Treacherous Witch

—opens the first page.

The paper is pleasingly thick and creamy. There’s the title, Book of Shadows, in handwritten black ink. But then the letters shimmer, rearranging themselves:

Let’s play a game.

Valerie frowns. The ink bleeds and reforms—

*

The resemblance between father and son was immediately apparent. Though his hair had turned grey and his face was lined, Emperor Reinard stood proud and straight-backed, broad-shouldered, with an intelligent, piercing gaze that assessed each of the guests in turn. His nose was aquiline, his jaw strong, his mouth thin. He was dressed in a waistcoat and tails in the manner of Drakonian noblemen, but the waistcoat was emblazoned with a silver dragon, the symbol of Drakon, and decorated with a jewelled brooch in the shape of a claw.

Seeing him provoked a jumbled mix of feelings. Hatred, to be sure. This man had brought war to her realm. Then the cold sweat of fear, knowing that he could have her executed with a word. And finally, a strange sense of curiosity that kept her from looking away. This Emperor had ruled Drakon for twenty-three years. He had not begun the Empire’s expansion, but he had continued its success.

What did he want now?

“Has my food gone cold again?” the Emperor asked in a deep, grumbling voice.

Avon bowed. “I hope not yet, Father.”

“Father!” Ophelia curtsied, her voice bursting with excitement.

Juliana and Rufus curtsied and bowed too, and Valerie copied them. She was starting to feel like a trained dog.

“Ophelia.” A hint of warmth entered the Emperor’s tone, and he held out his arms. Ophelia dashed to hug him. “Now, now, who is your suitor?”

Rufus bowed again so deeply that Valerie thought his nose would scrape the carpet. “Lord Rufus Falconer, Your Excellency. It’s an honour to meet you.”

Reinard shook Rufus’s hand, Ophelia beaming beside him. They exchanged several pleasantries, commenting on the weather and the journey overseas. Meanwhile, Valerie’s stomach continued to churn. She glanced at Avon, who had clasped his hands behind his back, seemingly unperturbed.

“Sit, sit,” said Reinard, gesturing at Ophelia and Rufus. Then he turned to Avon. “Now, my son. It’s good to see you returned home.”

“It’s good to be home,” Avon replied.

“And you’ve brought a companion.”

Reinard’s eyes slid to her. Hazel flecked with green. Not at all like his children. And unlike his children, his gaze was dark and disapproving.

“I have,” said Avon. If he noticed his father’s expression, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Father, meet Lady Valerie.”

Valerie dipped her head. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Excellency.”

The Emperor reached out for her hand, and she let him take it. Her hand vanished into his, her wrist looking small and delicate, and she had the sudden mad thought that he might snap it. Avon had stabbed that same hand not so long ago…

But all the Emperor did was kiss the back of her palm. Then he straightened up, gaze sweeping her up and down.

She sensed Avon tense beside her. The room was dead silent. Everyone watching.

“Hmm,” said Reinard. “Pretty.”

He let go and turned back to his seat. Valerie stood stock-still, paralysed by a sensation she had rarely felt before. Insignificance. As if her worth had been assessed and summed up in a single word, one that might describe a songbird or a colourful scarf.

That attitude wasn’t new, of course. She’d been called everything from dazzling to exotic by Drakonian noblemen, at least some of whom had appeared to think they were paying her a compliment. But she didn’t care what they thought of her. The opinion of the Emperor, on the other hand, could determine not only her own future, but the future of her country.

I have to win him over, she thought.

“Sit,” said Reinard, and everyone did.

They had to wait one more minute while Juliana said a prayer to the Divine, and then finally the servants uncovered the trays, revealing an entire roast pheasant, some kind of buttery potato and leek mash, and long sprigs of kale. Pheasant was a new dish for Valerie, but she was willing to try it.

She was less sure about how this dinner was going to go. At the royal palace in Jairah, she’d dined in hall with the lords and ladies where the conversation had been strictly trivial and polite. She assumed that the same social rules applied here, but one could never be sure with family gatherings.

Valerie cut up small pieces of pheasant and observed the conversation.

“A delicious meal, Mother,” said Avon. “You’ve kept the house in good order.”

Juliana inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord.”

But the Emperor had snubbed her, Valerie thought. He’d greeted both his children and their guests, but neglected to say a word to Juliana. Was that normal or an insult?

“It’s all just as I left it,” said Ophelia. “I feel right at home.” Then she looked at Rufus and flushed. “I mean, of course Maskamere was wonderful too. I hope one day I can make just as wonderful a home there.”

Rufus waved a hand, swallowing a mouthful of mash. “Don’t worry yourself, my lady. We all long for the comfort of home.”

Ophelia smiled, visibly relaxing.

Juliana dabbed her mouth. “And where do you call home, Lord Falconer?”

“Cirkra, Your Grace.” Rufus glanced at Valerie. “The seat of northern Maskamere, since Bolebund was razed to the ground.”

Valerie choked on her kale. She started coughing long enough that Avon placed a concerned hand on her arm.

“Valerie, are you quite all right?”

“Yes, my lord,” she managed, grabbing for her glass of wine. She gulped it down, which helped.

Bolebund razed to the ground.

It wasn’t news, exactly. She knew that the Drakonian army had broken through and conquered the city, in no small part thanks to her own actions. But the words Rufus had used sounded so… final. She’d wondered about the fate of her cousin Lavinia who had fled to the city, but she hadn’t asked Avon about it.

Maybe she didn’t want to know the answer.

“Cirkra is a port town,” said Avon. “Not too far from Carth, which should make it a convenient stop on the route to Jairah. I daresay Lord Falconer will make it our base of operations in the north.”

“I look forward to it,” said Rufus.

“Do you know it, Valerie?” Juliana asked.

The question felt rude, especially when she had only just gotten her breathing back to normal. But Valerie nodded.

“I’m from the north too, Your Grace. But my home now is the capital, Jairah.”

“The palace, no less,” said Reinard, his gaze on her, “isn’t that right?”

Valerie frowned, but Avon answered for her.

“The palace,” he said, “yes. The seat of my court. It’s rather splendid. We should arrange a visit.”

“Hmm.” Reinard was still looking at her. “So what made you see the light?”

She didn’t understand. “The light, Your Excellency?”

“The light of the Empire.”

Oh. Half a dozen answers ran through her head. She couldn’t tell him the truth, of course. She’d experienced a Divine miracle? Accepted the inevitability of defeat? Swooned into her lord’s strong and loving arms?

Rufus nodded over at Avon. “Perhaps this handsome fellow won you over.”

“He did, Your Excellency,” she said. “And Lady Ophelia too; you’ve been a wonderful friend. I couldn’t ask for a better companion on my journey. I won’t pretend that it’s been easy. But I think when… when you spend time with the people you once saw as the enemy, when you eat with them, laugh with them… Well, I realised that I was grateful to your family for taking me in. And to Lord Avon, especially, for accepting me as I am. Any other Chancellor would have burned me at the stake. Lord Avon protected me.”

Her heart fluttered with every word. She couldn’t get a single one wrong. It all had to be perfect, said in the right tone, the right cadence, and with the right mix of gratitude, deference and resignation.

Eyes downcast, she glanced around the room from under her lashes. Ophelia, of course, radiated joy. Juliana’s polite smile gave little away. Rufus concerned her because he could quite easily call her out, yet he’d chosen to help her. Only a raised eyebrow told her that he recognised the performance.

“Our arrangement is mutually beneficial,” said Avon, picking up where she had left off. “I protect Valerie in return for her service. An apt metaphor for the benefits of Empire, don’t you think?”

He was looking at his father. And the Emperor was looking at her, smiling at her with cold, calculating eyes. She sensed in him a vulture circling with a patience born of experience.

“Quite,” he said softly.

“Oh, you are so unromantic!” Ophelia chided her brother. The tension dissipated. Valerie shifted in her chair, relieved.

Avon chuckled. “I think I get that from you, Father. You should hear how he proposed to Mother.”

With that, the conversation returned to lighter topics. Reinard regaled the guests with the story of his failed marriage proposal to his first wife, which had been so dry and business-like she’d demanded that he try again. Valerie returned to her meal, laughing when the others laughed though she didn’t get the joke. At the other end of the table, Juliana listened in stony silence. Still, the Emperor’s mood seemed to have lifted.

Had she made a favourable first impression? Hard to say. She hoped so.

Dessert rolled around: some kind of trifle decorated with raspberries. Valerie found it almost too sweet and ate slowly. She was still wrestling with the basic question of how and whether to join in the chatter. Drakonian custom dictated that ladies ought to be demure and let their lords speak first, but ladies were also expected to be entertaining, charming and delightful in social situations.

She didn’t feel up to being any of those things right now.

“Have you seen Edrick today?” Reinard asked Avon.

“Yes,” Avon replied. “He seems to be in good health.”

“He was delighted to see us,” Ophelia added.

Reinard’s gaze was still fixed on Avon. “It’s past time you had another. Always have a spare.”

Avon’s mouth tightened. Valerie glanced at Juliana, whose expression had flickered, one hand shifting to her belly.

“How is Edrick’s education progressing?” Avon asked.

“Well enough,” Juliana answered. “His tutors are satisfied with his progress.”

“Satisfied?”

The Emperor chuckled. “You should know, my lady, satisfaction is not good enough. My house demands excellence.”

“I should like to speak to his tutors,” said Avon. “Ensure they are up to standard.”

Juliana’s smile was brittle. “Of course, my lord.”

“He spoke of going fishing with the Gaffer today,” Avon went on.

“The Gaffer?” Reinard frowned. “The gardener?”

“Yes. The boy shouldn’t be mingling with servants or commoners without prior approval. How was this allowed to happen?”

The question itself was not aimed at anyone in particular, but Avon’s gaze fell on Juliana, and the attention of the other guests followed him.

“They get along perfectly well,” said Juliana, a flush creeping into her cheeks, “and the child needs a father figure. Of course, His Excellency has his duties to perform, and you were…”

“I have my duties to perform also.” Avon matched the chilliness of Juliana’s tone perfectly. “As you well know.”

“Of course, my lord.” Juliana glanced at the Emperor, but he said nothing. “I’ll speak to the governess.”

“Well,” said Rufus, “I must confess, this is all very enlightening. I never had much of a father figure in my youth. Lots of uncles.”

“You didn’t have a father?” Ophelia was wide-eyed.

“None of us did.” Rufus looked at her, but Valerie said nothing. She knew this was not a safe topic for dinner. “One thing I’m glad is changing in Maskamere. I love my nieces and nephews, snot-nosed brats and all, but it’ll be quite something to raise my own child.”

That annoyed her enough to speak up. “A man like you? You’ve probably fathered half a dozen children already.”

Shock rippled around the dining table.

Rufus chuckled. “I wouldn’t like to say.”

“I imagine you’ll like to say you haven’t,” said Avon, “if you wish to take my sister’s hand in marriage.”

There was a short silence.

“Right,” said Rufus. “No kids.”

“The more I hear about Maskamere, the more dreadful it sounds.” Juliana shook her head. “If only Emmett had never set foot there.”

“He performed his duty for the Empire.” Reinard’s eyes were not sympathetic. “He’ll receive his honours.”

Valerie glanced at Avon. “Emmett?” she whispered.

“Lord Gideon,” he murmured back.

Gideon. Well, now she’d lost her appetite.

“I’m so sorry that we must be the bearers of bad news, Mother,” said Ophelia. “We were all shocked to hear it.”

“But it isn’t all bad news,” Avon added. “We’ve destroyed the last of the rebels, and Maskamere is now flourishing under the Empire’s rule. Our guests tonight are proof of that: a new dawn of friendship and prosperity. Shall we drink to that?”

Rufus raised his glass. “Happily.”

Avon held out his glass to her. “To friendship and prosperity.”

The others at the table followed suit, some with more enthusiasm than others. Valerie was one of the less enthusiastic ones.

“To friendship and prosperity,” she echoed.

But as they drank, she couldn’t help but feel that the seeds of conflict still lurked right there under the surface.

*

The servants whisked their empty plates away. Valerie’s stomach roiled. Dinner had come to an end, and she had enjoyed it about as much as she had expected. She sensed no warmth on the part of either the Emperor or Lady Juliana towards her, but that was no surprise. Rather, she wondered at Avon’s coldness towards Juliana. The Emperor’s wife would soon give birth to Avon’s newest sibling. He ought to be treating her with the utmost respect.

But that was a Maskamery way of thinking.

As Avon rose from his seat, she did the same, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “Can we talk?”

He met her eyes, then nodded.

Rufus got up. “It’s been an honour, Your Excellency. Good night, ladies. Gentlemen.”

He bowed and departed. Ophelia started moving towards the door too when the Emperor waved a hand.

“Ophelia, stay. Family meeting. Begone, the rest of you.”

Juliana bid them good night, then retreated through the door and out of sight. One by one, the servants in the room did the same. That left Valerie, Avon and Ophelia at the dining table with the Emperor.

Valerie stayed where she was, clinging to Avon’s arm.

Reinard’s gaze fell on her. “The girl too.”

Avon shifted to dislodge her grip, but Valerie wouldn’t budge. She’d behaved almost impeccably all night. He couldn’t say she hadn’t tried, especially in these uncomfortable shoes. She’d played the part she had been given, the same as Rufus. But unlike Rufus, she had another agenda at play.

It was time to take a risk.

Valerie cleared her throat. “I’ll stay.”

“Valerie,” Avon warned her.

She ignored him, fixing her gaze on the Emperor. “Your Excellency, are you going to talk about Maskamere? I helped Lord Avon stop the rebels. Whatever it is you want to do next, I can help with that too.”

She sensed the contained anger in Avon. His jaw had gone tight, his shoulders tense. He could yell at her later. The Emperor stared at her, and she was hoping, praying, that her guess was right and Reinard resembled his son in more than just looks. Avon had never been able to resist her impertinence.

“I apologise,” said Avon stiffly, “for my paramour’s impertinence.”

Ha, she thought.

“I didn’t mean to offend, Your Excellency. I only wish to say that I’m here to serve your family. I hope you’ll give me a chance to prove that to you.”

Reinard laughed. It was not an amused laugh.

“So,” he said. “We finally meet the witch.”