ¡°You should be careful too.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. How are you, my dear? You look a little tired.¡±


    You don¡¯t know the half of it.


    ¡°Life is tiring without magic,¡± she replied, managing a laugh. ¡°It¡¯s been hard.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°The work of the great natural philosophers has never been easy. Not that I count myself among the greats, but still¡­ To be published is the first step. To be accepted in the canon could take many years.¡±


    ¡°The canon?¡±


    ¡°The Chronicle of Nature. The fourth book of the Divinity.¡± He tapped the book, then frowned. ¡°You are unfamiliar?¡±


    ¡°The Divinity¡­ You mean your holy book? But how could you get accepted in it?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s a long and tedious process,¡± said Anwen. ¡°I was never interested, but Lord Avon insists that my work is of great import and ought to be considered for inclusion. He has such ideas. Almost makes me feel young again.¡±


    Valerie was still trying to grasp the concept of adding to the Divinity. ¡°Are you saying you change the book? But aren¡¯t the church¡¯s teachings fixed?¡±


    ¡°Oh, goodness, no. Religions are like nations; some are young, some are old, but none are everlasting. The most successful adapt with the times, even if they claim to be immutable. A good friend of mine researches anthropology with a particular focus on barbaric faiths¡­ Perhaps you¡¯d be interested to meet him.¡± He blinked. ¡°But I digress. What was I saying? Ah¡­ Yes, the Divinity is a living book, much as the cosmos is a living thing. As our understanding of the world grows, so does the Divinity. At least in theory. The Society is rather frustrated with the church¡¯s tardiness of late. They¡¯ve always been slow to accept new discoveries¡­¡±


    ¡°But they can accept them,¡± she said.


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°Which means one day they could accept that witchcraft isn¡¯t evil. That magic is part of nature, like you said?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Anwen, ¡°and so they should. Magic wasn¡¯t always considered an affront to the Divine, you know. It was once described as a gift.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± she said. ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°Oh, centuries ago.¡± Then Anwen snapped his fingers. ¡°That¡¯s right, a gift! I almost forgot. I have something for you.¡±


    He took a thin velvet case out of his desk drawer and presented it to her with great care. Valerie looked down at the case, then at Anwen. Was this why he had wanted to speak to her in private?


    She took the case. It felt light in her fingers. And she sensed a warmth emanating from it too, a pulse of magic¡­ But that was impossible. Doryn had already taken the silvertree seedling; she ought to be outside its range¡­ She even glanced behind her to check, but the greenhouse was empty. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.


    Burning with curiosity, she opened the case. The lid swung up off its hinges. She stared at the item inside, nestled on a velvet cushion. Her heart leapt.


    ¡°The queen¡¯s locket. How did you¡­?¡±


    Valerie had worn this locket before, a token given to her by the resistance. But she¡¯d left it behind in the palace. She picked it up, examining the smooth silver surface, the etched clasps.


    Anwen gestured. ¡°Look inside.¡±


    She fumbled with the clasp. Part of her dreaded to open it, in case she somehow unleashed the queen¡¯s magic. The last time the locket had been in her possession, it had been empty. It held no enchantment and possessed no magic. This time¡­


    She opened the locket. The object inside resembled an acorn, except for its silver shell. The power it emitted was tiny but unmistakable.


    Valerie looked up at Anwen, hardly daring to believe it. ¡°It¡¯s a silvertree seed.¡±


    He beamed. ¡°And it¡¯s yours, my dear. With best wishes from the queen.¡±

 2.32. The Queens Gift

    There is no power greater than faith. Your faith gives me strength. Your faith will lead us to victory.


    And so it was.


    *


    ¡°The queen?¡±


    Anwen returned the velvet case to his drawer. He nodded happily, seeming not to have grasped Valerie¡¯s shock.


    But before she could press him on what he meant, the door to the greenhouse creaked open, and Valerie shoved the locket into her bodice. She turned around as Avon approached, her heart racing.


    ¡°Master Anwen,¡± said Avon. ¡°Lady Valerie. Are you quite done?¡±


    Anwen bowed. ¡°Of course, my lord. My thanks to both of you. Lady Valerie has been a most excellent pupil.¡±


    ¡°And my thanks to you.¡± Avon clapped the old scholar¡¯s back. ¡°We need you as the voice of reason.¡±


    While these niceties were going on, Valerie clamped down her emotions, forcing herself to stay calm. Inwardly, she was reeling. Had the queen sent the locket? But how?


    It was too late to ask. Anwen bid them good night, then Avon drew her away from the greenhouse and back through the grounds.


    Out in the cool air, she looked around for the silvertree seedling but didn¡¯t see it. Yet she still felt a cocoon of magic around her. The silvertree seed nestled inside her breast cast a magical field just large enough to cover her. She could test its exact range later.


    It meant she had a permanent source of magic. For as long as she wore the locket, she had her powers back.


    She ought to be thrilled. And yet¡­


    ¡°So,¡± said Avon, showing her to their ebony carriage, ¡°what did Master Anwen have to say?¡±


    She climbed in and rearranged her skirt, looking down surreptitiously to check that the locket was out of sight.


    ¡°He was talking about his work,¡± she answered. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that you¡¯d encouraged him to publish it.¡±


    The carriage set off, Avon relaxing in his seat opposite her. ¡°His research will be vital to our success. Speaking of¡­ How did you find it in there?¡±


    She thought of the joy she¡¯d felt creating that light show of magic. The triumph of applause. Lynwood¡¯s excitement, the faces of all those impressed by Anwen¡¯s experiment. Grimmauld Gideon and his posse had sneered, of course. But they didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°It felt good to use my magic again,¡± she said. ¡°I hope I made a difference. But¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    She thought again of Titus¡¯s question. Do you agree that women are particularly suited to magic?


    She had been the only woman in that room. Not a single female scholar or student walked the university¡¯s halls. After tonight, she could imagine the black-robed students studying books of magic, tending the silvertrees, measuring its effects. She couldn¡¯t imagine a convent.


    But she wasn¡¯t quite ready for that conversation.


    Valerie shook her head. ¡°You know them, not me. Was it better or worse than you expected?¡±


    ¡°About the same. The Patriarch has a voting block made up of his Archbishops, Bishops, the Duke of Hennich, and the representatives from Caldry. We met some of them tonight. Most will vote with him no matter what.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°One hundred and twenty, give or take.¡±


    Her heart sank. ¡°But that¡¯s so close to a majority.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Avon, ¡°do remind me to chastise my father for allowing the Patriarch to stuff the Senate in this way. But there¡¯s no point trying to convince them. Now, with my allies in Yirona and Arden, I have around ninety guaranteed votes. We may have won a few more tonight. Lynwood liked you. Remember, this is a game of manners as much as anything else. Be careful of calling Titus Steward a poor choice.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s what you called him.¡±


    ¡°No, I implied it. We Drakonians are not so direct.¡±


    ¡°Except when you are. You were doing well until they mentioned your father.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± he said. ¡°You see, direct.¡±


    ¡°He has to endorse you. How does it look to the senators that he¡¯s saying nothing?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not ideal,¡± he admitted.


    He¡¯d promised to manage his father, and she had left it up to him. All she¡¯d gotten so far was a reassurance that he wouldn¡¯t have her flogged again, which she supposed was a step up from not trying to kill her, but barely. She didn¡¯t like loose ends, and she especially didn¡¯t like loose ends outside of her control.


    She pursed her lips, thinking. ¡°Your father wants you to remarry, doesn¡¯t he?¡±


    He paused. ¡°Yes.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    She looked at him, and he exhaled, tapping his fingers on his knee.


    ¡°I offered to remarry,¡± he said, ¡°in return for Father¡¯s support. He refused. We came to a compromise. Your safety in return for my presence at this blasted ball.¡±


    Her skin prickled. She had been about to suggest a similar idea, that Avon should use the Emperor¡¯s desire as leverage to secure his endorsement. But now hearing that he had already tried it¡­ She didn¡¯t like it. She didn¡¯t like it at all. Even the fact that he had made a deal to protect her¡ªbecause how could she be anything but grateful?


    ¡°I see,¡± she said.


    Since she had told him the truth about the queen and the goldentree, she thought they had turned a corner. He¡¯d been far more upfront about his plans. But not this. In this game of his, she was still only a pawn.


    She would play her own game, then. The locket would stay hidden.


    ¡°I¡¯ve angered you,¡± he observed. ¡°Valerie¡­¡±


    She forced a smile. ¡°You know I¡¯m going to hate every second of you being fawned over at this ball, right?¡±


    He smiled back. ¡°Just as I¡¯ll want to kill every man who looks at you.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± she said.


    It had a name, this anger, this crawling of her skin. The way she looked at him and felt intensely betrayed by even the idea that he might consider remarrying. She couldn¡¯t stand the thought of him with someone else.


    Its name was jealousy. And it was only bearable if he felt the same way.


    *


    Later, after she¡¯d bid good night to Ophelia and curled up in her soft warm bed, Valerie lay awake still wrestling with the coil in her heart. She¡¯d hidden the locket beneath her pillow. And she could feel it there, in the dark, its warmth on her cheek.


    It tugged at her, a faint, faraway presence. A golden thread.


    She closed her eyes. Shikra?


    Valerie.


    The reply was instant. Goosebumps covered her flesh. Did she want to do this? What if there was some spell on the locket that she couldn¡¯t discern? If the queen was playing some trick¡­


    She had to know.


    I¡¯m here.


    She didn¡¯t step into the queen¡¯s dream world. Instead, she created one of her own. She imagined Ophelia¡¯s quarters in the light of day¡ªbright, pretty, with the exotic-bird wallpaper and comfortable window alcove, perfect for reading a book or watching the day go by. She placed herself in that alcove with a tray of crumpets and mint tea on a circular table. Steam curled the air. She breathed it in.


    Shikra¡¯s presence waited at the door.


    ¡°Come in,¡± she called, and for a moment she felt ridiculous, like this was all a terrible playact, a poor imitation of the queen¡¯s manners. A fake. A phoney.


    The real queen stepped inside.


    Shikra looked exactly the same as their last encounter: tall, willowy, her black hair falling around pale shoulders, the red silk of her dress whispering across the floor. She cast around the chamber, taking in the twin beds, the oak wardrobes and dressers, the high ceiling, the airy space of it all.


    ¡°I got your gift,¡± said Valerie.


    The queen approached the window, but Valerie hadn¡¯t done a very good job with the scenery. The pane of glass glowed with sunlight. Nothing was visible outside.


    She turned to Valerie and her tea tray. ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡±


    ¡°Anwen gave it to me.¡± Her voice trembled. ¡°What did you do to him?¡±


    ¡°Do? I asked him to bring you the locket.¡±


    ¡°No, but¡ªhe was enchanted. He had to be.¡±


    Anwen had told her the story of the queen¡¯s death back when she¡¯d studied with him in the royal palace. He had never before given the slightest indication that he believed the queen still lived. Nothing about his behaviour made sense.


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Shikra. ¡°Now why did you summon me?¡±


    ¡°How?¡± she asked. ¡°How did you even talk to him?¡±


    ¡°Through a book.¡± The queen leaned down and helped herself to a pot of mint tea. ¡°I think you¡¯re familiar with such magic.¡±


    The Book of Shadows!


    But she hadn¡¯t seen Anwen carrying such a book. Had he kept it hidden from her? For how long? She thought of all the information he had provided to her, the transcripts of his interviews with the queen that she had devoured so eagerly. She had assumed that he must have interviewed Shikra before her death.


    ¡°I¡ªI had a book too,¡± she said. ¡°In another timeline, I was supposed to study magic with it. Was it¡­ Was I talking to a real person?¡±


    Shikra smiled. ¡°Not quite. Your book connected you to Maska¡¯s writings. Whatever you asked, it gave you her answer.¡±


    ¡°It asked me questions,¡± she said, trying to remember. ¡°About free will. My purpose.¡±


    ¡°A test,¡± said Shikra. ¡°Assessing your temperament. How did you answer?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ I was frustrated. I wanted it to give me answers, not the other way round.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t planned to talk to the queen about this. It seemed inconsequential, a relic of the past. But as she watched Shikra circling the chamber, sipping her tea like a headmistress surveying her classroom, Valerie wondered if there might be something to it.


    If she got hold of a Book of Shadows, could she ask it how to defeat the queen?


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± said Shikra. ¡°You have an independent mind. You believe in free will. You make your own purpose.¡±


    She found the queen¡¯s accuracy disconcerting. ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re not the type to blindly follow your sovereign. Had I known this, I would have approached you differently that night at the goldentree.¡±


    They looked at each other. Shikra had paused, standing over Valerie in her window seat. Slowly, the queen knelt down by the table, tucking her limbs under her. She returned her cup of tea to the tray. Valerie slid forward to sit cross-legged on the carpet.


    Now they were facing each other, eye-to-eye. Was this the first time the queen had acknowledged that she might have been wrong in her dealings with Valerie?


    Trial and error, she thought.


    Whenever something went wrong in the timeline, the queen tried again. But she couldn¡¯t do that with Valerie anymore.


    ¡°Maska said it¡¯s better to lead with love than with fear,¡± she said, recalling another of the book¡¯s quotes. ¡°Maybe you¡¯ve forgotten that.¡±


    Shikra looked up sharply. She didn¡¯t quite know how to interpret the emotions that flashed across the queen¡¯s face¡ªsurprise, then a dark tinge of anger, swiftly contained. Finally, her expression turned pensive.


    ¡°Perhaps I have,¡± she murmured.


    ¡°So now that I have the locket¡­ We can talk whenever we want, right?¡±


    Shikra gave a small smile. ¡°I have little else to do.¡±


    But Valerie was starting to think that wasn¡¯t true. The queen had communicated with Anwen through a book¡­ And there was the mark on Titus, she reminded herself. Who else might the queen be influencing?


    ¡°Can you use it to spy on me?¡±


    ¡°The locket?¡± Shikra raised her eyebrows. ¡°Why would you think that?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Why else would you give it to me?¡±


    The queen tilted her head, green eyes luminous and catlike. ¡°You thought it wasn¡¯t a gift. You¡¯re fearful. I take responsibility for that fear, given how I¡¯ve treated you. Don¡¯t underestimate your own abilities, Valerie. You would know if the locket was enchanted. I had Anwen bring you the locket because I knew you would need it to survive in Drakon.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    True, she sensed no enchantment on the locket. And she didn¡¯t see any option here except to take Shikra at her word. It was either give up on her magic¡­ or risk this connection with the queen.


    ¡°Well, then,¡± said Shikra, folding her hands in her lap. She had regained her composure, Valerie thought. Somewhere along the way, this conversation had thrown her off¡ªshe would have to think about that. ¡°How can I help?¡±


    Titus, she thought. But how to ask?


    ¡°Just¡­ one thing,¡± she hedged. ¡°Have you bewitched anyone else? Anyone in Drakon, especially. I don¡¯t want any more surprises.¡±


    The queen¡¯s gaze was firm and unblinking. ¡°No.¡±


    Liar.


    Shikra was playing her own game too. Fine. Let her. Let both of them have their way.


    ¡°All right,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll call you when I need you.¡±


    The dream-room faded away. The firm warmth of the mattress supported her, the pillow soft against her cheek. She pulled the covers up tight around her shoulders, nice and snug, and allowed herself a smile.


    Gifts, gifts. How they courted her loyalty. Avon¡¯s list. The silvertree seedling. The queen¡¯s locket. She¡¯d take them all.


    Valerie turned her head and drifted away into slumber.

 2.33. The Captains Mission

    She trembles in the corner of the tent. Body weak and thin. Bruises covering her arms and legs. She keeps trying to heal and it isn¡¯t working, and that scares her more than anything else, that things have gotten so bad even her magic is failing her¡­


    The tent flap rustles. She looks up and gasps¡ª


    *


    Valerie spent the next morning cutting and stitching a strip of black satin into a ribbon. With the silver locket in her lap, she coaxed her magic into the fabric, willing the spell to take root. It was not a simple spell¡ªthere were multiple conditions, each of which she held in her mind along with her memories of the Book of Shadows.


    But she had a simple goal.


    Find the book.


    Even so, it took several hours of intense concentration before she felt confident that the spell had taken. She was working with borrowed tools in temporary accommodations. None of these factors were conducive to her magic.


    ¡°Valerie!¡± Ophelia flitted into the chamber like an overexcited butterfly. ¡°What are you doing? The other ladies are already waiting¡ª¡±


    She stopped, noticing the ribbon. Valerie hastily covered the silver locket.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± she said. ¡°Have you finished deciding the guest list?¡±


    The guest list seemed to cause Ophelia no end of anxiety. She fretted over every single name¡ªwho to invite, who not to invite¡ªnot helped by contradictory advice from Lady Melody and Lady Juliana. For her part, Valerie found the back and forth useful if only to better understand the Drakonian court. The Duke of Arden, Lord Canwell, was a long time friend of the family¡ªof course they should invite him to the wedding. But then they ought to invite every Duke from every region of Drakon, and, oh, the Duke of Glost was such a grump, and everyone knew that James and the Duke of Hennich were feuding¡­


    The five ladies gathered in the sitting room as usual for their session: Ophelia, Melody, Juliana, Florence, and Valerie. After the initial tension between them, Juliana seemed to have accepted Melody¡¯s presence. Valerie couldn¡¯t say the same for herself. She kept her distance from the Empress, a truce based on each of them pretending that the other did not exist.


    Melody opened her wedding planning book on the coffee table. It had grown fatter each day as she filled it with notes and receipts from her vendors, like some kind of monstrous pet.


    ¡°You cannot snub my father,¡± said Juliana. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°But James will have to sign off the list.¡± Ophelia looked on the verge of tears. ¡°What if he¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Emperor will sign off the list. Your brother ought to focus on making amends.¡±


    ¡°Making amends for what?¡±


    The group jumped. Valerie turned, startled, as Avon strode into the room holding his son¡¯s hand. Juliana flushed, hands clenched in her lap.


    ¡°My lord,¡± she said, only a slight tremor in her voice.


    Avon let go of Edrick, who ran over to Ophelia. ¡°Edrick has completed his lessons for the day. I thought he might join you ladies.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Juliana stiffly.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be a little longer,¡± said Melody, ¡°if you don¡¯t mind, my lord.¡±


    Avon gave a short bow. Valerie glanced at the other ladies. Poor Ophelia had embraced the distraction, encouraging Edrick to browse the different menus they had been considering. Florence, Lord Gideon¡¯s widow, had taken to clucking at any behaviour she disapproved of, which in Valerie¡¯s case was frequent. Right now, however, she only exchanged looks with Juliana.


    Melody picked up the sheaf of paper that was the draft guest list, complete with many scrawled crossings out, and waited for Avon to retreat.


    But Valerie had an idea.


    ¡°Wait!¡± She stood up. ¡°My lord, we were just going over the invitations. We hoped we might get your approval.¡±


    ¡°Valerie.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Juliana¡¯s stern warning came too late, and anyway, she didn¡¯t care.


    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Valerie,¡± Ophelia squeaked.


    Valerie nodded at Melody. ¡°Show him.¡±


    The other lady gave her a long look that told her Melody knew exactly what she was doing, but, again, Valerie didn¡¯t care.


    The guest list ran to eight pages. Avon frowned as he flicked through it.


    ¡°How many?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Three hundred and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Three hundred? And where is the venue?¡±


    ¡°The Royal Palace in Jairah, my lord.¡±


    Melody glanced at her, and Valerie allowed a flash of a smile before she addressed Avon. ¡°We¡¯re so grateful to Lady Juliana for her guidance on the invitations. Do you think we missed anyone?¡±


    ¡°Missed anyone?¡± Avon turned his attention away from Melody and towards Juliana, whose smile froze. ¡°Mother, did you perhaps consider the distance before you decided to invite half the nobility? How many ships did you intend to charter? Who will be left to govern the country while your guests gallivant to Maskamere for two weeks?¡±


    ¡°My lord¡ª¡±


    Avon didn¡¯t let her finish. He tore the guest list in two, scrunched it up and tossed the ball of paper on the coffee table. ¡°Ridiculous. Start again.¡±


    Then he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving a blanket of stunned silence.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡±


    The other ladies would have to deal with the mess she¡¯d made. Valerie didn¡¯t look back. She hurried out into the hallway and grabbed Avon¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Hey. I have something to tell you.¡±


    He turned, instantly attentive. ¡°What?¡±


    Her stomach swooped. She hadn¡¯t expected his close proximity. Backed up against the door, he caught her with that intense gaze of his. Valerie snatched her hand away.


    ¡°Look,¡± she said, ¡°I know you like a good flounce, but you can¡¯t leave Ophelia like that.¡±


    ¡°A good what?¡±


    She might have laughed, but Ophelia¡¯s sanity was at stake. ¡°I¡¯m serious. Come back and help us with the invitations. Then I¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    *


    Avon agreed to her plan when he heard it, except for one thing:


    ¡°I know nothing of any Book of Shadows.¡± Doryn said it in the same tone one might use to describe a nest of wasps. ¡°My lord, are you certain? My place is at your side.¡±


    The grass outside the villa smelled of fresh rain as the captain saddled his horse. He had packed lightly, following Avon¡¯s instruction. They stopped at the gate to see him off.


    ¡°Your place is where I tell you,¡± said Avon. ¡°You¡¯re the only one I trust to do this.¡±


    Privately, Valerie had her misgivings. Doryn was a soldier, not a scholar. And she would miss his presence in the villa. Her choice had been Anwen¡ªif she could remove the book he had used to communicate with the queen¡ªbut Avon wanted him in the capital.


    The horse, a fine grey mare, tossed its head as Doryn swung up into the saddle. The gate opened. He turned the horse around, then looked back at them.


    ¡°How do I find this book?¡±


    ¡°The palace library,¡± she answered. ¡°Most of them were burned, but if there are any left, that¡¯s the first place I¡¯d look.¡±


    She described the book as best she could from memory. Before the war, every acolyte received their own copy. She hoped that one or two had escaped the clutches of the Empire.


    ¡°Go via Carthal,¡± said Avon. ¡°You can pass it off as a visit home.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a longer trip,¡± Doryn pointed out.


    ¡°It¡¯s fast enough. Secrecy is more important than speed. Good luck, Captain.¡±


    Valerie stepped forward to pat the horse¡¯s nose. The mare chuffed and she smiled in delight at her big dark eyes.


    Doryn leaned forward. ¡°My lady.¡±


    She moved around to stroke the mare¡¯s soft muzzle, aware that Avon was also watching her. Now the horse partly blocked her from his view. Valerie drew out the satin ribbon from inside her sleeve and wrapped it around Doryn¡¯s wrist.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± she echoed. Then she lowered her voice. ¡°Use it to guide you. It¡¯ll turn scarlet if you¡¯re near the book.¡±


    Doryn stared at her, brows drawn in a deep, suspicious frown. ¡°How did you¡ª¡±


    But she was already retreating. The captain shook his head, then nudged the horse through the gate.


    ¡°I¡¯ll return as soon as I can.¡±


    She and Avon watched the horse break into a trot, then a canter. The gates swung shut, and for a moment her heart ached, wishing she was the one in that saddle.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Avon asked.


    She glanced up to find his gaze burning into her. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°What did you say to Doryn?¡±


    Perhaps she hadn¡¯t been as sneaky as she¡¯d hoped, but it had been impossible to find a moment with Doryn alone. Thank Maska he hadn¡¯t given her away.


    ¡°I asked him to check on my family,¡± she said, because she¡¯d left the locket in her quarters and so could lie to him with impunity.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to hide that from me. I would have given permission.¡±


    She looked at him. ¡°Do you think that¡¯s generous?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say¡­¡± He frowned. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    ¡°How long does it take? Travelling via Carthal.¡±


    ¡°I expect he¡¯ll be back for the election.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± She shook her head. ¡°So I have to wait.¡±


    ¡°Well, I couldn¡¯t have you running off, could I?¡± He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.


    Ugh, she thought. How could he be so completely infuriating?


    He kept doing this. Every time she came up with a plan that worked for her, he stepped in to make sure it worked for him instead. Her arrangement with Titus¡ªpractically sabotaged. Her request for the silvertree seedling¡ªgranted, but at the cost of her good standing with Titus, and no direct access to the seedling itself. He¡¯d gotten rid of Priska. Convinced his friends in the Senate to support his pursuit of magic, but only with the clear implication that she was his servant, not his equal.


    And now he¡¯d delayed her getting the information she needed to return to Maskamere. He¡¯d imposed this condition on her¡ªcoming up with a viable plan to defeat the queen¡ªand he¡¯d done nothing to help. Granted, she had already committed to staying until the election, so in that sense it wasn¡¯t really a delay, but she had no other leads. What if Doryn couldn¡¯t find the book? What if it told her nothing?


    She stepped away. ¡°I¡¯ll see you at dinner.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    That surprised her. Against her better judgement, she turned back. His hands were in his pockets, his waistcoat and jacket buttoned up. A castle would have appeared less impenetrable. The wind didn¡¯t even dare to ruffle his tied-back hair.


    ¡°You¡¯re not coming?¡±


    ¡°Neither of us are,¡± he said. ¡°We won¡¯t be dining with my father tonight.¡±

 2.34. Night at the Lodge

    ¡ªbut it¡¯s not the man she expects to see.


    The intruder is a woman. Tall, with cropped black hair, an upturned nose, strong brows and the demeanour of a hardened warrior. She wears worn leathers and carries a knife. A silver locket graces her neck.


    ¡°Can you stand?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s coming back,¡± she whispers. The woman kneels down to cut through the ropes binding her wrists¡ª


    *


    Avon had told her to pack for an overnight stay. That was all she knew. Other than that, he wouldn¡¯t say where they were going or why, so that by the time she rejoined him outside the villa, Valerie was brimming with curiosity.


    The setting sun cast golden rays over the gate¡¯s ornate metal latticework. It cast deep shadows too: Avon became a stark silhouette, while the trees outside extended their shadows like long dark fingers across the road. The temperature had dropped; Valerie shivered and pulled her shawl more tightly around her. She glanced down, conscious of the warm pulse at her breast: the silver locket.


    She¡¯d snatched it quickly while her maidservant wasn¡¯t looking. A split second decision, one that she might come to regret. But she felt that it was riskier to leave it behind than take it with her. Whatever Avon was up to, she felt better facing it armed with her magic.


    Avon¡¯s manservant finished loading their carriage with luggage, climbing up to the front seat to take the horses¡¯ reins.


    ¡°Is it far?¡± she asked.


    Avon opened the carriage door. ¡°Not too far.¡±


    With that scrap of information, she expected them to take the usual route into the city proper. Instead, the carriage took them in the opposite direction, to the other side of the island.


    They disembarked, and Valerie squinted out at the night sky. Before her stretched the vast expanse of the lake, the water shimmering as far as the eye could see. They were at the island¡¯s edge. A small boat awaited them at the end of the jetty. Gulls roosted on pillars and flew above their heads. Except for the guardsmen at the landing, the place was deserted.


    Avon¡¯s manservant tied the horses to a post before hauling their luggage into the boat. Avon climbed in too, then held out his hand for her.


    Confused, she stepped onboard. A lantern on the bow lit their way, the servant beginning to row. Avon sat by the stern, watching her. His legs were too long for the boat, she thought. He turned away to look across the water, his expression as cool as the lake¡¯s depths.


    ¡°Are you going to tell me where we¡¯re going?¡±


    The island vanished behind them. Above, the moon showed its face from behind a cloud, casting a soft misty light over the lake.


    ¡°My family owns the land on the other side of the lake,¡± he answered. ¡°There¡¯s a moor and a good bit of woodland. We have a cabin there too. It¡¯s rather cosy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s cold,¡± she said.


    Darkness shrouded them, along with a chilly wind blowing in from the coast. She hadn¡¯t anticipated a journey across the lake when she¡¯d dressed for tonight. The cotton fabric of her primrose yellow gown offered little protection against the elements, while the short ruffled sleeves left her arms bare. The shawl only partially helped.


    He removed his jacket and wrapped it around her. ¡°Better?¡±


    She huddled into her seat. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ve neglected you. I¡¯d like to make that right.¡±


    She blinked. He was looking at her quite seriously. What on earth was he talking about? They¡¯d spent plenty of time together, hadn¡¯t they, to the point that she¡¯d grown annoyed by how carefully he was managing her. Or maybe that was the problem.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer. She pulled his jacket tighter around her, resisting the temptation to warm herself with magic. They lapsed into silence. Presently, the shore came into view, and the boat approached another jetty.


    Avon¡¯s cabin, as he called it, was the size of a house. It stood at the lake¡¯s edge, a stone building with a sloped roof and wooden steps leading down to the water. The grass on either side of the lodge was neatly trimmed, and a stone fountain bubbled by the terrace. A second outhouse, perhaps a stable, was visible higher up the hill, along with a line of empty kennels.


    She stepped on to the jetty, eyes wide as she took it all in.


    Trees encroached on the land to the west, their tops rustling gently. North and east lay the moorland, which was like nothing she had ever seen: clumps and tufts of something that looked like grass interspersed with gorse.


    Avon instructed his manservant to take their luggage, then held out his arm.


    ¡°Let me show you around.¡±


    She took Avon¡¯s arm, heart thumping. No guards patrolled this side of the lake. They¡¯d crossed a body of water, but they might as well have been in the middle of nowhere for how isolated it felt. Why had he brought her here?


    He led her inside. Wooden floorboards creaked as she stepped into the main lounge. Avon let go, moving forward to throw a few logs in the fireplace. He picked up a matchbox from the mantelpiece, struck a match, and bent down to light a fire.


    She hung his jacket and her shawl on the wooden coat hanger by the door. In the firelight, she could better make out her surroundings. A couch, two high-backed armchairs and a coffee table were all arranged around the fireplace. Off to one side, a glass cabinet displayed at least seven or eight rifles. A wolf skin rug covered the floor, while the heads of various animals were stuffed and mounted on the walls like the stag¡¯s head she had seen in the Baron¡¯s manor. Their beady, soulless eyes stared blankly into the room.


    ¡°This is a hunting lodge,¡± she said, realisation dawning. ¡°This is where we¡¯re going to meet your uncle for your hunting trip, isn¡¯t it? But he¡¯s not due to arrive until tomorrow¡­¡±


    Avon straightened up. ¡°That¡¯ll warm us up. Would you like some brandy?¡±


    He disappeared into the kitchen. Valerie didn¡¯t follow. She wanted to know where the other doors led instead: a pantry; a dining room; a servants¡¯ annex with bunk beds and a small bathroom; and two guest bedrooms, each with their own bath chamber. Thankfully, the bedchambers didn¡¯t have any dead animal heads. She didn¡¯t think she¡¯d sleep well with that.


    She returned to find Avon and his brandy, which he poured out in two glasses on the oak table in the middle of the kitchen. A great brick and stone stove dominated the room, flanked by wooden cupboards and a ceramic wash basin. The stone floor chilled her feet. A covered basket had been set on the oak table, and bundles of dried herbs hung from hooks on the walls.


    Avon brushed his fingers over an oak chair. ¡°Do you sense it?¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    She frowned. ¡°Sense what?¡±


    He gestured over to one of the kitchen counters. Then she saw it. On the windowsill, bold as a sunflower, stood the silvertree seedling. She hadn¡¯t noticed it in the gloom. And she ought to have sensed it the moment she stepped over the threshold into its magical field, except of course she had missed that too because of the locket.


    Valerie hoped he didn¡¯t pick up on that. She collected herself.


    ¡°You brought it here?¡±


    He smiled. ¡°Hidden in plain sight.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ we¡¯re here for the hunting trip, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Yes. A merry hunting party, my father included. And you know one thing these fine gentlemen will never do?¡±


    She stared at him for a second before the answer came to her. ¡°They won¡¯t go into the kitchen.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    He offered her the glass of brandy, but something else caught Valerie¡¯s attention: a flicker of movement outside. She frowned, moving over to look out of the window. It faced the lake, giving her a clear view of the steps leading down to the jetty and¡­


    Avon¡¯s manservant was climbing into the boat.


    ¡°Hey!¡± She turned back to Avon. ¡°He¡¯s taking the boat!¡±


    The man was already rowing away. She felt a sliver of panic. That vessel was their only way back.


    ¡°You needn¡¯t worry,¡± said Avon. ¡°He¡¯ll return tomorrow. Tonight, we¡¯re on our own.¡±


    Oh.


    Valerie swallowed. She had never truly been alone with him. They had spent evenings in his chamber at the palace, yes, but always with guards outside. The closest she had come was their trip to Enyr, but even then they had never been more than a few yards away from servants or guards.


    In one way, it was a show of trust. He¡¯d brought her to the silvertree seedling. If Shikra had been lying about her abilities¡ªif she was able to reach out and possess Valerie from across the ocean¡ªthen now would be the perfect time to kill him.


    She accepted the glass of brandy and took a large gulp to steady her nerves. ¡°You brought me here to get away from your father?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°And to give us a private space to talk.¡±


    ¡°Uh huh.¡± She tapped her nails on the oak table. ¡°With the silvertree too. Were you hoping for a private show?¡±


    She held out her hand, creating a small sphere of light like those she had conjured at the Society Biologica. Avon¡¯s eyes followed the light as she lifted it into the air, where it hovered under the ceiling.


    She gave a mock pout. ¡°You could at least pretend to be impressed.¡±


    He leaned against the counter and sipped his brandy. ¡°I don¡¯t need a display. I know what you can do.¡±


    ¡°So why bring me to the silvertree?¡±


    ¡°I want you to feel safe.¡±


    Her breath caught. She¡¯d lit the room enough that she could see every tiny shift in his expression and posture, and he was wearing that serious look again, the one she didn¡¯t know how to react to. She only knew that her heart was pounding.


    He set down his glass and leaned in, his hand brushing over hers. She shivered at his touch.


    ¡°I admire you greatly, Valerie,¡± he said quietly. ¡°If you¡¯re concerned about that, please rest assured that nothing my father or anyone else does can dull my ardour. Whatever I set my eyes on, I don¡¯t waver from.¡±


    She managed a smile. ¡°I appreciate the reassurance.¡±


    His gaze flickered. ¡°Too much?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we should eat before we get into the serious talk.¡± She moved around the oak table, eyeing the covered basket. Definitely a picnic basket. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    He straightened up. ¡°I thought we could have a cold supper.¡±


    She opened the basket, examining the contents. Bread and cheese, pastries, cold meats, jars of conserve, apples¡­ Her stomach rumbled. It looked delicious, but¡­


    She looked up, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. ¡°You know, if a Maskamery man were trying to woo me, he¡¯d cook a hot meal.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°I don¡¯t cook.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a first time for everything.¡±


    She scooted around the table and took his arm. He protested. ¡°Valerie¡­¡±


    ¡°There must be something in the larder. Come on.¡±


    Happily, the pantry provided them with a few root vegetables that still looked fresh, along with a sack of potatoes. Valerie instructed Avon to add a log or two to the wood-burning stove, which she lit with a quick spell, and to fill a pan with water, sugar and a pinch of cinnamon.


    She soon realised that he hadn¡¯t been joking about his lack of culinary skills. He hadn¡¯t the faintest idea about what ingredients went into any given dish, how to prepare it, or even basic things like how to use an oven.


    ¡°Boys can do this!¡± she teased him, when he looked utterly perplexed about what to do with the vegetables. ¡°You¡¯re a big, strong man. Use that knife. Peel it, then chop them up. Small pieces.¡±


    ¡°Are all Maskamery women terrors like this?¡± he grumbled, but he followed her instructions while she diced the apples and added them to the pan.


    Soon enough, they had the vegetables roasting in the oven and a pan of apple sauce bubbling away. She finished off her brandy, then wrinkled her nose. Avon stirred the contents of the pan, watching her.


    ¡°Do you cook at home?¡± he asked.


    ¡°We all do. We take it in turns, although my aunt and uncle always take charge of dinner.¡±


    He looked down at the pan. ¡°Well, it doesn¡¯t seem that difficult.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of that.¡±


    ¡°So this is a test. I see. And how else do you Maskamery women evaluate men?¡±


    She pretended to think for a few seconds. ¡°Hmm¡­ Other than his ability to cook? The ideal man would be¡­ Strong, smart, successful, kind, generous¡­ Fun to be with. Good-looking. You know.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Those poor fellows.¡±


    ¡°It makes them try harder. And that makes them better men.¡±


    ¡°How am I doing?¡±


    She leaned over to glance at the apple sauce. ¡°Not bad. I think we¡¯re almost ready.¡±


    Maybe he hadn¡¯t meant the sauce, but he didn¡¯t complain when she told him to fetch the tableware. Valerie warmed up the cold meat¡ªvenison¡ªfrom the picnic basket for a minute or two, then removed everything from the oven: piping hot roast potatoes, root vegetables and the venison. She served each of these in the Maskamery style¡ªthat is, every food item on its own dish or plate. Avon spooned the apple sauce into a porcelain boat.


    ¡°Shall I take that?¡± he asked, reaching for the empty tray¡ªthen he jerked back, hissing in surprise when his fingers closed around its edge.


    ¡°It¡¯s hot!¡± she said, waving her oven mitts. ¡°Did you burn your fingers?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t¡ª¡± He stopped, grimacing.


    She put down the tray, trying not to laugh. He lifted his hand, and she saw the red skin. His fingers were burned. Not badly¡ªthe tray couldn¡¯t have been that hot, but he ought to have been more careful. Valerie removed the oven mitts and took his hands, looking up at him.


    ¡°Let me heal it.¡±


    Their eyes locked. She couldn¡¯t tell if his face was a little flushed from the heat in the kitchen or embarrassment at his lapse of judgement. He was hesitating. Then he gave a small nod.


    His permission was all she needed. She brushed her fingers over each of his in turn and smoothed the burns away¡ªjust like that.


    He held up his hand again, examining his own fingers. ¡°Now I¡¯m impressed.¡±


    The heat in the kitchen was making her flush too. Valerie turned away, hiding her pleased grin. Their food awaited.


    *


    They ate in the dining room. It was a veritable feast: they paired the roast dinner with red wine, plus the bread, cheese, pastry and jam from the picnic basket for dessert. Valerie couldn¡¯t resist teasing him about how spoiled he was. Avon took it in good humour.


    Finally, she leaned back, rubbing her full tummy. ¡°Isn¡¯t it satisfying to eat food you cooked yourself?¡±


    Sure, the venison had been a little dry, but they¡¯d done well with what they had. She¡¯d give herself full marks. Avon maybe a six for effort.


    He smiled. ¡°Perhaps. I enjoyed it because I was cooking with you.¡±


    Valerie nearly giggled and had to stop herself. Between the wine and the brandy, she was feeling a little tipsy. One more compliment, and she might end up melting into a puddle. Instead, she took a breath and drew on her magic, clearing her head. Better.


    Avon cocked his head. ¡°You know, I¡¯m surprised you haven¡¯t asked.¡±


    ¡°Asked what?¡±


    ¡°About the silvertree.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She thought as hard as she could, but she was full and sleepy and sluggish. ¡°Well, it needs to be somewhere safe. I suppose this is as good a place as any.¡±


    ¡°I hope so. I¡¯m relying on obscurity rather than heavy security. Master Anwen will look after the premises day-to-day. We can visit whenever we so choose. Is that acceptable to you?¡±


    She nodded, half-distracted. Anwen had mentioned that Avon had tasked him with keeping the seedling safe, she recalled. He and Doryn had left with the seedling the previous night, after the Society Biologica meeting, which meant they must have travelled across the lake to bring it here. So where was Anwen? She needed to find him, to take that book off his hands and end the queen¡¯s influence over him.


    ¡°Is Anwen nearby?¡± she asked.


    ¡°He¡¯ll join us tomorrow. Until then¡­ Shall we call it a night?¡±


    ¡°And leave all of this for the servants?¡± She waved her hands at the jumble of dirty pots and plates before them. ¡°If a Maskamery man were trying to woo me, he¡¯d wash up too.¡±


    He gave her a look. Valerie met his gaze, trying not to smile. Then he stood up, and to her surprise he actually picked up the empty plates and glasses and returned them to the kitchen. She stifled a laugh. How had he expected this evening to go, she wondered. It didn¡¯t have the hallmarks of his usual careful planning. Frankly, she¡¯d saved him the embarrassment of trying to seduce a girl with an indoor picnic.


    Getting up, she ambled to the short hallway between the two guest rooms, wondering which one to pick¡­


    Footsteps shadowed her. Avon definitely hadn¡¯t washed those dishes. His hands enclosed her waist, and she jumped.


    ¡°Do I need to remind you that I¡¯m not Maskamery?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡± She caught her breath. ¡°No, a Drakonian man spirited me all the way out here. No invitation. Didn¡¯t even ask my permission.¡±


    She felt him chuckle, his breath tickling her hair. He kissed the spot between her jaw and earlobe, and she turned towards him, heat shooting up her belly. Now she was in real danger of melting. His hands moved up along her corset, his gaze already straying down to her cleavage, and a sudden wave of panic shot through her.


    Because she¡¯d forgotten one very important thing.


    The locket.

 2.35. Adrift

    ¡ªand she feels a strange heady rush, like¡­ Magic?


    The woman pauses. ¡°You have the blessing.¡±


    Valerie wills her bruises to heal. ¡°Yeah, I¡­ Who are you?¡±


    Movement behind them. The woman whips around. It happens so fast: the man ducks into the tent, the woman rushes him, and then her knife is in his throat. He goes down with a strangled whimper.


    The woman wipes the blade on the dead man¡¯s cloak and straightens up. ¡°I¡¯m Shikra.¡±


    *


    She took his hands, halting them. If there was a tremor in her body, Avon would surely interpret it as excitement or nerves. He didn¡¯t have to know that she was still deceiving him even now, even when the locket at her breast made her unable to lie.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± she whispered, ¡°he thinks I should sleep with him out of gratitude. Perhaps I need to remind him that I¡¯m not Drakonian.¡±


    He straightened, the two of them shifting to face each other. She hadn¡¯t let go of his hands; his fingers intertwined with hers and she met his gaze, searching for that same connection.


    ¡°I know what you are.¡± His voice was husky, his eyes dark and intense. ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±


    ¡°But I do. I can be your prisoner or your partner, Avon. Not both. I already told you that.¡±


    ¡°You want an end to your repentance,¡± he said. ¡°But you know that I¡­¡±


    He trailed off. It seemed strange, she thought, how well they understood each other. They ought to be so different.


    ¡°I know.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll have to say good night.¡±


    She caught the flash of disappointment before he controlled himself. But he knew she was right. She felt certain of that. Whatever this was¡ªand she hadn¡¯t processed it yet herself¡ªshe would not get caught up in a romantic entanglement where she played the subordinate. And she couldn¡¯t be an equal partner to Avon here. Quite apart from her repentance, Drakonian society made it impossible.


    He sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. ¡°You drive me mad. Sometimes I think you enjoy tormenting me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I do. This was fun.¡± She smiled. ¡°Next time, let me go before you chase me.¡±


    She kissed him on the cheek. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Before she could change her mind, before either of them could change her mind, Valerie picked a door at random and slipped into the bedchamber, closing it behind her.


    There she slumped against the door to get her breath back. Part of her listened for Avon outside¡ªpart of her hoped that he¡¯d follow her, but he didn¡¯t.


    She found a bathrobe in the wardrobe, washed her face and changed. The locket she rescued carefully from her dress, weighing it up in her palm for a moment before she hid it under her pillow. She stepped away. One pace. Two paces. She estimated a distance of about two yards before the silvertree seed¡¯s magical field disappeared. Not far at all.


    Valerie curled up in the large four poster bed and heaved a sigh of frustration.


    She wanted him. Avon. Why did she still want him? He¡¯d burned down her village, showed zero remorse about it and refused to go back and save her family. Even killing her had failed to extinguish her feelings. If not for the locket, she might have given in tonight.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    These feelings were inconvenient. She didn¡¯t want them. She had been naive before, imagining that she could have everything she wanted. From now on she had to be pragmatic, always. Survival first, ambition later. His presence clouded her judgement.


    The crown, the silvertrees, him. Do I really want it all? What would I give up, if I had to?


    She closed her eyes.


    Shikra?


    I¡¯m here.


    She pictured the lake. The boat. Deep, calm waters. Endless blue sky. A private space to talk.


    Valerie opened her eyes. The boat bobbed gently on the water. She sat by the bow, wrapped up warm in a woollen cloak. The queen sat by the stern, but her cloak shone gold, the only bright thing in a world of mist and cloud. She looked up at an overcast sky.


    ¡°A storm brewing,¡± Shikra observed. ¡°Something is troubling you.¡±


    Valerie cursed inwardly. The lake was calm, but little eddies and gusts were already beginning to stir the water, and the sky had turned ominously black. Her emotions had bled into the landscape. She would have to consider that in future¡ªperhaps it would be better to visit the queen¡¯s dream world rather than making her own.


    Perhaps she shouldn¡¯t have summoned the queen at all.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she muttered. ¡°This was a stupid idea, I¡­¡±


    Nothing but gentle understanding radiated from the queen¡¯s gaze. ¡°What is it?¡±


    Well, too late to regret it now. She might as well say something.


    ¡°In all the lives I¡¯ve led, did I¡­ Did I ever fall in love?¡±


    Shikra raised her eyebrows. ¡°You don¡¯t remember?¡±


    She grimaced. ¡°I don¡¯t want to remember. Most of what I remember is suffering and death.¡±


    Fat raindrops fell from the sky, soaking through her cloak. She remembered a kind face, a gentle hand. Shikra had been her port in the storm, once. She remembered gratitude. She remembered desperation. She had spent all her lives since the war stuck in survival mode or else dying a gruesome death. They felt both real and unreal, like memories that had happened to someone else.


    Shikra folded her hands in her lap. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    She hesitated. Why was she asking Shikra about this? The queen might be the worst possible person to confide in. But right now, she didn¡¯t have anyone else.


    ¡°I want to avoid it,¡± she said. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t think I can survive it.¡±


    The queen smiled. And though the rain had become heavier and the mist thicker, she drew out a red leather book from inside her cloak and opened it on her lap.


    ¡°Romantic love comes and goes,¡± she read. ¡°True love is the bond between mother and child. Between sisters. Between friends. When we nourish that love, we build bonds that last for generations.¡±


    ¡°Maska¡¯s Testimonium,¡± Valerie whispered.


    She recognised the passage that Shikra was quoting. Maska taught her followers to value community and familial relationships over romantic partners. It was one of the many reasons she had felt adrift in Drakon, cut off from her family, far from home.


    No, she had been adrift long before that. She was an orphan, adopted by distant relatives she had no real kinship with. The resistance had failed. Her relationship with Markus had fizzled out long before the queen had stopped his heart.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any of that,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m alone.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not alone.¡± Shikra leaned forward, taking her hands. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    Lightning crackled overhead, followed by deep rolling thunder. Her insides turned cold. Valerie couldn¡¯t explain the fear that transfixed her. The storm screamed: Danger! In the queen¡¯s soft words, in her gentle visage, she sensed a lurking threat so great that she couldn¡¯t breathe.


    She snatched her hands away. ¡°You still haven¡¯t told me anything. Why did you die? You knew what was going to happen. Why couldn¡¯t you avoid it?¡±


    There was a pause.


    Her dream-body did not feel the wind¡¯s chill or the rain¡¯s damp, or else she would have been shivering uncontrollably by now. Shikra too seemed unaffected, holding her book loosely in her lap. They were floating in the dark, the night closing around them like the edge of her consciousness. This dream-world was slipping away.


    ¡°Changing the future is not straightforward,¡± Shikra replied. ¡°The smallest action can trigger unforeseen consequences, and it may not be obvious what caused the change. I should have evaded my pursuers after the attack on the capital. But this time, my shelter became a trap. It made it very difficult to meet you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what went wrong?¡±


    ¡°This entire timeline is a mistake. These past two years should never have happened. The Empire thinks that Maskamere is not nearly so fearsome as we made out. Look how easily they defeated us. But the truth is, I let them win. My sole purpose in this timeline was to find you.¡±


    She thought again of their encounter at the goldentree, the terror of witnessing her own body being used as a puppet¡­ Markus dying¡­ All the things she could have avoided, if only she had trusted in the queen¡¯s grand plan.


    ¡°I must have really disappointed you.¡±


    ¡°The beauty of our gift is that you have the time to make it up to me.¡± Shikra closed her book. ¡°You did love someone, Valerie. It¡¯s why you¡¯re here now.¡±


    Her stomach dropped. ¡°Who?¡±


    The storm faded. Shikra glowed with the light of the goldentree, the last light remaining in this sea of darkness. Her skin looked as untouched as pristine snow, her eyes an endless well of ancient wisdom. She was both young and old, delicate and unyielding, graceful and ruthless.


    The queen smiled. ¡°Me.¡±

 2.36. The Admiral and the Emperor

    The first time she kills a man, the queen is with her.


    She¡¯s worn herself out making enchanted armour for the queen¡¯s forces¡ªwhat¡¯s left of them. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn¡¯t. They pass in and out of magical territory, and every time they find the blackened stump of a silvertree, Shikra¡¯s face darkens.


    The one place where magic never fades is by the queen. It¡¯s as if she holds the power of the goldentree within her. So Valerie sits always by Shikra¡¯s side, weaving¡ª


    *


    She didn¡¯t believe it. Or, if she did believe it, it didn¡¯t matter. Perhaps they had been close once. She even wondered if her intense admiration for the queen had somehow bled through the timelines. Or maybe, deep down, she had always coveted the crown. It didn¡¯t matter, because everything was different now, and Shikra was only trying to manipulate her.


    Valerie resolved to never seek advice from the queen again. No more reaching out. She would contact Shikra only when she needed to.


    So when she rose from her bed, she did her best to clear all thoughts of the queen from her mind. These next two days would be about navigating the treacherous waters of Avon¡¯s extended family.


    Can¡¯t wait.


    Still, Valerie had come up with an ingenious plan to hide the locket, if she did say so herself. Rather than attempt to hide it in her clothing or leaving it behind in a drawer where it might be found, she used the silver chain to tie her hair which she then wrapped around the locket. The end result was a bun which she held in place with a decorative net. It covered the locket completely, safe and snug.


    And oh, how wonderful it felt to lighten the shadows beneath her eyes and put a rosy tinge in her cheeks without the need for paint or powder. She didn¡¯t mind lingering in front of the mirror that morning. She made herself flawless again. Fresh again. Fit and healthy again.


    She breathed out the stress and fatigue and breathed in the magic that cradled her in its warm embrace. Then she rose and twirled around in a brand new gown, one of her purchases from her shopping trip. She¡¯d chosen a dress of simple white cotton with a subtle leaf pattern around the hem. A blank canvas, of sorts.


    She walked into the kitchen to find Avon already at the table with what remained of the bread rolls and pastries from yesterday¡¯s picnic.


    ¡°Oh, my,¡± she said. ¡°Did you get dressed all by yourself?¡±


    To his credit, he chuckled. He didn¡¯t seem ruffled either¡ªand she made sure to check, looking him up and down. Waistcoat buttoned, check. Shirt tucked in, check. Hair tied back, check.


    ¡°Somehow I managed.¡± He tapped his fingers. ¡°Did you sleep well?¡±


    ¡°Mmm-hmm.¡± She poured water into a teapot and cast a quick spell to set it to boil. ¡°Remind me who we¡¯re expecting today?¡±


    ¡°My uncle. Admiral Rhys Avon. And Anwen, of course.¡±


    ¡°Not your father?¡±


    He exhaled. ¡°No, Father will join us tomorrow. I¡¯ve also invited Lord Falconer. That gives me today to¡­ persuade my uncle to support our cause.¡±


    ¡°You want me to do another demonstration?¡±


    He nodded. She glanced over at the silvertree seedling, its leaves glimmering in the morning light. It wasn¡¯t a bad plan, she supposed. Anwen could enthuse for days about his magical research. All she had to do was create a few twinkly lights and look pretty.


    Valerie stirred tea leaves into the pot, then joined Avon at the table, serving them each a cup. She leaned over and nabbed a pastry.


    ¡°Okay,¡± she said, ¡°so let¡¯s say your uncle loves me. He¡¯s on your side. Do you think between you, you can convince your father?¡±


    ¡°That would be the goal.¡±


    She folded her arms, unconvinced. What was Avon¡¯s uncle going to say that Avon couldn¡¯t?


    ¡°I know,¡± said Avon. ¡°Father is stubborn. No matter what I do, he¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s weird, isn¡¯t it?¡± She leaned forward. ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s weird?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°At first I thought it was because he truly believed I was bewitched. Now I don¡¯t know what to think. That¡¯s why I¡¯m hoping my uncle can help.¡±


    His hands curled around the steaming cup of tea. She wondered what he wasn¡¯t saying. The problem was, she had only seen Avon argue with his father about this once, after that first dinner. They¡¯d very nearly come to blows. After that, every other conversation between Avon and the Emperor had taken place behind closed doors, and he hadn¡¯t been forthcoming about what was said. She couldn¡¯t possibly know Avon¡¯s father as well as he did, and yet, she thought, Avon looked lost.


    How did one persuade a stubborn member of the Avon family that magic wasn¡¯t all bad?


    ¡°I have an idea,¡± she said. ¡°You remember what happened with Ophelia? How I saved her life?¡±


    ¡°After you let your accomplice poison my drink,¡± said Avon. ¡°Yes, I remember.¡±


    ¡°Well, what if I saved the Emperor¡¯s life?¡±


    ¡°Save him from what?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d stage an accident.¡±


    He stared at her. ¡°You¡¯re not serious.¡±


    ¡°Come on! We stage a little accident, then I heal him, and he has to admit that magic is useful. He would owe me, Avon, that¡¯s power. I need power.¡±


    ¡°That sounds an awful lot like you plotting to kill my father.¡±


    ¡°If I was going to do that, I wouldn¡¯t be talking to you about it.¡±


    He rubbed his eyes. ¡°What exactly are you proposing?¡±


    ¡°Poison?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s no accident. He¡¯d blame you immediately.¡±


    ¡°All right, then shoot him.¡±


    ¡°Accidentally? How? Besides, that could easily kill him.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Take him out on a boat on the lake and capsize it.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a strong swimmer.¡±


    ¡°Set the lodge on fire.¡±


    ¡°Endangering us all and burning down my property. No.¡±


    She huffed. ¡°All right, you think of something.¡±


    They stared at each other. Then, at the exact same moment, they both burst into laughter. The absurdity of the situation felt utterly surreal¡ªhere they were, plotting against the Emperor of Drakon in his son¡¯s kitchen. Her pastry was dry.


    ¡°All right,¡± said Avon, clearing his throat. He took a sip of tea. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt your ability to improvise. Your idea does have merit. If my uncle and I can¡¯t persuade my father with words, then we will need to consider other options. And Father could do with a shock. But I won¡¯t risk his life. Too many variables.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going out hunting tomorrow, right? There must be something we can do.¡±


    She still thought shooting him was a good option, honestly. Avon could just say that his rifle had slipped. Sorry, Father. Thought you were a boar.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°Yes, I think perhaps there is¡­¡±


    *


    Later that afternoon, four people arrived at the jetty on a small boat. Valerie and Avon came out to meet them. She scanned their faces: Avon¡¯s mute manservant; Cilla, her lady-in-waiting; a stout man dressed in the garb of a valet; and an older gentleman, perhaps in his mid-fifties, with grey-streaked hair, a weathered face and sharp, gleaming eyes.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t send me a ship?¡± the gentleman called. ¡°That leaky old tub is filling up faster than a bishop¡¯s whore.¡±


    Avon clasped his hands behind his back. ¡°Mind your language, Uncle. We have a lady present.¡±


    The gentleman chuckled as he climbed the last few steps to meet them. ¡°Come here.¡±


    Valerie stepped back as he enveloped Avon in a big bear hug, clapping his back. Behind them, the servants began unloading the boat. They were expecting Anwen later. Avon wanted the chance to speak to his uncle first.


    ¡°Uncle,¡± said Avon, turning towards her, ¡°meet Lady Valerie. Lady Valerie, meet my uncle, Admiral Rhys Avon.¡±


    Valerie eyed the older man¡¯s brass-buttoned coat, the medals decorating his breast pocket, his high leather boots.


    She curtsied. ¡°My lord.¡±


    The Admiral¡¯s eyes alighted on her. ¡°So this is your famous witch. Oh, dear.¡±


    ¡°She prefers the term priestess,¡± said Avon. ¡°Why don¡¯t we go inside?¡±


    They retreated into the lodge, where Cilla served them tea in the main room. Valerie perched on the couch and tried not to glance towards the kitchen. The servants would go in and out, of course. Might they notice the seedling?


    Her worries were interrupted when Avon sat down next to her and casually put his arm around her shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat. She ought to have gotten used to these pretended intimacies, but every now and then he surprised her. Valerie looked up at Avon, hoping she didn¡¯t appear uncomfortable, but he only met her gaze for a fleeting second before taking his tea.


    The Admiral watched them from the armchair by the fireplace. ¡°Do you two know what a scandal you¡¯ve caused? Even I¡¯m hearing about it.¡±


    Avon sipped his tea. ¡°What have you heard?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t repeat rumours and slander. What¡¯s the truth of the matter?¡±


    She and Avon glanced at each other. ¡°The truth,¡± said Avon, ¡°is that Valerie and I are working together to transform the Empire. You remember Grandfather¡¯s stories, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°About Maskamere? Oh, yes. You were enchanted by them.¡± The Admiral gestured at Valerie. ¡°If you didn¡¯t know it already, my lady, your master was obsessed with Maskamere. Devoured every book he could on it.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± She looked at him, delighted. Was she imagining it or had his face tinged slightly pink?


    ¡°I don¡¯t speak of childish fantasies.¡± Avon wouldn¡¯t meet her eyes. ¡°My ambition is quite real. Whatever rumours you¡¯ve heard are from those trying to discredit us. Unfortunately, Father isn¡¯t convinced.¡±


    The Admiral snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be frank with you, Uncle. I summoned you because I need your help. Did you hear about the vote of no confidence at the Senate?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Disgraceful.¡±


    ¡°Well, I need you to shore up the vote with your people. And I need you to knock some sense into my father.¡±


    The Admiral laughed. ¡°Knock some sense into him? The old boy doesn¡¯t listen to me. Never has.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t need to. We have something else in mind¡­¡±


    Valerie watched the Admiral closely as Avon explained the plan. He nearly choked on his tea when Avon mentioned arranging an accident.


    ¡°You want me to put myself in harm¡¯s way?¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t be in any real danger. Valerie will heal you.¡±


    This was the compromise they¡¯d agreed to. Avon wouldn¡¯t risk his father¡¯s life. But if they had a willing victim¡­


    Well, perhaps the shock of nearly losing his brother would persuade the Emperor to give magic another chance.


    The Admiral squinted at her. ¡°And I¡¯m supposed to take your word for it that she¡¯s trustworthy? Half the court thinks you¡¯re bewitched.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± said Avon impatiently. ¡°As I explained to the Senate, it¡¯s literally impossible for me to be bewitched given that magic does not exist in Drakon.¡±


    ¡°Well, if it doesn¡¯t exist, how are you going to heal me?¡±


    ¡°We have a silvertree,¡± said Valerie. ¡°A seedling. Master Anwen is taking care of it for us. He¡¯ll bring it to the lodge, so I can use it to heal you.¡±


    The Admiral frowned. ¡°Hmm¡­¡±


    ¡°Our family reputation is at stake,¡± said Avon. ¡°We cannot let the Patriarch humiliate us. We must beat him.¡±


    Just then, Avon¡¯s manservant entered the lounge and tapped on the door.


    Avon stood up. ¡°Speaking of Master Anwen... That¡¯ll be him arriving on shore. Excuse me for a moment. I¡¯ll fetch him.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said the Admiral. ¡°No trouble at all.¡±


    Avon disappeared with his manservant. Valerie fidgeted in her seat. She knew this was deliberate on Avon¡¯s part¡ªshe wanted to talk to the Admiral, and he wanted to speak with Anwen, but she also had no idea what state of mind Anwen might be in after the queen¡¯s enchantment.


    ¡°Well,¡± said the Admiral, ¡°don¡¯t look so nervous. You¡¯re the one with magical powers.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, my lord.¡±


    ¡°How is my nephew treating you?¡±


    Valerie blinked. That was an impossible question to answer, and not at all a question she had expected either. She hardly knew what to say, and so settled for: ¡°Very well, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Rather intense, isn¡¯t he? Very capable but apt to dominating a conversation, particularly with the gentler sex. If you¡¯re willing to share it, my lady, I would like to know your honest opinion. Where are you at in all this?¡±


    The Admiral shared the same piercing gaze as his brother and nephew. With the Emperor, she felt judged; with Avon, she felt seen. With the Admiral, she felt¡­ accepted. He didn¡¯t look at her with hatred or disgust like the Emperor, nor did he assess her the way Avon did, as if she were a puzzle to be solved. There was a twinkle in his eye, his manner relaxed in a way that put her at ease.


    ¡°Where am I at?¡± The experience of being asked her opinion was so novel in Drakardia, this question nearly stumped her too. ¡°Stuck, I guess. Lord Avon wants to restore the silvertrees, so we can practise magic again. I want that too. And he wants magic to be accepted everywhere in the Empire. Only¡­ I don¡¯t see that happening any time soon. Especially without the Emperor¡¯s support.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Admiral murmured. ¡°I see your dilemma. What about this election? Wouldn¡¯t you prefer to see a Maskamery candidate win the Chancellorship?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple. I¡¯d like to see that someday, but I have to make it back home alive first. Lord Avon promised we would return, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But not before he¡¯s Chancellor again,¡± the Admiral finished. ¡°Your investment in our family is purely a means of survival, then?¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± she hedged. ¡°If I said it was more than that, would it make a difference?¡±


    ¡°It would make the difference between a transactional relationship and a personal one, yes. I don¡¯t ask for myself, you understand. But for my nephew, that difference is a very important one indeed.¡±


    ¡°I think he wants a personal relationship,¡± she said, ¡°but he¡¯s treating it like a transactional one.¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re a courtesan, yes?¡±


    She decided now was not the time to bring up the fact that she¡¯d tried to kill him, and nodded.


    ¡°Well, take it from a man who married a courtesan.¡± The Admiral¡¯s tone was surprisingly kind. ¡°Stranger things have happened.¡±


    ¡°You married a courtesan?¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°James isn¡¯t the only member of our family to cause a scandal. Do you really want to change my brother¡¯s mind?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said at once.


    ¡°Then I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re going about it the wrong way. This plan of yours won¡¯t work.¡±


    Her heart sank. ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because I know my brother. And the Reinard I know would never turn down an opportunity to strengthen the Empire. Something changed in him after our mother died.¡±


    ¡°Your mother?¡±


    Avon had talked about his grandfather before, but never his grandmother. Curiosity lit a fire within her; she sat up straighter, hanging on his every word.


    ¡°She and Reinard despised each other. Yours truly stuck in the middle. Well, the Patriarch and his ilk had been banging on about the evils of witchcraft for years. My brother always ignored it. General wisdom was that Maskamere was too big and too well-defended to conquer. A month after our mother¡¯s passing, he convened the Council to propose the invasion.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± She was thinking furiously. ¡°Is it connected? What changed his mind?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But you can do something about that, can¡¯t you?¡±


    She stared at him. ¡°You want me to find out what happened?¡±


    ¡°Can you?¡±


    A dozen ideas zipped through her mind. But Valerie didn¡¯t get the chance to voice any of them, because that was when the scream came from the kitchen.

 2.37. I Wished I Was a Knight

    ¡ªweaving, weaving. Even when she¡¯s exhausted and hungry, and her magic can no longer soothe her tired body, she keeps on working.


    Shikra¡¯s hand touches the back of her neck, and a wonderful rejuvenation soars through her. ¡°You¡¯re doing so well.¡±


    She¡¯s never felt prouder.


    *


    Valerie and the Admiral stared at each other for a split second. Then they both leapt up and dashed out of the lounge. She got to the kitchen first, stopping in the doorway.


    The Admiral almost bumped into her. ¡°What in the Divine¡¯s name is going on?¡±


    Valerie¡¯s eyes widened, taking in the scene. They had arrived in the middle of a scuffle: Avon and his manservant grabbed Anwen by the arms, and to her astonishment the old scholar was waving a carving knife, the blade flashing in the sunlight. Her maidservant, Cilla, cowered by the stove, head in her hands. It was she who had screamed.


    ¡°Uncle! Help me!¡± Avon cried.


    His uncle strode forward as Avon twisted Anwen¡¯s wrist, forcing the old man to yelp and drop the blade. Anwen tried to stoop for the knife, but the Admiral and the servant restrained him. Blood trickled from a thin cut on Anwen¡¯s throat; the whites of his eyes were visible. He looked quite deranged.


    He looked like a man possessed.


    ¡°Let me go!¡± he panted. ¡°Let me go!¡±


    ¡°Bloody hell!¡± said the Admiral. ¡°What¡¯s gotten into him?¡±


    Avon picked up the carving knife. Cilla sobbed in the corner. Heart racing, Valerie took a step forward, and her eyes alighted on the silvertree seedling on the windowsill.


    ¡°Get him out of the kitchen!¡± she said. ¡°Now!¡±


    She moved around the table, putting it between her and Anwen as the Admiral and Avon¡¯s manservant dragged him out. Avon put the knife down on the counter. Before he could follow them, she set a hand on his arm.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    He looked at her with eyes like flint. ¡°He told me about the queen. And the book.¡±


    ¡°We need to find it,¡± she said at once. ¡°Where¡¯s his luggage?¡±


    He showed her to the hallway where Anwen had dropped his travelling case, then hurried off to check on the scholar. Valerie knelt down and opened the case. A pile of books and papers fell out, but she didn¡¯t need to rummage through them. One stood out instantly: a thick leather-bound tome, dull-red and worn and brimming with magic. A Book of Shadows.


    But not just any Book of Shadows. Valerie picked it up and stared at the name embossed on the cover with a mixture of fear and triumph.


    ¡°Shikra,¡± she whispered.


    This was how the queen had communicated with Anwen. And he hadn¡¯t told a soul¡ªuntil now.


    Avon¡¯s hand descended on her shoulder and she jumped. He¡¯d returned quickly.


    ¡°That¡¯s the book?¡±


    She nodded, holding it out to him. ¡°Burn it.¡±


    *


    Half an hour later, Valerie returned to the lounge with her hair freshly pinned up. She couldn¡¯t risk Anwen coming into contact with the locket, so she¡¯d hidden it in the bedchamber. Meanwhile, the other gentlemen had gathered around the fireplace. The Admiral quaffed an enormous glass of whisky. Anwen stared at his hands in his lap. Avon tossed the offending Book of Shadows into the fire that now crackled before them. But even with the dancing light and shadow, the room seemed to fade around her, as if the lack of magic made the world dimmer.


    ¡°Well,¡± said the Admiral, ¡°what the blazes was that?¡±


    Valerie joined Anwen on the couch, reaching out to pat his arm. Cilla had bandaged the shallow cut on his neck, yet he looked frail, tired in a way she hadn¡¯t seen before. She felt a burst of pity.


    ¡°He was cursed.¡± She looked up at the two gentlemen. ¡°That¡¯s what a curse looks like.¡±


    Avon leaned by the mantelpiece, arms folded, face dark. ¡°He almost slit his own throat.¡±


    ¡°Anwen,¡± she said gently. ¡°Can you tell us what happened?¡±


    For the first time, the old scholar met her eyes, and she saw tears glistening in his. ¡°Forgive me,¡± he said in a quavering voice. He looked at Avon, then at the Admiral in his armchair. ¡°Forgive me. I meant to tell you as soon as I landed. I¡­ I betrayed the Empire. There was a fog over my eyes. I don¡¯t know how to describe it.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t betray anyone.¡± Valerie swallowed. ¡°Did anyone else know about the book before today?¡±


    Anwen shook his head. ¡°She told me to keep it a secret, and I¡­¡±


    ¡°You did what she told you.¡±


    ¡°Divine mercy,¡± said the Admiral. ¡°That book?¡± He pointed to the smouldering remains of the Book of Shadows in the fireplace. ¡°He was controlled by a book?¡±


    Valerie looked at Avon. These were secrets they had shared with no one but each other. Avon had brought his uncle here to get his support, but she wasn¡¯t certain how much to tell him.


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± said Avon. ¡°There are still artefacts in Maskamere that were enchanted by the queen. This was one of them.¡±


    Close enough to the truth that it almost wasn¡¯t a lie. Her favourite kind. Valerie clasped her hands, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.


    The Admiral frowned. ¡°The queen of Maskamere?¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± Anwen muttered. ¡°The queen was a wonderful lady. She would never have done such a thing.¡±


    ¡°You told Lord Avon about the book, right?¡± She searched Anwen¡¯s face. ¡°Did something happen when you entered the lodge?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Anwen spoke slowly, halting several times. She hated seeing him like this, drained of his usual energy. He loved magic so much, and the queen had used him in the most hideous way. ¡°I arrived consumed by guilt¡­ Because of what I had done, you know. When I confessed to Lord Avon, I felt such relief. A great weight lifted from my shoulders. Then the next moment, all I knew was that I had to die. I don¡¯t know what came over me. Madness, a temporary madness¡­¡±


    ¡°The curse,¡± said Valerie. She cleared her throat, addressing them all. ¡°I think this is what happened. The queen used the book to bewitch Anwen. If he ever told anyone about it, he would take his own life. As long as Anwen was in Maskamere, he stayed under the queen¡¯s spell, so he kept quiet. But then you summoned him to Drakon.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    She looked at Avon, who was watching her intently. The room was dead silent. Valerie continued:


    ¡°Magic only works if you¡¯re near a silvertree. Anwen had the seedling. Then he arrived here, and he separated from the seedling when he talked to Lord Avon. He wasn¡¯t bewitched anymore.¡±


    ¡°Which meant he could tell me about the book,¡± said Avon.


    She nodded. They were simplifying the story for the Admiral¡¯s sake¡ªAnwen had spent at least one day away from the seedling, but it didn¡¯t matter. The effect was the same.


    ¡°The seedling was in the kitchen,¡± she said. ¡°As soon as he went near it, the curse kicked in.¡±


    The Admiral leaned forward, frowning. ¡°So¡­ If Master Anwen returns to the silvertree¡­¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll try to kill himself again,¡± Valerie finished. ¡°He won¡¯t have a choice.¡±


    No one spoke. Avon and his uncle exchanged a look, their faces serious. Anwen was watching her with a dreadful sort of acceptance, like an old dog that knew it didn¡¯t have long to live. Her insides squirmed. She had just realised what this meant for him.


    ¡°Can you break the curse?¡± Avon asked, anticipating her line of thought.


    Anwen stirred. A glimmer of hope shone in his eyes.


    Valerie shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Anwen. I don¡¯t know how.¡±


    The old man¡¯s face fell. She looked away.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Avon, ¡°this wasn¡¯t the demonstration I intended for today, but I think it¡¯s quite sufficient. Master Anwen, you¡¯ve had a shock. Why don¡¯t you get some rest? We¡¯ll talk again when you¡¯ve recovered.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Anwen smiled a papery smile. ¡°My lord, I¡­¡±


    ¡°No need to apologise.¡± Avon walked over and helped the old man stand up. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to forgive.¡±


    *


    As night fell, the quiet that descended over the lodge felt as tangible as breath. The fire died down to an ember. The servants retreated to their beds. Valerie undid her hair, letting it fall loose down her back, then smoothed down her nightdress with a little shiver.


    ¡°Are you cold? I can stoke the fire.¡±


    She turned around. Avon regarded her from the couch, his brows knitted in concern. He had the only blanket. And she had nowhere else to go.


    That was her fault. Valerie had wanted to speak to Anwen before they retired, but he was out like a light. Consequently, they¡¯d been presented with an unexpected problem: the lodge only had two bedchambers, one of which Anwen had taken. The other sleeping quarters belonged to the servants.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t fuss,¡± the Admiral had said. ¡°I¡¯ve slept in cabins stinking of bilge water. I¡¯ll kip right here.¡±


    He¡¯d patted the couch.


    ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you, my lord,¡± she had replied, ¡°but you¡¯re our guest, and we couldn¡¯t leave you without a bed, could we?¡±


    She¡¯d given Avon a pointed look as she said that. In Maskamere, it would have been unthinkable to make a guest sleep on the couch or floor. Whether the same was true in Drakon, she didn¡¯t know, but the argument had worked. Avon insisted that his uncle take the other room¡ªthe one that she had slept in the previous night¡ªand the Admiral had eventually given in.


    Which was how she found herself here, in this ugly room with the dead animal heads and the wolf skin rug and the cabinet of guns¡ªand Avon in his nightclothes. His loose shirt exposed the hollow of his throat. He was barefoot. She found her throat stuck and cleared it, annoyed at the jitters in her stomach.


    ¡°Or you could give me the blanket.¡±


    She made him move up, stealing the blanket, which was fluffy and soft. Rabbit fur, she thought, if she had to guess.


    He leaned back, seemingly unperturbed. ¡°So what did you think of my uncle?¡±


    ¡°I like him more than your father.¡±


    ¡°I assume that¡¯s a low bar.¡±


    She recalled their conversation with the Admiral. ¡°You never told me that you were obsessed with Maskamere before. How come?¡±


    ¡°Obsessed is a strong word.¡± He frowned. ¡°Besides, I didn¡¯t want to admit any¡­¡±


    ¡°Weakness,¡± she finished.


    ¡°Every one of them is like handing you a knife.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t deny it. Thinking back over the evenings they¡¯d spent together¡­ Even when she thought she¡¯d been building his trust, the opposite had been true. But seeing what the queen had done to Anwen today, she understood why. How could you trust anyone with that kind of power?


    And here she was hogging the blanket to herself.


    On impulse, Valerie shifted to curl up next to Avon and threw the cover over both of them.


    He blinked. ¡°Valerie¡­¡±


    She tucked her head in the crook of his shoulder. ¡°Help me warm up.¡± His body was much hotter than the blanket. She rested her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. ¡°Do you have any doubts? After what happened with Anwen today?¡±


    She sensed his heart rate increase, then return to its normal rhythm. ¡°About magic? Or about you?¡±


    ¡°Either. Both.¡±


    He put his arm around her. They fit easily together, and it occurred to her that she¡¯d never been held by a father. This fact had never bothered her before. The thought disturbed her, and she pushed it away.


    ¡°It would be foolish for me to say that I¡¯ve never had doubts.¡± Avon spoke slowly but carefully. She could tell he was considering every word. ¡°Today was another reminder of why I¡¯ve been right to hold you at arm¡¯s length.¡±


    ¡°Arm¡¯s length?¡± she teased. He was anything but arm¡¯s length. She could sniff his hair if she wanted.


    ¡°You know what I mean. I noticed something else.¡± He looked down at her, Valerie tilting her head back to meet his gaze. ¡°My uncle thinks we need to know why my father started the war with Maskamere to understand why he won¡¯t support me now. The exact same thing your queen wants to know. Isn¡¯t that convenient?¡±


    She was tempted to joke about bewitching him. But it didn¡¯t feel right, not when she was hiding the locket from him, and not when he was on the verge of being vulnerable. She opened and closed her mouth, then looked down, shaking her head.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s strange. Your uncle said that the Emperor changed after their mother died. Your grandfather was an Ambassador to Maskamere, right?¡±


    There had to be something in this tangled history. Avon¡¯s grandfather had stolen Maska¡¯s sword. Which meant that somewhere, somehow, he had beaten the queen. The timeline had continued.


    ¡°And your grandmother,¡± she went on. ¡°Was she connected to Maskamere too?¡±


    Avon shook his head. ¡°She was a well-bred Yironian noblewoman, and she never set foot outside Drakonian borders. Grandfather was the one who told us stories of Maskamere.¡±


    How odd, she thought. Maybe there wasn''t a Maskamery connection after all. The Emperor had some explaining to do.


    She snuggled closer to Avon. ¡°What kind of stories?¡±


    He smiled. ¡°Witches and warlocks and curses. Fairy tales to scare children. I think most of them were made up. But sometimes he¡¯d talk about his own experiences, things he had encountered himself¡­ The silvertrees, the healing fountains, the wishing wells¡­ And I thought it sounded wonderful. Even if it was dangerous, I couldn¡¯t help but want to go there myself.¡±


    ¡°You always saw magic differently then,¡± she said. ¡°Compared to other Drakonians.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I quite appreciated the scale of the difference until recently.¡±


    ¡°And you like witches,¡± she teased him.


    ¡°Those wicked, wild creatures?¡± he said. ¡°Whatever gave you that impression?¡±


    ¡°Did you ever want to be a sorcerer yourself? Receive the blessing?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think of it like that. I¡­¡± He stopped.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to say.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on. It can¡¯t be worse than¡±¡ªshe gave a mock gasp¡ª¡°liking witches.¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°Well, I¡­ Growing up, I believed that all witches were women. Those were the tales we heard about Maskamere. So it didn¡¯t occur to me that sorcery might be possible for myself. There were other stories too. The Black Knights of Drakon, Yironian legends of sirens and sea dragons¡­ And in all those stories, I never imagined myself a sorcerer. I imagined myself a knight.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a knight?¡±


    She pictured him dressed in black¡ªnot hard, since he nearly always did already¡ªstalking about the shadows with his sword at his hip.


    ¡°A warrior.¡± He paused. ¡°More than that, a protector. Your queen had her own elite guard, did she not?¡±


    ¡°Yes. The Vipers. You killed the last of them.¡±


    He gave a wry smile. ¡°I suppose I was always more noble in my head than reality ever allowed.¡±


    ¡°But you dreamed about protecting us. Is that what you¡¯re saying?¡±


    ¡°That would be a lie. I killed most of you. Even you.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re protecting me now.¡±


    In his own way, which she didn¡¯t always like, but she¡¯d survived this far, and she had to give him some credit for that. Right now, wrapped up in his arms with the velvety blanket around them, she felt safe and warm and comfortable. She liked this feeling. She didn¡¯t experience it often.


    Avon sat up slightly, drawing back to look her square in the eye. His fingers brushed her hair, and she thought that perhaps he¡¯d kiss her and that she¡¯d kiss him back, but instead he frowned. He seemed to be searching her face, but she didn¡¯t know what for.


    He sighed. ¡°Are you going to kill my father, Val?¡±


    That caught her by surprise. ¡°No. Why would you say that?¡±


    ¡°You know why.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. I¡¯m not, I swear it.¡± She took his hand, holding it against her cheek. ¡°Do you really think I¡¯m that bloodthirsty?¡±


    ¡°Do you think you¡¯re not?¡±


    They stared at each other. Her heart rate quickened. She didn¡¯t know what she was feeling, a slow jumble of emotions bubbling inside her. But she read his face, and she found a flicker of darkness there, hidden, deep, deep in his eyes, behind the care, behind the want, behind the strange mix of suspicion and trust. How he must be restraining himself. Perhaps that flicker stopped him. She recognised it as the same darkness that had burned in her: fear.


    After all this time, they still hadn¡¯t let that go. But it gave her focus, one emotion winning out over all the others. She was a girl in her nightdress without magic, and he still feared her.


    She would take that as a victory.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she whispered. ¡°It¡¯s good that you¡¯re a little bit afraid of me. I don¡¯t ever want you to take me for granted.¡±


    A tiny frown creased Avon¡¯s forehead. Valerie pressed herself against his chest and lay there like a cat that wouldn¡¯t move from his lap. He stroked her hair until presently she fell into slumber.

 2.38. A Little Accident

    The day comes when they run out of road. The north has fallen. They make for the mountain pass¡ªand as luck would have it, Valerie knows this place better than anyone else. The ruins of her village rot in the valley below.


    The Drakonians pursue them, and¡ª


    *


    When she woke up, Valerie had no idea where she was. It took her a moment to realise that she was resting on Avon, his chest acting as a warm if not soft pillow. She blinked, looking up to find him already gazing at her.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± he said.


    She cleared her throat. ¡°Were you watching me sleep?¡±


    ¡°Well, you looked so peaceful. I was afraid to wake you.¡±


    There was a rare sweetness in his expression, here together before the weight of the day. She liked it, and she brushed her fingers along his jaw, liking the rough texture of his stubble too. She could have stayed in this cosy bubble for another half hour at least, but Avon¡¯s half-amused look reminded her that they did in fact have things to do today.


    Outside, the sun had risen. Valerie sat up, and her illusion of privacy immediately shattered when she saw her maidservant Cilla nosing about the room. The girl picked up and folded her discarded gown.


    She opened her mouth, then closed it again when the Admiral ambled in¡ªfully dressed, thank Maska¡ªand plonked himself down in the wing-backed armchair opposite them.


    ¡°Excellent day for shooting,¡± he said. ¡°Bright, light breeze, dry as¡ª¡±


    Avon sat up. ¡°Uncle!¡±


    The Admiral waved a hand. ¡°Where¡¯s my morning brew? My brother will be here any minute. Chop, chop.¡±


    His valet, the older man who had accompanied the Admiral to the lodge, hurried in and bowed before dashing off again.


    The Admiral nodded at Valerie. ¡°Room¡¯s all yours, my lady.¡±


    Realising that he¡¯d done her a favour, Valerie nodded back. No rest. Things to do. She yawned, stretched, wrapped the blanket around herself, and got to her feet.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± she said.


    With that, she bid the two men farewell and returned to the bedchamber where she had left most of her things. The first thing she checked was the locket, tucked away in her sewing kit. It hadn¡¯t been touched, of course. She didn¡¯t think the Admiral was the sort of man who would pry through a lady¡¯s belongings.


    Cilla helped her to wash and dress, then Valerie dismissed the maid and headed for the room next door.


    ¡°Anwen? Can I come in?¡±


    She heard a muffled ¡°yes¡± and entered the room. There she found the old scholar crouched with his tailcoat sweeping the floor, hastily stuffing books and papers into his red leather suitcase.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Somehow, the sight distressed her. ¡°Are you leaving already?¡±


    Anwen stood up with a groan. ¡°Ah¡ªnot quite. I must keep up appearances for the Emperor. I¡¯ll slip away quietly after the hunt. Forgive me. I¡¯ve been a terrible nuisance.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°No, no, don¡¯t trouble yourself. I¡¯m afraid we both understand my circumstances. I cannot be the guardian of the silvertree as Lord Avon wished.¡±


    She didn¡¯t know what to say, hovering helplessly in the doorway while Anwen snapped the suitcase shut. He was right, of course. The curse prevented Anwen from performing the duty that Avon had intended for him. Worse, he would not be able to return to Maskamere. A lifetime of study, she thought, gone just like that.


    ¡°Look on the bright side.¡± Anwen picked up the case, his eyes twinkling. ¡°Now I should finish my book, hmm? I have a great deal of new material.¡±


    He was putting on a brave face. She would have been devastated. ¡°I¡¯m sorry the queen did that to you.¡±


    ¡°She was only guarding her secrets. One might argue I deserve her ire. I told the Council even a little of what I had learned during my time in Maskamere, and in so doing facilitated the invasion of your country.¡± He looked at her, clear-eyed and sorrowful. ¡°I apologise for my part.¡±


    Her heart twinged. Anwen had been so kind, so helpful¡­ Even though she knew his privileges in Maskamere had come at the expense of her own people, she had always considered him a friend. Surely there¡¯s a world where the priestesses and Anwen can study magic. If only we weren¡¯t so divided.


    She managed a smile. ¡°See, you were never a traitor. I¡¯m still grateful for your help, Anwen.¡±


    His smile back was equally tremulous. ¡°The feeling is mutual, my dear. Go on, there¡¯s no need to fuss. Get your breakfast.¡±


    *


    Valerie joined Cilla in the kitchen for a late breakfast. Although she tried to make conversation, she got little in the way of response. The girl seemed nervous.


    She wasn¡¯t the only one. All of the servants were avoiding her¡ªperhaps the incident with Anwen had spooked them. Or perhaps their latest visitor had put them on edge


    The Emperor had arrived.


    The hunting party gathered in the lounge: Avon, his uncle, his father, Anwen and another new visitor, Rufus. She heard them laughing and joking about something or other. But she couldn¡¯t join them. They¡¯d agreed that Valerie would not reveal her presence in the lodge until the time came to interrogate the Emperor.


    She heard boots shuffling and coats ruffling in the other room and thought that the hunting party might finally be off. Then one set of footsteps headed towards her. The door swung open, and Valerie hurriedly stepped back¡ªit must be one of the valets.


    A tall man wearing a hunting jacket, breeches and long leather boots entered the kitchen. Nope. Not a servant.


    It was Rufus.


    He stopped short at the sight of her. ¡°Valerie?¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Well, that proves Avon¡¯s theory wrong, she thought. He¡¯d been sure that none of the hunting party would so much as glance this way.


    She grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. ¡°Quiet! I¡¯m not here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not¡­?¡± He gathered himself. ¡°Right. Why are you not here?¡±


    She¡¯d positioned them so that Rufus¡¯ back was to the windowsill where the silvertree seedling still perched in its pot. He was far more likely to recognise it than any of the servants. His attention focused on her, of course, his gaze as sharp as ever, frown lines crinkling his brow.


    ¡°None of your business,¡± she told him. ¡°Keep your big mouth shut.¡±


    ¡°Right, right.¡± He backed up against the counter, freeing himself from her grip. ¡°Would Lord Avon disapprove of what you¡¯re not doing here?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°You sure? Because last time¡ª¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t rat you out, did I? So you owe me.¡±


    He gave a disbelieving laugh. ¡°As I recall, you left me high and dry when I came to pick you up from the embassy. And I didn¡¯t rat you out, so if anything, you owe me. What¡¯s really going on?¡±


    They stared at each other. He cut a dashing figure in his hunting gear, she thought. It suited him better than the more elaborate Drakonian styles. But he wasn¡¯t one of them, no matter how much he pretended. Avon didn¡¯t know about the part he¡¯d played in arranging the visit with Titus. She could change that in a moment.


    Another roar of laughter came from the next room. Someone mentioned Lord Falconer¡¯s name.


    She raised her eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯d better go. What did you come in here for anyway?¡±


    He gave her a look, then snatched up an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. ¡°Shooting makes me peckish. Have a good day, my lady.¡±


    He buffed the apple against the lapel of his jacket, winked at her, then sauntered out. Valerie¡¯s mouth turned dry. Too many witnesses, she thought. This plan of theirs had to be executed flawlessly, or else they would be in serious trouble.


    Speaking of¡­ Valerie turned to Cilla, who had been watching all this time like a startled deer, her hands full of suds. Well, Valerie thought, the girl already feared her. She might as well lean into it.


    ¡°Cilla,¡± she said. ¡°Are you going to keep your mouth shut too?¡±


    The maid nodded.


    ¡°Do you know what happens if you don¡¯t?¡±


    Tears pricked Cilla¡¯s eyes. She shook her head.


    Valerie smiled and patted the other girl¡¯s arm. ¡°Let¡¯s keep it that way.¡±


    She peeked out of the window at the retreating hunting party: Avon, his father, his uncle, Rufus and Anwen, each dressed in their shooting gear and carrying hunting rifles. They were accompanied by their servants and a bloodhound that galloped eagerly into the moor. She waited until the dog¡¯s barks faded into the distance, then turned back to survey the lodge.


    Cilla was the only other person who remained in the residence, and the maid seemed keen to stay out of her way. Valerie was happy to let her.


    She had a task to complete.


    *


    To say that Valerie was fatigued by the time the hunting party returned would be an understatement. The light was fading. Her throat was parched, her fingers stiff, and her head ached with a constant dull throb. She gulped down a glass of water and sent another wash of magic through her body, but at this point only sleep would soothe the itching in her eyes. She¡¯d exhausted herself.


    Two failed attempts. One successful¡ªbut barely. She was not happy with the strength of the spell she had created.


    It would have to do.


    Shouts and barking alerted her to the party¡¯s return. Cilla ran to the door. Valerie swept away all evidence of her work from the kitchen table, except for a single piece of fabric which she wrapped around her wrist.


    ¡°Get him inside! Quickly!¡±


    She hurried to meet them, then stopped dead at the lounge entrance. Avon, Rufus and the Admiral carried a half-conscious Reinard into the room. His left leg was stained a dark crimson and dripping with blood. Anwen and one of the servants followed behind. Somewhere outside, the hound¡¯s yapping ripped into the quiet evening air.


    ¡°Valerie!¡± said Avon hoarsely. ¡°My father needs healing, right now!¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± she gasped.


    ¡°Shot in the thigh,¡± said Rufus. ¡°An accident¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, my,¡± Anwen kept saying. ¡°Oh my, oh my¡­¡±


    ¡°My lady, please, tell us what you need.¡± The Admiral¡¯s eyes pleaded with her. ¡°He¡¯s already lost a lot of blood.¡±


    They laid him down on the wolf-skin rug, Valerie wondering what had gone wrong. The plan had been to shoot the Admiral. Avon had refused to budge on that. They would shoot the Admiral, giving her power over the Emperor who would beg her to heal his brother¡­


    Valerie knelt down on the rug. ¡°Fetch the silvertree! And get Anwen out of here¡ªhe can¡¯t be near it.¡±


    There was a flurry of movement around her. Avon ordered Rufus to leave with Anwen and the other servants. She caught Rufus staring at her and gave him a sharp nod, which she hoped he understood. His gaze flickered, but he nodded back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell Ophelia,¡± Avon warned him. ¡°My father is fine, do you hear me? He¡¯ll be back at court tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Bright and early,¡± said Rufus. ¡°I¡¯ll see you there.¡±


    As Rufus and the others departed, the Admiral brought in the silvertree seedling, which he set down by the cabinet. Her magical senses flared into life, and she placed two fingers against the Emperor¡¯s throat. His pulse was weak. He had indeed lost a lot of blood.


    ¡°Sit him up,¡± she said, looking at Avon. ¡°Admiral, there¡¯s brandy in the kitchen. Can you fetch it?¡±


    ¡°On it.¡± The Admiral strode off.


    Avon sat down behind his father and lifted him up so that Reinard¡¯s head lolled in his arms, while the lower half of his body stretched out flat on the rug. The stench of blood filled the air. She unwrapped the fabric from her wrist and gave it to Avon without a word.


    ¡°Reinard,¡± she whispered, grabbing his chin. ¡°Can you hear me? Let me heal you.¡±


    The Emperor¡¯s eyes opened. He groaned when he saw her, then wrenched violently in Avon¡¯s grasp, but Avon held him.


    ¡°Get¡ªher¡ªaway,¡± Reinard croaked out.


    ¡°You¡¯ll die!¡± Avon hissed. ¡°Now is not the time to be stubborn.¡±


    His fingers worked around the Emperor¡¯s neck, first loosening his collar, then tying the strip of fabric around his neck. It was a cravat, a ruffled scrap of white silk that she¡¯d destroyed a perfectly good nightdress to make.


    The Admiral returned with the flask of brandy, kneeling down beside his brother. ¡°Drink,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯ll take the edge off.¡±


    He tipped a drop or two into the Emperor¡¯s mouth, then Reinard grabbed hold of the flask and downed a large gulp. He let go with a gasp, breathing heavily. His eyes focused on Valerie.


    ¡°I need your permission,¡± she urged him. She could feel him getting weaker, but his skin acted as an impenetrable barrier. Injured as he was, she still lacked power over him. ¡°Just say the word and I¡¯ll heal you.¡±


    The Emperor merely glowered at her.


    Maska, she thought, maybe I should let him die. No one could argue he didn¡¯t deserve it. Avon¡¯s hands gripped his father¡¯s shoulders hard enough to leave bruises.


    ¡°Oh, for Divine¡¯s sake, get a grip!¡± The Admiral slapped his brother¡¯s thigh, and Reinard gasped in pain. ¡°Are you going to die to prove a point?¡±


    Reinard laughed, a strange, raspy sound. His face twisted. ¡°Do it.¡±


    The barrier vanished. Valerie moved her hand to the Emperor¡¯s left leg, above the knee. He had been shot in a fleshy part of the thigh. The good news: the bullet hadn¡¯t hit any major arteries. The bad news: it remained buried in his flesh. She could let him bleed out¡­


    For a moment, she was tempted. It would cause such chaos.


    But chaos could get her killed. Besides, she had promised Avon. The Emperor must live. She focused all her attention on stopping the bleeding. The dull ache behind her eyes became acute; her vision flickered, haloed in an aura of light.


    ¡°Valerie,¡± said Avon.


    ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt me.¡± She grimaced, closing her eyes. She heard the Emperor¡¯s ragged breaths, felt the erratic beat of his heart. The wound held. But¡­ ¡°We need to get the bullet out. There are tweezers in my room. Fetch them.¡±


    The Admiral¡¯s heavy boots crossed the floor. It felt like he took an age, Valerie holding the wound until the world spun around her. Then he returned, and between the three of them, they coaxed the bullet out¡ªAvon clamping his hand over his father¡¯s mouth to stop the screaming, Valerie shifting it with her magic, and the Admiral finally digging in with the tweezers. There were bits of shrapnel too¡ªshe drew those out herself, willing the wound to knit together, his blood to replenish.


    She was soaked with sweat, her hair damp. Reinard stopped struggling, the tension slowly leaving his body. Finally, she let go. She had not fully healed the wound. But she¡¯d done enough. The Emperor would not die tonight.


    ¡°Is that it?¡± Reinard stared at her. His grey hair hung damp around his neck, but his gaze had lost none of its ferocity.


    ¡°You¡¯ll live,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s all you get.¡±


    While the Admiral moved his brother to the armchair by the fireplace and plied him with more brandy, Avon came over to her. He picked her up and she clung to him, grateful for his solid strength.


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± he whispered.


    She nodded, finding a vestige of power to banish the migraine. The fatigue remained. She found that her legs were shaky, and with Avon¡¯s help, she made her way over to the couch where they had slept the night before, collapsing with relief on the soft cushion. Avon squeezed her hand, then turned to the Emperor.


    Reinard finished off the brandy and stared up at his son, eyes glittering with malice.


    Avon scowled right back. ¡°All right, Father. Let¡¯s have a little talk.¡±

 2.39. The Interrogation

    ¡ªas they crest the next peak, Shikra stops.


    ¡°I can go no further,¡± she tells them. ¡°Go.¡±


    Valerie and her companions protest, but the queen insists. It was always meant to be this way. She will protect them.


    Drakonian boots march up the mountain. Valerie is last to leave, but her footsteps falter. There¡¯s no magic in the air. It¡¯s faded. Snuffed out like the silvertrees.


    She turns back. ¡°I can¡¯t leave you.¡±


    ¡°You can,¡± Shikra says softly.


    ¡°I can¡¯t. You saved my life, I¡­¡±


    ¡°You owe me a life-debt.¡± The queen smiles, always gentle, always kind. ¡°Go.¡±


    *


    Father and son bristled at each other like two great birds of prey, wings hunched, talons ready to strike. Reinard¡¯s injury did not make him less dangerous, Valerie thought, and if the alcohol had dulled his senses, he showed no sign of it. Avon stood tall by the fireplace, shadow looming over to where his uncle propped up Reinard¡¯s bad leg on a footstool.


    She had done her part. Curled up in her seat, Valerie lay with her eyes half-closed and watched.


    ¡°It¡¯s time we spoke the truth,¡± said Avon. ¡°Father, Lady Valerie just saved your life. And yet your behaviour towards her has been abhorrent from the start. Perhaps you¡¯d like to apologise for misjudging her.¡±


    Reinard¡¯s lip curled. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯d like to apologise for shooting me.¡±


    ¡°That was my fault,¡± said the Admiral hurriedly. ¡°Trigger finger slipped. I¡¯m terribly sorry. If there¡¯s anything I can do¡­¡±


    Surely it can¡¯t have been an accident. Valerie frowned. Maybe the Admiral had shot his brother because he didn¡¯t fancy getting injured himself. Or maybe he didn¡¯t believe the ploy would work¡ªafter all, he had told Valerie exactly that¡ªand so he¡¯d taken matters into his own hands. Either way, if his actions had been deliberate, he had disobeyed Avon¡¯s orders. She couldn¡¯t imagine Avon being happy about that.


    ¡°You can leave us,¡± said Reinard, turning on his brother. ¡°I think you¡¯ve done enough, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ quite.¡±


    The Admiral rose, picking up the empty flask of brandy, and shuffled off with a sheepish look in Avon¡¯s direction. With his uncle out of the room, Avon had lost an ally in this interrogation. Yet the Emperor hadn¡¯t ordered her to leave. She figured that if she looked out of it enough, they might forget her¡­


    Avon regarded his father. ¡°Did you really consider refusing Valerie¡¯s magic?¡±


    The Emperor smiled grimly. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Then what perverse behaviour was that?¡±


    ¡°The little witch has no choice. You wouldn¡¯t let me die.¡±


    Reinard¡¯s eyes gleamed. He was enjoying this, Valerie thought. The darker Avon¡¯s face became, the more satisfied the Emperor appeared. Don¡¯t lose control, she thought. He wants to provoke you.


    ¡°Why does that matter?¡± Avon asked softly.


    ¡°Ask her.¡±


    The two men looked at her. Valerie grimaced. So much for going unnoticed. ¡°It matters because you owe me a life-debt,¡± she said. ¡°You would be within my power now if only you had begged. But how do you know that?¡±


    ¡°You followed my son¡¯s command,¡± said Reinard. ¡°I owe you nothing. Nor am I ignorant of your sorcery.¡±


    But, she thought with a jolt of excitement, the Emperor was ignorant to the fact that she had already bewitched him. He had yet to notice that he was answering all of their questions. No doubt the brandy helped. But the real culprit lay wrapped around his neck: the cravat. She had woven a truth-telling spell into that scrap of white silk, similar to the curse Valerie herself carried. She could not lie to Avon. In his current state, Reinard couldn¡¯t lie to anyone.


    But she knew from experience that being unable to lie did not mean being unable to deceive. She would have to listen carefully.


    Avon, meanwhile, had come to a different realisation. ¡°Grandfather,¡± he said. ¡°Grandfather taught you the rules of magic. Help me understand. You ordered the purge. You wanted to wipe out magic in Maskamere, and you refuse to support my claim to Maskamere now. Why?¡±


    Reinard¡¯s face darkened. ¡°Have we not already discussed this? I am protecting you.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Protecting me from what?¡±


    She sensed the frustration in Avon¡¯s voice and guessed that they had circled around this topic before. Surely the Emperor would repeat his argument about Avon being bewitched, then. He feared that Valerie might control his son, and by extension¡ª


    ¡°The Patriarch!¡± The Emperor curled his fists. ¡°I¡¯ve tried to tell you, and you refuse to listen, so have it plain: The Patriarch knows that only you can wield Maska¡¯s sword. We are not like them. If he reveals the truth, our power will collapse, your witch will burn and my legacy will rot in the ground. I will not have you destroy us.¡±


    There was a stunned silence.


    Valerie swallowed, her head reeling. What did he mean? She hardly knew where to begin.


    Avon appeared to share her feelings. ¡°What are you talking about? What madness is this?¡±


    ¡°Did the Patriarch tell you to invade Maskamere?¡± she asked suddenly. ¡°Is that what he wanted in return for keeping your secret?¡±


    Reinard nodded. ¡°The destruction of magic is a holy crusade. A small price to pay to maintain our position.¡±


    She nearly choked. Her fatigue fell away; she sat up, eyes blazing, fingers burning. ¡°A small price to pay? You invaded my home! You destroyed the silvertrees, you committed genocide¡ªall because you were being blackmailed by the Patriarch?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡± The Emperor¡¯s dismissive tone sounded uncannily like his son. ¡°We live or die by our reputation, and the two of you are determined to ruin it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re talking nonsense.¡± Avon¡¯s hand drifted to his hip, but the sword wasn¡¯t there. He hadn¡¯t brought it with him. ¡°The blade was passed to me, nothing more. Even if it were true, why does it matter?¡±


    Reinard only gave a grim chuckle. Groaning, he got to his feet, warning Avon off with a raised hand. ¡°Enough. I¡¯m going to bed.¡±


    ¡°Tell us,¡± said Valerie. She felt the heat in her fingertips; she could have set the entire lodge ablaze. ¡°Tell us why it matters.¡±


    But the Emperor ignored her. The spell she had weaved wasn¡¯t strong enough. It could not force him to speak.


    Reinard limped across the room, and before either of them could react, he bent down, picked up the silvertree seedling pot, and flung it into the fire.


    The sound that left Valerie¡¯s mouth was not a gasp. She could not have described it. It was something between an anguished wail and a note of pure shock. The pot hit the back of the fireplace where it shattered into pieces and set the tiny fragile seedling alight¡ªand in the same moment, like a candle, her magic snuffed out. A wave of dizzying darkness hit her, as if she had been blinded.


    She wasn¡¯t aware that she¡¯d moved. She only knew that in her next moment of awareness, the fire danced hot before her eyes and Avon was pulling her away, his arms wrapped tight around her while she kicked and screamed.


    Heated words were exchanged. At some point, the Emperor departed. At some point, the Admiral returned, and they spoke of calming her down.


    He destroyed it. That was all she could think. Callously, carelessly, deliberately, the Emperor had murdered the silvertree in front of them. To Valerie, this act of sacrilege carried the same weight as the killing of an infant.


    Just like he had ordered the purge. The killing of the priestesses. The burning of all the silvertrees in Maskamere. And for what? Because he feared for his reputation?


    Hatred burned through her like lava, hot and viscous and angry. One man¡¯s cowardice could not have cost her this much. He had made this decision every time. In every memory she relived, every night she died in her dreams, the Emperor had made the same choice.


    She dashed the tears from her eyes and made a vow: whether in this timeline or the next, the Emperor would die by her hand.


    *


    The embers of her anger gradually faded. In the dark of the bedchamber, Valerie clutched the silver locket to her breast and breathed in, calming herself.


    She thought she had become numb to the death of a silvertree. In some small way, the grief comforted her. She wanted to hold on to that feeling, the conviction that had too often wavered. She was a creature of few if any principles, but in Maska she always believed.


    The door to the bedchamber opened. Valerie shoved the locket beneath her pillow, then sat up primly as Avon approached.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. ¡°Father¡­¡±


    She clasped her hands in her lap. ¡°What¡¯s done is done.¡±


    He joined her on the bed. She let him sit close, though neither of them touched the other. Finally, she looked up at him, and they both spoke at the same time:


    ¡°Do you have any idea what he¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do you know what my father¡ª¡±


    They stopped. Avon smiled. ¡°I see we both have the same question. No, I have no idea what my father was talking about. Nor does my uncle.¡±


    ¡°Did you know that only you can wield the sword? Is that true?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s true that the blade was passed to me with some pomp and ceremony. My grandfather even said to me, let no other man wield it. But I did not take that as¡­¡± He trailed off.


    ¡°A magical spell,¡± she supplied.


    ¡°I should like to know if there is one. Blast Father for destroying the silvertree.¡±


    Valerie¡¯s mouth tightened, nails digging into her palms. Avon noticed, pausing before he spoke again in a gentler tone.


    ¡°Forgive me. He snuffed out a lifeline for you. That was not the price I wished to pay.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t pay it.¡± She looked away. ¡°I did.¡±


    Rationally, she knew that all wasn¡¯t lost. She had the locket, even if she would have to pretend that she couldn¡¯t use magic again. And they had learned something tonight, despite her frustration that the truth spell had not fully loosened Reinard¡¯s tongue.


    If Avon felt guilty, however, who was she to deny him the pleasure of making it up to her?


    ¡°I think,¡± said Avon after a moment, ¡°it¡¯s time we focused our attention on the shadow that lurks behind my father¡¯s back. This goes beyond the election. We are dealing with a puppet master.¡±


    ¡°The Patriarch,¡± she whispered.


    Even the name made her queasy. She hated the Emperor, but something about the Patriarch was just so off.


    ¡°Will you help me stop him?¡±


    She looked up at Avon and found not a trace of guile; his face was entirely serious.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°But I won¡¯t forgive your father.¡±


    His expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°Nor will I.¡±


    He lightly brushed her hand and wished her good night. Valerie watched him leave. For a second or two, she held herself upright and just breathed. Her thoughts were already starting to race. Then she climbed under the covers and buried her head into the pillow, trying to make sense of it all.


    Reinard hadn¡¯t told them everything. She was certain of that. Examining the sword might help. If nothing else, she could check if only Avon could wield it, although that would be strange in itself. How could an enchanted blade inspire such fear? And how did the Patriarch even know about it in the first place?


    Only he could answer that. And though it had cost them the life of a silvertree, she now had a clear direction. The Patriarch had instigated the war. The Patriarch was blocking Avon¡¯s reelection. To forge the path that she wanted¡ªthat she and Avon both wanted¡ªthey would need to remove the one man standing in their way.


    The question was no longer why the Emperor hated magic so much. The question was: Why did the Patriarch?

 2.40. Tea and Scones

    At the edge of the rocky crag, battered by the freezing wind, a withered old tree clings to life. Its roots stick out of the cliff like bones. Its branches wave and creak. Not a single leaf adorns its gnarled form.


    Perhaps this tree is a weary traveller like herself. The gentle woodlands of Maskamere lie far behind them. No silvertree blesses her with its magic. This tree, a straggler, may as well give up.


    Yet she admires its tenacity. Even here, in this most inhospitable place, there¡¯s life. And where there¡¯s life¡ª


    *


    After a few days, the events at the hunting lodge felt like a surreal dream. Avon reported that his father had no memory of the interrogation. They¡¯d passed off his limp as a sprained ankle, and Reinard had forgiven his brother for accidentally shooting him. Valerie received no thanks for her part in healing his wound, but she preferred silence to being blamed for the accident, and so far no one had contradicted their story.


    All in all, the plan had succeeded. If her spell hadn¡¯t clouded the Emperor¡¯s mind sufficiently, the alcohol had.


    Even so, she couldn¡¯t help but feel a niggle of doubt. That gnawing worry had amplified on the second day when one of the valets returned the white silk cravat. No comment, no note. Just the tie draped over her chair.


    Had it all been too easy? Did the Emperor remember more than he was letting on? What if one of the servants blabbed about the shooting? What if Rufus betrayed them? What if¡ª


    ¡°Lady Valerie?¡±


    She blinked. Lord Beathan Rutherford, the Archbishop of Arden, peered at her from over his teacup. He was a petite, well-groomed man with thinning white hair and round glasses perched on the end of his nose. His pinky finger stuck out from the handle of the cup.


    ¡°Would you like a scone?¡±


    He spoke softly, in an accent subtly different from the cut-glass Drakonian she had become accustomed to. A plump waiter presented a silver tray of jam, clotted cream and scones. She took one with a murmured thank you.


    Next to her, Ophelia also accepted a scone. It felt like an age ago that they¡¯d arranged this get-together. They had come to a tearoom, a delightfully cosy parlour where ladies and gentlemen gathered to drink tea, eat tiny sandwiches, and gossip about each other. The gentle chatter provided a pleasant ambience. No one here knew her. They were simply two Drakonian ladies enjoying a day out.


    As for the Archbishop of Arden, he was the fifth out of the six names on her list of influential noblemen to meet. It almost seemed redundant after recent events. She kept going over the interrogation in her mind, trying to remember the Emperor¡¯s exact words. We are not like them. What did it mean? How did the Patriarch know about the sword? Why did this knowledge give him such power over the Emperor?


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for my brother¡¯s absence, Your Grace,¡± Ophelia was saying. ¡°He has ever so much work to do, you know, and¡­¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± said Lord Rutherford kindly. ¡°You needn¡¯t apologise. I understand he¡¯s making his rounds with the Senate. There are rather a lot of us to get around.¡±


    Focus, she told herself. She still had a mystery to solve. If the Archbishop knew something worth knowing about the Patriarch, she would uncover it.


    ¡°We appreciate you making the time for us, Your Grace.¡± Valerie scraped a generous amount of jam on her scone. ¡°Are all the bishops going to vote with the Patriarch?¡±


    Rutherford hesitated. ¡°Most, I expect.¡±


    ¡°Including you?¡±


    This time the Archbishop coughed and took off his glasses, cleaning them on his sleeve before he returned them to his nose. Valerie didn¡¯t need magic to sense Ophelia getting flustered, the other girl glancing around the tearoom as if checking for eavesdroppers.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± said Rutherford. ¡°That is a rather complicated question. I¡­ Forgive me, I wouldn¡¯t expect you to act as a spokesperson for Lord Avon. Given the, ah, delicate circumstance of the election and your part in¡­¡±


    He trailed off. Drakonians, she thought. They could never get straight to the point. Poor Ophelia had flushed bright red, but she had promised to play chaperone and so couldn¡¯t back out.


    ¡°You can say it,¡± she said. ¡°You mean after I was accused of bewitching Lord Avon.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you believe it?¡±


    His throat bobbed. ¡°I couldn¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you agree to meet us?¡±


    The Archbishop glanced at Ophelia, then back at Valerie. ¡°I confess, out of curiosity. I certainly didn¡¯t expect to receive your invitation. I¡¯ve never met a sorceress before, and in a tearoom of all places.¡±


    He gave an awkward chuckle, and Ophelia immediately joined in. ¡°This place is darling, don¡¯t you think? I¡¯m taking Lady Valerie to all my favourite spots.¡±


    ¡°All part of my education,¡± Valerie agreed, shoving down her impatience. Clearly the old man needed buttering up before he¡¯d answer her questions. ¡°I have so much to learn about Drakonian culture and customs. Actually, that¡¯s why Lord Avon recommended that we write to you in particular, Your Grace.¡±


    Rutherford raised his eyebrows. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Lord Avon told me you¡¯re the wisest priest he knows,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t understand a thing when it comes to spiritual matters, but you must know everything about the bishops and the Divine teachings and what it all means¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, well¡­¡±


    He said it in quite a different tone to her previous line of questioning. She could see the Archbishop puffing up even as she spoke.


    ¡°Would you mind terribly if I asked a few questions?¡± she pressed. ¡°If it isn¡¯t too much of an imposition.¡±


    He pushed his glasses up along his nose. ¡°Of course, my lady. I could never turn down an opportunity to share the Divine.¡±


    ¡°Is it complicated, then?¡± she asked. ¡°Supporting the Patriarch?¡±


    The Archbishop took a long sip of his tea, smacking his lips before answering. ¡°Yes, in short. Not all of us follow the same doctrine. The Patriarch and most of his bishops are evangelists. That is the majority faith in Drakon. They believe that only their followers can ever achieve salvation and thus they have a duty to spread the Divinity to all people on this earth. I am a salvationist. So is Lord Avon, and so is Lady Ophelia.¡± He nodded at her before continuing: ¡°We believe that salvation is unknowable, and so all we can do is live as virtuously as possible from one life to the next. But we¡¯re the minority in Drakon, and the Patriarch exerts great pressure on us to conform.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Valerie listened to all of this with keen interest. Drakon was divided along sectarian as well as cultural lines. She understood now why Avon considered the Duke of Arden an ally¡ªand the Archbishop too. They shared a common faith, even if Avon himself showed no interest in the church.


    She added a dollop of cream to an especially crumbly piece of scone. ¡°What do you believe about magic?¡±


    Rutherford smiled. ¡°Have you ever visited Arden, my lady?¡± She shook her head, and he went on: ¡°Ah, you should. It¡¯s the closest place in Drakon to your country, and home to a great many superstitions. Our emblem is the wyvern, and there is an old legend in Arden that the wyverns are holy guardians¡ªprotectors of the realm. Some still believe in their blessings. You may call it magic or providence, but as long as it is done in the light of the Divine, I don¡¯t believe it to be a sin.¡±


    Ophelia nodded fervently. She had been following the Archbishop¡¯s story with shining eyes. ¡°Oh, I believe that too!¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s exactly what my brother said. If a man of the church could only speak out for us¡­¡±


    ¡°I would, my lady,¡± said Rutherford. ¡°That is the path I might advocate for, were it not for the Patriarch.¡±


    Valerie pursed her lips. Again, the Patriarch was blocking their progress. ¡°Do you know why he¡¯s so against it?¡±


    The Archbishop shook his head. ¡°You¡¯ll be too young to remember this, Lady Ophelia, but when I was a boy, the sentiment against witchcraft was not this severe. Witches were to be shunned, of course. Distrusted. But I hardly gave Maskamere a thought in my sermons, and I doubt the evangelists did either. No, I¡¯m afraid Rupert Gideon has done that damage. He¡¯s given a great many speeches demonising your country, Lady Valerie, and in hindsight I¡¯m sure that was quite deliberate. We in Arden would have much preferred to leave you alone.¡±


    ¡°The Patriarch stirred up hatred against us?¡± Her heart sank. Whatever the Patriarch¡¯s motive against her people, the further back into the past it stretched, the harder it would be to undo. ¡°For years?¡±


    ¡°For a long time, yes. Ironic, given his own interest as a young man.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she said at once.


    ¡°Ah, my favourite anecdote about the Patriarch,¡± said Rutherford cheerfully. He seemed to have forgotten his earlier reticence; now he was in full flow. ¡°As a young man, he visited us! He undertook a pilgrimage to Arden, and a rather unusual pilgrimage at that: he came to the Resurrected Monks.¡±


    ¡°The Resurrected Monks?¡± Valerie leaned forward, trying not to sound too eager. The crumbs of her scone lay forgotten on her plate. She was agog.


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Rutherford. ¡°An obscure sect most famous for being the only monastery in Drakon solely devoted to the teachings of the Fifth Philosopher.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± said Ophelia softly.


    ¡°The Fifth Philosopher?¡±


    ¡°Ah, you don¡¯t know? The Divinity is not a single book. It¡¯s a collection of works originally written by five great philosophers.¡± He counted them out on his fingers. ¡°The Man of Wisdom, the Man of Virtue, the Man of Law, the Man of Knowledge¡­ and the fifth and last, the Man of Truth. His work is the most abstract and difficult of the five. In fact, it¡¯s mostly omitted from the church¡¯s teachings today. He speaks of the cycle of death and rebirth, the foundation of our faith. He also claimed that he remembered his past lives, and that he would return in another life.¡± Rutherford chuckled. ¡°You won¡¯t hear the evangelists preaching about that.¡±


    Valerie¡¯s mouth had gone dry. Her eyes met Ophelia¡¯s, and she knew that they were thinking the same thing: Valerie had come back to life. Then there was the part that Ophelia didn¡¯t know about: her past lives. She remembered them. Night after night, they crystallised in her mind like repeating sheets of music. Most played out the same, but there were discordant notes, new and different melodies that changed the final part of the song¡­


    Valerie had thus far ignored the Drakonian faith as an irrelevant imposition on her life. She did not want to convert. She did not want some Drakonian bishop preaching at her.


    But what if they knew more of sorcery than she had ever thought? If their so-called Divine miracles were magic by another name¡­


    ¡°But the Patriarch visited these Resurrected Monks?¡± she prompted.


    Rutherford nodded. ¡°This was before he became Patriarch, of course. He was another young priest searching for the Divine. And he travelled a long way to find the Resurrected Monks hidden up in the mountains.¡±


    ¡°Why are they called Resurrected Monks?¡±


    A twinkle entered the Archbishop¡¯s eye. ¡°Because they were resurrected. A Divine miracle. Not that I believe it,¡± he added hastily. ¡°The church would never endorse unverified claims.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it was magic.¡± She was thinking out loud. ¡°Do you think I could visit them? I mean, if Lord Avon and I came to Arden?¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°Well, you¡¯d be welcome to visit, but I¡¯m afraid you won¡¯t find them. The sect no longer exists.¡±


    ¡°Why? What happened?¡±


    ¡°No one knows. Rupert Gideon was the last person to see them alive. To the best of my knowledge, he¡¯s never talked about it.¡±


    ¡°What about the monastery?¡± Ophelia beat her to the question. ¡°Didn¡¯t anyone look for them?¡±


    ¡°The monastery is up in the mountains, and the wyverns attack anyone who goes up there. The monks stopped coming down, and the locals stopped going up. This was forty years ago. I should think they¡¯re all dead.¡±


    ¡°Unless they were resurrected.¡±


    Rutherford saw her face and raised a hand. ¡°Ah, my lady. I¡¯m pleased you liked my story, but don¡¯t take it too seriously.¡±


    Valerie wanted to believe it. He probably saw that. This could be nothing¡ªlies and rumours from whatever backwater village lay closest to this monastery he spoke of¡ªbut it was the first real insight she¡¯d gained into the Patriarch¡¯s past. And this mention of resurrection was tantalising. She wanted to know more.


    ¡°It sounds like a fairy tale.¡± Ophelia looked as enchanted as she felt. ¡°But there must be something in it, mustn¡¯t there, if the Patriarch really did go on that pilgrimage?¡±


    The Archbishop smiled. ¡°Who knows? But I¡¯m glad to entertain. I¡¯m especially glad to entertain you, Lady Valerie, and your sincere interest in the Divine. You may tell Lord Avon that a show of faith will do wonders at the Senate. Not for the evangelists¡ªthey¡¯re tied to the Patriarch¡ªbut to those like me¡­¡± He shrugged. ¡°It could make all the difference.¡±


    Valerie forced herself to smile back. ¡°I understand, Your Grace.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t muster any real enthusiasm. She knew exactly what Rutherford was proposing¡ªthat she convert to the Drakonians¡¯ barbaric church¡ªand her very being railed against it. Even the thought of pretending to convert made her hackles raise.


    ¡°You have our thanks, truly,¡± said Ophelia. ¡°I know it is unbecoming to ask for your support, Your Grace¡­ but it would make such a difference.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. We shall see, we shall see. This was a pleasure either way.¡±


    With that, they rose from their seats. The Archbishop kissed their cheeks, a gesture familiar in Maskamere but apparently less so in Drakon, judging by Ophelia¡¯s startled reaction. She recovered well, however, and they bid Rutherford a good day before heading out of the tearoom. Their carriage waited for them on the street.


    Ophelia linked arms with Valerie and whispered in her ear: ¡°Did James really call him wise?¡±


    She grinned. ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re such a liar! And that story about the Patriarch¡ªdo you think it¡ª¡±


    She didn¡¯t complete the sentence, because Valerie stopped dead in her tracks, throwing Ophelia off-balance. The other girl stumbled with a little cry before righting herself. But Valerie didn¡¯t hear her. She had hit a solid wall¡ªexcept there was no wall. The carriage was right there, parked on the side of the street. But she couldn''t reach it. She lifted her hands, pushing against an invisible barrier.


    Her heart leapt into her mouth. How¡­?


    Ophelia had already stepped beyond the barrier. Other passers-by crossed the street, some giving her funny looks. Why was she the only one affected? Is it magic? It has to be¡ªbut who?


    ¡°Valerie,¡± said Ophelia uncertainly. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Valerie looked around wildly. Someone was doing this. She cast out with her magical senses and found nothing, but then she was limited by the radius of the locket hidden in her hair.


    She spotted the culprit at the same time as the invisible barrier forced her back another step.


    The Archbishop, Lord Rutherford, was stepping into his own coach, a plum and bronze affair drawn by two fine chestnut horses. And stepping down from that carriage¡ªits driver, a tall man in purple livery and a matching purple cap, his eyes intense, his mouth chanting words that she didn¡¯t recognise. He thrust out a small object dangling from his hand.


    She was forced back again.


    ¡°Valerie!¡± Ophelia looked quite bewildered. ¡°The carriage is this way.¡±


    What was the driver holding? She squinted, mouth dry. Maddeningly, it was just beyond the limit of her own magical range. It looked like¡­ a claw. A single curved black talon, bright as obsidian.


    Then Lord Rutherford called to his man to hurry up. As the driver retreated, so did the barrier. He climbed back into his seat, though his dark eyes never left her, then whipped the horses into action and set off, away from her, away from the tearoom, and away from Ophelia.


    Valerie dashed forward. ¡°The driver! The Archbishop¡¯s driver! Did you see him? Do you know who he is?¡±


    Ophelia followed her. ¡°No¡­ What happened? You¡¯re acting so strange, Valerie, I don¡¯t understand¡­¡±


    She was breathless, heart pounding. ¡°He had a ward. That claw¡ªthe way he was holding it, he looked straight at me, and I couldn¡¯t get near him¡­¡±


    ¡°A ward?¡±


    Ophelia¡¯s voice quavered. And Valerie understood the fear, she did. She¡¯d felt it herself when she¡¯d walked into that invisible force. But her heart pounded with excitement too.


    Because she had just encountered proof that magic existed in Drakon.

 2.41. Family Meeting, Part Deux

    ¡ªthere¡¯s hope.


    *


    The next day, Valerie slipped away from another wedding planning session to sit in on one of Edrick¡¯s lessons, only to discover that Avon had beaten her to it. He sat with the little boy at his study table, rearranging a pile of books while the tutor hovered nervously in the background.


    Valerie lingered in the doorway, watching them.


    ¡°The natural hierarchy,¡± said Avon. ¡°Which discipline is that?¡±


    ¡°Wisdom,¡± Edrick answered.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Can you tell me what it is?¡±


    ¡°The natural hierarchy is the order of the plants and animals.¡± Edrick opened one of the books, pointing to a picture that she couldn¡¯t make out. ¡°The Divine sits at the top. Then mankind. Then the dragons and the birds and the beasts. And then the fish and the bugs and everything that crawls in the ground or swims in the sea. Plants and mushrooms come last, because they don¡¯t move and everything eats them.¡±


    ¡°Very good.¡± Avon ruffled his son¡¯s hair, the boy glowing in his praise. ¡°But the Man of Wisdom knows that the plants and the fungi aren¡¯t less important because they¡¯re at the bottom of the hierarchy. Everything else depends on them.¡±


    He glanced up, spotting her for the first time, and smiled. Valerie took it as her cue to enter the room, ignoring the tutor¡¯s disapproving look. She moved around to look at the picture in Edrick¡¯s book: a stylised illustration of the creatures of the world, arranged in some arbitrary order that couldn¡¯t possibly make sense to anyone but the author.


    ¡°You¡¯ve put man in the wrong place,¡± she said. ¡°He should be down there with the beasts.¡±


    Edrick looked up at her. ¡°That¡¯s not right!¡± he exclaimed.


    Avon chuckled. ¡°Lady Valerie learned her wisdom from a different book. They don¡¯t all agree.¡±


    ¡°A different book?¡±


    Avon leaned back to address the tutor. ¡°I notice this is an Evangelist text. I specifically asked that Edrick be taught from the Salvationist tradition.¡±


    ¡°My¡ªmy apologies, my lord!¡± the tutor stammered. ¡°Lady Juliana chose the books, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°You ignored my orders to comply with Lady Juliana¡¯s? She isn¡¯t his mother.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not, my lord!¡± The tutor bowed, red-faced with shame. ¡°I¡¯ll correct it at once.¡±


    ¡°See that you do. And focus on the boy¡¯s numbers. I expect to see a new set of books when I return.¡±


    Edrick¡¯s head shot up at that. ¡°When you return?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Avon turned back to his son, his voice soft. ¡°Lady Valerie and I have important business to attend outside the city. We¡¯ll be gone for a few days, but we¡¯ll come back soon.¡±


    A frisson of excitement ran through her. Naturally, Valerie had gone straight to Avon after the encounter with the Archbishop. She had one demand: a trip to Arden. She had to see the monastery for herself. So far, Avon had only agreed to track down the coach driver who had warded her off with that strange black claw. But now it sounded like he had decided to make the bigger journey too.


    She was bursting with questions, but Valerie contained herself. She waited at Avon¡¯s shoulder, hands clasped, as quiet and demure as any good Drakonian lady.


    ¡°Again?¡± The boy¡¯s lip quivered. ¡°But you were gone last weekend too.¡±


    Avon glanced at her. ¡°I know. Focus on your studies.¡±


    She saw the emotion playing out in the little boy¡¯s expressive blue eyes, the disappointment followed by quiet acceptance. He was so restrained already, she thought. Her younger cousins would have been crying or clamouring to go too.


    Avon squeezed his son¡¯s shoulder, then rose and offered his arm. Valerie took it. They left the tutor to resume his lesson, though she suspected he¡¯d be rather too rattled to concentrate. She glanced back to see Edrick staring after them like a sad lost puppy and felt a stab of pity¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t her business to tell Avon how to parent his child.


    No, she had more important things on her mind. She forgot the boy the second they left the room, the words tumbling out of her mouth: ¡°We¡¯re going already? To Arden¡ªto the monastery?¡±


    Avon nodded. ¡°I won¡¯t wait for Father. There¡¯s little time to lose.¡±


    ¡°What happened with¡ª¡±


    He put his finger to his lips. They passed one of the servants in the hallway, and Valerie swallowed her question.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we supposed to have dinner with the Emperor tonight?¡± she asked instead.


    ¡°I¡¯d sooner stand naked in front of the Senate. He¡¯s been tedious all week. Ah¡ªUncle!¡±


    They were approaching Avon¡¯s quarters, the Admiral coming to meet them from the opposite direction. Rhys Avon had added a welcome presence to the villa, regaling them with wild stories of his exploits at sea and quaffing half the kitchen¡¯s stock of fine wine and brandy. Valerie had particularly enjoyed the way Lady Juliana¡¯s face pinched like a disapproving aunt whenever the Admiral told an off-colour joke.


    But the Emperor had not joined them, in keeping with his usual habit of spending his days and nights at Congress and returning home for the holy days of rest. Apparently getting shot had not convinced him to change this routine.


    The Admiral saluted. ¡°Present and accounted for!¡±


    They entered Avon¡¯s quarters together, Valerie¡¯s curiosity increasing with every step. Two wooden trunks awaited at the foot of his desk, and the desk itself had mostly been cleared. He¡¯d already packed to leave, or rather his servants had packed for him. That didn¡¯t surprise her.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The sight of Rufus and Ophelia did. They were bent over the standing easel and canvas that Valerie had borrowed from Ophelia: a calendar of the time remaining until the election. She¡¯d drawn a box for each day and crossed them off as the days passed. More than half the days had been crossed off.


    Two weeks left, she thought. Avon¡¯s right. We don¡¯t have much time.


    ¡°James!¡± Ophelia waved a quill pen at them. ¡°Look, we¡¯ve covered your diary! I¡¯m sure we can make it work, but you must come back for the ball. Father will be furious if you miss it.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t miss it,¡± said Avon. He held up his hand before his sister could respond. ¡°One moment, please.¡±


    He went back to the door and looked out, left, right, then ordered his manservant to stay outside and keep watch. As if by silent consensus, Valerie, Ophelia, Rufus and the Admiral all gathered around the calendar. Closing the door behind him, Avon rejoined their little circle. An expectant hush fell, and not for the first time butterflies fluttered in Valerie¡¯s stomach.


    ¡°Ladies,¡± Avon began, looking around at each of them. ¡°Gentlemen. I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t need to tell you that what we discuss today doesn¡¯t leave this room. You have all supported my efforts to bring the Empire into a new age where magic and science co-exist. Now we¡¯re well on our way to convincing the Senate to pursue this vision. However, one man stands in our way. And, contrary to appearances, it isn¡¯t my father.¡±


    ¡°We know now that my father is the Patriarch¡¯s pawn. It¡¯s because of the Patriarch that he refuses to support me. It¡¯s therefore a matter of urgency that we destroy the Patriarch¡¯s influence over my father.¡±


    The Admiral snorted. ¡°Stubborn old goat. What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Avon tapped the hilt of his sword. ¡°This blade holds a secret Father won¡¯t reveal. The Patriarch knows it. Think about that for a moment. This is a magical weapon. My grandfather brought it with him from Maskamere. How would Rupert Gideon know the secret of an enchanted sword from Maskamere?¡±


    ¡°Unless he had some connection to magic himself,¡± Rufus surmised.


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    Avon met her eyes, and Valerie stepped forward to address the group. ¡°Lady Ophelia and I visited the Archbishop of Arden yesterday. He told us a story about the Patriarch¡­¡±


    She recounted the tale as the Archbishop had told it, Ophelia occasionally chipping in to add a detail or two. Valerie watched the Admiral and Rufus in particular as she finished her story. Rufus looked thoughtful, tapping his foot, but not disbelieving.


    The Admiral¡¯s verdict was rather more damning. ¡°Sounds like peasant nonsense to me. The riffraff will believe anything. Trust me, I hear many a tale on the high seas. What makes you think there¡¯s anything in it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe I wouldn¡¯t believe it,¡± said Valerie, ¡°but then I saw the Archbishop¡¯s servant.¡±


    She described the encounter with the coach driver and how he¡¯d used the strange black claw to ward her off. The Admiral frowned, following along, but raised no further objection. Rufus, however, folded his arms.


    ¡°Sorry for speaking out of turn,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m no expert, but I thought magic only existed around the silvertrees? Isn¡¯t that the entire argument we¡¯ve been making to the Senate?¡±


    ¡°I thought so too,¡± said Valerie. ¡°I don¡¯t know how he did it. That¡¯s why I want to get hold of the claw. Did you¡­?¡±


    ¡°Rufus and I visited the Archbishop¡¯s residence today,¡± Avon confirmed. ¡°Unfortunately, he wasn¡¯t at home. Both he and Lord Canwell have departed for Arden.¡±


    Valerie¡¯s heart leapt. ¡°What about the driver?¡±


    ¡°Gone with him, I should think. But the connection is clear. We have evidence of magic in Arden. We know the Patriarch visited Arden in his youth. So¡­¡±


    ¡°You follow the trail,¡± said Rufus. ¡°That¡¯s why you want us to cover for you, huh?¡±


    Avon nodded. ¡°Lady Valerie and I will make for Arden tonight. I can¡¯t say exactly how long we¡¯ll be away, but I need each of you to hold down the fort while we¡¯re gone.¡± He looked around at them. ¡°Uncle, stick to my father like glue. Don¡¯t let him sabotage us. Rufus, continue our meetings with the senators. I need you to represent me in my absence. Ophelia, take care of Edrick.¡±


    ¡°Can one of you contact Anwen?¡± Valerie added. ¡°Ask him to research magic in Drakon. If the stories about Arden are true, maybe other legends are real too.¡±


    The Admiral nodded. ¡°Consider it done, my lady.¡±


    Ophelia opened her mouth, then closed it. Valerie frowned, noticing her hesitation.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Avon. ¡°We¡¯d best be off.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± she said. ¡°Ophelia, did you want to say something?¡±


    Ophelia flushed. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. Just a silly thought.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± Valerie persisted.


    They were all looking at her now. Valerie might have thought that a girl in Ophelia¡¯s position would be used to such attention. But Ophelia could hardly meet their eyes.


    ¡°Well¡­ I just¡­ If it¡¯s the Patriarch¡¯s secrets we wish to learn, I thought perhaps we might speak to Lady Melody. I see her so often what with the wedding planning, and¡­¡±


    ¡°Great idea.¡± Valerie smiled, injecting as much encouragement into her tone as she could. ¡°You¡¯re thinking in exactly the right way. I already convinced her to arrange an audience with the Patriarch at the summer ball. And I keep saying I want to help her, but she¡¯s not biting. I think you might have a better chance.¡±


    Ophelia smiled back, full of relief. Valerie meant it too. If anyone could soften Melody¡¯s prickly nature, she¡¯d bet on Ophelia.


    Avon frowned at them both. ¡°Lady Melody¡ªthe courtesan you¡¯ve employed to plan your wedding? Has she not returned to her husband?¡±


    ¡°Her husband is dead,¡± said Valerie. ¡°She¡¯s living with the Gideons until she can find a new arrangement for herself. I¡¯m sure she would spy for us, if only we could convince her¡­¡±


    She couldn¡¯t believe that Avon didn¡¯t already know this. In all of his networking, all of the parties he¡¯d been to and the meetings he¡¯d attended, had it never come up?


    No, she thought, because he¡¯s only met men. A courtesan isn¡¯t important to them.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dangerous game,¡± said Avon. ¡°But worth a try.¡±


    ¡°Only if you feel up to it, love,¡± Rufus added. ¡°We¡¯re both stepping into some big shoes here.¡±


    ¡°Do you?¡± Avon asked softly.


    Ophelia nodded. ¡°I do. I¡¯ve just¡­ never done anything like this before.¡±


    ¡°Sooner or later, you¡¯ll have to.¡± There was a tinge of sadness in Avon¡¯s voice. ¡°Politics is the only game that matters in Drakon. I¡¯ve taught Rufus how to play. And you¡¯ve seen Lady Valerie at work. We all must do our part to protect this family.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± said the Admiral. ¡°Ophelia, sweetheart, you don¡¯t have to act like those two slithering snakes over there. You¡¯ll find your own way.¡±


    Avon cocked his head. ¡°Remind me who shot my father and lied about it?¡±


    ¡°Straight to his face,¡± said the Admiral cheerfully. ¡°Ah, we¡¯re all peas in a pod, aren¡¯t we. I love this family.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be careful, won¡¯t you, James?¡± Ophelia pleaded. ¡°Come back safe.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± he promised. ¡°You do the same.¡±


    They bid their farewells, Avon hugging his sister and uncle, Rufus shaking their hands. Valerie embraced Ophelia too, the other girl wiping tears from her eyes. As they departed, she experienced a strange, soaring feeling, as if the clouds had lifted her up and transported her.


    They were a team. Allies. Family. Something like that. Something to cherish.


    Finally, she and Avon were left alone in his chamber.


    ¡°You¡¯d best pack your bags,¡± he said. ¡°We should leave before Father gets here.¡±


    ¡°Mmm.¡± She tilted her head. ¡°Since when are you and Rufus on first name terms?¡±


    He took a step closer, a slight smile curving his mouth. ¡°Since when are you?¡±


    ¡°Do you trust him?¡±


    ¡°I trust that he¡¯ll help. You know, I¡¯ve spent a considerable amount of time with him visiting the senators. He¡¯s not so different from you.¡±


    This statement did not at all inspire confidence. ¡°And your uncle? He shot your father; he almost ruined our plan.¡±


    ¡°My uncle plays the fool, but he¡¯s a force to be reckoned with. Better to have him on our side.¡±


    She swallowed. ¡°It really is a dangerous game.¡±


    Like all moves that Avon made, this one was calculated. She understood. He had agreed to give up precious time before the election to follow Valerie on this search for magic in Arden. It could come to nothing. The trail might be cold. But she felt strongly that she had to pursue it. If magic did exist outside of Maskamere, if it had a source other than the silvertrees, it would upend everything she thought she knew.


    He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. ¡°You¡¯re right to ask. It means you¡¯ve learned my lesson.¡±


    ¡°Trust no one,¡± she echoed. There¡¯s not a person in this court without a knife behind their back. Those words were etched into her brain.


    ¡°Come, then.¡±


    He stepped away, and she let out a breath. Yes, they needed allies. And it was possible to work with allies you didn¡¯t fully trust, as long as you could find a common goal. He understood that as well as she did.


    She only hoped that he¡¯d picked the right people.

 2.42. Locket vs Claw

    Everyone else is dead.


    They should never have tried to cross the no-woman¡¯s-land. The Severhine patrol shoots on sight. The Drakonians will capture or kill her. And the soldiers of Carthal will simply hand her over.


    Her water flask is almost empty. She hasn¡¯t eaten for two days. Why go on?


    Mountains loom ahead. It feels like they¡¯ve been half a day away for ages now, getting no closer. But as dawn breaks¡ª


    *


    Their journey began when Valerie and Avon boarded a passenger ship from the city harbour, Avon flicking a few coins the boatmaster¡¯s way to give them a private cabin and storage for their luggage. This was not the short trip to the northern shore and the moorland owned by Avon¡¯s family. Instead, they crossed the full breadth of the lake, all the way to the western shore where the Duke and Archbishop of Arden made their homes in the merchant town of Wyford.


    Their ship entered the harbour beneath a shining full moon. A pebble beach swept along the shore, empty except for a few small fishing boats dug into the ground. As the passengers disembarked, coaches jostled for space around the dock while their drivers tipped their hats, eager to offer a ride. Avon¡¯s coin ensured they were first in line.


    The town possessed nothing like the grandeur of Drakardia, but it held its own lively sort of charm. Gas lamps revealed streets of cobblestone packed with colourful stalls, and though some were dark and shuttered, she was surprised at the number of merchants still hawking their wares. Jewellery, cloth, wine¡­ One man carrying an enormous sack of oranges followed them for several minutes, insisting they buy his special fruits.


    Valerie made the mistake of poking her head out of the carriage window. ¡°What do you mean, special?¡±


    ¡°These oranges are unique, my lady. Fruits from the enchanted groves of Maskamere, riper and juicier than anything you¡¯ve ever tasted and a potent aphrodisiac¡ª¡±


    She scoffed. ¡°Since when?¡±


    ¡°I promise! I guarantee, buy my oranges and your gentleman will be like a rampaging stallion¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s quite enough,¡± said Avon, leaning over to shutter the window. ¡°No, thank you.¡±


    They left the fruit seller behind. Valerie stifled a laugh. ¡°He didn¡¯t seem to hate magic that much.¡±


    ¡°The lower classes are fickle,¡± said Avon. ¡°Speak to them of witchcraft and they¡¯ll cower and curse. Offer them a cure-all and they¡¯ll believe any old nonsense. When I came to Jairah, I found a thriving black market of supposed magical trinkets. Your people fleeced mine with all kinds of fakery. Very few of them possessed any real power.¡±


    ¡°So you have to sort out the charlatans from the real thing.¡± She gave him an impish grin. ¡°Lucky you¡¯ve got me.¡±


    He gave a droll shrug. ¡°Lucky me.¡±


    It was fun to tease him, but she meant it. They were here to search for evidence of sorcery, after all.


    Her working theory was that a silvertree lay hidden somewhere in the mountains of Arden. Trees grew in all sorts of places in the wild, and who was to say that some animal or bird hadn¡¯t swallowed a seed in Maskamere and deposited it in the mountains? That would explain how the locals might come to know magic and to possess enchanted objects like the strange black claw.


    But it didn¡¯t explain how the man had used the claw to ward her off in the first place. How could it have any effect in a place without magic? He had been outside the range of the silvertree seed she had hidden on her person, so it couldn¡¯t be that. Maybe he carried a silvertree seed too. They were precious and rare¡ªthe silvertree at St. Maia had only borne fruit twice in her lifetime, and as per custom a Priestess of the Sun had come to collect them. But was it impossible that one or two might have found their way into Arden?


    The marketplace vanished behind them. A church towered over every other building, its spire stretching up into the night sky. Valerie and Avon disembarked here, passing through the iron-wrought gates decorated with twin wyverns to the home of Lord Rutherford, the Archbishop of Arden.


    Of course, he wasn¡¯t expecting them.


    The butler who answered the door asked them several increasingly suspicious questions before the Archbishop himself wandered into the hallway in his nightgown and slippers.


    ¡°Lord Avon? Divine mercy, what are you¡­?¡±


    ¡°My apologies for arriving unannounced,¡± said Avon, ¡°but I¡¯m afraid we couldn¡¯t wait for an invitation.¡±


    Naturally, Rutherford couldn¡¯t turn them away. They sat down for supper in a cosy parlour lit by a crackling fire. Avon explained the reason for their visit: they needed directions. Where was this monastery he had spoken of? And what was the nearest village?Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Oh, goodness,¡± said Rutherford. ¡°Well, let me see¡­¡±


    While he and Avon bent their heads over a map, Valerie was on edge, hyper vigilant in case the man with the black claw appeared. Only the butler had attended them so far. But he was old and portly, while the man who had warded her off with the claw was younger, maybe thirty or forty, tall and intense. She couldn¡¯t forget the way he had stared at her, the foreign words slipping from his lips. He wasn¡¯t Drakonian or Maskamery.


    Rutherford marked the location on their map. ¡°I take it you intend to visit? It¡¯s a long way, my lord. Why don¡¯t you stay here for the night? You can leave with fresh legs in the morning.¡±


    He called for the butler, who appeared and bowed.


    ¡°We appreciate your hospitality,¡± said Avon. ¡°We¡¯ll be out of your way first thing in the morning; I wouldn¡¯t want to overstay our welcome.¡±


    ¡°Oh, not at all¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you have a valet? The man who drives you to the capital, could we borrow him? We¡¯ve come without our own servants.¡±


    If the Archbishop thought this strange, he was polite enough not to mention it. ¡°I would recommend hiring one of the outfits in town. They have many capable drivers.¡±


    Avon¡¯s mouth tightened. She saw that he didn¡¯t have an immediate response.


    ¡°Begging your pardon, Your Grace,¡± she said. ¡°Lord Avon wanted to bring it up discretely with your valet to spare him any embarrassment, but¡­¡± She saw the Archbishop¡¯s brow furrow and continued: ¡°He stole something from me. A keepsake. Only¡­ it¡¯s not just a keepsake. It¡¯s enchanted.¡±


    The tips of the Archbishop¡¯s ears turned red at the start of her story. By the end, it had spread to his nose and cheeks and he was spluttering as if he¡¯d choked on his tea. ¡°Never! Surely not! He wouldn¡¯t¡ªan enchanted object? I¡­¡±


    ¡°You needn¡¯t worry, Your Grace,¡± said Avon smoothly. ¡°We¡¯ll settle this amicably. No fuss. But we do need the keepsake back.¡±


    Rutherford looked up at his butler, who had been acting deaf all this time. ¡°Stealing? Ghen is one of the mountain folk, but he¡¯s loyal as a hound, I would never have thought¡­ Still, we must investigate, mustn¡¯t we?¡±


    Mountain folk! Her heart leapt. Surely that couldn¡¯t be a coincidence.


    ¡°Your Grace?¡± the butler prompted.


    Avon rose to his feet. That seemed to provoke a decision from the Archbishop, who followed suit and snapped his fingers.


    ¡°Go on then, assist Lord Avon. Ensure his personal property is returned to him, and prepare the guest room for their stay.¡±


    ¡°Very good, Your Grace.¡±


    The butler showed them out. Valerie hurried after the pair of them, but Avon stopped her when they reached the hallway.


    ¡°I¡¯ll speak to Ghen,¡± he said. ¡°Take Lady Valerie to our room.¡±


    The butler didn¡¯t protest.


    She did. ¡°But¡ª¡±


    His right hand curled around the hilt of his sword. His left felt warm and heavy on her shoulder. ¡°Do as I say.¡±


    His tone annoyed her more than anything. He¡¯d gone all imperious again. But she swallowed her response, stepping back. If the man they were looking for had the claw, she wouldn¡¯t be able to approach him anyway.


    Avon headed for the servants¡¯ quarters with Rutherford. That left Valerie stuck with the butler, who obeyed his orders but in a way that she felt was somehow judgemental. Was it the supercilious eyebrow raise as he showed her into the guest room? The barely concealed sigh as he made up the bed? Or perhaps the way he bade her good night, in a tone that felt mildly sarcastic.


    Valerie ignored him. She retreated into the guest room, a modest affair containing a double bed, oak wardrobe and dresser, closing the door behind her. She¡¯d forgotten how sparse the Drakonian aesthetic could be. Their buildings were either grandiose and magnificent or miserable and austere, nothing in between.


    The real problem was somewhere downstairs. This Ghen, the Archbishop¡¯s valet, could easily deny that he¡¯d stolen the claw. How would Avon handle that?


    Valerie changed into her nightclothes as quietly as she could, listening for any sign of a ruckus below. She removed the silver locket from her hair and placed it on the dresser underneath her lace hair net. Since no servants had accompanied them, she would have to take care of her nightly routine herself.


    That could only occupy her for so long. She couldn¡¯t sleep. Valerie paced around barefoot, a pit growing in her stomach. She thought she heard raised voices and her skin prickled. Avon had the sword, but if they were facing something truly unknown¡­


    She cursed herself for staying behind. Valerie hurried to the door and then did a double take, remembering the locket on the dresser¡ª


    The door opened. She whipped around, and Avon entered with a triumphant smile, holding up a small, shiny black object.


    Elation rushed through her. ¡°You got it!¡±


    ¡°As my lady requested,¡± he said, and then frowned. ¡°Does the ward¡­?¡±


    He stepped forward. Valerie was already closer to him than yesterday¡¯s encounter. For a moment, she didn¡¯t know why that bothered her, and then it hit her.


    Magic.


    She was standing inside a magical field which shouldn¡¯t have existed since she¡¯d moved outside the range of the locket on the dresser.


    Valerie stared at the black claw, heart racing. She sensed no warding spell. Avon had moved towards her without hitting any obstacle. He took another step, or tried to, then stopped, his eyes widening.


    ¡°There,¡± he said. ¡°The barrier.¡±


    Like her, he¡¯d encountered an invisible wall. Valerie bit her lip, then closed the distance between them, reaching for his hand. Her fingers touched the curved black talon, and her senses burst into fractious, joyous life. The shadows in the room darkened; the lamplight burned with passionate intensity. She heard Avon¡¯s every breath, his heartbeat and her own, and she smelled him too, the slight sheen of sweat beneath his clothes.


    Most of all, she sensed that pulse of magic beneath her fingertips. Raw and tiny, but potent nonetheless.


    It felt exactly like the silvertree seed.


    The black claw was not an enchanted object. It radiated magic just like the silvertrees.


    ¡°Maska,¡± she whispered.


    She realised that she was trembling when Avon enclosed her hands in his. ¡°Do you sense it? Did you break the ward?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ I mean, yes, I sense it, but¡­¡±


    He tried to move again and stopped. ¡°No. The barrier is still there. Why can¡¯t I¡­?¡±


    Valerie glanced behind her, an answer forming in her mind along with a growing sense of panic. Why hadn¡¯t she told Avon sooner? How was she going to explain this without lying to him?


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispered, lifting her eyes to his. ¡°I got it wrong. It didn¡¯t ward me off. It was¡­¡± She stopped, licking her lips.


    ¡°What?¡± Avon¡¯s tone became dangerous.


    She pulled away from him. Then, slowly, her heart weighing heavier with every step, she walked over to the dresser and picked up the silver locket. As soon as she turned around, she felt the barrier pushing against her. She held the locket aloft. Avon was still holding the black claw. Somehow, they repelled each other.


    Avon stared at the locket, and the colour drained from his face.

 2.43. Dont Touch

    ¡ªthe sunlight flashes over something new: distant black specks flying over the mountain peaks.


    Valerie squints at them. What are they? They don¡¯t look like birds.


    Curiosity wins over fear, and she trudges on with a renewed sense of purpose. Step after step after step in this bleak and foreign land, the peaks coming ever closer, and then the most extraordinary sensation floods her body¡ª


    *


    Avon spoke in a deceptively calm tone. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°I can explain¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please do.¡±


    Valerie swallowed. She was glad of the barrier separating them; he looked like he wanted to snatch the locket straight from her hands.


    ¡°Anwen gave it to me,¡± she said. ¡°Look¡­¡± Hands trembling, she opened the locket and showed it to him. ¡°It¡¯s a silvertree seed. I¡¯ve been wearing it so I can still use magic.¡±


    ¡°That locket belongs to the queen.¡± His voice lowered to almost a growl. He placed the black claw down on the wooden floorboard by the door, then straightened up and advanced on her, hand straying to the hilt of his sword. ¡°Who am I speaking to?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me!¡± She closed the locket and raised her hands. Her chest felt tight. ¡°Avon, I swear, it¡¯s me. She isn¡¯t controlling me. She controlled Anwen, not me. If I was possessed, why would I tell you to destroy the Book of Shadows? Why would I save the Emperor? Wouldn¡¯t you know if I wasn¡¯t myself?¡±


    Doubt flickered across his face. ¡°Then why hide it? You promised to tell me everything.¡±


    ¡°And I did! I told you about the queen and the goldentree. I told you about Titus. That was everything I knew at the time. Anwen gave me the locket after that.¡±


    She stared at him. It hurt to breathe. She couldn¡¯t end up in this situation again, she couldn¡¯t. She had fallen on that sword once already, and the bright blade that he¡¯d half-drawn was blinding to her eyes. He was a coiled spring, shoulders tense, eyes dark, a predator poised to strike¡ª


    He controlled himself; she saw him visibly hold himself back. ¡°Give it to me.¡±


    For a moment she gaped at him, uncomprehending. Then she nodded. ¡°Okay.¡±


    Slowly, she held out the locket. The room seemed to press in on her like the bars of a cage as Avon approached. But his face hadn¡¯t twisted like that because of her. It was because of the queen, this phantom between them, ruining them both with suspicion and fear.


    Well, that, and she hadn¡¯t told him about the locket.


    His hair fell in front of his eyes as he stopped and frowned at her. She felt sure that she could hear their hearts, a drumbeat of tension, before he reached out and grasped the locket.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡±


    She stood frozen, staring after him as Avon turned to stride across the room. He was testing the boundaries of the magical barrier. He found it again between the foot of the four poster bed and the door. Then he sidestepped, moving around the black claw in a rough half circle, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. Six or seven feet, she guessed, and the shape was consistent with Anwen¡¯s theory that the silvertrees emitted a spherical field of magic¡­


    Which meant the claw did too.


    Avon found the edge of the boundary next to the oak wardrobe by the far wall. He placed the locket on a shelf, then turned around.


    ¡°Do you sense it still? Or are you out of range?¡±


    ¡°Out of range,¡± she answered, which was true. Between the dresser and the bed, she was standing outside both magical fields. If she headed towards the door, she¡¯d find the claw¡¯s power. And if she moved to the opposite corner, where Avon stood by the wardrobe, she¡¯d reenter the field of the silvertree seed.


    ¡°Prove it,¡± he said. ¡°Lie to me.¡±


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    She suppressed a sigh. ¡°We¡¯re in Maskamere right now.¡±


    Obviously, nothing happened. The curse didn¡¯t trigger. She might have hoped for some gratitude from Avon or at least relief. Her magic was gone, and the queen wasn¡¯t possessing her. They were in no immediate danger.


    But he didn¡¯t relax. Instead, his expression hardened. ¡°Let¡¯s try this again.¡± He leaned against the wardrobe. ¡°Why did you hide the locket?¡±


    Her robe had come loose. She wrapped it more tightly around herself, considering her answer. That look in his eyes¡­ She felt he might swallow her up.


    Once, she might have cowered under that unrelenting gaze. Now she was tired of proving herself. Her jaw set.


    ¡°Why?¡± she mocked him. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Avon, why didn¡¯t you tell me anything about those six names you gave me? Why did you take me to the lodge without any warning? Why did you tell me to trust no one?¡±


    Avon crossed his arms. The tension in his body hadn¡¯t disappeared, but he was listening. He wasn¡¯t going to hurt her. That realisation came to her in a thrill, and her fear dissipated with it. She strode forward, pausing right where she guessed the boundary of the locket¡¯s magical field should be, and curled her hand around the bedpost.


    ¡°You¡¯re just like me,¡± she went on, ¡°and I¡¯m just like you. You don¡¯t tell me things because it doesn¡¯t serve you. Because you need to stay in control. Well, you¡¯ve got me. I¡¯m here with you. But don¡¯t get mad when I act the same way you do.¡± She moved forward again, crossing into that magical bubble where she stopped inches from Avon¡¯s face. ¡°Yes, I kept the locket to myself. That¡¯s not a betrayal. It¡¯s me doing what I do best. Doing exactly what you told me to do. You enjoy it, don¡¯t you?¡±


    She reached for his belt and he started, jerking back.


    ¡°You do enjoy it.¡±


    He looked askance at her. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me, Valerie.¡±


    She¡¯d rattled him. He¡¯d been stiff as a board watching her as if she were a scorpion that might sting at any moment.


    ¡°Look,¡± she said, softening her voice, ¡°let me tell you about the locket. The claw didn¡¯t react to me. It reacted to the silvertree seed. It¡¯s like they¡¯re pushing against each other. Do you know what this means?¡±


    His brow furrowed. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The claw has a magical field just like the silvertrees. I felt it. It means the silvertrees aren¡¯t the only source of magic!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no ordinary claw,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s a wyvern¡¯s talon.¡±


    At that, they both fell silent. Valerie looked over at the black claw still lying on the floorboard, shiny and innocuous. A wyvern¡¯s talon! Then the legends about the wyverns¡­ The stories of them as holy guardians¡­ There was some truth to it, after all.


    The wyverns live in the mountains. A great mountain range separated Maskamere from Severhine to the northwest and Carthal to the northeast. It ran from east to west, but there were more mountains further north too between Severhine, Carthal and Drakon¡­ She had crossed that contested territory once, in a previous life, and she had seen the wyverns swooping above the peaks¡­


    But they never crossed into Maskamere.


    Her heart leapt in excitement. ¡°That¡¯s it, then. The wyverns and the silvertrees. They can¡¯t touch.¡±


    Avon frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re two different sources of magic. I think they repel each other. We can test it when we go to the monastery! We can look for the wyverns!¡±


    Another kind of excitement fuelled her now. Because if the wyvern claw was like the silvertree seed, and if the wyverns were like the silvertrees, that meant¡­


    ¡°You mean look for another blessing?¡±


    Avon had anticipated her. She nodded slowly, biting her lip. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°No wonder you were so enthusiastic about coming here,¡± he muttered drily.


    ¡°Silvertrees take decades to grow. Did you ever think about that in your grand vision for the Empire? But if we had an alternative source¡­¡±


    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t need to wait that long,¡± he surmised. ¡°I see.¡±


    She was pointing that out for his benefit, not hers. Valerie still intended to reverse the timeline when they returned to Maskamere, with or without Avon¡¯s consent. But it didn¡¯t hurt to give him an incentive to seek out another source of magic, and she would grab at any chance to expand her power.


    All the more reason to find that monastery.


    ¡°You¡¯ve forgotten something else,¡± she added.


    He looked at her sharply. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    She sidestepped around him to the wardrobe, where she picked up the locket. He watched her, frowning, but didn¡¯t stop her from clasping it around her neck. Then she turned back to face him, her eyes falling on the scabbard hooked to his belt.


    ¡°The sword. I can examine it. Let me find out what the Emperor was talking about.¡±


    She reached for his waist, but he caught her wrist first. ¡°You could have done it all along.¡±


    Valerie nodded. Yes, and she¡¯d been dying to ever since that night in the lodge, but she hadn¡¯t found an excuse to grab hold of the sword. Now the secret of the locket was out, there was no reason to pretend.


    ¡°Can I do it now?¡±


    There was a moment¡¯s pause before he shifted, moving his left arm back so that she could easily reach the sword. He didn¡¯t draw it. She leaned in and curled her hand around the hilt.


    Power.


    Shining, blinding, reflecting¡ªa blade that could cut through any magical entity and snuff out any malevolent spell. This much she had sensed the first time she¡¯d touched the sword, all the way back on that first night with Avon when he¡¯d used it as a test of her magical abilities. It felt like a lifetime ago.


    But a lot had happened since then. She was now thrice blessed, her magical senses amplified, and much like the Forbidden Chamber beneath the palace temple, she discovered that the blade had more secrets to offer.


    It told her who could wield the blade. It told her that it belonged to a champion, a protector. It told her¡ª


    Valerie gasped and withdrew her hand.


    Avon blinked at her. ¡°What?¡±


    She couldn¡¯t speak. Because she understood exactly why the Emperor had so feared the secret behind Maska¡¯s sword. She understood why the Patriarch had used it against him.


    And she understood that it put Avon in the most danger of all.

 2.44. The Emperors Secret

    Magic.


    How can that be? Magic doesn¡¯t exist outside Maskamere. It¡¯s the one thing the priestesses at the convent made sure to teach her.


    Sorcery is the blessing of the silvertrees. And with that thought, her heart leaps. There must be a silvertree! She wipes away her fatigue and presses on with renewed hope.


    Then, as she approaches the foot of the mountains, the creatures flying overhead¡ª


    *


    ¡°What did you learn? What is it?¡±


    Avon gazed at her with implacable intensity. She thought of that terrifying moment over two years ago when he had borne down upon her on his horse, sword held aloft. She remembered fleeing across the courtyard and back into the convent¡­ The screams of the acolytes as the Drakonian soldiers cut them down¡­


    She wasn¡¯t entirely sure if that memory came from this life or another. She¡¯d dreamed of the invasion so many times that the night had become a blur.


    Drakon¡¯s fearsome general, the son of the Emperor, had wielded Maska¡¯s sword against her own people. And the truth that the sword revealed to her not only intensified her hatred of the Empire, it also cast Avon¡¯s role in a strange new light.


    ¡°I¡­¡± She faltered.


    ¡°Valerie,¡± he said, a bite of impatience entering his voice. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    Right. He ought to know. Whatever shock she felt paled into insignificance compared to what this meant for him.


    She took a breath. ¡°I think we should sit down.¡±


    They retreated to the bed, Valerie clutching the queen¡¯s locket at her neck. She made herself focus on the mattress supporting her weight, the soft rustle of her gown and Avon¡¯s jacket as they settled down¡ªanything to ground her in the present. She felt that otherwise she might spiral out of the room.


    Then she looked at Avon and smiled weakly. ¡°You know, I¡¯m almost glad you put that curse on me. I don¡¯t think you¡¯d believe me if I told you without it. I can hardly believe it myself.¡±


    He shifted, drumming his fingers on his knee. ¡°I¡¯m not going to like this, am I?¡±


    She didn¡¯t know, but she began anyway: ¡°What your father said about you being the only one who can wield the blade¡­ He was right. I mean, I think you must be the only man in Drakon who can wield it.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­ there are two conditions for bearing Maska¡¯s sword. The first is that Maskamere must hold a place in your heart. You feel love or admiration or pride for Maskamere¡­¡± She hesitated, trying to capture in words the emotion that the sword had provoked. It wasn¡¯t quite patriotism, although that would qualify, but more a sense of¡­ longing. ¡°And the other condition¡­¡± Her voice dropped to a whisper, even though they were alone. ¡°You must be a¡­ a child of Maskamere.¡±


    He stared at her.


    She imagined the earth dropping from their feet. That must be how he felt right now.


    She hastened to clarify: ¡°I mean, you were either born in Maskamere, or¡ª¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t born in Maskamere,¡± he said at once.


    ¡°Or at least one of your parents were,¡± she finished. ¡°Avon, what if your father¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He shook his head. ¡°No, this is absurd.¡±


    He recognised the implication. She saw it in his response, the instant denial.


    ¡°But your grandfather was an Ambassador to Maskamere,¡± she pressed. ¡°What if he fathered a child in Maskamere?¡±


    ¡°My grandmother never set foot outside Drakon.¡±


    ¡°Maybe she did,¡± said Valerie, ¡°or maybe she¡¯s not your real grandmother. Your uncle told me that she hated only your father, not him. Maybe she knew he wasn¡¯t her own¡ª¡±


    Avon made an incoherent sound. Abruptly, he stood up, turning his back on her as he paced about the room.


    ¡°Why would a mother hate her own child?¡± she persisted. ¡°She hated him because she knew he wasn¡¯t hers. I think that¡¯s the secret the Emperor is trying to hide. He¡¯s half-Maskamery. You have a Maskamery grandmother! And somehow the Patriarch knows, and he¡¯s holding it over your father because he thinks the Senate would turn against you if they knew¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Avon, turning towards her, ¡°no, if this is true, it¡¯s far worse than that.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°If my father¡¯s heritage is as you say¡­ Then he is a bastard, and I am the child of a bastard, and that means all our land, our titles, everything is forfeit.¡±


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    She gaped at him.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be true.¡± Avon resumed pacing, full of restless energy. ¡°It can¡¯t be. There must be some fluke, some accident¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± She stood up, leaning against the bedpost. Valerie had expected him to be agitated, but not this agitated. ¡°What do you mean, he¡¯s a bastard? What does that have to do with your land?¡±


    Many Maskamery had adopted the Drakonian term bastard as an insult to their oppressors. She had called Avon that herself. But she had no idea that the word carried another meaning.


    Avon paused. ¡°Under Drakonian law, the eldest son inherits his father¡¯s title and estate. But that child must  be legitimate¡ªhe must be the son of his father¡¯s wife. Children of whores, courtesans, other affairs¡ªthey are illegitimate and inherit nothing, not even the family name. A bastard is an illegitimate child.¡±


    ¡°So that means¡­ your father¡­¡±


    ¡°If my grandmother did not bear him, then he isn¡¯t my grandfather¡¯s rightful son,¡± Avon finished. ¡°And unless Grandfather was foolish enough to conceive two sons outside of wedlock, that makes my uncle Rhys the true firstborn son and heir to my grandfather¡¯s land and fortune, along with his children.¡±


    She could hardly take it in. Rhys Avon, the Admiral, was the true heir? And the Emperor was¡­ what, nothing?


    ¡°But Reinard is the Emperor. What happens if he¡¯s found out?¡±


    ¡°There would be immense pressure on him to step down.¡± Avon folded his arms, expression grim. ¡°It¡¯s unprecedented. Technically, there¡¯s no law against it, but the noble families of Drakon would see it as an outrage. A scandal. I don¡¯t see how we would survive. No, this is¡­ This is a secret that could destroy our family. Not only me. Ophelia and Edrick too.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Maska,¡± she whispered.


    This was far, far worse than she had thought. The Emperor¡¯s heritage implicated all of his descendants. And it seemed the Drakonians had tied up their marriage and property laws in such a way to ensure the worst possible outcome for an illegitimate child.


    ¡°It could be false,¡± he muttered. ¡°It could be, couldn¡¯t it? You said born in Maskamere. What if I was born in Maskamere, not my father? What if it has nothing to do with my grandfather at all?¡±


    ¡°But you just said you weren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but I don¡¯t remember my own birth. Perhaps my father covered it up.¡±


    He was grasping at straws. ¡°Maybe,¡± she said. ¡°Maybe your grandmother¡¯s attitude and your grandfather being Ambassador is just a coincidence¡­¡±


    She couldn¡¯t make it sound convincing, and she could tell he didn¡¯t believe it either. All the pieces added up.


    ¡°Look on the bright side,¡± she went on. ¡°You¡¯re one of us! You¡¯re part-Maskamery, Avon, you have our blood in your veins.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°No, come on.¡± She closed the distance between them, reaching out to take his hands. They felt warm and calloused, proof, she thought, that he was more than a spoiled Drakonian lord. ¡°You¡¯ve always had sympathy for us. You couldn¡¯t wield the sword if a part of you didn¡¯t love Maskamere. If Drakon doesn¡¯t think you¡¯re legitimate, then forget Drakon. You¡¯d be legitimate to us. Somehow out there you must have a real grandmother, a matriarch. You could find a home with us.¡±


    ¡°Ridiculous,¡± he murmured. ¡°By that logic, you ought to be welcoming my father with open arms.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor doesn¡¯t love Maskamere,¡± she said. ¡°I get it now, I get why he was scared. I get why he said he was protecting you. But he made his choice. He turned his back on his heritage. He chose power in Drakon, and he chose to destroy us. You don¡¯t have to make the same choice.¡±


    Avon fell silent. She looked at him, hoping, waiting for a response, but the look in his eyes seemed far, far away.


    Maybe it was silly of her to feel excited that he was part-Maskamery. After all, as he had pointed out, they suspected that the Emperor had Maskamery blood too, and that hadn¡¯t stopped him from invading her land. But with everything she knew about Avon¡¯s fascination with Maskamere, his interest in Maska¡¯s Testimonium, in her¡­ Was it wrong to hope that he might someday come around to the Maskamery way of life? That he might envisage a future as a Maskamery and not a Drakonian?


    ¡°James?¡± she said hesitantly.


    He blinked, then shook his head and gently removed his hands from her grasp. ¡°Forgive me. The irony is palpable. I¡¯ve made every effort to keep you on a leash, and now I¡¯ve handed you the weapon to take down my family.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what the Patriarch thinks,¡± she said. ¡°He thinks this secret is a weapon he can use against you. But he can¡¯t prove it, can he? If he accuses you, we¡¯ll deny it.¡±


    ¡°Rumours like this have a way of sticking.¡±


    ¡°Rumours aren¡¯t proof.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, of course,¡± he conceded. ¡°That is how we must respond to any such accusation regarding my birthright. Father would deny it too. What about you?¡±


    Valerie swallowed. She understood the importance of this question to Avon, even as he tried to make it sound offhand. Now that she grasped the implications of the sword¡¯s revelation, she knew that she had been handed a killing blow. She had been looking for rifts in the Empire. Well, here was a gigantic one. The Emperor¡¯s power rested on a foundation of sand, and the right words to the right people could bring the entire regime crashing down.


    But only the Patriarch would benefit from that.


    ¡°I said I¡¯d deny it,¡± she reminded him, ¡°but can you answer something too?¡±


    ¡°Answer what?¡±


    Again, the image of the courtyard flashed into her mind, the acrid smell of burning, the silvertree going up in flames¡­


    ¡°Tell me you¡¯ve changed your mind,¡± she said. ¡°Tell me that you wouldn¡¯t invade us again. Promise me that you¡¯ll go back and undo all the damage you did. You destroyed Maskamere for nothing. Do you still not feel any regret?¡±


    She couldn¡¯t relive the war again. The next time had to be the last.


    She stared up at Avon, and she found the sympathy that she so desperately wished to see in his eyes. For the first time, he looked torn, anguished even.


    ¡°Regret,¡± he said, seeming to roll the word around his tongue. ¡°I wish that I could say, but¡­ I need some time.¡± She opened her mouth, and he raised his hand. ¡°Please. Where¡¯s my uncle when we need him? He¡¯d tell me we need a stiff drink.¡±


    He smiled at his little joke, and she smiled back. ¡°You want to sleep on it?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Thank you.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°And thank you for your trust. That I hope you won¡¯t regret.¡±


    She spoke softly. ¡°I hope so too.¡±


    His reticence didn¡¯t surprise her. Avon hadn¡¯t just learned a secret that could destroy his family; it had shaken up his entire identity. He was not the type to take in this information and act without delay; he would need to process it first, much like he had done that night she¡¯d revealed the secret of the queen and the goldentree.


    Valerie had much to think about too. This new information completely reset how she thought about Avon and his place in the Empire. And that wasn¡¯t even considering the revelation about the wyvern claw and the presence of magic beyond Maskamere¡¯s borders¡­


    And with that thought, she felt quite overwhelmed. A wave of fatigue crashed over her, and she hid a yawn behind her hand.


    Avon raised his eyebrows, amusement flickering in his gaze. ¡°Am I boring you?¡±


    ¡°Mmm.¡± She stifled another yawn. ¡°You got me. You¡¯re the most boring person I¡¯ve ever met.¡±


    Another wave of drowsiness swept over her, but this one didn¡¯t go away. She gave into it with a sense of blissful exhaustion and toppled face-first into Avon¡¯s chest.

 Map

    Map of the Drakonian Empire and Surrounding Realms


    </a>


    Arden. Once an independent kingdom, it is now one of the six regions of Drakon. Known for its mountains that are patrolled by wyverns.


    Bolebund. City in the northwest of Maskamere. It stands as the last stronghold against Drakon following the Empire''s invasion.


    Caphika. Small island to the south of Maskamere. A popular destination for Drakonian nobility taking a break from life at court.


    Carth. Capital of Carthal, a city now under the Drakonian Empire''s control.


    Carthal. Once an independent kingdom and now a protectorate of the Drakonian Empire. Carthal borders Maskamere to the northeast and Drakon to the southwest, acting as a bridge between the two.


    Cirkra. City in the northeast of Maskamere.


    Cirry''s Point. Island in the Triatic Sea and an important stopping point for ships travelling between Carthal and Enyr.


    Dhonis. A southern province of the Drakonian Empire.


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    Drakardia. Capital of Drakon. The largest city in the Empire.


    Drakonian Empire. Ever-expanding superpower which controls vast swathes of land around the Triatic Sea.


    Drakon, [United Republic of]. Home of the Drakonian Empire. Known in particular for the supremacy of its navy which has enabled it to conquer nearly all the lands surrounding the Triatic Sea.


    Drymuir. Village on the northeast border of Maskamere, where Valerie grew up. It was burned down during the war with the Drakonian Empire.


    East Lovinia. An independent kingdom, the eastern half of Lovinia. After a long and bloody war with Drakon, the kingdom was split in two.


    Enyr. Independent duchy-state to the southeast and across the sea from Maskamere. It maintains a strict stance of neutrality and non-interference to avoid the wrath of the Drakonian Empire.


    Gladstone. Port town in Yirona, a region of Drakon.


    Jairah. Capital of Maskamere. It was home to the royal family before the Drakonian Empire invaded.


    Lake Immanis. An enormous lake bordering Drakardia. Legend says that a sea dragon once inhabited its depths.


    Maskamere. A realm blessed by the magic of the silvertrees. Now a province of the Drakonian Empire.


    Orlin. City on the coast of Enyr.


    Sapphire Sea. Sea to the west of Maskamere.


    Serpent¡¯s Crest. Castle on the coast of Enyr.


    Severhine. Independent kingdom northwest of Maskamere.


    Triatic Sea. Sea to the east of Maskamere and south of Drakon.


    Tyrney. Village in the south of Arden, a region of Drakon.


    West Lovinia. A province of the Drakonian Empire. Following a long and bloody war with Drakon, the western half of Lovinia was surrendered to the Empire while the east remained independent.


    Wyford. Town in Arden, a region of Drakon. It directly borders the west coast of Lake Immanis, with Drakardia lying on the east coast.


    Yirona, [Old Republic]. Once an independent republic, it is now one of the six regions of Drakon. The kingdom of Drakon and the republic of Yirona joined together to create the United Republic of Drakon.

 2.45. Wyverns

    ¡ªcome into view: dragon-like shapes with broad feathery wings, spear-shaped tails and scaly black feet. Her stomach drops. She knows what they are.


    Wyverns.


    They¡¯re as big as she is, and there¡¯s an entire flock of them, at least a dozen circling the peaks.


    Maybe she should turn back. The thought flashes through her mind at the same time as the flock¡¯s behaviour changes. They call to each other. They descend.


    Then the first wyvern stoops¡ª


    *


    She awoke in a rocking chair. She awoke as if she had escaped a narrow death, palms sweating, muscles cramping, mouth dry. The contrast was disorienting.


    Avon¡¯s gaze met hers. He was inches away from her¡ªin fact, she wondered if he had kissed her cheek to wake her¡ªand though her heart skipped a beat, his presence calmed her. The air was still, and he was smiling. They were safe.


    ¡°The sleeping beauty awakes.¡± He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. ¡°Good morning.¡±


    Morning¡­ Valerie blinked up at him. Sunlight seeped in from a small half-shuttered window to her left. The whitewashed walls were plain, wooden beams running across the sloped ceiling, and an empty fireplace held a mean little grate. This wasn¡¯t the Archbishop¡¯s residence.


    For a moment, she was transported back to the Crescent sitting room, her grandmother¡¯s knitting needles going clack-clack-clack while she looked out through the bay window at the hustle and bustle of the High Road below¡­


    It felt like a distant memory. But, she thought, Aurelia might well be knitting in her favourite rocking chair at this very moment. Did the Crescents miss her? Did they wonder what she was doing right now? Or had they given up?


    Avon was blocking her view. She sat up to look over his shoulder, trying to get her bearings, and started.


    Another man was watching them.


    Not just any man. This was the man from the Archbishop¡¯s carriage, the one who had brandished the wyvern¡¯s claw. No longer wearing his purple livery and cap, he stood tall and stern, his head shaven, dressed in soft leather and fur-trimmed boots, a heavy fur cloak around his shoulders. The wyvern¡¯s claw hung around his neck, a gleaming talisman.


    Avon followed her gaze. ¡°Lady Valerie, meet Master Ghen. Master Ghen, I believe you and Lady Valerie have already met.¡±


    The man folded his arms, face dark. He lurked in the shadows, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. The queen¡¯s locket still hung around her neck, and so the pair of them could not approach each other.


    ¡°No offence,¡± she said, ¡°but why is he here?¡±


    ¡°I invited him,¡± said Avon. ¡°Ghen is one of the mountain folk. He¡¯s going to help us find this monastery.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem too happy about it.¡±


    Ghen scowled. ¡°I was threatened.¡±


    ¡°You were ordered,¡± Avon corrected him, standing up. ¡°Come. The villagers say it¡¯s an hour¡¯s ride to the monastery. We should eat first.¡±


    Over breakfast, she learned what she had missed. Two full days had passed. They had stayed overnight at the councilman¡¯s house in the village of Tyrney, a stone¡¯s throw from the mountains and close to the southern border with Carthal. The village was so tiny it didn¡¯t even have its own inn, but the councilman and his family, a wife and three daughters, were eager to share their hospitality.


    They all warned Avon not to go to the monastery.


    The place was haunted. Cursed, they said. In the years since the monks had abandoned it, the monastery had become a wyverns¡¯ nest, and the wyverns attacked anyone who approached their territory.


    Nonetheless, Avon ordered the councilman to provide three horses and enough supplies to take them to the mountain and back. The journey ought to take less than a day.


    And so, fed and watered, Valerie dressed in her travelling clothes and leather boots, and saddled up.


    When the three of them exited the village¡ªGhen in front, Avon and Valerie behind¡ªshe swallowed a gasp. She had the most strange and disconcerting sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu.


    For the landscape before her looked awfully familiar. The azure blue sky crowned mist-covered peaks, the terrain a mix of rocky bluffs and trees in full leaf. Already she could make out the dark shapes circling the closest summit.


    I¡¯ve been here before.


    ¡°Do you see them?¡± she called, leaning forward over her horse, a hardy grey mare. ¡°The wyverns?¡±


    Avon nodded. His gaze was fixed on the mountain too. Ahead, she caught Ghen tapping the wyvern claw against his mouth and forehead.


    ¡°That won¡¯t protect you,¡± she said. ¡°Ghen? I said that won¡¯t protect you.¡±


    He half-turned in his saddle, expression sour, and spoke in a slow, raspy drawl. ¡°It protected me from you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the same,¡± she said. ¡°How did you know the claw would stop me anyway? Are you a sorcerer? Do you have the blessing?¡±


    But Ghen only snorted and turned away.


    ¡°His people have several long-held superstitions regarding the wyverns,¡± said Avon. ¡°The ward is likely one of them.¡±


    ¡°His people? But we¡¯re still in Drakon.¡±


    ¡°Drakon is not a monolith,¡± said Avon, ¡°as I think you¡¯ve seen. I am Yironian. The mountain folk of Arden speak a language much closer to Severhine than to our own.¡±


    Ghen twisted in his saddle. ¡°I¡¯m not from Severhine.¡±


    ¡°Divine forbid you were.¡± Avon smiled slightly. ¡°Brutish barbarians all. They constantly threatened Carthal before we put a blockade on the border. And Maskamere, for that matter.¡±


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    The no-woman¡¯s-land, she thought. That strip of land nestled between two mountain ranges and three realms¡ªSeverhine, Carthal and Maskamere¡ªhad been a contested territory for years before the Empire took control of it. For the Maskamery, Carthal had acted as a buffer; few of the Severish encroached on their land. They were more worried about the Drakonian troops at their doorstep.


    ¡°I lived in the borderlands,¡± she said. ¡°It wasn¡¯t Severhine that threatened us.¡±


    Avon shot her a look. ¡°Mind your tongue.¡±


    Valerie gritted her teeth. She had spoken too freely. How annoying. She¡¯d grown used to their more casual intimacy out of the public eye, the Avon who enjoyed her challenging him. Now with Ghen around, she would have to put on this act again, the loyal Maskamery servant and her Drakonian master.


    Worse, she couldn¡¯t ask him about the revelations from that night at the Archbishop¡¯s house. He¡¯d called himself Yironian. But what did he think now that he might be part-Maskamery? Had he spent these past two nights pondering the matter? Surely it must have occupied his thoughts.


    But she couldn¡¯t ask.


    The sun beat down hot and fierce, and the group lapsed into silence. They followed a winding path along the course of a brook that narrowed as they climbed further up, jumping from rock to rock in a series of miniature waterfalls. Their progress slowed, the horses picking their way along increasingly steep terrain.


    Then an awful screech sent chills through her spine. Valerie looked up. ¡°Wyvern!¡±


    The creature swooped high above them, wings silhouetted against the sun, then disappeared behind a rocky precipice. Ghen¡¯s chestnut mare had spooked; he yanked at the reins to get it back under control. Valerie¡¯s grey mare snorted and stamped her feet. She patted the horse¡¯s flank.


    Avon sat up in his saddle. ¡°Where did it go?¡±


    ¡°We need to turn back.¡± Ghen turned his horse around. They were on a narrow mountain path, trapped between a sheer cliff-face and a sharp drop to the valley below. ¡°It¡¯s spotted us, and it¡¯ll come back with friends.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not going back,¡± said Avon.


    ¡°Drop the claw,¡± she said. ¡°We need to stick together.¡±


    Ghen spat on the ground. ¡°This is sacred land. Turn back.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t moving, she realised. They¡¯d reached a pinch point, and as long as she wore the queen¡¯s locket, she wouldn¡¯t be able to go past him. The plan had been to stick together. With her magic and Avon''s sword, they should be able to withstand an attack, but¡ª


    A shadow moved over the sun.


    Skin prickling, Valerie glanced up¡ªthen yelped.


    A wyvern plummeted from the sky. It came at her claws first, not the single talon that blocked her way up the mountain path, but a set of eight shining black claws, any one of which could tear the flesh from her bones¡ª


    She ducked, but the wyvern pulled up before it reached her, wheeling back into the air. Another followed, and another: sleek black creatures with feathery wings, tails as long and sharp as spears, and claws outstretched like raptors swooping on their prey. Screeches filled the air.


    Avon¡¯s sword flashed. Another wyvern braked midair and shot up into the sky.


    Ghen had no such defence. He ducked the first set of claws, but his horse spooked again, charging down the mountain path and straight towards them¡ª


    She realised what was going to happen a second before it did.


    The chestnut mare collided with the magical barrier. It flung them back, horse and rider both, Ghen toppling from his saddle, his steed crashing to the ground with an awful shriek.


    ¡°Ghen!¡± She was struggling to control her own mare. ¡°Drop the claw! Come over to me¡ªthey can¡¯t reach me!¡±


    None of the wyverns attacking her got close, and she knew why: the locket was protecting her. They couldn¡¯t pass the barrier.


    Avon jumped down from his horse. He ran over to her, grabbing the mare¡¯s reins with his free hand. ¡°Climb down! Hurry¡ªlet the horses go.¡±


    Dozens of wyverns now darted above them, their cries scraping her ears like metal. They descended on Ghen and the fallen mare like vultures, claws gripping, biting into flesh. The horse kicked and screamed; Ghen rolled over¡ª


    She dismounted, Avon grabbing her hand, and they ran to Ghen, leaving their steeds to flee behind them.


    ¡°Drop the claw!¡± she screamed.


    A wyvern sank its talons into Ghen¡¯s thigh. He wrested the claw from his neck and flung it away¡ªover the edge of the mountain path and down to the valley below.


    Avon charged ahead with his sword, driving the wyverns into the air like a flock of startled pigeons. He swung at a straggler, catching its leg, and the wyvern crashed into the cliff-face by the mountain path, flapped its wings wildly and then took off again.


    It didn¡¯t bleed.


    Even in the heat of the moment, her lungs screaming for breath, she noticed that. She caught up with Ghen and slid to the ground, the shrapnel shifting beneath her feet. Avon stood over both of them, ready to fight. Meanwhile, she pressed her hand against Ghen¡¯s thigh, her fingers coming away sticky.


    ¡°I can heal you,¡± she said. ¡°Ghen¡ªGhen, listen.¡± He was groaning, trying to sit up. ¡°You have to trust me. I can only do it if you let me, do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust any witch,¡± he growled, lifting up on his elbows.


    Valerie sighed. A few feet away, Ghen¡¯s chestnut mare lay in the shadow of the cliff-face, snorting in pain. A deep laceration ran down its flank, and she almost wanted to go and heal it first. At least it wouldn¡¯t object to the person trying to save it.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re not that important. I¡¯ll let you die. The wyverns will get you the second Avon and I walk away.¡±


    The creatures were still circling overhead, calling to each other in their croaky voices. Perhaps they smelled blood.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here,¡± he rasped. ¡°The wyverns know this place is not for you.¡±


    ¡°What, did you think you¡¯d lead us here so the wyverns would kill us?¡± She raised her eyebrows. ¡°Oh, you did. Well, now I definitely have a reason to kill you. You¡¯re really not helping yourself here. Do you want to die?¡±


    First the Emperor, now this. Honestly, would it kill these men to show some gratitude?


    She recognised the look he gave her. The defiance in his eyes. His scowl was not a scowl; behind it lay years of deep and bitter resentment. She didn¡¯t know why exactly¡ªwas it hatred of people like her, or people like Avon? But in an odd way, he reminded her of herself, the prisoner enlisted to carry out a task against his will. This bristling resistance in the face of death¡ªwell, it was either stupid or admirable. She wasn¡¯t sure which.


    ¡°If you could make a decision in haste,¡± said Avon, glancing down at them, ¡°then we might save the mare. She¡¯s significantly more valuable than you.¡±


    Ghen snorted, a shudder running through his body. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°I want to live. But save the horse too.¡±


    With that, she got to work. The gash in his thigh was the deepest wound, but not the only one. The wyverns had slashed his chest, stomach, left arm and ankle. The stomach wound worried her the most; she wasn¡¯t confident that she could fix any internal bleeding, but that one felt relatively shallow. One by one, she closed up the cuts, eyes closed, focusing on the damage in his body.


    She did a poor job. Valerie had never thought of herself as a healer despite being called upon to do it several times, but even for her, this was bad. She stopped the bleeding, but that was all. The gashes remained, old wounds rather than fresh, but wounds nonetheless.


    ¡°Maska,¡± she muttered.


    She recalled the story that Anwen had told her when he¡¯d first explained how her power worked: how a Maskamery nurse famed for her healing powers had lost most of her abilities out in the battlefield. She had failed not because of any deficiency as a healer, but because the battlefield was not her domain. To cast such potent magic at will required considerable power. That included mastery over the environment.


    Obviously, trapped out here in a foreign land with the wyverns soaring above them, she was never going to do her best work.


    She stood up, brushing her hands on her cloak, and turned her attention to the injured mare. This was even harder. She dared not directly touch the mare¡¯s wounds. They were far too close to her legs, for one thing, and the horse kept kicking, perhaps out of fear or some feeble attempt to deter further attackers. Instead, she knelt down and patted the mare¡¯s head, trying first of all to soothe her.


    This worked to an extent; the mare quietened down. Her flanks rose up and down as she breathed, but she made no attempt to move. But after that, Valerie couldn¡¯t find a way to heal the wounds. The mare couldn¡¯t ask to be healed. Nor did she have any existing bond with the horse; she was a borrowed animal.


    ¡°Valerie.¡±


    She jumped, Avon¡¯s voice startling her. She had been so focused on the chestnut mare that she had lost track of her surroundings. The quiet wasn¡¯t in her head; the wyverns had finally given up. Ghen had got to his feet, though he clutched his side with a grim expression. Avon stood guard between them, looking down at her not unkindly.


    ¡°We need to move on,¡± he said. ¡°Can you heal her or not?¡±


    She hated the answer she had to give. The horse was innocent.


    But she shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I tried, but¡­¡±


    He nodded. Valerie covered the mare¡¯s eyes with her hand, focusing again on that soothing energy. Sleep. So when Avon drove his blade into the beast¡¯s chest, at least she didn¡¯t feel it. The horse shuddered and went still.


    Valerie wiped the tears from her eyes, then realised that she¡¯d streaked her cheeks with blood.


    ¡°Well, then,¡± said Avon. ¡°We must walk.¡±

 2.46. The Monastery

    ¡ªand Valerie runs.


    *


    For a time they travelled in silence, preoccupied by the physical tasks of navigating the loose shrapnel, steep inclines and narrow gullies. Occasionally, the path required them to walk in single file. Ghen led the way, seeming indifferent to his injuries. Valerie followed behind him, and Avon brought up the rear. Without her magic, she would soon have been out of breath.


    Occasionally, shadows swept overhead. The wyverns had given up their attack, but they were still circling.


    She wasn¡¯t scared, but she was hot, sticky and thirsty. Valerie broke the silence first. ¡°Do you think we¡¯re close?¡± she groused. ¡°Are we even going the right way?¡±


    ¡°You said follow the wyverns,¡± Ghen answered without looking at her. ¡°I¡¯m following the wyverns.¡±


    She slowed down until she drew level with Avon, then poked him in the shoulder. ¡°He¡¯s still hoping the wyverns get us.¡± She called to Ghen: ¡°You realise they¡¯ll get you too, right?¡±


    Ghen ignored her. Watching him put one foot in front of another like a soldier trudging through a battlefield annoyed her.


    ¡°Ghen,¡± she said. ¡°You can talk to me, you know. I did save your life. Maybe you¡¯d like to say thank you.¡±


    He ignored her.


    ¡°Let the man be,¡± said Avon when she opened her mouth again. Valerie shot him a look.


    ¡°Ghen,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m curious. Why did you ward me off on the street that day? I wasn¡¯t threatening you. If you hadn¡¯t revealed yourself, we never would have known about the wyvern¡¯s claw, and you wouldn¡¯t be here right now.¡±


    Ghen not only ignored her, he increased his stride, scrambling up a grassy bluff without so much as a backward glance.


    ¡°Hey!¡± She didn¡¯t want to climb up there. ¡°Come back down.¡±


    He dropped into a crouch at the top of the bluff, gesturing behind him. ¡°There¡¯s a spring.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± said Avon. ¡°I¡¯m parched.¡±


    She didn¡¯t know how he could be so calm. The brook they¡¯d been following had wound its way in and out of the mountain path, and right now she couldn¡¯t see it, but she could hear running water. Ghen perched on a grassy knoll above them. But the way up there was a steep, slippery crag.


    Avon climbed it with the same ease he¡¯d swallowed up every mile so far, then to add insult to injury, stood upright at the top of the bluff like some monarch surveying his land and shielded his eyes against the sun.


    ¡°It¡¯s just up here,¡± he said. ¡°Come now, Valerie, don¡¯t you enjoy an afternoon stroll?¡±


    She glared at him. ¡°Do I have to remind you that I¡¯m the only one wearing a corset?¡±


    And a gown too, which had snagged already on gorse. Her travelling clothes were made for walking or horse riding or sitting, not hiking. Thank Maska she was wearing boots, not slippers.


    ¡°A terrible burden.¡± Avon¡¯s eyes twinkled. ¡°Perhaps you can magic your way up.¡±


    She wished she could. The knoll was mocking her. Besides, they had an unfair advantage with their long legs. Valerie wasn¡¯t petite; in fact, she had been taller than all the palace ladies except Mona, but she wasn¡¯t reaching six feet anytime soon. Maybe she¡¯d bewitch herself a growth spurt just to mess with him later.


    ¡°Perhaps you can come down,¡± she retorted, ¡°and I¡¯ll show you how I magic my way up.¡±


    Ghen had vanished somewhere over the hilltop. For a moment she worried that he might run, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. Straying too far would only make him a target for the wyverns, and where would he go out here in the mountains anyway? No, she thought, he¡¯s on a leash just like I was.


    Avon reached the path in a few quick strides. As soon as his boots hit firm ground, she grabbed him by the lapels.


    ¡°Look at that, my very own carrier.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± he said, leaning forward, ¡°does my lady want a lift?¡±


    Her cheeks flushed. She didn¡¯t have a chance to answer before he swept her off her feet, Valerie laughing in surprise. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held tight for the few seconds it took for him to climb the bluff. He set her down at the top, then bent over to catch his breath.


    Valerie looked down at the path below. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad, actually. I probably could have climbed it.¡±


    Avon wheezed out a laugh. ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    She turned away from the path, and her eyes alighted on the spring. The hill angled downwards from the grassy knoll to a shallow pool surrounded by rock. They¡¯d reached the brook¡¯s source. Valerie followed its bubbling trail down the other side of the cliff where it found its way back to the mountain path. Ghen knelt by the pool refilling their flasks. She licked parched lips, finding a new burst of energy as she hurried over to him and grabbed a flask to slake her thirst.


    She dipped her hands in the clear water too, splashing it on her face to cool herself down, and washed away the last of the blood and dirt caked beneath her fingernails. Avon did the same.


    Refreshed, Valerie rose and wiped her hands. Her mood had instantly improved. She shaded her eyes and looked up at the dark shape overhead. Was the wyvern observing, she wondered, or waiting for another chance to attack? Would it know when they were vulnerable? Ghen had strayed outside the bubble of her magical protection for a couple of minutes there when he¡¯d been at the spring.


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    ¡°Look,¡± said Avon, setting a hand on her shoulder, ¡°there¡¯s a bridge. We¡¯re on the right track.¡±


    Her breath quickened. She followed his gaze, and yes, the path continued onwards to a gap between two sheer cliffs. A wooden bridge spanned the gap, broad enough for five people to walk abreast and perhaps a ten yard span to reach the other side.


    They approached the bridge, each of them peering over the edge. It looked mostly intact. One of the rails on the left side was missing, a broken stump that appeared rotting at the top. A tangled mix of gorse and bare rock scattered the gully below.


    ¡°It looks sturdy,¡± Avon observed, ¡°but the foundations could be rotten. No one has been up here for forty years.¡±


    ¡°Ghen,¡± Valerie began.


    Their guide held up his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll go first.¡±


    Grim-faced, Ghen didn¡¯t hesitate. He stepped onto the bridge, and Valerie held her breath as the wood creaked under his weight. One step, two steps, three steps¡­ He trudged across, slow and deliberate, and the bridge held firm. It looked fine. Her heart raced, but he crossed without incident and beckoned them from the other side.


    That gave her a moment to voice a growing suspicion.


    She drew closer to Avon. ¡°Hey¡­ What if he turns on us? He obviously doesn¡¯t want us here.¡±


    Avon glanced at her. ¡°That would be foolish. He¡¯s not a fool.¡±


    ¡°Why take the risk?¡±


    Avon frowned, his face silhouetted by the sun. The closer they got to the monastery, the closer they got to the wyverns¡¯ nest. They didn¡¯t know Ghen. For all she knew, he might be willing to sacrifice his own life to prevent them from reaching a place he considered sacred.


    ¡°What exactly are you suggesting?¡± Avon asked quietly.


    Ghen stared at them from the other side of the bridge. Two or three dark shapes now circled overhead. Sooner or later they might test the barrier.


    ¡°Kill him,¡± she said, and Avon scoffed, shaking his head. ¡°He could be a sorcerer! You don¡¯t know. He had the claw, didn¡¯t he? I don¡¯t know why you brought him in the first place. We can find this place ourselves.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t say that if the bridge had collapsed. I brought him with us because he knows this terrain.¡± Avon turned away. ¡°I¡¯ll go next. You follow.¡±


    She wanted to protest, but Avon had already stepped onto the bridge. He crossed it in a few decisive strides, and Valerie glanced up, starting to feel nervous. One of the wyverns had dropped a little lower¡­


    She couldn¡¯t wait. The bridge had held for both Ghen and Avon; there was no reason it wouldn¡¯t hold for her. Valerie clutched the locket, checking that it lay secure around her neck, then stepped onto the first plank. The back of her neck prickled. She felt exposed. It¡¯s a few yards, she told herself, and her companions were the ones in danger, not her.


    She walked.


    Above her, a wyvern¡¯s call echoed across the cloudless sky. Ghen and Avon watched her approach.


    She stopped.


    Not by choice. Not out of nerves or because her feet slipped or the bridge wobbled. She stopped because she couldn¡¯t walk any further. Because she had hit an invisible barrier.


    Valerie swallowed. ¡°I can¡¯t reach you!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Avon didn¡¯t have to raise his voice. It seemed silly that she couldn¡¯t cross these last few feet. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I mean there¡¯s a barrier!¡±


    Avon and Ghen glanced at each other, but Valerie quickly reassessed her options. The wyverns couldn¡¯t have caused the barrier; they were too far away and they moved, which meant their magical bubbles moved with them. No, this was solid. Which meant¡­ Something nearby radiated the same kind of magic that the wyverns did, except it wasn¡¯t moving, and it was¡­ bigger? Older?


    What if it came from the monastery?


    If she wanted to reach it, she only had one option. Valerie took a breath. ¡°I¡¯m going to leave the locket.¡± She backed up, retreating across the bridge. ¡°When I do, we have to run, okay?¡±


    Another wyvern dipped lower, sailing over the bridge.


    Avon stepped forward. ¡°No. Valerie, don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    She crouched down by the bridge post and made a shallow dent in the soil there¡ªsheltered enough to safely leave the locket, she hoped. She lifted it from around her neck, placed it in the depression and added a rock on top of the locket¡¯s chain to weigh it down. Then she stood up and walked across the bridge.


    It was like whiplash. In three steps, she crossed from one magical bubble to another. In the first step, she remained within the locket¡¯s sphere of power. Avon called to her in irritation. The wyverns swooped around the bridge. In the second step, her magical senses vanished. She blinked, feeling unsteady. In the third step, they flared into life again, but something had changed.


    The wyverns shone with magic. She didn¡¯t only see them, she felt them¡ªbright beacons soaring through the sky. And she felt something else too, a great pulse of magic, a magnetic pull drawing her deeper into the mountains. It felt like a silvertree.


    The wyverns screeched. They sensed her too.


    ¡°Run!¡± she screamed.


    She broke into a sprint, dashing the last few feet across the bridge, and then Avon caught her hand and they ran, all three of them, across the clifftop and into a narrow chasm. A wyvern swooped down as they emerged from the chasm, and Avon met it with the point of his blade which flashed brilliant white¡ª


    It split in two and shattered into rock.


    She didn¡¯t have time to think. ¡°This way!¡±


    The path curved sharply left and up. A second wyvern caught a glancing blow at Ghen¡¯s scalp; he ducked and scrambled on. Avon fended off another, and then they reached a plateau surrounded by cliffs, and Valerie caught her breath.


    A great power called to her. It came from straight ahead: a building made of dusty old stone.


    If she had time, she might have noted that its architecture resembled nothing she had seen in either Drakon or Maskamere. Instead of pointed spires, each of its towers had a domed roof. Curved archways shaped the windows. Spiral pillars sprouted up at regular intervals from the entrance to the mountain path. And perched on each of them like watchful crows¡­


    Wyverns.


    Avon halted, his feet sliding in the dirt. ¡°Dammit!¡±


    He let go of her to grip his sword two-handed, brandishing it as the wyverns flapped their wings. If the entire flock descended on them¡­


    ¡°We¡¯re too easy to attack as a group.¡± Valerie grabbed Ghen¡¯s arm. ¡°Run! Distract them!¡±


    Ghen shook her off with a scowl, and she thought he was going to tell her to shove it. But then his eyes met hers, and his expression flickered. His jaw set. And he charged towards the monastery.


    ¡°Ghen!¡± Avon swore under his breath.


    The wyverns launched into the air¡ªdozens of them, like the flock that had attacked them on horseback. But her ruse worked: several of them shot after Ghen while others dived at her and Avon. She shrieked, dropping down. Avon stood his ground. The blade flashed above her¡ªonce, twice, thrice¡ªand another wyvern shattered into pieces. Shuddering, she reached out to grab one: a shiny black rock, gleaming bright as obsidian¡­


    No blood. They weren¡¯t creatures of flesh and bone at all.


    Clutching the rock in her fist, she got up. The wyverns banked away. Did they fear death?


    ¡°Come on!¡± said Avon. ¡°Now¡¯s our chance!¡±


    One last sprint. Ahead of them, Ghen had fallen short of the door, the mob descending on him. She took a breath and gripped Avon¡¯s hand, praying to grant them fleetness of foot. His skin was hot, the rough texture familiar. She felt his determination, his raw, ragged strength. And she felt Maska¡¯s sword bleeding through his body and into hers: light and power and grace.


    They charged.


    A burst of energy raced through her, light and free. Her feet ate up the distance with ease, and when Avon set upon the wyverns attacking Ghen, the flock dispersed. They picked him up and dragged him through the great stone entrance.


    ¡°Close it!¡± she cried.


    The wyverns were regrouping. Groaning, Ghen threw himself at one of the doors while Avon shoved the other. She watched the gap closing, the black shapes swooping outside, wheeling around to dive at the entrance¡ª


    The doors shut. Ghen and Avon sank down to the floor, gasping for breath. If not for the light of Maska¡¯s sword, Valerie wouldn¡¯t be able to see them; they had retreated into blackness.


    They were trapped.

 2.47. The Distant Shore

    She stumbles through woodland, bleeding and bruised. Collapses into the mud.


    It¡¯s only hours later, after sunset, that she realises she¡¯s by a road. She hears hooves approaching, the sound of voices. Many voices.


    She crawls into a ditch while the soldiers pass. It¡¯s dark. Maybe they¡¯ll miss her. But then a voice calls out¡ª


    *


    The monastery appeared empty. No one came to greet them or turn them away. No sign of footsteps, not even imprints in the dust. Weeds poked through the stone floor. Cobwebs lurked in every corner. The air smelled of mildew and rot.


    Still, the power called to her.


    Valerie scanned the area. The enclosed entrance hall split into four routes: a door to her left, another to her right, a corridor straight ahead and a staircase to the upper floor. Only one of those routes led to a magical source.


    She beckoned her companions forward. ¡°This way.¡±


    They squinted like blind men. Avon got up first, but cautiously, his hand skimming the wall.


    ¡°Where?¡± he said. ¡°We need a light.¡±


    Then she remembered that he couldn¡¯t see the sword¡¯s light like she could. To him, they were shrouded in darkness.


    Ghen only groaned. Right, she thought. She was getting ahead of herself. Part of her wanted to go anyway, but she resisted, stopping to kneel by Ghen¡¯s side.


    ¡°You¡¯re injured.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°You barely healed me the first time.¡±


    She hesitated. His distraction might have saved their lives. But the ruse had cost him: blood dripped from his shirt, and beneath the rips, she could see the gash in his flesh. She¡¯d advocated killing him only minutes ago. He was a loose end they didn¡¯t need, an unknown quantity.


    ¡°Help him,¡± said Avon. ¡°It¡¯s the least we can do.¡±


    Ghen acquiesced, and after a moment, so did she. She couldn¡¯t replenish the lost blood, but she closed up his wounds, and Ghen staggered to his feet.


    ¡°I can see the way,¡± she said. ¡°Take my hand. Oh, and keep hold of the sword.¡±


    She extended her hand to Avon, who took it. Ghen followed at their shoulder, and in this fashion they made their way along the dim corridor.


    Avon spoke quietly. ¡°Where are you taking us?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But there¡¯s something magical up ahead. I can sense it.¡±


    ¡°Something dangerous?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    She¡¯d come too far to be scared. They passed several rooms along the corridor, some closed off, others open: a study, a prayer room, a dining room¡­ All were sparsely furnished, with unadorned stone walls and floors covered in a thick layer of dust. Some light filtered through tiny porthole windows, making it easier for Avon and Ghen to follow her lead.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything alive in here,¡± Avon observed, glancing at one of the open rooms. ¡°Certainly nothing bigger than a rat.¡±


    To her surprise, Ghen spoke up. ¡°Don¡¯t jinx it, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Jinx it?¡±


    ¡°You speak like that in a place like this, you¡¯ll make the opposite come true.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense,¡± said Avon. ¡°Kindly refrain from voicing baseless superstitions, and focus on what lies ahead.¡±


    Valerie might have contradicted him, but right now she didn¡¯t care about their conversation. They¡¯d reached the end of the corridor. A set of double doors blocked their way. The power she sensed was through here, she knew it. She took a breath and set her hands on the door handle. It wasn¡¯t spelled. It wasn¡¯t even locked.


    She twisted the handle, and the door scraped open. Foul air assaulted them, but nothing else: a horrible musty scent of death. Valerie coughed, then pressed her sleeve against her nose.


    They stepped inside, all three of them, and together they witnessed the result of whatever had happened at the monastery forty years ago.


    The room was diamond-shaped, both the walls and the ceiling, with a skylight at the diamond¡¯s apex shining down a circle of light on a great black tomb. The lid of the tomb was half-open. The remains of hundreds of candles were scattered around the stone slabs.


    But it was the skeletons that made Valerie take a step back and choke in disgust. Corpses of men, their moth-eaten robes still clinging to their bones, their flesh long ago picked clean, lay strewn about the tomb like macabre offerings.


    Ghen made a sign on his forehead and muttered something in his own language. Avon had turned pale and grim. He approached the tomb, and with a sudden sense of foreboding, Valerie rushed after him and grabbed his arm.


    ¡°Wait!¡± She swallowed. ¡°They¡¯re the monks, aren¡¯t they? All of them¡­ Dead.¡±


    ¡°Dead Resurrected Monks,¡± said Avon. ¡°Hardly living up to their name. You said there was something magical here.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said. ¡°The tomb.¡±


    The stone of the tomb was different to the stone everywhere else. It was black and gleaming and rich in magical power. Like the wyvern¡¯s claw. Like the wyverns themselves.


    ¡°Stay back,¡± she added.


    She waited until both men had retreated before acting. Again, the tomb called to her, whispering its power. Trembling, Valerie approached. She half-feared that the tomb might be occupied, by what she didn¡¯t know, but she found it empty. The lid was carved into the likeness of a man with a hooked nose. Dressed in scholarly robes, he clutched a stone book to his chest. She peered at the book. Runes were carved into its cover¡ªa title, perhaps. Whatever language it was, she couldn¡¯t read it.


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    Perhaps her magical senses would tell her more.


    She took a breath, heart thumping in excitement. Her limbs trembled; she felt almost dizzy. She reached out and touched the black stone¡ª


    Darkness flooded her. Darkness, and a rush of power like wildfire.


    In an eye-blink, her world shifted.


    Gone was the monastery. Gone were her companions. Gone were the corpses and the candle stumps and the stench of death.


    She stood in a desert of black sand. Above her, the night sky was empty of stars. Before her, the tomb stood upright instead of horizontal, a gigantic slab planted in the ground, its lid firmly shut. Behind her, she heard the rhythmic sound of waves breaking against the shore. And around her, the wyverns flew.


    Valerie gasped at that, hastily stumbling back. The wyverns cried out to each other, their calls echoing across the vast expanse of sand. One of them plummeted towards her, and Valerie ran.


    Her feet pounded over the dunes, the shore coming ever closer. A haze of mist blurred over the water. Then the wyvern hit her like a slingshot, and she tumbled into the sand.


    She screamed, rolling over on her back with her arms raised to protect her face, and the hideous weight of the creature landed on top of her. Its claws snagged in her dress, its beak-like jaw inches from her nose. One of its talons ripped her gown, exposing bare skin. A jolt ran through her like lightning. She felt the creature¡¯s magic, radiating from its body and into hers.


    A connection.


    She lowered her hands. The wyvern stared at her head-on like a falcon, its beady eyes black and fierce. She sensed in it a singular purpose.


    Protect the stone.


    The tomb, she thought, half-dizzy. She had touched the stone, absorbed its magic¡ªa blessing¡ªand this creature was made of the same stuff¡­


    Impulsively, Valerie reached up to caress the wyvern¡¯s jaw. And to her surprise, her hand left a glowing imprint. The wyvern keened, flapping its wings. Its claws dug in a little harder and she winced. She snatched her hand away and saw the mark she¡¯d left, a shimmering glyph that moved beneath the wyvern¡¯s feathers. The inky lines resolved into a stick-like figure.


    With a sharp intake of breath, she realised what she had done.


    It¡¯s a vessel. My vessel.


    Valerie closed her eyes, searching for the glyph. She found it, the lines pulling from the wyvern¡¯s body to hers, opening a channel through which she could slip as easily as wishing¡­


    She reached through. Opened her eyes.


    And saw herself. Sprawled in the sand, dirty and bruised, her unconscious body lay warm and pulsing with power. Her claws snagged in the girl¡¯s dress. Her wings felt heavy and ungainly on either side of her body. And what a body she now possessed¡ªlarge, powerful, and with the force of a coiled spring.


    Excitement bubbled through her. She tightened her muscles and launched into the air, beating her wings. Wind whooshed past her, and with exhilarating ease, she soared into the air and joined the other wyverns in the sky. How insignificant her own body looked, down there on the ground! The flock didn¡¯t react to her¡ªin fact, they seemed to accept her presence¡ªValerie mimicking their flight paths as she tried to get her bearings.


    I¡¯m flying. I¡¯m really flying.


    Her wing beats propelled her through the air, her tail acting as a rudder. She practised turning and swooping and diving, delighting in the pure physical power of the wyvern¡¯s muscle and sinew. Then she soared up, high above the rest of the flock, and looked down with her wyvern¡¯s eyes at the world below.


    Her body looked like a mouse from here. But the landscape revealed something else more interesting: other stones. Scattered in the desert, they stuck up out of the sand dunes like great black monoliths. Yet the wyverns flew around only the stone below her. This one was special. Something¡ªor someone¡ªhad brought these creatures to life, given them purpose. Someone had protected the now-empty tomb.


    Who had occupied that tomb? And what had the Patriarch done when he had visited the monastery all those decades ago?


    Valerie banked around, intending to return to the flock, but in so doing she faced the sea, and she found yet another thing that piqued her curiosity. The sea didn¡¯t stretch endlessly. A distant shore was visible on the other side of the water.


    Unable to resist, she flew towards it. Mist obscured the shore, but her wyvern¡¯s eyes were keener than her human ones. She sailed over the water, and at the top of a cliff, she made out a bright golden glow. A tall structure, like a tower or a lighthouse¡­ Or a tree.


    That thought crossed her mind, and then she hit a wall. Her entire body crumpled. The shock of it jolted her awake. Valerie sat up in her own frail human body on the sand dunes and gasped, hand flying to her forehead. The aftershock seemed to reverberate through her.


    She had a further thought: This isn¡¯t my body.


    No, her real body was bent over the tomb in the monastery. In this place, she took a spiritual form, and perhaps if she forgot her earthly shackles, she would be able to float in the air like the queen in their meeting by the goldentree.


    This is that other plane¡­ The spiritual realm. The place I go when I convene with the silvertrees.


    The silvertrees existed in both realms. So did the wyverns. So did the stones. All of them sources of magic¡ªand somehow, the barrier between them existed in both realms too.


    She would bet her life that the glowing object on that other shore was the goldentree.


    Valerie didn¡¯t know what it meant yet. But she would find out. She looked up again at the wyverns, protecting their unknown tomb. If they didn¡¯t perceive her as a threat here, she reasoned, they wouldn¡¯t perceive her as a threat out there either.


    She returned to the stone, pressed her hands against it, and snapped back into the waking world. Her hands gripped the edge of the tomb. She turned around.


    Avon and Ghen were approaching either side of the tomb. Avon moved towards her; Ghen¡¯s gaze fell on the likeness of the strange man carved into its lid.


    ¡°Resurrection is trivial,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°What?¡± said Avon sharply.


    She froze too, staring at him. Ghen had been looking down at the coffin lid, where those strange runes were carved¡­


    But the man shook his head. ¡°Nothing, my lord.¡±


    ¡°You read it,¡± she said. ¡°Those runes on the coffin¡ªlook! Do you know the language?¡±


    She directed Avon to the runes too. He frowned, looking down at them, then up at Ghen. ¡°This is the Ardish tongue. Your native language.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t read it, my lord.¡±


    Avon curled his lip at the obvious lie. ¡°Resurrection is trivial. From the monks dedicated to the Fifth Philosopher, yet I don¡¯t recall that line in his work. Interesting. Valerie, what did you¡­?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later,¡± she said quickly. ¡°Listen¡ªI can stop the wyverns attacking us. But you have to trust me, okay?¡±


    She didn¡¯t want to blurt everything out in front of Ghen. If Avon insisted on keeping the man alive, then at least they ought to exercise some caution in what they revealed around him. Outside, she sensed the wyverns as before, but this time, she caught another flicker. A glyph. Her wyvern was out there too.


    ¡°All right,¡± said Avon after a moment. He glanced at the scowling Ghen. ¡°We¡¯ll scour the place in case there¡¯s anything else, then leave.¡±


    There was nothing else of magical interest, she knew, but Valerie bit her lip and said nothing. Their search turned up a few books that hadn¡¯t rotted. Ghen packed those away. Otherwise, the monks appeared to have led an austere life. They had all died in that one room.


    That bothered her too, and Valerie glanced back at the monks¡¯ bones with a sense of unease when they retraced their steps, but the monastery remained deathly quiet. Even so, she didn¡¯t want to linger any longer.


    At the entrance door, she placed a hand on Avon¡¯s arm. ¡°I¡¯m going to fall unconscious,¡± she said, ¡°and you¡¯ll have to carry me. Whatever you do, don¡¯t attack the wyverns, do you understand?¡±


    Again, Avon frowned but nodded.


    ¡°Open the door,¡± she instructed.


    While they did that, Valerie focused her mind on the branded wyvern outside. Come to me, she called. Come and protect me.


    The great double doors creaked open, Ghen and Avon straining with the effort. Valerie stepped outside. Some wyverns circled over the monastery; others perched on the pillars. But she found her wyvern instantly, its glyph glowing even from a distance. It swooped around in a circle and then dived towards the monastery. Avon cursed, hand flying to the hilt of his sword. Ghen¡¯s eyes widened.


    Valerie closed her eyes¡ªand jumped into the wyvern¡¯s body.


    Instantly, her perspective reversed. She soared through the air, the monastery coming up fast before her, and she saw her body collapsing into Avon¡¯s arms, Ghen grabbing at Avon¡¯s waist¡ªno, not his waist¡ª


    Maska¡¯s sword flashed blindingly white.


    She banked up, disoriented. Then down again a second later, and what she saw next terrified her. Avon held her body tight, protecting her with his own. And Ghen held Maska¡¯s sword, his face twisted in righteous anger, raising it to strike.


    He was going to kill them both.

 2.48. Child of Maskamere

    ¡°Stop! Over there!¡±


    In that hideous frozen moment of indecision between running and hiding, she loses her chance. Two of the soldiers find her, the others close by. She recognises their black uniforms, the flash of silver insignia on their coats.


    One shoves a lantern in her face; the other drags her upright. ¡°A girl! What are you doing out here in Drakonian territory? You¡¯re not from around here, are you? What are you¡ª¡±


    *


    The white light of the sword erupted into flame. Valerie nose-dived to the ground as the fire engulfed Ghen¡¯s body. He screamed and dropped the blade. Avon dragged her human body out of the door, his face pale and shocked¡ª


    She landed heavily, the impact jolting through her talons and up into her body. Wings spread, she shrieked at the other wyverns to stay away. The sound that came out of her mouth was a harsh, unintelligible squawk.


    The sound from Ghen was worse, a bloodcurdling cry. He contorted like some grotesque puppet, arms flailing, mouth screaming. She smelled burning flesh. Within seconds, the flames had consumed him. He collapsed on the ground, a blackened husk.


    Avon pressed himself against the outer wall, holding her unconscious body. She could see the whites of his eyes, hear his fast breaths. He stared at her. She was blocking his way. The other wyverns wheeled in the air around her, but they didn¡¯t attack.


    Slowly, Valerie bent forward, head low to the ground, clawed wings scuffing at the dirt. It¡¯s okay, she tried to say, and made a chirruping sound instead. For several long seconds, nothing happened. Avon only stared.


    Then he cleared his throat. ¡°You¡¯re safe? You want us to¡­ climb on?¡±


    She did the best approximation of a nod she could with her long wyvern¡¯s neck.


    He laughed in disbelief. She smelled the fear on him as well as the grime and the sweat, but he gathered up her human body into his arms, carrying her like a baby, and readied himself to approach.


    ¡°All right,¡± he said, speaking in the soft tones one might use for an animal or a child, ¡°I¡¯m going to come closer. Easy now. No sudden moves.¡±


    He followed his own advice, approaching with care. Valerie stayed still, watching him. When he came within touching distance, she lifted her head and nuzzled his hand. He started, then smiled.


    ¡°We¡¯re friendly. Good. Did Valerie bewitch you? Or¡­¡±


    He glanced down at the girl in his arms, then at the wyvern again. Valerie chuffed and jerked her head, staring pointedly over his shoulder. Avon glanced back.


    ¡°Ah¡­ The sword. Excuse me.¡±


    He moved to lay her human body down, but Valerie extended her wingtip and caught herself instead. She cradled the girl in her wing while Avon retreated to fetch Maska¡¯s sword, and as she peered at her own human face, serene in repose, the strangeness of it all overwhelmed her. As far as out-of-body experiences went, this one might be her most bizarre.


    The girl-Valerie looked small and pale against the black feathers of the wyvern¡¯s wing. Her eyelashes cast tiny shadows over her cheekbones. This small detail fascinated her, because of course she had never seen herself with both eyes closed. Gazing down at this empty vessel, the vulnerability of her own flesh struck her with renewed acuity.


    Resurrection is trivial, read the tomb¡¯s inscription.


    But life was fragile too, she thought. Ghen had burned alive¡ªa horrible sight. If the sword hadn¡¯t consumed him, if he had attacked in some other way, she and Avon might both be dead.


    She puffed out her feathers and stretched her limbs, careful to keep her human body supported. Her ears pricked, and Avon¡¯s footsteps came trudging back. He¡¯d returned the sword to its sheath and slung Ghen¡¯s half-burnt leather backpack over his shoulders. She chirruped a soft greeting and lowered her belly to the ground, allowing him to pick up the girl-Valerie and place her on the wyvern¡¯s back.


    Before Avon climbed on himself, she couldn¡¯t resist bumping his chest with her head. He smiled again and scratched her ear tufts, which felt pleasantly tingly. She crooned in response and rubbed her head against his hand.


    ¡°Like a cat,¡± he murmured. ¡°Val, is that you?¡±


    She didn¡¯t know whether to be amused or offended at the way he¡¯d clocked her. Well, it wasn¡¯t that hard to figure out. She told him to hurry up and get on, which sounded like a croaky growl, then tilted her head to indicate behind her.


    ¡°All right,¡± he said.


    He scratched under her chin, then moved around to climb on her back. She tensed at the weight. The wyvern¡¯s body was as long as a man¡¯s, not counting the head, neck or tail, and powerfully built enough that she thought it could bear two human passengers. Still, she was lighter than she might have expected, which probably meant she had hollow bones like a bird¡¯s. Avon¡¯s legs gripped on either side of her spine, and she felt the uncomfortable urge to shake him off.


    Maybe this was how it felt to be a horse.


    She waited, holding still until he¡¯d stopped shifting. This couldn¡¯t be comfortable for him either. Their horses had saddles and bridles; he had neither. He leaned forward, and she growled when one of his hands pinched her neck feathers. Did he have her human body held secure with his other arm? She couldn¡¯t quite twist back far enough to see them, so she¡¯d have to guess.


    Valerie shuffled around away from the monastery and gazed out at the pillars lining the road. Several wyverns perched atop them, watching at a respectful distance. The sun shone bright in the sky, not quite at its highest point. The afternoon was drawing on.


    Time to go, she thought.


    She dug her back talons into the ground for purchase and took off in a single leap. Avon yelped, and his death grip on her neck feathers tightened to the point of pain. She beat her wings hard, instantly conscious of the additional weight dragging her down. With immense effort, muscles straining, she ascended above the closest pillar, then swooped over the mountain top.


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    The wind whistled through her feathers. Avon shouted something she couldn¡¯t hear. She scanned the earth below, looking for the mountain path, then followed it down to the bridge. The entire journey felt surprisingly quick, only a couple of minutes. Far easier to cover the distance in the air than trudging up the mountain.


    She descended, then landed with what she considered reasonable grace in front of the bridge. Leaning forward, she closed her eyes and searched again for those lines of power leading back to her human body. Heat suffused the glyph on the wyvern¡¯s skin. She focused on it, connected with it¡ª


    And opened her human eyes just as Avon slid off the wyvern¡¯s back. He carried her in his arms, the heat of his body warm and close, strands of hair sticking to his forehead.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she said.


    ¡°Val!¡± He set her down. ¡°You missed the ride. Well¡ª¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t miss it.¡±


    She turned to the wyvern, its eyes fixed on her. It didn¡¯t look confused or scared, merely¡­ attentive. She set her hand on its neck, reaffirming the connection between them.


    ¡°Follow us,¡± she told it. ¡°Protect me when I call for you.¡±


    Avon watched them. ¡°Why have we stopped here?¡±


    ¡°The locket.¡± She crossed the bridge as she answered, moving again from one magical bubble to another. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving it.¡±


    The silver locket lay hidden where she had left it, by the post on the other side of the bridge. Valerie picked it up and put it around her neck. Her wyvern launched into the air. After a moment, Avon followed her.


    ¡°So,¡± he said, ¡°we can¡¯t ride the wyvern while you¡¯re wearing the locket.¡±


    ¡°Nope. Unless you want to go on by yourself.¡±


    With a mountain between them and the village and no horses, the walk would be slow and arduous, but at least they no longer had to worry about the wyverns. Valerie didn¡¯t need to throw a glance back at Avon. She knew what his answer would be.


    *


    They boarded the night train back to Drakardia.


    The journey back from the mountains had taken nearly three hours. To her relief, the surviving horses had made it back to the village. Avon paid compensation to the councilman for the beast they¡¯d lost, and they went on their way.


    She had filled him in on everything she¡¯d seen in the monastery¡ªthe tomb, the black stones, the distant shore¡ªand the spell she¡¯d cast on the wyvern. They¡¯d speculated too on what it all meant. If anything, she thought, they¡¯d left with more questions than answers. Who, if anyone, had occupied the black tomb? How had the monks died? What part had the Patriarch played in all this?


    ¡°I think it was a ritual,¡± she said. ¡°Maybe they woke up whoever was in the tomb. Maybe it was the Patriarch.¡±


    ¡°The Patriarch grew up in Drakardia and travelled to the monastery on a pilgrimage. He wasn¡¯t in the tomb.¡±


    She and Avon shared a private cabin on the train. The soft plush seats felt wonderful after their hard day¡¯s trek. He sat opposite her, skimming through one of the books they¡¯d rescued from the monastery. They weren''t written in the strange runes, so in theory ought to be readable, but they were also badly deteriorated.


    ¡°Hmm.¡± She discarded a cookbook and picked up the next one in the pile, a scruffy leather-bound notebook. ¡°So who was it? Who was the man in the carving?¡±


    ¡°My guess?¡± Avon looked at her. ¡°The Fifth Philosopher.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t he die centuries ago?¡±


    ¡°Over a thousand years ago, yes. As far as we know, all the writers of the original Divinity lived around the same time.¡±


    ¡°Why would the monks resurrect him?¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Perhaps because they revered him.¡±


    ¡°If they revered him so much, why didn¡¯t they resurrect him sooner?¡±


    He pushed his book towards her, flipping it around so that she could read it. ¡°Look at this. Tell me what you think it means.¡±


    Of the two open pages, one was entirely ruined, burned in some places and smudged in others. The second page wasn¡¯t much better. She squinted at only one clear passage:


    Nibhet M. 26. Resurrected.


    Bhrann W. 44. Sacrificed.


    BW committed murder of NM and his own daughter, a maiden, after discovering his daughter with child by NM.


    She looked up. ¡°They didn¡¯t bring back the daughter! She was pregnant!¡±


    He waved an impatient hand. ¡°That¡¯s not the point. One of them was resurrected, and one of them was sacrificed.¡±


    ¡°A life for a life,¡± she said.


    He nodded. ¡°That¡¯s how I read it too. Have you ever heard of such a thing?¡±


    ¡°St. Morta came back to life. She was Maskamere¡¯s first necromancer. But her magic didn¡¯t sacrifice anyone, at least in the stories I heard. And you know I came back without killing anyone. Well, except Lord Gideon.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± said Avon thoughtfully, ¡°as long as the monks believed that a sacrifice was necessary.¡±


    That could be true in more ways than one, she thought. The monks might carry out the sacrifice even if the spell didn¡¯t need it. Or their belief might itself shape the spell, years of tradition and ritual all bound up in that one room with the tomb¡­


    ¡°At least one of them had to be blessed. We know that for sure.¡± An idea occurred to her. ¡°Wait! What if they tried to sacrifice the Patriarch to bring back whoever was in the tomb, only he fought back? Maybe he massacred them instead.¡±


    ¡°Then we still have a missing resurrected man to account for,¡± Avon pointed out. ¡°Unless he was killed too.¡±


    ¡°Or woman,¡± she said, but with little conviction. The monks had all been men. The lid of the tomb depicted a man. Clearly, these dog-headed fools didn¡¯t even value the life of a pregnant woman over that of a man. ¡°Maybe Ghen would have known. Whatever we found in there, he thought it was worth dying for.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Avon, his mouth thinning. ¡°That was¡­ regrettable.¡±


    ¡°The sword consumed him because he wasn¡¯t a child of Maskamere.¡± She tilted her head. ¡°Do you want to talk about that?¡±


    It was the one topic they hadn¡¯t yet broached. She¡¯d hoped that he would bring it up, because she couldn¡¯t get a sense of how he felt. This talk of forty years ago was academic, and she sensed that he was comfortable with that¡ªafter all, it had nothing to do with him¡ªbut they couldn¡¯t keep ignoring it.


    Avon drummed his fingers on the table. ¡°What is there to talk about?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t tell me you didn¡¯t think about it while I was sleeping. While we were trekking up the mountain.¡±


    ¡°I did think about it,¡± he admitted. ¡°I accept the truth of it. That I am, in some sense, a child of Maskamere. Your theory about my grandfather may be right. But it¡¯s¡­¡±


    He trailed off. She leaned forward. ¡°What?¡±


    Avon glanced down. ¡°To tell the truth, I hardly know what to say to you. I¡¯ve had cause to reflect on my actions these past two years. What we did in Maskamere¡ªto you, your people. I believed it was worthwhile to make you part of something greater, for the betterment of the Empire. But to learn that my father would go to war for such a base reason, when he knows full well the connection our family bears to Maskamere¡­¡±


    Another pause. Valerie held her breath.


    Avon met her eyes. ¡°You were right. My father¡¯s end goal was always to destroy, not to build. I disagreed with his strategy, but I still followed his orders. I burned the silvertrees. I killed your people. That, I do regret.¡±


    The enormity of that statement hit her like a train. She gulped, her chest tight. Her eyes filled with tears; she wiped them away.


    ¡°I won¡¯t ask for your forgiveness,¡± he went on. ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to offer it. You¡¯ve always had the right to hate me, and a change of heart is hardly an absolution, particularly under these circumstances. I always wanted you to¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she whispered.


    He took a breath. This entire speech seemed to pain him. ¡°I was going to say submit, but that isn¡¯t quite right.¡±


    Her heart fluttered. For a moment, she hesitated. Then she leaned across the table, sweeping the books aside, and took his hand in her own.


    ¡°I know what you wanted,¡± she said. ¡°All I want is to make it right.¡±


    The firm warmth of his hand sent a shiver through her skin. His eyes, too, kindled with a warmth she hadn¡¯t seen before. She¡¯d never felt more connected to him. She couldn¡¯t help it. Weren¡¯t they alike, in so many ways? He¡¯d done awful things. By any measure, he was a terrible person, but what was greatness if not terrible? She would give him a privilege that few ever enjoyed: the chance to fix his mistakes.


    He nodded slowly. ¡°Thank you for standing by me.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Of course.¡± She withdrew her hand. ¡°Thank you. For believing me. For taking me on this journey.¡±


    Funny how he¡¯d always done what she wanted when it came to magic, she thought. Or maybe not funny, since acquiring the blessing of the silvertrees had benefited him too.


    His expression flickered. Then he glanced out of the window, where a distant black speck soared above the train tracks, and smiled wryly. ¡°Had I known you¡¯d bring home a new companion, I might have been less generous.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± She smiled back. ¡°You¡¯re still my number one.¡±


    The silence that settled over the carriage was a pleasant, anticipatory one. She felt his pleasure radiating out like the sun¡¯s rays, and the same tangled knot in her own heart. What was this sensation?


    She might call it happiness.