Treacherous Witch
Bolebund

“Magic is most effective against those ignorant of it. No magic trick will fool a priestess. She’ll see right through it.”

Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen

On the second day, they arrived in Bolebund. They’d spent the night at the encampment of General Leamsbrand, where Lord Avon had disappeared for several hours to consult with the general. Naturally, Valerie had not been allowed to join the war council. Instead, she’d looked out at the camp from her tent, trying to count the number of tents from the lanterns shining in the darkness.

They seemed endless. Far more than a thousand.

Could Bolebund withstand such numbers? The city had been smaller than Jairah before the war, but much of the northern population had fled behind its borders to escape the Drakonian army. How many men did they have able to fight?

Valerie pondered this as she and Avon rode into the city under cover of darkness.

For this final part of the journey, they were alone. They’d been stopped twice, first at a bridge guarded by Maskamery men, and then at the gates of the city itself. Both times Valerie took the lead, exaggerating her northern accent and offering the guards samples of wine to recommend to their families. Avon hid his face with scarf and hood, and that was enough to get them past the city walls.

Bolebund was not how she remembered. She’d visited once before the war, and back then it had been famous for its wonderful floral displays and herbal gardens. Every street had been vibrant with colour, every building festooned with hanging flowers and vines. In the town centre there had been a pavilion where apple, pear and orange trees grew improbably together. She didn’t remember the city being walled.

They stopped outside an inn, Avon tying up the horses. Valerie wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and looked around. Light rain pattered the streets. A mournful flower basket hung by the porch. Everywhere else seemed miserably grey.

Avon came over, pulling down his hood and scarf as he ducked under the porch.

“You’d better not speak,” she said. “Your accent will give you away.”

The way he pronounced his vowels was all wrong. No one listening would believe he was a simple wine merchant. He had a certain way of moving too, a regal lift to his shoulders, an almost feline grace. He carried himself like he should command every man and woman in the room. She frowned, pursing her lips.

“Try not to look so... haughty.”

“Haughty?” The curl of his lip was nothing but haughty.

She shook her head, setting her hands on his roughwoven jacket. “You don’t own this place. No one here will do what you tell them. You should be... humble. Mild-mannered. A little nervous, because of the war. Oh, Maska, your nose.”

The aquiline nose, the hawk-like profile. It was a distinctively Drakonian feature.

“Markus, the humble, mild-mannered merchant,” he said. “Yes, I think it’s best I say as little as possible. What are you touching me for?”

She’d reached up to cup his cheek. “Let me hide it.”

A simple trick. She traced her fingers over his face and gave him a straight nose instead—bland, forgettable. Nothing about his face had changed; it was a simple illusion. The effect softened his features. It was odd. Not bad looking. But a forgettable face was the point.

He frowned. “Doesn’t your spell already shield us?”

“It stops us drawing attention. We’ll have to get the attention of the innkeeper, so I’ve disguised you to be safe. Come on.”

She took his hand—she could only maintain the disguise as long as they maintained skin-to-skin contact— and they entered the inn. It wasn’t dissimilar to the guest house in her village, though larger and grander, with high wooden beams, a well-stocked bar, and round tables nestled in odd nooks and crannies.

With the precautions they’d taken, the innkeeper didn’t give them a second glance after taking their reservations, but her heart hammered all the same. They climbed a creaking staircase to find their room, a modest affair with mismatched furniture and flowery curtains.

“Rather cramped,” Avon observed, looking up. His head nearly brushed the beams on the ceiling.

“It’s a good-sized room for a merchant couple.”

She pulled aside the curtain, peering through the window at the iron rail balcony and the city beyond. Avon joined her.

“The abbey is in the west end of the city. That’s where I’d start looking for the silvertree, though none of our spies have found it.”

She shook her head. “No. The silvertree is to the north. I can feel it.”

She’d sensed the presence of the silvertree shortly before arriving, like a faint glimmer in the distance. Looking out now, she could feel that same pulse—closer, but still some way off.

Avon followed her gaze. “Where exactly?”

“Beyond the city. You see those hills in the distance? There.”

“That way is towards the mountain pass,” he said. “Strange.”

“It’s not strange. The silvertrees are always outside the town or city limits in the north, to keep people away from them. The temple will be tucked away somewhere in the hills. Ordinary people won’t even be able to find it.”

“No wonder we had so much trouble in the north,” he murmured. “Why the different attitude?”

“I don’t know—closer to the border, I suppose. You hide away your treasures when you know there are thieves nearby.”

Maskamere was a peninsula. Only its northern border connected to the lands beyond, and most of the northern edge was mountainous and hostile to travellers. Nowhere in Maskamere shared a direct border with Drakon. It was only since the invasion of Carthal that Drakon had direct access to Maskamere over land. That was why Valerie’s village had fared badly compared to other areas in the north: Drymuir had been in the northeast, close to the border with Carthal, whereas Bolebund and what remained of the free Maskamere was in the northwest bordering Severhine, a nation that had yet evaded the grasp of the Empire.

“You speak from experience.”

“It’s how they did it in my village. But the Drakonians found us anyway.”

“Under cover of darkness.”

She nodded.

“We’ll take a similar approach,” said Avon. “Rest tonight, then go to the silvertree tomorrow. We’ll slip in unnoticed while the city is under attack.”

The army planned to march on the city at nightfall tomorrow. She only had a day to warn the resistance.

Valerie took a breath. “We need to find the resistance first, my lord.”

He frowned at her. “I’d like to find the tree.”

“Why bother when the resistance can take me straight to it? I thought we’d agreed this.”

The ease of their conversation had vanished, tension filling the air. He stiffened, his shoulders tense, mouth thin. She didn’t like what he was saying either, her hands curling into fists.

“We’re not involving the resistance.”

“We have to. Do you think a simple illusion will get us through? Any priestess can sense magic. They’d see right through us.”

His expression darkened. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“You didn’t ask.” She looked up at him, searching his face. She’d let the illusion drop the moment they entered the room, so she could see his face without any magic obscuring it. “You still think I’m going to run back to the resistance, don’t you?”

“I think I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he said.

“Fine. Come with me, then.”

“So you can hand me over?”

“Follow me at a distance. They won’t be able to capture you. You have a power that can beat them.”

He frowned, uncomprehending.

“Your sword,” she said. “It can stop magic. And if something goes wrong, I’ll need you to protect me.”

She saw him ponder that, the way his frown deepened. Maybe he hadn’t fully considered how risky this was, how much he was depending on her not to give him away. He’d travelled into the heart of enemy territory without any backup. Even with the Drakonian army following him, he was vulnerable.

Whatever lay behind that door, he wanted it badly.

“Hey,” she said, lifting a hand to caress his jaw. “I’m with you.”

But he stepped away, hand on the hilt of his sword. “I know your magic works through touch. I want a clear head tonight.”

That stung. As he turned away, she folded her arms and snapped, “Your head’s always been clear. I’ve never touched it. Not once.”

He laughed, a bitter sound. “You bewitched me from the moment we met.”

“But not with magic.”

“No,” he admitted. “No, perhaps not...”

He left the thought unfinished and she didn’t press him. He’d admitted a vulnerability, and they both knew it. He wouldn’t say it again.

Sleep that night came more easily than she expected. Avon had specified a twin room without her having to ask, but for the first time she didn’t fear unwanted attention. She was confident that he wouldn’t touch her, and if he did, she would welcome it. Either way worked to her advantage.

It occurred to her that the same was true of here and now in Bolebund. If all went according to plan, she would hand over Avon and rejoin the resistance. If something went wrong, if the city was invaded first, she could go back to Avon and pretend they were still working together. Either way she would get what she wanted.

How nice to be the one holding all the cards.

How to find the resistance? That was Avon’s question. She’d half-feared that he would change his mind in the morning, come up with some other method to reach the silvertree, but it seemed he’d accepted her plan.

Or he’s testing me.

“My cousin Lavinia fled to Bolebund,” she told him. “I’ll ask her.”

She didn’t voice her worry that she might not be able to find Lavinia or that Lavinia might have left Bolebund. The entire city was resisting Drakon; surely it wouldn’t be that hard to find them.

“Keep your distance,” she added as they left the inn. “We can’t look as though we’re travelling together.”

“Won’t it look strange for a woman to be walking alone?”

She gave him a blank look. “Why?”

He opened his mouth, then shook his head. “No matter.”

The morning was cool and fresh, a strong breeze blowing in from the mountains. Both clad in their magical garments, Valerie set off down the main street with Avon some way behind her. She was pleased to discover that the fruit trees in the pavilion had survived, young women and children busy at work picking the fruit and collecting it in baskets. While the citizens of Bolebund failed to notice them, she could sense Avon like a beacon thanks to her spell.

Heading north, she entered an outdoor market full of stalls exchanging wares from eggs and milk to baked goods to butchers’ meat. The air was pungent. Valerie stopped by one such stall, where boars’ tongues and chicken legs hung from a line of pegs, and cleared her throat to get the merchant’s attention.

He started. “Sorry, love, didn’t notice you there. You collecting for supper?”

“I’m looking for the Crescent family. Do you know where I might find them?”

But he’d never heard of them. She tried again with several other stalls. Nothing. Then a public house, a bathhouse, and a bakery, all around the city square. Still nothing. She got only funny looks and annoyance that she wasn’t there to make a deal.

All the while, Avon followed behind her like a shadow. She wondered what he was thinking. She was hardly putting on a great show of competence right now, wandering around like a lost chicken. And the longer she took, the more likely it was that he’d decide to call this plan off.

If Lavinia and her children had settled in Bolebund, where would they be? On impulse, she turned down a cobbled side street, noticing a sign for a jeweller. If Bolebund was anything like Jairah, then similar trades tended to be close to each other, their families connected by bonds of blood.

As she’d guessed, she passed a shoemaker before ducking through the entrance of a clothing store. And there, to her surprise and pleasure, was Lavinia, talking to a woman at the counter.

“Lavinia!”

“Valerie?”

Lavinia’s eyes widened, but she laughed in surprise when Valerie rushed in to hug her.

“Another Crescent?” asked the woman at the counter, whose fancy feathered hat didn’t disguise her sharp eyes.

“Yes,” said Lavinia, “yes, this is Valerie, my cousin. Val, this is Juniper, of the Shepherd family. They were kind enough to take us in when we fled Jairah.”

“Ah... You trade in wool?”

She recognised the name. The Shepherd name was older than the Crescents; it reflected the origin of their family tree. They had started out as sheep farmers. If she remembered her family history correctly, the Crescents had split off from the Shepherds about two hundred years ago to start a new life in the east.

“For your silks and cotton,” said Juniper. “Hard to get anything from the south these days. How’d you get here?”

Valerie looked at Lavinia, who nodded. “She’s a friend of the resistance. You can speak freely.”

“I came to warn you,” said Valerie. “The Drakonians are coming.”

Juniper pursed her lips. “When?”

“They’ve brought in a thousand men as reinforcements. They’re going to invade the city tonight.”

The two women looked at each other in alarm.

“Tell the Abbess,” Valerie went on, “and everyone you can, and get out.”

“The city’s been on high alert for a week,” said Juniper. “We’re ready to fight.”

“You’re going to lose. You need to leave while there’s still time.”

“We can’t surrender—”

“I didn’t say surrender. I said get out.”

She spoke as calmly as she could, but she was hiding a quiet desperation. The men of Bolebund would fight. They might even win. But she didn’t want Lavinia and her children caught up in a bloody war.

“I should take the children somewhere safe,” said Lavinia, who seemed to catch on to her urgency better than Juniper. Then again, she supposed the other woman was used to war. They’d been living in a constant state of conflict for two years.

“What about the prince? Is he in the city?”

“I don’t think so...”

“The Abbess then. Can you tell me where to find her?”

“Not directly,” said Lavinia, “but I know someone who can. Juniper, can you...”

“I’ll take care of your bairns,” said Juniper. “How long do you need?”

“You don’t have to come with me,” said Valerie at once. “Just point me in the right direction. It’s more important that you go somewhere safe.”

Lavinia looked at Juniper. “Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”

“I can be ready in an hour. But we should stand our ground.”

“Then I’ll come with you, Val,” said Lavinia. “I owe you that much.”

Valerie opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. She wished she could prioritise helping Lavinia and her children escape. But if she didn’t warn the Abbess, their chances of surviving this invasion would be significantly reduced.

She held out her arm to Lavinia. “Let’s go.”

Lavinia didn’t take her far. There was a pub on the next street, the Rose and Thorn, which she said was a meeting place for the resistance. At this time of day, it was almost empty. The air smelt of beer and wood. Valerie stayed at Lavinia’s shoulder, looking around at the high beams and the portraits of flowers on the walls. Many of them were roses, befitting the name of the establishment, but none were pretty. In this one the roses were covered in blood, and in that one poking from the eye sockets of a human skull. Someone had macabre taste.

Three men were talking in hushed tones at the counter. Lavinia cleared her throat and they looked up.

“Max,” said Lavinia. “My cousin wants to get in touch with the resistance. Can you help?”

Max was the tallest of the three, a lanky man in his forties with stubble that didn’t quite hide his weak jaw. He put down his beer glass and cleared his throat.

“Lavinia? Where’s this cousin of yours?”

Lavinia blinked. “Right here.”

One of the men had already spotted her, Valerie realised. Max and the other man drinking next to him had their eyes fixed on Lavinia. But the bartender, a grizzled man with straggly dark hair, was staring at her in deep suspicion.

“Witch,” he said.

She stepped forward, and the other two men started.

“What...?” Max stopped himself. He glanced back at the bartender. “Witch, you say?”

“Lavinia,” said the bartender, “what cause do you have to bring a witch into my bar?”

“I’m not a witch,” said Valerie, stepping in on her cousin’s behalf. “I’m a priestess. I’m here to see Abbess Sopphora.”

“A priestess.” The bartender chuckled. “That’s a good one.”

“I think you’d better come with us,” said Max, and before she could react, he strode forward and dealt a blow to her head.

Pain exploded in her temple. She crashed to the floor with a cry, stars dancing in front of her eyes. She vaguely heard Lavinia scream, the muffled shouts of the other men, but the room was darkening around her, and she couldn’t muster up the magic to heal herself...

The darkness won. Dazed and shocked, she blacked out.

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