Treacherous Witch

It starts with a blizzard. She runs to the window with her cousins and stares out at the flurry. Within minutes, she’s freezing.

The villagers light the bonfire in the square. That’s when they see her—

*

Priska tiptoed across the bedchamber with the air of a mouse skulking around an angry cat.

Valerie hadn't yet gotten out of bed. Eyes heavy-lidded, she watched the maid set down a tray of fruit and pastries on the nearby coffee table alongside a pot of tea. Judging by the sunlight streaming through the window, morning had long since passed. Avon was nowhere to be seen.

The steam curling in the air from the teapot brought with it a refreshing aroma. Her stomach rumbled. Priska glanced at her, then began to edge away.

“Hey!” Valerie sat up, wincing as pain shot through her spine. “Don't you dare sneak off.”

Priska flinched. “I’m sorry! I didn’t want to disturb you, I…”

She picked up the pot of tea, then put it down again. Maybe she had hoped to leave Valerie her refreshments and escape for the rest of the day. Valerie wasn't about to let that happen.

“I didn’t tell Avon that you stole the letter.” She stared at the other girl, who seemed frozen in place. “But he’ll work it out soon enough. Don’t you want me to protect you?”

“I’m sorry…” Priska fidgeted with a loose thread on her smock. She couldn’t meet Valerie’s eyes. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t think…”

“You said your brother put you up to it. What is he up to?”

“Helping us!” said Priska earnestly. “We’re all fighting Lord Avon, aren’t we? We’re all trying to escape him.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

The girl flushed scarlet. Pathetic, she thought. Didn't even try to come up with an excuse. She didn't think Priska's intentions were nefarious, but the welts on her back were too fresh to feel forgiving.

“I need to know these things!” she went on. “I need you to tell me before you go off and do something stupid. I’m fighting this battle. I’m doing it my way, and I don’t need you messing it up.”

“I'm sorry.”

Every time Priska uttered the word, her head seemed to droop more, her voice becoming more despondent. But her hangdog expression only infuriated Valerie, who was finding it harder and harder not to despise the maid every time she looked at her.

“I don’t care that you’re sorry. I care that you don’t do it again.”

“Right,” Priska whispered.

“Do you want to make it up to me? What about that meeting with Titus you were supposed to arrange? Have you at least managed that?”

The maid looked up. “I was going to tell you. He said you could meet him for dinner tomorrow, but with your back—”

“Forget my back. I’ll be there.”

Maybe Avon could sway enough votes without her help, but she couldn’t leave that to chance. She'd hobble to that dinner if she had to. Titus had struck the first blow when he'd handed over the letter to the Senate. She had to figure out his strategy.

More to the point, she wanted that alternative escape route.

“Okay.” Priska hesitated. “How do I get you there? Titus lives at the old Maskamery embassy, but you can’t go on your own...”

“I don’t know, Priska. That is not my problem. You solve it, okay? Give me that tea.”

*

The rest of the day passed in an irritable haze. Priska fussed over her; Valerie snapped at her. Avon did not reappear; Doryn came in, turned beet red at her state of undress, and handed her a handwritten note signed from Lord Avon before departing in haste.

Meeting with Father. Rest while you can.

She tried not to dwell on how he might be faring with the Emperor. If the last few days were anything to judge by, she had little faith in his success.

Around suppertime, Ophelia came in and brightened up the room with her chatter.

“I brought you some chamomile. I used to make it for James too whenever he…” She trailed off.

Valerie took the tea, sitting propped up against the pillows. “I feel like one of the family now,” she joked. “Thank you.”

Ophelia smiled. “It’ll help you sleep. Mother used to say that a good night’s sleep cures all. That is, our real mother.”

“You must miss her.”

“Sometimes I do. Especially now.” Ophelia sipped her tea, eyes downcast. There was a wistfulness in her tone whenever she spoke about her mother. “There’s so much I wish I could ask her.”

“About marrying?”

“About growing up. All the things I’m supposed to know, but no one tells me. Oh, but that reminds me. We’re starting the wedding planning tomorrow!” She leaned forward. “Do you think you could join us? Of course, I understand if you’re still feeling under the weather, but… I would really love you to be there.”

Valerie didn’t know how to respond. “I don’t know anything about weddings. I don’t know how I can help.”

“Just being there will help, I promise.” Ophelia lowered her voice. “But please can you be polite to the Empress?”

*

She couldn’t say no to Ophelia, of course. The next morning, Priska wrapped her up in bandages so tight she felt like she might pass out. Then she dressed in her Drakonian lady’s attire, corset and all, and walked down to join the other ladies in the sitting room.

Ophelia was there, looking pretty in pink, while Lady Juliana sported a loose cotton shawl, a raised eyebrow and a yard’s worth of knitting in her lap. But they had other guests too: she didn't expect to find Lady Florence, the woman who had been Lord Gideon’s wife, sitting primly next to Juliana.

The final surprise came when their wedding planner walked in.

Ophelia rose to her feet. “Lady Melody!”

“Darling.” Melody moved with a brisk air, greeting each of the ladies one by one. She had ditched her mourning attire for a burgundy gown with off-the-shoulder puffy sleeves, her hair pulled back into a pristine bun. Where she had been living since returning to the capital, Valerie had no idea.

“Lady Valerie.” Melody kissed her cheek. “You don’t look well.”

Priska had once again applied a copious amount of make-up, this time to cover the bruise on her jaw. But she felt battered. Quite apart from the flogging, she’d also endured a week of stress and poor sleep. It all piled up, she thought, and she had become too reliant on magic to smooth these ills away.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“The poor thing came down with a fever.” Juliana settled back down with her knitting. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to lie down?”

How she would like to stab that knitting needle into Juliana’s eye.

“I’m fine, Your Grace.”

“Well,” said Melody, “shall we begin?”

Ophelia’s eyes shone with excitement. Juliana and Florence sat on either side of her like a pair of floral guards, forcing Valerie to perch on the end of the couch next to the Empress. She frowned as Juliana and Florence shared a glance that she couldn’t quite interpret. Was it disapproval?

Melody opened a disconcertingly thick notebook. “Now, traditionally the wedding takes place in the homeland of the groom to welcome the bride to his family, but perhaps in this case we should reconsider?”

“Marry in Maskamere?” Juliana shook her head. “No, dreadful. Have it in the cathedral. It’s the only place that will suit the Emperor’s daughter.”

“Oh, but what about Rufus’s family?” Ophelia asked. “He was so looking forward to inviting them…”

“They can come to Drakon,” said Juliana.

“Perhaps it’s better if they don’t,” Florence added. “Keep it small. It’ll be more civilised.”

“Civilised?” Valerie said, unable to stop herself.

“Oh, but…” A tiny frown creased Ophelia’s brow. “This is the family I’ll be spending the rest of my life with. I would like to meet them.”

Juliana sniffed. “You’ll have the rest of your life to do that, sweet.”

“Do they have any suitable venues in Maskamere?” Florence asked.

“The royal palace,” said Valerie. “It’s as grand as any place here.”

“Well, of course, the venue should be a holy place,” said Ophelia. “There is a chapel in the palace.”

She made a face. “It’s small and ugly. What about the temple?”

Florence seemed scandalised by the very suggestion. “A heathen temple?”

“Not the temple, of course,” said Melody. “But the palace is beautiful. And the chapel could suffice for the ceremony itself.”

While Melody was talking, Juliana leaned over to murmur in Valerie’s ear. “Keep your suggestions to yourself. I don’t want to hear another word about the temple where you murdered my uncle.”

“You should visit,” Valerie whispered back. “I’ll show you how I did it.”

She might pay for that later, but the look on Juliana’s face was worth it.

The conversation moved on. Wedding planning was a complicated business. They discussed the guest list, the set menu, the decorations and the music, Melody scribbling notes on each in her book.

Valerie said little. Despite her best efforts, her back was throbbing again. She thought of the silvertree, the one that had survived the burning of her convent, hundreds of miles from here. The solace it would offer her. Or the goldentree hidden beneath the Royal Palace of Jairah, its whispered power that lay dormant within her.

Dormant, but not gone. Or else she wouldn’t be having these dreams.

Finally, Melody snapped her notebook shut and stood up. “Well, that’s enough for today, ladies. I’ll have plans drawn up for our next meeting. Oh, and Valerie? You’re not doing anything tomorrow, are you? You must join us for the fitting.”

Valerie hadn’t been listening. “What?” she said.

“The wedding dress fitting,” said Melody. “I insist. I want your expertise.”

“Oh. Sure.”

She wasn’t entirely sure what she had just agreed to, but it made Ophelia beam in delight, so it couldn’t be that bad. Melody kissed Ophelia’s cheek, then the other ladies, including Valerie, and departed. Florence followed shortly after, leaving Valerie with Juliana and Ophelia.

She was debating how to make her excuses too, when Juliana sighed. “It’s awfully sweet of you to take pity on her, but is she really needed? Think of Lady Florence.”

“I know, Mother,” said Ophelia, “but there are so few people familiar with Maskamere, and Lady Melody offered to help. I want my wedding to celebrate both our cultures—mine and my husband’s. That’s why I asked Lady Valerie to join too.”

“Thank you,” Valerie said, startled. “Sorry, what do you mean by taking pity on Lady Melody? Is something wrong?”

Juliana shot her a dirty look. “Her husband died.”

“Oh.”

“The fool drank himself to death and ran up horrendous gambling debts, so she doesn’t have a coin to her name. She’s already begging my father for scraps. I expect he’ll toss her out. Really, Ophelia, you’re only delaying the inevitable.”

This was a lot to process. Valerie frowned. “You don’t want to help her?”

“She’s a common whore,” said Juliana. “She’ll crawl back to the gutter where she belongs.”

“But she has children. Her boys—”

“Children of a whore.”

Valerie didn’t know what to say.

“She’s a dear friend,” said Ophelia, whose cheeks had turned pink. “Isn’t it charitable to help a friend in need, Mother?”

“That woman is no charity case, nor is she your friend. Don’t be fooled.”

“I…” Ophelia stood up, blinking tears out of her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree!”

And she dashed out of the room, petticoats aflutter. Valerie clasped her hands in her lap. A pit had formed in her stomach.

She took a breath. “Why don’t you trust Lady Melody?”

Juliana had a way of looking down her nose at someone that implied the object of her attention was so far beneath her as to be worthy of nothing more than a pigsty. She couldn’t help but wonder if this haughtiness formed part of a Drakonian lady’s education. Melody had a similar look, only less despising and more long-suffering.

She felt the force of that look now as the Empress regarded her.

“You have been educated by courtesans,” said Juliana, “so perhaps you fail to see how they seek to climb beyond their station. There are two types of courtesans, Valerie. Those who seek penance from the Divine, whom a lord sees fit to take into his care. And those who worm their way into a gentleman’s heart and slowly hollow him out, bit by bit, extracting every ounce of wealth and social favour they can until he is left broken and destitute. The worst of them all are both. Wolves dressed as lambs, pretending to be redeemable. Which one are you?”

She thought of the courtesans in Jairah. Sweet, joyful Rose, who could light up any room with her smile. Wise Mona, whose social grace smoothed over the most fractious interaction. Nervous Amilia, who was always the first to know any palace gossip. And Flavia… Her mouth tightened. Poor, innocent Flavia, the Maskamery girl who had been taken into Lord Thorne’s “care” and then tossed aside.

Out of that group, Melody was certainly the sharpest. The ringleader of the palace ladies, someone Valerie looked up to with a mixture of respect and exasperation.

Hearing Juliana badmouth these ladies now, she felt a strange kind of loyalty to them.

“I don’t recognise that description, Your Grace. The duty of a courtesan is only to provide companionship. Isn’t that what wives do too?”

Juliana’s gaze turned cold. “Tell Ophelia to drop this pretence at charity.”

Valerie opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was no arguing with that icy facade. She rose, bowed her head, and exited the drawing room.

*

She found Ophelia in their shared bedchamber. The smaller girl flung herself at Valerie at once.

“Oh, look! I’m shaking.” She held up a trembling hand. “I’m such a coward.”

“No.” Valerie enclosed the other girl’s hands in her own. “You were brave. You stood up to her.”

“Truly, she terrifies me.”

“Me too.”

“Was I wrong, do you think?” Ophelia’s lip wobbled. “I’m not so close to Lady Melody as I made out...”

“No, listen.” She squeezed Ophelia’s hands. “You’re the kindest person I know. I honestly don’t know how you grew up here and managed to be so kind, but don’t ever lose that. We need more people like you in the world.”

“Oh,” Ophelia whispered.

“Are you okay?”

She let the other girl step back, giving her space. Ophelia looked at her hands, clenching them into fists and breathing in and out until the trembling ceased.

Then she looked up. “Better. Thank you.”

Valerie smiled.

Priska entered the chamber, clearing her throat. “My lady…”

Her heart skipped. Time to go. Valerie made her excuses to Ophelia, then followed Priska out of the villa.