Treacherous Witch

“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.”

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—and 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—

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—oh, she was so glad she had her own room—it 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.