Treacherous Witch
The Traitor, the Oath, and the Tree

“A promise is inherently magical, even more so under the light of the silvertree.”

Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen

To her relief, he hadn’t touched her. She’d spent half the night awake fearing that he’d change his mind, but nothing happened. Even so, it had been difficult to ignore him: every shift, every breath, every creak of the mattress tangible evidence of his presence in the room. But she slept, somehow, and woke up to find he’d already departed.

What next? A tour of the city. Serpent’s Crest was on the very tip of the coast, guarding Enyr from potential invaders, but the most common trade route was nearly a mile inland where the River Menlin flowed into the sea. On its banks stood Orlin, a city twice the size of Jairah. She wished that she could have explored its streets for herself, but a glimpse through the carriage would have to do.

They were shown the great house of Orlin’s ruling family. Then the gardens, where glass sculptures swooped over the archways, a rainbow of colours reflecting the sun in dazzling shapes. In the afternoon they visited the racing tracks, where Valerie was thrilled to watch the horses and their riders whip up the dust in a sea of galloping legs. Her own limited experience of horse-riding at the palace seemed pedestrian in comparison.

Then, after their final dinner of the trip, Lord Avon excused himself from the post-dinner drinks.

“I’ll leave you fine gentlemen with Lord Dryden,” he said. “Be warned: I haven’t beaten him at the card table for over a year, and he never lets me forget it.”

The lords chuckled. Dryden gave a short bow as Avon rose, Valerie standing up with him. Once again, she caught Dryden’s disapproving gaze on her, but he said nothing. Valerie departed the dining hall on Avon’s arm. She thought they were going to bed and was glad of it after another tiring day, but instead of ascending the staircase Avon turned into the entrance hall.

Crossing the entrance hall and through the doors, they emerged into the warm night air where a carriage awaited them. Surprised, she looked at Avon, but he only nodded, indicating the carriage. Two guards manned the carriage: both of them Avon’s men.

She climbed in, Avon following her. Horse hooves trotted around the gravel entrance and towards the drawbridge.

Valerie clasped her hands in her lap, suddenly unsure of herself. “Where are we going?”

“The Glasshouse in Orlin,” he answered. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

She didn’t know what to make of that. They’d seen the Glasshouse already on their tour. It was one of the glass structures in the gardens, a fancy greenhouse full of exotic plants from around the world.

She settled into her corner of the seat, trying not to worry. Avon watched her. She didn’t meet his gaze, but she could see him looking at her out of the corner of her eye. Valerie clasped her hands more tightly in her lap and looked out of the window instead.

Thankfully for her nerves, the journey wasn’t long. A half-moon shone down on the Glasshouse. Tiny lanterns lit the path to the entrance, but the greenhouse itself was dark and silent. She exited the carriage, Avon nodding at the two guards to stay put, and they entered the Glasshouse together.

The first room was fairly ordinary, full of flowering plants that reminded her of Master Anwen’s greenhouse. Then Avon crossed into a second room where she was hit by a wave of tropical heat. Steam hung in the air. Jungle plants crowded over running water, a bridge crossing the centre of the room.

“Are we supposed to be here?” she ventured.

No one had met them. Avon put a finger to his lips. They crossed the bridge, but instead of going straight ahead to the next room, he ducked to the left, pushing past fronds of some large fern to a narrow path leading to a side door. Avon opened it, Valerie stepping through after him.

She gasped.

The next room wasn’t a room. It was an enclosed garden, surrounded on three sides by the walls of the Glasshouse and on the fourth side by a high wall. Rosebeds lined the walls, and ahead of them was a marble stone.

None of that caught her attention. Silver leaves glowed in the moon’s soft gaze. Silver branches silhouetted sharply against the night sky. The silvertree stood proudly in the centre of the garden, as tall as the Glasshouse roof, and the air seemed to vibrate with its power.

“The only silvertree outside of Maskamere,” Avon murmured. “A gift from Queen Aurelia, Queen Shikra’s mother, to the duke. It’s almost a century old. A fitting place for our meeting, Captain Viper, wouldn’t you say?”

Valerie blinked. She’d been so entranced by the silvertree, she hadn’t noticed the man standing beneath the boughs. He stepped out of the tree’s shadow, and a shiver ran through her. Quintus! Prince Bakra’s trusted second-in-command, once Captain of the Royal Guard. There was no man more loyal. What on earth was he doing here?

Quintus’s eyes fell on her, and to her disquiet he looked away in shame. Her stomach dropped.

“You said we’d meet alone,” Quintus said.

“This is a momentous occasion,” said Avon smoothly. “A citizen of Maskamere should bear witness—someone who isn’t a traitor to your cause.”

A flush darkened Quintus’s jaw. A familiar dread settled in Valerie’s stomach, a growing sense of unease.

“I do this for Maskamere,” Quintus growled. “Not for you.”

“You keep your life and regain your former position. It’s quite good for you too. Do you have the information I require?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me.”

“You swear first,” said Quintus. “Swear on the silvertree.”

He turned back to the tree, Avon exhaling before following him. The two men placed their hands on the silvertree’s trunk. Valerie hesitated, unsure what to do. She wanted desperately to approach the silvertree, its power calling to her, but she recognised the ritual they were partaking in.

“Valerie,” said Avon, looking at her. “Come stand before us. Bear witness.”

She did so. Quintus finally looked at her too, and she became conscious of the dress she was wearing, the fact that she had arrived here with Avon. Did Quintus know what had happened to her? Would he think her a traitor?

But it seemed silly to worry about that now, when she was afraid that Quintus was about to commit a treachery of his own.

Avon spoke first. “I, Lord James Avon, do swear that the oath I make is binding and true. If I speak falsely, may my bones wither and my body turn to dust. I swear this under the light of the silvertree. If Captain Quintus Viper delivers me Prince Bakra in chains and gives me the Masked Crown, I will restore the monarchy and place Bakra on the throne under the protection of the Drakonian Empire. Captain Quintus will return to his position as Captain of the Royal Guard, subject to Drakonian law, and I will pardon any of his men or women who admit their treachery and plead for mercy.”

Valerie heard all of this in numb disbelief. He couldn’t. Surely, Quintus would never...

Quintus spoke more slowly than Avon, and with a heaviness to his tone, but he spoke clearly. “I, Captain Quintus Viper, do swear that the oath I make is binding and true. If I speak falsely, may my bones wither and my body turn to dust. I swear this under the light of the silvertree. I will deliver Prince Bakra in chains to Lord Avon and deliver the Masked Crown to Lord Avon, on condition that he fulfils his oath to restore the monarchy and place Prince Bakra on the throne as a protectorate of the Drakonian Empire where I will serve the king faithfully as Captain of his Royal Guard.”

He dropped his hand from the silvertree, looking down. Avon dropped his hand too.

“It’s done. Valerie, do you confirm the oath you have witnessed?”

Her head was spinning.

“Quintus,” she said. “Did Bakra agree to this? Did he surrender?”

Quintus’s mouth tightened. “Prince Bakra will understand, once it is done, that this was the only option.”

She was appalled. “The only option? What about everything we’ve been fighting for? You’re— you’re making Bakra a puppet, a phony king. We’ll still be ruled by the Empire. They’ll never bring back the silvertrees.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

She wanted to say, what about me? What about everything I’ve endured? Everything she’d risked, the weeks she’d spent serving her worst enemy and doing everything she could to escape—she hadn’t resorted to betraying their cause. But she swallowed that response. There were other lives at risk, and she didn’t think her predicament would move him.

She guessed at what would. “Do you think Bakra will accept you as his captain when he learns what you’ve done? He’d sooner have you hanged as a traitor.”

Quintus’s head jerked up, his eyes burning into her. “He won’t know. This is a burden for me to bear alone.”

“He’ll know when I tell him.”

“Think of Maskamere. Think of all the bloodshed, the lives we’ve lost. This truce will put an end to all that.”

She was about to retort that this wasn’t a truce, it was a surrender, when she noticed Avon smiling. Of course, he’d love to see any discord between the rebels. He’d engineered this meeting deliberately.

She took a breath, controlling herself.

Avon seemed to take the pause as his cue. “Well, then. Shall I take that as you bearing witness?”

“Oh, I witnessed it,” she said.

“Good,” said Avon, clapping his hands. “A pleasure doing business with you, Captain. Now, where is Prince Bakra?”

“The Temple of the Fallen Saint, north of Bolebund. He is in contact with the Abbess Sopphora.”

“As we suspected. My man will meet you in Bolebund. You had best return to your prince.”

Quintus grimaced and then gave her one last guilty, furtive look before he slipped away. Valerie stood there numbly. A chill breeze stirred the silvertree leaves and raised goosebumps on her bare arms. In one fell swoop, Quintus had undone all of their work, everything they’d sacrificed. He’d thrown away the resistance as if it meant nothing.

Avon, on the other hand, was in a positively buoyant mood. He took her hand, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Now, wouldn’t you say that was a worthwhile trip?”

“For you, my lord.”

“It’s good news for you too, Valerie. Once the monarchy is restored, you can plead your treachery and be pardoned. You’ll be a free woman.”

“You can forget your spell, then. I’m not opening that door.”

He paused, caught off-guard. “We have an agreement.”

“Which we both broke. I won’t do it.”

The numbness was passing, Valerie raising her chin to meet his eyes in defiance. With Quintus’s betrayal, it was more important than ever for her to escape. She couldn’t play along until she got another chance to rejoin the resistance. She had to figure out a way to warn Bakra, fast.

“You will,” he said, “because you understand the consequences if you refuse.”

“My family? I already lost them, Avon. Your army marched on my village and killed them all two years ago.”

“Your uncle—”

“Koel’s not my uncle. He’s the son of my great grandmother’s sister. I call him uncle because they adopted me, and it’s easier to pretend. You can’t take anything from me that’s worse than I’ve already lost.”

His eyebrows rose. “Not even your friend.”

Markus. Her heart clenched. No, of course she didn’t want to lose Markus. She didn’t want to lose anyone. But the future of Maskamere was at stake.

“Markus would die for the cause.” She pulled away from his grasp, hoping he couldn’t hear how fast her heart was beating. “If you kill him, I’ll hate you even more, and you won’t be any closer to opening that door. You offered Quintus a fair deal. Why don’t you offer me one?”

She thought he’d be angry. Half-expected a threat to her life. Instead, his mouth curved slightly upward, and the gleam returned to his eyes. Was he impressed?

“You should be a politician,” Avon said. “You’d hold your own against any man in the Senate. Name your price. Gold? A new home?”

“The silvertree.”

She said it without taking a breath, before she could doubt herself and stop.

He frowned. “The silvertree?”

“Let me pray to it.”

The silvertree’s light bathed her, making her skin tingle. She couldn’t miss this chance.

“You mean take its power.”

She nodded. “This is good for you too, my lord. With the power of the silvertree, I’ll be twice-blessed, like a High Priestess. That should make it easier for me to break the spell.”

His lips quirked in a wry smile. “I see now why you didn’t believe me when I claimed my deal would be good for you. It doesn’t sound at all convincing.”

“I said what I want. Take it or leave it.”

She sounded more confident than she felt. It wouldn’t be hard for Avon to call her bluff, and she didn’t have much in the way of leverage to fall back on.

He shifted, looking over at the tree then back to her. “I’ll take it, but you must swear on the silvertree that you won’t use your power to harm any Drakonian.”

An oath made under the light of the silvertree was no mere promise. It was magically binding. If the oathmaker broke their promise, they would suffer the consequences. She wondered if Avon knew that. He wouldn’t have done it if not. Perhaps she could word hers carefully, give herself a loophole...

She nodded.

Avon folded his arms, watching in silence as Valerie turned to the silvertree and took those last few halting steps to the light beneath its boughs. Its presence flowed through her, not unlike the magical aura she’d felt by the seal in the palace temple, but warm, nurturing. The light welcomed her touch.

She laid her hand on the trunk and the light rushed in. Overwhelmed, she pushed it back, holding herself still and upright. Not yet. She closed her eyes and focused.

“I, Valerie Crescent, do swear that the oath I make is binding and true. If I speak falsely, may I fall into an enchanted sleep that only Lord Avon or his next of kin can wake me from. I swear this under the light of the silvertree. I will accept the gift of magic offered by this tree. I will not use the power I am granted to harm any Drakonian, including Lord Avon, except in self-defence or as commanded by Lord Avon.”

She opened her eyes. If Avon was speaking, she couldn’t hear him. The light was so overpowering she couldn’t see him either. She remembered her first time accepting the blessing of the silvertree. The High Priestess, wise old Glynda, had acted as her conduit. They’d joined hands and the light had flowed into her not directly from the silvertree, but through Glynda, a wave of magic that blossomed in her from fingertips to the top of her head and the soles of her feet. It was through this method that the priestesses ensured only their chosen acolytes could join the priesthood. The silvertree would not bless anyone without the presence of one who was already blessed.

This time, of course, she was the one already blessed. The silvertree sensed a magical presence and reached out to it, eager to share its power. She let it soar through her, and Valerie gasped as the landscape around her transformed into a glittering forest of white. Silvertrees—no, she thought, her stomach flipping—a graveyard of silvertrees. Other trees were scattered around, some as tall as the most magnificent oak, others no bigger than a sapling. But they were pitifully few. Everywhere she looked, she saw stumps, the blackened ruins of the trees that had been burned or cut down in the purge.

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Valerie.”

The light splintered. The voice she heard was female, low and self-assured. She looked around and caught sight of a white figure floating over the forest ruins. Then that figure was rushing towards her, light flaring out behind her like a halo of flame—Valerie shrank back with a gasp.

The woman reached out her arms—

“Valerie, remember—”

She had the most arresting face. Piercing green eyes so deep Valerie felt she could almost fall into them, high cheekbones, an upturned nose, and strong eyebrows that were raised in an imploring look.

Valerie wrenched her hand away from the silvertree and fell back to earth with a cry. The figure vanished. She smelled roses and felt the reassuring tickle of grass against her nose before she blacked out.

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