Treacherous Witch
Enyr

“Enyr, an independent duchy-state, has long defined itself as a neutral party and consequently a refuge for political exiles and vagrants of all kinds.”

Clement Pyridge’s History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II

It wasn’t until she boarded the ship for Enyr that Valerie fully appreciated the scope of this trip. It seemed as if half the court were joining them: Lord Gideon and Lady Melody, Lord Sandford and Lady Mona, Captain Doryn and a contingent of palace guards, and a new arrival from the Drakonian capital: Lord Dryden and no fewer than three male courtiers. She understood that Lord Dryden was the reason for their trip. He was the newly appointed Ambassador for Maskamere.

What a joke, she thought, to have a Drakonian nobleman pretending to represent the interests of Maskamere in Enyr. He’d probably never set foot in Maskamere before today.

With the party aboard, Lord Sandford insisted on giving a guided tour. The Stormdrake was a most splendid ship, with billowing white sails, the prow carved into the shape of a dragon’s head, and fifty cannons that had all but destroyed the feeble Maskamery navy during the war. Now Lord Avon’s personal vessel, it reigned the high seas as a symbol of Drakonian excellence, craftsmanship, and superiority.

Valerie was glad that she didn’t get sea sick, but it would have been a good excuse if she’d puked on him.

At last, Avon summoned the lords for a private discussion in his quarters. Valerie mingled with the courtiers enjoying drinks and gossip on the deck. The topic of the day was their new arrival: Lord Dryden.

“Has Lord Dryden visited Enyr before?” Lady Mona asked, fanning away the sea spray from the edge of the ship.

“I’d say so,” Pedram, one of the courtiers answered, “since that’s where he met me.”

The ladies were all charmed by his story, a rags to riches tale of a young Enyrn boy being swept off his feet by a mysterious stranger. She listened with increasing impatience. Dryden liked to acquire lovers from every country he visited: so what? None of it mattered.

“He must be missing a Maskamery companion to add to his collection,” said Lady Melody with a laugh. “No doubt a perk of the job?”

“Half the reason if you ask me.” Pedram grinned. “The other half was a chance to escape his wife.”

The ladies laughed. Valerie didn’t. “Why don’t any of the lords bring their wives?” she asked. “Why only us?”

She had never met a Drakonian wife. Well, technically she had because Melody and Amilia were both married, but they weren’t here in the capacity of a wife.

“Oh, darling,” said Melody, fluttering her fan. “Wives don’t leave their homeland. We ladies are an exception.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t safe. And who would look after the children?”

“Don’t you have children?”

There was an edge to Melody’s voice. “My boys are quite happy at the palace, thank you.”

“You’ll find it’s different in Enyr,” Mona said. “An accomplished lady travels as she pleases.”

“A lady of means, that is,” said Pedram. “The common folk do their best with what they have, which is very little.”

“Well, I assume we won’t be mingling with the common folk,” said Melody. “Unless Lord Dryden wishes to.”

They tittered. Valerie had heard enough.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but doesn’t anyone think that the ambassador for Maskamere should be from Maskamere? What makes Lord Dryden qualified?”

There was a short silence. The courtiers stared at her.

“He was elected, Valerie,” said Melody. “Chosen by the Maskamery people.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

Melody’s smile tightened. “Valerie, shall we take a little walk to the bridge? It’s a beautiful view.”

She was going to get a lecture, she knew it. There was nothing to see from the bridge but the ocean, same as every other part of the ship. Sure enough, as soon as they crossed to the upper deck, Melody’s hand gripped her arm and pulled her close.

“What are you doing?”

“I only asked a question—”

“Impertinent questions, which will reach Lord Dryden and Lord Avon’s ears. You know this. You cannot speak ill of a lord in public.”

“I know. But don’t you agree?”

“That he is an unfit representative? No, I don’t agree. We’ve heard nothing about his political ability, so I would reserve judgement on that front. As for him not being Maskamery, well, that is clearly the point. Your naïveté may have been charming once, but you ought to know better by now.”

“I’m just...” She shook her head. “Never mind. I think the ocean is giving me a headache.”

Melody’s expression softened. She took Valerie’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I know it can be hard. You’ve done well so far for a girl of your status. But if you can’t handle it, another girl will.”

Those words rang in her ears when the ship reached the harbour of the Serpent’s Crest, the castle on the edge of the sea. It was her first glimpse of Enyr.

All she knew about Enyr from her history lessons was that the nation was an ally of Maskamere, with long-established trade routes between the two. Maskamere’s chief export was agricultural: grains, fruits, vegetables and spices of all kinds. Enyr, on the other hand, was a semi-arid region bordered by desert. They specialised in cottons, silks and other fabrics, as well as the finest horses on the two continents.

The castle stood at the very edge of a thin peninsula, surrounded by water on three sides. Imposing was her first thought: it looked more like a fortress than a palace. Soldiers patrolled the battlements, and lookout towers rose from each of the four cardinal points. The black rock looked as if it had been blasted out of the depths of the ocean, the waves crashing against its walls.

Once they stepped out of the ship and into the lower entrance hall, however, her opinion was transformed. It was like something out of a dark fairytale. She had never seen ceilings so high or windows so tall. Carved basalt pillars lined the halls. The party’s footsteps echoed as if in a great cavern.

They were met by their host for the visit, a tall man with a shock of white hair and pointed beard. Behind horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes were sharp. The man gave an elegant bow.

“Lord Avon, Lord Dryden. Lords and ladies, I am delighted to welcome to you to the Serpent’s Crest on behalf of the duke.”

“Lord Hafnir.” Avon bowed in return. “We are delighted to present Lord Dryden as Ambassador for Maskamere.”

More pleasantries were exchanged before servants arrived to escort them to their quarters. Avon took her arm which she accepted without a grimace, remembering Lady Melody’s scolding earlier on the ship. She said nothing until he dismissed the servants from their room, taking a moment to look out over the sea.

“Quite a view,” he said.

Valerie’s concerns were more immediate. The four-poster bed was shrouded with intricately patterned drapes, alongside marble side tables, and a white chaise longue. The fine wooden furniture was carved with the national symbols of Enyr: the serpent representing wisdom and grace and the stag representing courage and duty. She brushed her hand over one of the posts, following the curving path of the serpent along it.

“We don’t have separate quarters.”

Avon turned away from the open window where pale drapes were fluttering. He shook his head. “It’s expected that we share.”

“But that wasn’t our deal.”

“Our deal.” He clicked his tongue in exasperation and approached her, Valerie trying not to shrink back. “You are my guest, Valerie. Act like it.”

“You promised not to harm me,” she whispered.

His eyes flickered. Then, without warning, he grabbed her wrist.

“I kept my promise. You didn’t.”

“Then why am I here?” Caught in his grip, she was doing all she could to control her fear. “Is this some kind of test? If there’s something I can do to make it up to you, tell me.”

He stared at her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. She felt that there was no barrier between them, that the walls she had so carefully put in place had crumbled, and with that she had no refuge.

Avon’s hand brushed over hers, then he abruptly stepped back.

“Get ready for dinner. I expect you to be perfectly charming, attentive and polite, do you understand? No silly remarks.”

She swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”

It was going to be a trying night.

Dinner took place in the great hall. Three long tables were set out for the castle residents, while Lord Hafnir and his guests took their seats at the high table. On another occasion, she might have enjoyed taking note of the Enyrn style of dress: elegant wraps and boldly patterned skirts paired with open-toed sandals. Lady Mona had entered the hall dressed in such traditional garb. Her hair, normally pinned up, tonight stood out in a mane of sleek black curls. Valerie thought she looked stunning.

But to her chagrin, she was seated next to Lord Gideon. Lord Avon was on her other side. Lord Hafnir and Lord Dryden opposite. Not a chance to relax.

She ate quietly while Avon, Dryden and Hafnir engaged in introductions, trying not to draw attention. Unfortunately, Gideon didn’t take the hint.

“You’ve come a long way since our first encounter, my lady,” he said in that oily voice of his. “How are you finding Lord Avon?”

“He’s very kind, my lord.”

“Pity. I’ve been waiting to pay you a visit.”

The buttered salmon which had been melting wonderfully in her mouth seemed to dry up. She swallowed. “Visit?”

“We never did finish our chat.”

“Darling,” Lady Melody interjected from his other side, “would you pass the butter?”

Valerie was grateful for the intervention, but she wondered how much Melody had heard. Did she know about Gideon’s interrogation? Was that why she had scolded Valerie earlier? Perhaps there was more at stake than offending Lord Dryden.

She took a long drink from her wine goblet, suddenly feeling like she was trapped in a dungeon. Scorpions to her left, scorpions to her right. Each of them ready to strike the second she made a wrong move.

“Lady Valerie,” said Lord Hafnir, and she looked up. “Welcome to Enyr. You must be excited for this new chapter in Maskamere’s long and fruitful history.”

“Yes,” she said, surprised to have been addressed at all. “I wish Lord Dryden well in his new position.”

“Thank you,” said Dryden. “We shall be great allies.”

“What does my lady think of the future for Maskamere?” Hafnir asked. “I understand the Empire has made many improvements.”

She could feel Avon looking at her. Dryden too, his eyes sharp and curious.

“The Empire has made a lot of changes,” she said, “and I’m sure there will be more to come. The people of Maskamere want what anyone wants. Food, warmth, a place to call home. I’m sure Lord Dryden will represent the people’s interests in good faith, as Lord Avon does as Chancellor.”

“Hear, hear,” said Dryden, lifting his goblet.

The others joined the toast. “To Maskamere,” said Avon.

“To Maskamere,” Valerie echoed, and the wine slid down her throat like mud.

Dinner was only the first trial of the evening. As the sun ebbed its way through the sky, a familiar lump of dread settled in her stomach. It wasn’t just the prospect of dancing with Lord Avon that made her anxious. She was going to dance in front of hundreds of lords and ladies she didn’t know, the only Maskamery among them, and a convicted traitor at that.

They don’t know that, she told herself. They’ll assume you’re a lady.

But when the maid helped her put on Queen Shikra’s dress back in the guest quarters, she’d never felt more like a fraud.

Look at me, she thought. This dress is held up by pins and hope, and I’m not much better.

She’d done a good job disguising the fact that she’d had to adjust it. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice. The silk flowed over her limbs pleasingly when she moved, and the top was well-fitted. The maid had woven gold thread into her hair in the Maskamery style, braided at the top and then spilling into loose curls. Her eyes were lined with kohl, her lips painted red.

“It suits you, my lady,” said the maid while she frowned at her reflection. “You look like the queen.”

Her heart jumped. “The queen?”

“Forgive me,” the maid stammered. “The queen of Maskamere came here three years ago on a state visit. I remember she wore red and gold. Aren’t they the royal colours?”

Yes. Because this was a royal gown. She shouldn’t be wearing it. What had she been thinking?

She grimaced. A fraud she was, so a fraud she must play. The ballroom awaited.

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