Treacherous Witch

—to visible relief all around. “There was no attack.”

*

Valerie jerked back. “Hey!”

“Sorry. Did I startle you?”

Lord Falconer.

He let go of her, clasping his hands behind his back, but she didn’t believe that contrite expression. And her heart was still racing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I saw you escape,” he said. “Can’t say I blame you.”

He joined her on the balcony, to her disquiet. She shifted another step away from him. A quick glance told her that the courtyard was empty. No one would see if he threw her off. Not that she’d die, at least not on impact. It wasn’t that far down. She’d break a few limbs and bleed out slowly.

Valerie collected herself. “Lord Falconer, please. It’s not appropriate for a lady and a gentleman to be alone.”

A Drakonian custom, of course, but they were in Drakon.

“Ah, well, I’m not much of a gentleman.” He gave a crooked smile. “Let’s drop the titles, shall we? When it’s just the two of us. The name’s Rufus.”

“What do you want?”

“Are you this hostile to everyone you meet, or did I make a bad first impression?”

“Very bad,” she said, “but you can’t be surprised by that. Did you think I’d congratulate you for abandoning everything we hold sacred? Forsaking Maska, the silvertrees…”

“Well, Maska never did much for me anyway.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the iron railing. “Besides, it’s only words. You should know.”

She looked at him sharply. “Know what?”

“I heard you were resurrected. A resurrected witch.”

“A resurrected priestess,” she corrected him.

He scratched his beard. “Ah, words. They don’t know the difference, do they? It’s all an insult to them. But you’ve been sharing the Chancellor’s bed for… how long now? You must have a few tales to tell.”

“Not to you.” He was fishing and not being subtle about it. “What are you doing here, Rufus?”

“Hmm…” His next words were slow and deliberate. “I’d like to know why a resurrected priestess in bed with the Drakonian Chancellor is lecturing me about abandoning our faith.”

She clenched her teeth. He was trying to get a rise out of her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I follow Maska’s teachings,” she said. “I always have, and I always will. The Empire took everything from us, but they can’t take that.”

Saying the words emboldened her. She still had faith. Faith in Maska, faith in the silvertrees. No matter what happened, no matter what she felt for Lord Avon, she was proud to be Maskamery. He wouldn’t ever change that.

“In that case, I admire your principles.”

She stared at him again, but his expression was unreadable. A laconic smile, fathomless eyes. She wanted to punch him.

Well, Rufus, she thought, if that’s how you want to play…

“Falconer,” she said. “I know that name. A branch of your family lived over in the neighbouring town from mine before the war. Three brothers and their uncle. They all abandoned Maskamere, went off searching for glory in the north. The rest of the family split up. I met one of the mothers who’d been left on her own and fixed the holes in her shoes. She died in my convent the night the Drakonians invaded.”

He pressed his hand to his heart. “May Maska weep for her. Your family too. I’m sure you’re not judging me for the actions of my distant relatives. Rest assured, my own are more than enough to condemn me.”

Again, he’d stumped her. He was worse than Lady Melody.

Valerie pursed her lips. “That depends what you’re being condemned for. Whose side are you on?”

He pushed off from the railing. “Now you’re asking the right question. Me, I take no one’s side. I want a happy life with a pretty girl, that’s all. Wish me luck, won’t you?”

He walked off, waving at her.

“She’s half your age!” Valerie called after him.

“You’re one to talk!”

The bedroom door slammed shut behind him. She shook her head, annoyed. He was a complication. She hoped not a serious one. Besides, Avon might be older, but not that much older. Not that she knew where the two of them stood anyway.

That was something she ought to fix.

Valerie stepped back inside, but before she could venture out into the hallway to find Avon, there was a brief rap at her door and then Avon himself stalked in. He raised his eyebrows when he saw her.

“What was Lord Falconer doing here?”

“Oh, you got us,” she said. “We were conspiring to kill you.”

“Valerie.”

He said it with the tone of a man whose patience had worn thin. Perhaps the dinner hadn’t been much fun for him either.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think he wanted to know where my loyalties lie.”

“I expect you confounded him, then.”

“Are you really going to let him marry Ophelia?”

“That’s my father’s decision. But I will be keeping a close eye on him.” He offered his arm. “Come. Our chamber is just upstairs.”

“Our…” Suddenly she realised what Priska had done for her. “That’s all right, my lord. I’m happy to stay here.”

There was a pause. “I see,” said Avon. “How long are you going to be angry with me?”

“I’m not angry with you.”

He gave her a questioning look, and Valerie shook her head. She retreated, sitting down on the plain woollen bed.

“We should talk.”

He took the implied invitation, moving over to sit down next to her. Valerie’s heart jumped. How odd he looked here, she thought. His presence seemed too large for the room.

She met his eyes. “Do you think I’m angry with you because you killed me?”

“That seems like the obvious conclusion.”

“I’m not. I don’t blame you, my lord. I would have done exactly the same.”

“What is it then?”

She paused, struggling with herself. Somehow it was harder to get the truth out than to lie. Was she angry? Was there a part of her deep down that resented him for killing her, the fact that he’d been able to do it without hesitation?

“Sometimes I don’t know how I feel,” she admitted. “I don’t like how I’m feeling right now, but that’s not surprising, is it? You saw how the Baron treated me. He acted like I don’t exist.”

“I noticed,” Avon said. “That’s an old superstition. If you don’t see the witch, she can’t see you. It’s supposed to protect you from being cursed.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder if there’s some truth to it.”

“There isn’t,” she said. “It’s just rude. Is that how it’s going to be in Drakardia?”

“No. You’ll find less superstition in Drakardia and more outright hostility.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

“I don’t expect it to be a long trip.”

Especially not if they kill me, she thought. Then it would be a very short trip indeed.

She sighed. “What do you want from me, my lord? In Drakardia.”

“I believe we have a chance to convince my father that pursuing magic in Maskamere is the right strategy. I want your help to do that.”

“Okay. But then I want your help to kill Shikra.”

She’d come to this conclusion during the voyage. The same thought kept plaguing her, the one that had first sowed the seeds of mistrust during their encounter at the goldentree. No one but the queen had ever held its power. Yet Valerie had grasped it, had even imagined herself on Maskamere’s throne. Did the queen envision a place for Valerie in her future? Or did Shikra view her as a rival—a pawn that dared to challenge her power?

And what would a queen do with such a pawn?

Avon laughed, sharp and sudden. “Such loyalty to your queen.”

“She’s a threat to both of us.”

“And seemingly impossible to kill. Do you know why?”

“She’s tethered her spirit to the palace temple somehow. That’s how she survived.”

“Can you break that tether?”

Valerie hesitated. She hadn’t told him the full story, but even if she did, she had no answer. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, she curled her hands in her lap, fingers digging into her palms. “I don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know. My lord…” She looked up at him. “If you could go back to before the war, would you change your mind about invading Maskamere?”

He frowned. “Invading Maskamere was not my decision.”

“Then whose was it?”

“The Council were all in favour, as I recall. You won’t find anyone in the capital sympathetic to your cause.”

“But if you could persuade the Emperor…”

“Why would I? We’ve barely begun to explore Maskamere’s riches. Besides, what’s done is done. There’s no use in dwelling on the past. Why do you ask?”

Again, Valerie hesitated. If she told Avon this, she couldn’t undo it. Not in this timeline, at least. And he’d given his answer. He wouldn’t want to undo his victory. She’d have to trick him or fight him, or… or give up on going back altogether. Maybe it just wasn’t possible to get everything she wanted.

She was in a horrible limbo, a world of maybes. Not in mourning for Markus, because—well, he wasn’t gone, was he? He was maybe gone. Only a silvertree away.

“Valerie?”

She blinked. Avon’s brow furrowed. Of course, he had no idea why she was so lost. And part of her ached to tell him. But…

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll tell you everything when I’m ready, I promise. I know I can’t go home right now. You’d never trust that I was me, and I’d be scared of the queen getting hold of me again…” She shook her head. “I’ll think of something. But in the meantime, I’ll help you.”

It would give her time to gather intelligence in Drakardia. Find out how the war had begun. Figure out a way to return to Maskamere.

Avon nodded. Then he reached out to brush her cheek, and Valerie shivered at his touch. “I am glad you’re alive,” he said softly. “I’d rather not lose you again.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He regarded her for a moment. “A deal, then. We consider ourselves allies.”

“Not allies. Friends.”

He gave a small smile, then chucked her chin. “I’ll take that.”

Avon departed, and Valerie let out a breath. Her heart was racing. She’d placed her life in his hands, but not her future. Not yet. And she couldn’t tell if the churning in her stomach was warning her against trusting him or against not trusting him. Maybe there were no good choices.

Maybe she was going to her death in Drakardia when she could have avoided all this had she simply told Avon the truth.

Maybe telling Avon the truth would only play into the queen’s hands.

Maybe this was how the queen felt, constantly weighing up her choices, making one and then starting over if she didn’t get the outcome she wanted. Just the awareness of that possibility was eating away at her, even though she’d rejected Shikra’s offer in the realm of the goldentree.

Valerie passed her hand over her forehead. She was giving herself a headache. Forget the queen, she told herself. Shikra was a problem for another day.

Tomorrow, she would arrive at the capital.