Treacherous Witch

“—we run, got it? That’s our only chance.”

As the sun dips low in the sky, one of the priestesses dashes into the village with a horrible message. The Drakonians have broken through the border.

They flee to the convent. Valerie clings to her mother with one hand and grasps Lukas’ hand tightly with the other. Glynda closes the gates—

*

Valerie walked arm-in-arm with Lord Avon into the Patriarch’s court.

The Senate House’s great stone visage greeted her, flanked by statues of twin wyverns on either side of the entrance. One of the wyverns appeared to be taking off, its feathery wings spread in a frozen leap. The other’s head pointed down, wings folded and teeth bared as if pouncing on its prey.

They stepped through the double doors into a gleaming hall. Avon hurried her through, their footsteps echoing between the marble columns. A group of noblemen passed them by, while attendants watched from every door. All stared at her. Valerie ignored them, acting like she didn't care. But her mouth was dry.

She would not have known where to go, but Avon steered her around a corner and through into another, smaller hall. Stone steps led down into a wide, round chamber. Light poured down from a circle of glass in the ceiling, illuminating a mosaic on the floor. The tiles depicted a regal woman with flowing white hair standing on the prow of a ship. In her left hand, she held aloft a shining crystal. In her right, a set of brass scales.

Valerie’s eyes were drawn to the figure, and then to the seats arranged in concentric circles around the main floor. Senators in purple robes whispered and nudged each other as they approached. Old men, whiskery men, bearded men. Drakonian faces, pale and sharp.

Her stomach flipped. This court would decide their fate.

One section of the chamber was cordoned off, a viewing box of sorts. The men here were dressed differently—she recognised Lord Thorne in his bishop’s robes, and then to her shock Captain Doryn, who looked up and grimly met Avon’s eyes.

Avon showed her to the box. There they sat to await their turn, for the Senate had many things to discuss.

Valerie took a shaky breath, smoothing out her skirt. Priska had applied a copious amount of powder beneath her eyes that morning to conceal the shadows. The sick feeling in her stomach hadn’t gone away, to the point that she wondered if she was actually coming down with something. And she couldn’t heal.

“It’s not a court of law,” Avon had told her. “Don’t forget that. They can’t convict you, and they can’t pass any sentence. But we are on trial. Consider every word you say.”

“What about your father? What did he say?”

“He gave me some poor advice,” Avon had replied, “which I shan’t take.”

He wouldn’t be drawn on what that advice had been, but it didn’t make her feel any better knowing that Avon and his father were still at odds. The Emperor wasn’t here.

Below them, an old man standing on a wooden podium droned on to the others. She searched the faces of the senators again. In a sea of purple, one man wore white and gold. He sat in his marble chair like a throne.

The Patriarch.

As Valerie stared, fingernails digging into her palms, the Patriarch looked up and met her eyes. His mouth curved into a slow smile, and she looked away, trembling with fear and disgust.

Next to her, Avon’s hand brushed over hers. “Stay calm.”

The Patriarch rose to his feet. “We thank the noble senator for his most brief introduction.” The old man shuffled off the floor to smiles and a few chuckles. “Now, to the next order of business. We the Senate have summoned Lord James Avon here today to discuss his governance of Maskamere. The Senate has noted certain irregularities of late concerning the decisions of the Maskamery Council and the conduct of its Chancellor. To that end, we invite the esteemed bishop, Lord Eugene Thorne, to the floor.”

Startled, Valerie glanced across at Thorne, who was already making his way out of the box. Several faces craned up to look at Avon and her, but then Thorne stepped on to the podium and the chamber hushed into silence.

“Honourable gentlemen,” said Lord Thorne, “noble senators, and Your Eminence, I thank you for allowing me the chance to speak. For the past two years, I have served as Bishop in the Royal Palace of Jairah. My mission was to spread the Divine word to the people of Maskamere and to provide holy service for the lords and ladies of the palace. As such, I was an honorary member of Lord Avon’s Council, and it was my privilege to provide ecclesiastical advice to the Chancellor as and when required.”

He licked his lips.

“It was some four months after Lord Avon’s arrival in Maskamere that I noticed a disturbing change in his behaviour. He had taken in a Maskamery girl, a courtesan, from among the prince’s insurgents. Almost immediately he sought to promote witchcraft and pardon those who practised it. Not a single witch has burned since Lord Avon became Chancellor, nor a single silvertree cut down.”

“Regrettable,” said the Patriarch, “but can you offer the Senate any particular evidence, Lord Thorne?”

“Yes,” said Thorne. “A matter I witnessed myself. As part of my mission, I had taken another Maskamery girl under my wing, intending to set her on a righteous path towards the Divine. Unfortunately, she proved too stubborn in her heathen ways, and I dismissed her. Lord Avon himself came storming into my chapel, his Maskamery girl on his arm, to insist that I take care of my charge—an entitlement she did not deserve. He was quite open about the fact that his consort had put him up to this. It was her idea. She whispered in his ear, and Lord Avon listened.”

Whispers flowed around the Senate. Valerie clenched her fists in her lap, bursting with outrage. She glanced at Avon. Cool as ice. And more of the senators were staring…

“You believe that Lord Avon was influenced by this courtesan,” said the Patriarch.

“More than that,” Thorne answered. “I believe she put a spell on him. The girl is a witch by her own admission and by Lord Avon’s.”

“You witnessed this?”

Thorne shook his head. “The entire court did, Your Eminence. Such was the flagrant arrogance displayed by this witch. She believed she could get away with anything. Lord Avon had her strike a criminal down dead in front of the court and then amuse the courtiers with her magic tricks.” His lip curled. “They spoke openly of promoting witchcraft. That was when I wrote to you, Your Eminence. I knew I had to bring this matter to your attention.”

“Thank you, Lord Thorne.” The Patriarch nodded, and Thorne stepped off the podium. “Captain Doryn.”

She nearly jumped. Doryn! Why had the Patriarch summoned him? Would he really testify against them? She looked at Avon, who gave an imperceptible shake of his head.

Doryn’s loyal, she thought. He won’t betray us…

Standing on the podium without his armour, Doryn looked deeply uncomfortable. “My lords,” he muttered.

“Captain Doryn,” said the Patriarch. “You serve as the head of Lord Avon’s personal guard.”

“I do, Your Eminence.”

“Have you also witnessed Lord Avon consorting with a witch?”

“I have, Your Eminence. It was no secret.”

“And after meeting this witch, did you notice any change in Lord Avon’s behaviour?”

“No.”

The Patriarch’s eyebrows rose. “You deny Lord Thorne’s word?”

Doryn hesitated. Sweat beaded his brow. The tension was immense just watching him; Valerie couldn’t imagine what it was like down there. She held her breath.

“I don’t deny Lord Thorne his opinion, Your Eminence.” Doryn spoke in a slow, measured tone. “I can only offer my own.”

She glanced again at Avon. A muscle in his face twitched. That was a good answer.

“What of the witch?” the Patriarch asked. “What did you glean of her intentions?”

“I believe she intended to flee.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“She tried to flee,” said Doryn drily.

“Lord Thorne tells us that she killed a man. Did you witness that?”

“I’ve seen her kill four men,” Doryn answered, eliciting more murmurs around the chamber. “Including your son, Your Eminence.”

The ripple that went around the chamber was more pronounced, but it wasn’t shocked. The Senate already knew that she had killed Lord Gideon, then. Great.

“Yes,” said the Patriarch softly. “My son. How was this witch allowed to murder my son without consequence?”

“Because the Chancellor commanded it.”

Whispers filled the chamber. Senators craned their heads to look at herself and Avon, their stares hostile. Her face burned. This line of questioning could only damn them, and it seemed like the Patriarch knew it because he pressed his point.

“What happened, Captain? What events led to my son’s death?”

“I…” Doryn cleared his throat. “I and my men were ordered to escort Lord Avon into the palace temple. Lord Gideon and his men brought the witch to us. Lord Gideon… claimed that the girl was a thief. The confrontation turned violent. That’s when the Chancellor gave the command.”

“Why would the Chancellor command such a thing?”

Doryn shook his head. “I am not privy to the reasoning of my superiors, Your Eminence.”

“So you would follow a man who used a witch to kill his own people?”

Maska help him, she thought. How was he going to answer that?

Again, Doryn paused. “I serve Lord Avon,” he said. “If I believed that he was not fit to govern, I would escalate the matter to the capital.”

The Patriarch’s eyes were implacable. “Do you have a soft spot for this witch?”

Doryn stiffened. “No.”

But he looked rattled. Maybe she only saw it because she knew him, but if anyone in the Senate sensed it too…

It doesn’t matter, she thought, as the Patriarch thanked Doryn for his time and the captain departed the floor with obvious relief. He didn’t pursue the question because he doesn’t want the truth. He only needs to sow enough doubt to turn them against Avon.

And she would soon be facing this monstrous interrogation too. But first…

“Lord Avon.”

A pang went through her as Avon approached the floor. She felt his absence in the empty seat beside her, as if a protective layer had been stripped away. Doryn returned to the next seat over, and she wanted to thank him, but she didn’t think it would be wise to do so now.

Avon stepped up to the podium. He cut a stark figure on the floor in his black coat, the sleeves embroidered with silver wings. If he was angry, he hid it well. Valerie would have been seething.

“Well, Lord Avon,” said the Patriarch. “We’ve heard some serious concerns about your conduct in Maskamere. What do you have to say?”

“As ever, I appreciate your concern, Your Eminence,” said Avon, “and I’m pleased to hear that the Senate is taking such an interest in my little province. Maskamere is a unique and special realm. I believe its many riches will be of great benefit to the Empire. As for my conduct, you should first of all be assured that neither I nor Lord Thorne nor any of our companions are bewitched. The influence of Maskamere’s magic extends only to its borders. If any enchantment had been laid upon us, it would have broken the second we departed Maskamere’s shores, and my witch would not have lived to tell the tale.”

He glanced up at Valerie, then back to the Senate.

“Perhaps it will dismay you more to know that I pursued her of my own volition. I took in this girl knowing that she was a witch and intending to make use of her powers to consolidate our hold over Maskamere. To that end, she has served me well.”

The Patriarch fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve. “The Church forbids it. Such unholy magic is, after all, blasphemy. Did we not burn the silvertrees to erase the evil of witchcraft from this world?”

“We burned the silvertrees to win the war,” Avon replied. “I believe magic is part of the Divine creation. A natural phenomenon like anything else. I took the advice of a scholar who has been studying these matters for decades and set myself the task of taming a witch. In that I succeeded. The girl now acts at my will.”

He was playing it right, she thought, scanning the faces of the senators. They had used this same tactic at the court in Jairah. The Drakonians sought to destroy any power they could not control. Avon was telling them that he had mastery over both her and her magic.

“Then you take full responsibility for her actions.”

“Yes,” said Avon. “Nor did I act in secret. I would not hide in the shadows in pursuit of some dark task as if it shamed me. Quite the opposite: I had the confidence of the Council in Maskamere before I proceeded. Lord Gideon himself spoke out in favour.”

“In favour of magic?” The Patriarch sounded disbelieving.

Avon nodded. “Lord Thorne can confirm it.”

All eyes turned on the bishop. Thorne squirmed. “Yes,” he admitted. “Lord Gideon supported it.”

More murmurs rippled among the senators. In some faces, doubt replaced hostility. It would be fitting, she thought, if his son’s machinations caused the Patriarch to lose this argument.

“If Lord Gideon supported your blasphemy,” said the Patriarch, “why did you kill him?”

“Forgive me, Your Eminence,” said Avon, “but you are not Master of Justice, and I am not standing trial for killing a man. It’s my duty as Chancellor to act in the interests of Maskamere and the Empire. That is what I did, and if you wish to hold me to account for it, I suggest you try me in a real court.”

Silence fell. Valerie held her breath. The Patriarch’s jowls quivered, his cheeks white with rage.

But he said nothing.

“My honourable gentlemen,” Avon continued, warming to his theme, “let us not be distracted by tales of witches and bogeymen. Magic has great potential not only to further our progress in Maskamere but across the Empire. Imagine that power in our hands. To build, to grow, to heal, to defend—to expand the frontiers not only of the Empire but of human knowledge itself. That is my vision for Drakon. I shall of course be grateful to have your support.”

“And what of the girl? Is she part of this vision?”

Avon glanced up at her. “Lady Valerie is proof that witches can be made to serve the Empire like anyone else. We need not fear her.”

“Fascinating,” said the Patriarch. “Are you something of a wizard yourself, Lord Avon?”

Avon's jaw tightened. “No,” he said. “No, of course I would not deign to practise such an art. But I would see it used for our benefit.”

“Well,” said the Patriarch. “Let us see if the girl agrees. Bring the witch to the stand.”