Treacherous Witch

—there will be no harvest festival. No ceremony. No blessing.

Her heart sinks. She can’t sleep. The night passes in fits and starts. Is Aster fighting for his life right now, defending them from the teeth and claws of the Empire?

Surely they can send out a scout. The border is only two miles away. While her grandmother argues with the other elders, a man on horseback comes thundering into the village, and—

*

With her face made up and a clean gown, Valerie felt a little better. She emerged from the dark of the cabin and squinted into the sunlight. The ship cut a steady course through the water, a deep blue merging with the bright clear sky, so that she could hardly tell where the sky ended and the sea began. Rocky land rose up on the starboard side, a fresh wind blowing along the coastline.

She walked along the deck, breathing in the salty air. Ahead, Lady Ophelia looked out over the prow at the ocean beyond, her pink parasol shielding her from the sea spray. Her blonde curls were as bouncy as ever, youthful features flushed with excitement. Two ladies-in-waiting accompanied her.

“Lady Ophelia,” Valerie called.

Ophelia turned and beamed at her. “Lady Valerie! You’re awake!”

“I didn’t know you were returning to Drakon too.”

As Valerie approached, twin boys in matching shorts and waistcoats came tearing across the deck. One of them carried a toy wooden dragon, the other a knight.

“Slay the dragon!”

“Roar!”

Their excited screams carried all the way across the ship. A harried-looking maidservant followed, gathering up her grey skirts to chase them. Ophelia put a hand to her mouth, then gestured at her ladies-in-waiting.

“Go and help.” The maids hurried away, and Ophelia shook her head. “They’re such terrors. But Lady Melody has yet to emerge from her convalescence.”

“Lady Melody? She’s with us too?”

And the boys—Melody’s children. Seven-year old twins, they inevitably reminded Valerie of her cousin Lavinia’s children, also twin boys. Drakonian or Maskamery, they had the same rambunctious energy.

She still didn’t know if Lavinia and her children had made it out of Bolebund after the city had been attacked.

“Yes,” said Ophelia, interrupting her train of thought. “We’re returning Lord Gideon’s body to rest with his family. Lady Melody will join us in mourning. I was going to stay behind, but James insisted I come too.” She chewed her lip. “I do hope Father won’t be mad…”

“Who else is here?”

Ophelia was happy to tell her. James alone had received the summons from their father, she explained, but Lord Avon wouldn’t return home without an entourage. On the bridge, Captain Doryn bent his head deep in conversation with the ship’s captain. And on the top deck, Lord Thorne stared down at them, thin-lipped and pale-eyed.

Valerie didn’t hide the disgust in her voice. “What’s he doing here?”

“Lord Thorne? He’s here to give prayer. Every ship’s crew must have a chaplain. Lord Thorne volunteered.”

She didn’t believe that for a second. Volunteered, yes. But only to serve the crew as their resident priest? No. And surely Avon hadn’t wanted him here. He’d told Valerie before that Thorne opposed him, that he opposed magic…

“Let’s not talk to him,” she said. “Ophelia, can I ask you a favour?”

“Of course,” said Ophelia at once. “Anything.”

“This will be my first time in Drakon. I survived the court in Jairah, but I think this will be different.”

“I’ll help!” Ophelia answered before she even had a chance to ask the question, her eyes shining. “Just as you helped me in Jairah. Ask me anything you want.”

“The Emperor summoned Lord Avon. Do you think that has anything to do with me?”

Ophelia blinked. “It must do. What happened to you… It was a miracle. You’ve been blessed.”

That threw her off. “Blessed?”

“By the Divine,” said Ophelia earnestly. “This never happens to us. You’ve been given a second chance.”

“That’s not…” She didn’t know how to let Ophelia down gently. “What makes you think that?”

“James said so. He adores you, you know.”

Her heart thumped. “Is that what he’s been telling everyone?”

“Well, people feared that you'd turned into a ghoul or a banshee. Honestly, it was a little frightening. But now that you’re here, everyone can see that you’re back to yourself.”

So this was Avon’s tactic, his argument to save her life. Divine intervention. Ophelia made it sound so simple. Valerie couldn’t agree. Religious fervour lay at the root of the Drakonian hatred for witches; they believed the priestesses to be wicked and magic to be evil. How could he possibly turn that around?

She suddenly understood Lord Thorne’s presence on the ship.

“Ophelia,” she said, “what I did, my resurrection, that was magic. It was a spell I crafted. Nothing divine.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“Do you think your father would agree with that?”

Ophelia hesitated, the brightness in her gaze fading. She turned away, looking over the windswept ocean. Above them, kittiwakes cried their thin, mournful cries.

“Father can be stubborn. There will be an argument, I think.” She clasped her hands. “James will take care of it. He always does.”

“What is he like? The Emperor?”

Again, Ophelia hesitated. “He is a great man. You may not see it at first, but he really wants what’s best for all of us.”

“What does he think is best?”

“Ladies!” A cheery male voice interrupted them. “May I say you are both looking utterly divine today.”

Valerie turned, startled. The man approaching them clasped a hand to his breast. He wore a Drakonian style waistcoat, shirt and breeches, a turquoise blue silk handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket, but his features were Maskamery. Thick dark brows overshadowed dark eyes glinting with mirth. His hair was tied back, while a close-cropped beard covered his jaw and neck like the fur of a brown bear.

Next to her, Ophelia let out a breathless giggle. “Lady Valerie, may I introduce Lord Falconer?”

The man winked, bending down to kiss Valerie’s hand when she lifted it. He was pushing forty judging by the lines on his skin, but lean and well-built nonetheless. The way he carried himself reminded her of the military officers back home, and the family name confirmed it. The Falconers were known for their prowess in battle.

“We met at dinner,” he said. “You know, the one where my rival dropped dead from poison. I got away with it too.”

So he’s one of Ophelia’s suitors, she thought. Several Maskamery noblemen—traitors—had come to Jairah to woo the Emperor’s daughter. One had lost his life to an attempted poisoning gone wrong, but apparently this incident had not put off Lord Falconer.

“Funny,” said Valerie. “I thought I got away with it.”

Falconer laughed, and she smiled sweetly. She was telling the truth: it had been her friend Iora, a member of the resistance, who had poisoned the goblet at dinner, and Valerie who had created a distraction that allowed her to do it.

“Oh, you’re both wicked,” said Ophelia. “Lord Falconer is joining us to speak to the Emperor! Isn’t that exciting?”

She beamed. Valerie frowned. Falconer might be Maskamery, but she wouldn’t consider him an ally, far from it. The fact that he’d joined in this farce of courtship meant that he’d surrendered to the Drakonians.

“You’re going to speak to the Emperor? What for?”

“Why, to ask permission to marry this lovely lady, of course.”

Now she understood Ophelia’s excitement. Valerie did her best to hide her distaste. “Congratulations.”

Falconer grinned. “Funny lot, these Drakonians. Bit of pomp and ceremony, and they give you a woman, just like that.”

He was looking at Valerie as he said it, and her skin crawled. She curled her hand around Ophelia’s arm. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Falconer. I wish you both well.”

“Ah, don’t say things you don’t mean,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll let you two ladies catch up.”

He bowed before retreating. Valerie felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her sails. She waited until he had disappeared to the bridge, then turned back to Ophelia, who was brimming with a kind of hopeful anxiety.

“I don’t trust him,” said Valerie.

Ophelia’s face fell. “What? But he is Maskamery like you—”

“He’s going to get eviscerated at court, talking like that.”

“Oh, he’s the perfect gentleman at court. I’m sure he was only jesting.”

“Do you like him?”

Ophelia wrinkled her nose. “His sense of humour is strange, it’s true. But he is very friendly and warm, and he speaks from the heart.”

“But?”

“But what?” Ophelia shook her head. “My father will decide what’s best for me. I hope that whatever happens, you’ll support me in that.”

Valerie had been ready to ask more questions, but she stopped, taken aback. Ophelia didn’t usually push back so strongly. And she was right, after all, that it didn’t matter what either of them thought of her suitors. If Ophelia was to be trapped with a man like Lord Falconer, it would be because the Emperor decreed it.

Maska help me, she thought. First Priska, now Ophelia. As if she didn’t have enough trouble trying to save her own life.

Without magic, she was going to need all her courage and all her wit to survive.