Treacherous Witch

"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—he 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."

"No? Then what is it?"

"It's just a locket. If you don't like it, I can throw it back in a drawer—"

"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—he wouldn't say why—but 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—I 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—get the whole family to pack up and flee to Bolebund."

"Even if they do, he can still threaten you."

Markus shook his head. "No—listen. I'm in touch with the resistance. We'll get you out—"

"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—"

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—he 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?