Treacherous Witch

"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—I 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—that, she would have to investigate herself—but 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."

"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—and 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—never 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–

Breathe. Focus.

She closed her eyes and breathed. Every time her thoughts distracted her, she brought herself back until, eventually, she slept.