Treacherous Witch

—recoils, overwhelmed.

“It’s locked?”

“Sealed,” says Glynda. “Only you can open it, and it will only show you that which you’re ready to learn.”

That night, Valerie lights the oil lamp in her study with a practised flick of her hand and sets the book down on her desk. She unclasps it, trembling, then—

*

Lady Melody’s parting words did nothing good for Valerie’s nerves as she returned to her booth. She felt as if she was jumping headfirst into a trap.

“Look!” said Lady Ophelia. “Drakardia.”

The sun had set behind distant mountains. A pale fog descended, obscuring their view. And from the dim twilight, the city of Drakardia emerged.

A great, sprawling mass, its lights shone through the gloom like fireflies in a marsh. Street lamps illuminated tightly packed dwellings. The occasional green was quickly swallowed up by monstrous blocks of stone. It went on and on, seemingly without end. Jairah, Bolebund, Orlin: they were stick villages in comparison. Drakardia dwarfed them all.

The train raced over a bridge, and Valerie gazed out at a river crowded with boats, some as large as the Stormdrake. The buildings on the riverfront were enormous too: great towers, halls and courthouses. Drakonian flags fluttered on high; Drakonian pennants flew on the mastheads of the ships; Drakonian banners draped between tall windows.

“The Senate House,” said Ophelia, pointing at one of the state buildings. “And the Cathedral of All Eternity.”

Imposing. Impenetrable. Imperious. The cathedral was breathtaking in scale. Its walls stretched along the bank, crowding out the buildings on either side like a man sprawling with his legs unnecessarily far apart. Marble archways and pointed spires reached a dizzying height into the sky. The people walking by looked like specks.

Valerie looked on the heart of the Empire, and her own heart quailed.

But other parts of the city were less than grand. Beyond the river, narrow alleyways zigzagged past soot-covered buildings and towers belching out smoke. A series of wagons rolled past the train, each pulled by thin bony horses held by thin bony men. They were gone before she could look again.

The train continued on its way. In the distance, a lake shimmered under the clouded sky. The tracks curved towards it, the city flashing by. A dark mass became visible through the mist. Another bridge crossed from the mainland over the lake to…

“Is that an island?”

“The Dragon’s Spine,” said Ophelia. “Home.”

Grand villas dotted the island, each with their own grounds. But the view was quickly lost to the misty lake, the train now racing across the water.

“The Dragon’s Spine,” she repeated. “The Emperor lives here?”

“It’s our summer home,” Ophelia explained. “Father spends his week at the Congress and returns here to rest on holy days. Oh, but he should be back tonight. We sent a message ahead to let him know, and I told Rufus—I mean, Lord Falconer to be on his very best behaviour, so…”

She took a breath, and Valerie realised for the first time that Ophelia was nervous too. Of course. She was about to present her suitor to her father. And, Valerie thought, her stomach dropping, Lord Avon is about to present me.

The train slowed down when they reached the shore. Finally, they halted, and as Ophelia held out her arm with a warm smile, Valerie felt an immense sense of gratitude that she wasn’t alone.

*

Only Lord Avon, Lady Ophelia, Rufus, Valerie and their servants had the privilege of staying in the Emperor’s private residence during this visit.

That included Captain Doryn and his guards, who escorted them through an iron-wrought gate and into the grounds. The clipped hedges and rounded tree tops created an odd, artificial air. Valerie couldn’t say whether this villa was larger or grander than the rest, but she would not have guessed it belonged to the Emperor himself. There was no Drakonian flag, no ornate statues, no obvious insignia. Servants lined up by the entrance dressed in black livery not unlike the standard uniform of a Drakonian guard.

A man with a handlebar moustache came to greet them. “Welcome home, my lord.”

“Moss,” said Avon, giving the man an affectionate clap on the back. “See to it that Captain Doryn and his men receive a warm welcome, will you? We’ve had a long journey.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Meanwhile, the door to the villa opened, and a woman stepped out. Tall and blonde, her upturned nose and arched eyebrows gave her a supercilious look. She wore a pale pink shawl drawn around her shoulders, her hands clasped over her pregnant belly.

“Lord Avon,” the woman said, dipping her head. “Lady Ophelia.”

Avon bowed, the woman lifting her hand for him to kiss. “Mother. I see congratulations are in order.”

Valerie blinked, startled. Mother? But the woman looked no older than Avon himself.

Ophelia curtsied. “We’re so glad to be back, Mother. Is Father here?”

“He’ll join us for dinner. Who are your guests?”

Valerie was hanging back along with Rufus, unsure how to behave. Rufus stepped forward and mimicked Avon’s gesture, leaning forward to kiss the back of the woman’s hand.

“A pleasure, my lady,” he said.

Sycophant, she thought. But Ophelia looked pleased as she introduced him, so he must have behaved appropriately.

“Lord Falconer,” Ophelia finished, “may we introduce our stepmother, the Empress Juliana.”

Juliana smiled a cool smile. “Delighted.”

“And may I introduce Lady Valerie,” said Avon, placing his hand on the small of her back to nudge her forward.

Valerie attempted an awkward curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.”

“Your Grace,” Juliana corrected her.

Valerie frowned, cheeks heating. The Empress hadn’t corrected Rufus.

“You must have had a long journey,” Juliana continued. “Please, come in. Make yourselves at home.”

“Of course,” said Avon. “It’s our house. Summon Edrick to my quarters.”

He took Valerie’s arm and swept past Juliana, whose expression was a mask of forced calm. Valerie had no idea why things were so tense. Avon’s manservant hauled their luggage through the hallways; Priska followed at her shoulder.

They entered a set of rooms panelled in dark wood: a lounge, study, bedchamber and adjacent bath chamber. Avon whispered a quiet word to Priska, who dipped her head and departed.

Valerie folded her arms, feeling very unsure. “The Empress…”

“Our mother in name only,” Avon answered, guessing her unasked question correctly. “Father’s latest wife.”

“Latest? He’s had more than one?”

Avon had shucked off his coat and was now directing his manservant to run a bath. “She would be the third. Our mother passed a decade ago. Father remarried shortly after, but his new wife produced no heirs. Lady Juliana has been quick to remedy that.”

She was burning with more questions, but the mention of his real mother stopped her. Poor Ophelia would have only been a child when their mother died.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment.

“No matter,” said Avon briskly. “Would you like to...” A soft knock at the door interrupted him. “Enter.”

A matron walked in holding the hand of a child, a small boy with tousled dark hair. Valerie blinked in surprise, then she remembered what Avon had said earlier.

“Father!”

“Edrick.” Avon dropped into a crouch as the little boy ran to him, then swept him up in his arms. “Look at you! You’ve grown into a proper little man.”

The warmth and affection in his tone was palpable. And the little boy was basking in his father’s praise. He was a miniature Avon, dressed like him in a shirt, waistcoat and trousers, his hair the exact same shade of brown, his eyes bright and inquisitive.

She felt a strange pang watching them. Like Avon, this boy had no mother.

“I caught a fish!” Edrick spread his arms. “It was this big! Gaffer showed me how.”

“Did he? That’s an enormous fish. Are we having it for dinner?” Avon glanced up, catching her eye, and gestured for Valerie to join them. “Edrick, I want you to meet my companion, Lady Valerie.”

She crouched down next to him so that she could address the little boy at eye level. “Hey there.”

The boy’s eyes met hers. Blue as the ocean, she thought, like his father. “Val'rie.”

“Now, then,” said Avon. He took her hand, standing up, and Valerie rose with him. “How do you address a lady?”

Edrick looked at her for a moment. Then he did the perfect imitation of a bow before holding out his hand. “A pleasure, my lady.”

Valerie couldn’t help but smile. She let Edrick take her hand and kiss the back of it. “The same to you, my lord.”

“Sir,” Avon corrected her as Edrick stepped back, looking pleased with himself. “He’s Master Edrick until he comes of age. All right, be off with you.”

He ruffled the boy’s hair and sent him on his way. The matron curtsied, then the pair of them departed.

Valerie looked at Avon. “You’ll have to tell me the correct forms of address. That’s the second time I’ve gotten it wrong today.”

Avon nodded. “You’ll learn.”

She walked around the room, taking it in. “Edrick seems like a sweet boy. How old is he?”

“Almost five. I feared he had forgotten me.”

“It didn’t look like it.”

“Well, my father spent very little time with me as a boy. We were brought up by our governess. I always thought to do better, but…”

“You were called away,” she said softly. To Maskamere. To war.

“Yes.” Avon cleared his throat. “My sister’s quarters are just along the hallway. Now, I think it’s better that you stay with her. I’m not sure that Lord Falconer appreciates the value of chastity before marriage.”

“Chastity?”

She heard the word in Lady Melody’s voice for some reason. It took her a moment to remember why: Melody had explained the concept in one of their etiquette lessons. Chastity meant no intimacy outside of the marriage bed.

This definition had left Valerie even more confused. After all, Melody and Lord Gideon weren’t married.

“Nor are you and Lord Avon,” Melody had replied. “We’re all terrible hypocrites.”

Avon was looking at her, and she suddenly realised what he had said. “Oh! But… Is that all right? Won’t your father be expecting us to…?”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Then how should I behave?”

“Be your usual charming self.”

There was a twinkle in his eye. Valerie looked away. She wanted to be playful, but the words caught in her throat.

“I…” She stopped. “I’m scared. I’m scared that if I put one foot wrong, I’ll…”

“I won’t let that happen.” He stepped forward, taking her hands, and the warmth of his skin sent heat curling through her. “You’re not going to die here, Val. Trust me.”

The gentleness in his tone calmed her. And his face, usually stern, lingered perhaps with a trace of the affection he had shown to Edrick. She craved it. His kindness, his favour.

Her life depended on it.

She smiled up at him. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Well, then,” he said. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

*

To her relief, Ophelia didn’t question their new arrangement. In fact, she seemed excited by it.

“I always wanted to have a sister,” she confessed. “We’ll make up a bed for each of us. Would you like to take the first bath?”

Valerie refused, feeling that she was already imposing as Ophelia’s guest. Her quarters were better than Avon’s in her opinion, both lighter and airier. Instead of wood panelling, the walls in the drawing room were white and decorated with artwork of exotic birds, and she found a comfortable seat in an alcove overlooking the gardens.

She wasn’t sure if Ophelia was being polite or if the girl was really that naive about the relationship between herself and Avon. Surely not. And while Valerie appreciated that he hadn’t pressed the issue, she did wonder what the Emperor would make of their arrangement.

Lady Melody’s lessons in etiquette hadn’t covered a scenario like this.

Still, she ran through it again mentally while she bathed and dressed. By the time she was ready, everyone else had already gone down for dinner. They rose to greet her when she stepped through the arched doorway: Ophelia and Rufus on one side, Lord Avon on the other, and Lady Juliana at the far end of the table, turning to face her.

Valerie swallowed. Her empty stomach was a pit of nerves.

“Lady Valerie.”

Avon bowed. One of two male servants stepped forward to pull out her chair, Valerie seating herself next to Avon.

At least she had dressed for the occasion. She was a proper Drakonian lady tonight: fitted corset, ankle-length gown, pinned-up hair. Valerie had secretly added her own flair too, an embroidered pattern of her signature roses flowing around the skirt. And though she couldn’t imbue it with any magic, it was some small comfort to know that she was wearing a piece of home.

Juliana greeted her. “Lady Valerie. Good evening.”

The plates had been set, fine porcelain and silver tableware, but the food and drink had yet to be served. Four large covered trays awaited in the middle of the table, alongside bottles of wine in porcelain boats filled to the brim with ice cubes. But the servants retreated to stand unobtrusively with their backs to the walls, making no move to serve the food.

One seat remained: a wing-backed armchair at the head of the table.

“Are we waiting for...?”

“The Emperor,” said Juliana, at the same time as Avon answered, “Father.”

Juliana flushed and apologised to Avon for interrupting him. He waved her off. An awkward silence descended.

Rufus caught her eye, frowning at her, and she shrugged in response. No, she had no idea what to do either. A minute or so passed. Juliana gazed serenely at her lap. Ophelia fidgeted. Avon was still. Valerie felt sure she could smell the food hidden on those serving trays and hoped the Emperor would hurry up before it all went cold.

Where was Edrick? Perhaps he was considered too young to dine with them. She thought of the meals with the Crescent family and how they all piled together around the table, mothers and infants and everyone in between. A wave of homesickness ran through her.

A sharp rap on the door startled Valerie back to the present. In stepped the servant who had welcomed them when they’d arrived: Moss, the man with the handlebar moustache.

The man bowed. “May I present His Excellency, Emperor Reinard, Commander of the Drakonian Empire and Chancellor of the Republic of Drakon.”

Juliana, Ophelia and Avon got to their feet at once, scraping their chairs back. Valerie and Rufus hastily followed suit.

Moss stood aside. In his place, another man stepped forward. Valerie’s stomach flipped. Here he was at last.

Avon’s father.