Treacherous Witch
Portrait of a Queen

“I truly believe that even the wickedest of girls can be saved, if only they have the correct spiritual guidance and the willingness to commit. This task I set for myself in the court at Jairah. It would prove to be the greatest test of my faith.”

Bishop Eugene Thorne’s Notes on a Mission in Maskamere

A strange thing happened later that week. Valerie visited the temple every so often, not to go down to the underground chamber where the seal remained in place, but to sit and reflect in a place that was built for her people. The pillars were carved into likenesses of the silvertrees, their branches spreading up into the ceiling. At the front of the temple, the stained-glass window depicted the goldentree with the figure of Maska standing before it. Maskamery temples always faced east, towards the sun, so that in the morning sunlight would stream through the window and light up the goldentree in all its splendour.

Valerie entered the temple on one such morning to find Lady Flavia crying on one of the pews. She hurried over at once.

“Flavia?”

Flavia looked up, wiping her eyes. “Valerie? I’m sorry, I...”

“What’s wrong?”

She sat down next to Flavia and offered a comforting hand on the other lady’s arm. Flavia blinked, sniffing.

“I just needed a moment... I... Lord Thorne found this in my things.”

She opened the palm of her hand, revealing a silver necklace with a tiny tree dangling from it. Valerie’s eyes widened.

“This is yours?”

Flavia nodded. “I should have thrown it away, but... It was my grandmother’s.”

“What happened?”

“He called me a heretic. A liar. A whore.” Flavia rolled her eyes. “He said I was using him for his wealth, and then he told me to get out.”

“I’m sorry.”

Flavia shook her head. “If I go back to him and grovel, if I promise to repent... He might forgive me.”

“Do you want to?”

If Flavia thought she had a chance to get back in Lord Thorne’s good graces, then why was she here, in the very place he would most disapprove of?

Flavia was silent for a moment. Then she looked up at Valerie, her eyes wet. “Do you ever... do you ever feel tired of pretending? Of playing their game?”

“All the time,” she said instantly. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“I thought I was fine with it. I didn’t care... We all have to get by, you know. I have a sick mother to take care of... The Drakonians put food on the table.”

“What about the rest of your family? Do you have anyone else who can help?”

Flavia shook her head. “I’m a Viper. They wiped most of us out.”

A Viper! No wonder she looked like one of the royals. Like the Stewards, the Vipers had long-standing ties with the royal family.

Valerie sucked in a breath. “I know Quintus Viper.”

Flavia started. “Quintus? He’s alive?”

“I saw him in Enyr.”

“Enyr?”

Turning traitor, she thought, like you, but it seemed cruel to say that. Those closest to the royal family had perished in the greatest numbers. Flavia likely had no other options, and Quintus had acted in the way he thought best for his country, even if she disagreed with him.

“Lord Hafnir introduced us,” she said, “but he stayed away from the Drakonians. I don’t know what he was doing there.”

“He’s a wanted man,” said Flavia. “It’s been so long, I didn’t think that he’d survived.”

“What about you? Can you stay? If you leave Lord Thorne, I mean.”

“I could still attend court if he doesn’t forbid it, but I’d have no means of living. I’d have to barter my jewels, my clothes...”

And then she wouldn’t be able to attend court at all, because the illusion of wealth would have vanished. Valerie felt a surge of anger for Flavia’s situation and the Drakonian court that had caused it.

“You shouldn’t have to do that,” she said. “You should make your own trade. What did you do before you joined the court?”

“I wanted to join the priesthood...” Flavia shook her head. “My mother was a famous diplomat. She had a talent for settling any dispute. But when we lost the war, the Viper name became poison. No one wanted to trade with us. Everything we had was taken by the Drakonians.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“My mother has a crib in the servants’ quarters. But Lord Thorne, he... He’s threatened to throw us out.”

“Go to your mother. Let me deal with Thorne.”

Flavia looked up, startled. “What?”

“Leave it with me.” She’d made up her mind. “You only need to find yourself a new situation, right? If Lord Thorne backs off, then you can stay in the palace, and I’ll bet you’ll have new suitors lining up in no time.”

“Really?”

Flavia was overwhelmed, so much so that she burst into tears again and hugged her, which Valerie bore with good grace.

Finally, Flavia drew back and looked up at her with watery eyes. “Are you sure you can make him listen?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Valerie promised.

She hurried straight to the state rooms, where she was prevented from entering by Captain Doryn.

“Lady Valerie? Where are you going?”

The only glimpse she’d had of the state rooms previously had been during a tour given by the palace archivist. She’d learned that these were the offices from which all of Maskamere was governed, from war rooms to meetings regarding the finer points of agricultural policy. An entire wing of the palace was inaccessible to her because women were forbidden to enter. Lord Avon spent much of his week here, in meetings or signing documents or whatever else he did with his time.

For Valerie, the state rooms were a set of double doors marked by a plaque that said PRIVATE. Sometimes she would catch the lords milling around the carpeted hallway outside it before they strolled down to the hall for dinner.

“I need to see Lord Avon,” she said.

“Lord Avon is busy and not to be disturbed.”

“When have I ever disturbed him during the day?” She gave Doryn a cajoling look. “Look, do me a favour. It’s urgent.”

Doryn sighed. “I’ll see if I can pass on a message.” He pushed open the door, then frowned at her when she didn’t move. “Go back to your rooms. Someone will send for you.”

“I don’t mind waiting.”

He looked like he might insist, then shook his head and disappeared behind the double doors. Valerie gave the other guard in the hallway a smile which was not returned. She found a niche next to a bust of some old Drakonian general where she leaned against the wall to wait. A grandfather clock in the hallway counted down the minutes.

She made a silent bet with herself: would Avon appear in fifteen minutes or less? Less meant he was taking her request seriously and dropping whatever commitments he had to come to her. More, and he was likely brushing Doryn off or finishing his current work before finding time for her. If he didn’t emerge at all, then he was either absent or cared nothing for her request no matter how urgent it might be.

The doors opened a couple of times while she waited. First, a harried manservant carrying a stack of papers who walked straight past without noticing her. Second was Argo, one of the courtiers, who blinked at her.

“Valerie?”

“Argo,” she said in the same tone. “What are you doing in there?”

He was only a courtier, here to entertain the lords with his music.

“What are you...” Argo shook his head. “I am a scribe. You shouldn’t be here—I’ll escort you back to the ladies’ parlour.”

He held out his arm as the clock chimed the hour—thirteen minutes, she thought. The double doors opened, and her heart leapt as Avon stepped out. He spotted her at once, coming over, and Argo did an almost comical double take to get out of his way.

“My lord.”

He bowed and retreated, leaving Avon looking down at her. “Well?”

“I need your help, my lord. Do you know where we can find Lord Thorne?”

To her relief, Lord Avon merely listened while she explained the situation during their walk from the state rooms to the chapel. She told him everything that Flavia had told her: Lord Thorne’s dismissal, the situation with Flavia and her mother, and the solution that she had proposed.

“If he throws her out of the palace, she won’t have a chance to find someone else. She and her mother... they’ll lose everything.”

“Well,” said Avon, “let’s talk to Lord Thorne, shall we.”

And he stepped into the chapel, Valerie by his side. She had never set foot in this building before. The Drakonians had built it, hastily, in the months after the invasion: a squat, ugly tower with eye-slit windows made out of whitewashed stone. Inside, the walls were whitewashed too, except for the wooden beams that crisscrossed the roof. At the altar, a statue of a dragon menaced the empty wooden pews. Straw dolls and carved statuettes were strewn at its feet. As they stepped closer, she saw that the statuettes had strangely contorted shapes and tortured expressions, while several of the dolls were stuck with pins. Her stomach felt queasy. This place was not for her.

Meanwhile, Lord Thorne was standing by the font in his white bishop’s robes, consulting a thin paper book.

He looked up, and his eyebrows disappeared into his hair. “Lord Avon! And Lady Valerie—welcome. What a surprise. Would you like to repent to the Divine?”

“No repenting, thank you,” said Avon, stopping by the first row of pews. “I understand that you’ve broken off your contract with Lady Flavia. I’d like to check that you’ll give her the compensation she’s owed.”

Thorne blinked several times in quick succession. He looked like a startled owl. “I—well—yes, we did break it off, but the fault lies with the girl. She returned to her heathen ways. Most disappointing, I can tell you—”

“Nonetheless, you dismissed her. You owe her one month’s compensation, during which time she may remain in the palace to seek another situation as she sees fit.”

“I...” Thorne snapped his book shut, frowning first at Avon and then at Valerie. “My lord, did the girl tell you this? I would hope to seek you at your own discretion, rather than the word of these Maskamery girls—”

“Lady Valerie brought this matter to my attention,” said Avon smoothly, “but now I’m talking to you. Did you dismiss Lady Flavia?”

“I—yes.”

“Then pay her what she’s owed. She’s a pretty girl; I’ve no doubt another lord will find her to his liking.”

“My concern as always is for the soul, my lord. Of course, I was never swayed by her wickedness, but I fear that others...”

Valerie made a small sound of outrage, and Avon glanced at her, placing a hand on her shoulder. His tone became noticeably colder.

“Pay her what she’s owed. And if I hear you badmouthing the girl, Lord Thorne, I’ll ensure that your bedchamber remains forever empty, do you understand me?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Thorne stared after them as they left the chapel. When she reemerged into the bright heat of the afternoon sun, Valerie realised that she was shaking. Avon took her arm, pulling her aside into the water garden. They passed into the shadow of a tall hedge, the chapel out of sight, and he turned to face her.

“You were right to bring this matter to my attention. I won’t tolerate the Maskamery at my court being mistreated; we have few enough of you with us as it is.”

“I’m... glad to hear it.”

“I must get back to work,” he said. “Lord Thorne may blame you. Know that I won’t tolerate that either. Will you keep an eye on Flavia?”

She nodded.

He escorted her back into the palace where they parted ways in the entrance hall, and she thought, I can share the good news with Flavia.

Then she thought: he did the decent thing.

It was a novel feeling, gratitude towards Avon. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Flavia, of course, was eternally grateful. Back in her quarters, she gave Valerie a hug that squeezed the breath out of her, crying into her shoulder.

“Thank you, thank you...”

“Let me know if Lord Thorne bothers you,” Valerie said firmly, setting her hands on Flavia’s shoulders. “I’ll take care of it.”

Having the Chancellor’s ear was useful—she could have taken advantage of this earlier. She hadn’t thought about the impact she could have, and Avon had been surprisingly willing to listen to her. For matters that align with his moral code, she thought. He punished rule-breakers, Drakonian and Maskamery alike. There was a certain fairness in that, if only the rules themselves weren’t so stupid.

Meanwhile, Flavia snuffled into her neck, then drew back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m crying all over your locket.”

She’d taken to wearing the locket that Lord Hafnir had given her, tucked beneath her bodice, in case Prince Bakra’s promised agent showed up. So far, no luck.

“Don’t worry,” she said, turning it away from Flavia’s curious gaze. “It’s fine.”

“It’s beautiful. Does it have your picture?”

“No,” she said, although it occurred to her that she hadn’t opened the locket. “It was a gift. From Lord Avon.”

“Could you pass on my thanks to Lord Avon? I can’t thank you enough, either of you...”

“Of course.”

“I’ve heard we have more visitors joining us over the summer. Lord Avon is offering land and servants to Drakonian nobles wishing to settle here. Perhaps they’ll be looking for a Maskamery companion, do you think?”

Flavia chattered on about her hopes of finding a new situation with one of these incoming lords. Valerie nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. She touched the locket around her neck and made her excuses.

As she emerged from the ladies’ quarters and into the main hall, she held the locket up against the dappled light of the chandelier, spinning it to examine the gold etching.

There was a clasp. She opened it.

And gasped.

Inside the locket was a tiny portrait of a woman with vivid green eyes. Those eyes were framed by strong eyebrows and flowing black hair, the Masked Crown upon her head and the Golden Sceptre in her hand. Her nose tilted slightly up. Her cheekbones were high, her lips rose-red.

There was no mistaking it. The features were the same.

Valerie dashed back to her room and rang for Priska. The maid appeared in under a minute.

“My lady?”

She thrust the locket at Priska. “Who is this? Do you recognise her?”

Priska frowned. “It’s the queen, ma’am. May Maska remember her.”

She couldn’t breathe. Right under her nose, all this time...

The figure she had seen in the silvertree wood was Queen Shikra.

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