Treacherous Witch

“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—” Tears ran down Flavia’s beautiful cheeks.

Quintus was shaking. He fell to his knees—a 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—”

“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—in front of the court.”

“And?” she demanded.

“Lady Valerie—I 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—and 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—the 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—meaning 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—you 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—a 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— 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—the entire priesthood—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—as 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.”