Treacherous Witch

“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—except 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.

“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—”

“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—there 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—”

“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—James 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—how 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—instead 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—we 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.”