Treacherous Witch

He gives a slight smile. "I think you're better off staying with me."

*

Avon greeted the other lady first. "Our gracious hostess." He inclined his head. "How are you?"

"Very well, my lord." Lady Melody dipped her head in return, her veil rustling. "Though you flatter me. I did provide some minor assistance to the Gideons, but I couldn't take any credit as the hostess."

"Well," said Avon, "I'm sure your assistance was most appreciated. My sister speaks very highly of you. She says her wedding plans would not have gone so smoothly without your guiding hand."

The blush in Melody's cheeks deepened. "Thank you, my lord."

Her gaze shifted over to Valerie, who was trying to decide how best to take Melody aside for a private chat. They couldn't exactly be secretive about it in the middle of the ballroom floor, but maybe she could find a way to make it look natural.

"Don't let me stop you two ladies from catching up." Avon glanced at her, then brushed her arm. "We'll talk later."

Perfect. He'd read her mind. Valerie nodded, meeting his eyes. "My lord."

They both watched him depart. He headed towards the stage where his father was talking with the Patriarch—what she wouldn't give to listen in on that conversation—only to be waylaid by several ladies on the ballroom floor. Valerie twisted her mouth.

"It's natural to be jealous," said Melody, startling her. "Amilia struggled with it. Rose got caught up in the romance too. You must learn to control these emotions. Lord Avon has shown you a great deal of favour."

"So I should be grateful for whatever I can get?"

"Yes. Or you'll be labelled a petulant child."

"I've been called worse."

Melody smiled. "Of course. Wasn't there someone else at this ball you wished to meet?"

She had to think for a second before she remembered. Her original purpose had been to arrange a meeting with the Patriarch, but Avon had covered that. Regardless, Melody had now given her an opening.

"Yes," she said, "but could we talk first? In private? I think you know better than me how to approach him…"

"I daresay you're right."

It was that easy. Melody showed her out of the ballroom and through a series of hallways into an empty drawing room. They sat down on the couch like two ladies taking tea. Across from them, a perfectly nice fireplace was ruined by a family portrait of the Patriarch and his offspring hanging above the mantelpiece. A book on the coffee table caught her eye: The Chronicle of Ethics.

Melody saw where she was looking. "The Patriarch likes to remind us of his holiness. Although ladies like us could never hope to meet his standards."

"I wouldn't care to try."

"Of course you wouldn't. You've always thought our standards beneath you, haven't you?"

She frowned. "They're beneath you too. You just don't realise it. That's one of the things I'm trying to change. It's insane that someone as capable as you is playing servant to the Gideons. If you'd grown up in Maskamere, you could easily be a High Priestess." Melody snorted, but she shook her head, undeterred. "No, I'm serious. Will you talk to me, please? Are you really satisfied with this life, with serving them? Or do you want something more?"

"Wanting is a sin," said Melody. "To accept one's lot is divine. But we are both sinners. I suppose I owe you an explanation." She looked down at her clasped hands, the slightest tremor disrupting her perfect posture. After a moment, she went on: "You know, when we all learned you were a witch, I finally understood something about you. Your ingratitude. Your entitlement. You've never had to worry about money a day in your life, have you?"

"Most of my life, we didn't have any coin to worry about," she replied, wondering where this was going.

"It may cause sleepless nights for even the richest of men. And my husband was not the richest of men. After his death, I discovered that he'd racked up quite the array of gambling debts. Enough to drive me into poverty. I've been forced to sell our house. Very soon, my children and I shall be homeless."

"I'm sorry."

She'd heard some of this story from Lady Juliana—and it made her blood boil again to recall the callous way the Empress had dismissed Melody. She'll crawl back to the gutter where she belongs, she'd said. But Ophelia had also reported that Juliana and Melody had been whispering together. So what had happened since then?

Melody nodded, prim, matter-of-fact. "Lady Ophelia gave me a lifeline. She kept me afloat with this wedding planning business. I thought perhaps I could make something of it, so I asked the Patriarch for his favour. He refused."

"But why do you need his favour?"

She remembered the term that Melody had used on the train on the way to Drakardia. Benefactor. As Lord Gideon's ex-consort, Melody had returned to the Gideon family to beg for their mercy, as she had put it, but she had always refused to elaborate further.

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"Because I have a contract with the deceased Lord Gideon," Melody replied. "I was bound in service to him for sixteen more months when he died. The contract passed to his next of kin—his brother, the Duke of Hennich. Well, the dear Duke took one look at my boys and told me he wouldn't throw so much as a scrap to some other man's whelps. Nor will he pay my husband's debts. So I must pay them."

"Melody…" She shook her head. "You should have told me sooner."

Melody's eyes were bright with tears. "It's my fault, of course. I should have given Lord Gideon a child. That would have guaranteed me an income."

"That's not your fault," said Valerie at once. "If he couldn't—"

"Oh, it is," said Melody. "I ensured it."

There was a short silence.

"Let me help," said Valerie. "You don't have to suffer like this—I can help you."

"I remember your offer," Melody agreed. "And yes, you can help. That's why you're here."

"I…" A lump formed in her stomach. "What?"

"The Patriarch refused to help me set up a business. But he did offer me a bargain. If I could pay off all my debts, then he would take on my contract and find me a suitable position somewhere else. So I did as he asked. And the Patriarch has found me a suitable position."

"What position?"

Melody's expression didn't flicker. "Yours."

Valerie stared at her.

"We swap places. You turn over your contract to the Patriarch. I pledge myself to Lord Avon."

She was speechless. Swap places? Melody, the courtesan who had served two Gideon brothers. Valerie, Lord Avon's favoured consort… Surely it couldn't happen. They couldn't simply exchange one woman for another, in the same way she might barter a scarf for a sack of grain.

Could they?

"Lord Avon won't turn away my children," Melody went on. "And I will give him another child. The Patriarch has been calling for you to burn. Giving you to him will appease him. I'm saving your life, darling."

She felt sick. "Are you joking? Give me to that vile old man? No!"

"That vile old man?" Melody stood up, her face hard. "What do you think the rest of us have been doing?"

No, sick didn't cover it. She felt like she had been punched in the gut. "I thought you were my friend."

"I thought you were my friend," Melody snapped, "until you murdered the only security I had left."

Was that what it all came back to? Did Melody feel that Valerie had betrayed her by killing Lord Gideon? There was no way she had loved the man. He was the least lovable human being she had ever met. But whether it was anger or pride that had driven Melody to hide her predicament, it didn't matter. The result was the same.

"Look," said Valerie, "I am sorry about what happened to Lord Gideon and your husband, truly, but I'm not going to swap places with you. Avon would never agree to it either. Let him pay off your debt. You don't have to work for the Gideons. Avon can employ you—"

"He can't. Only one person can overturn our contracts without our masters' permission. I've already spoken to the Emperor. The deal is done."

And with that, Melody turned on her heel and swept out of the room. Valerie leapt up and chased after her. She was still reeling from the betrayal, but she could not, would not, allow this to be done to her. She would kill the Patriarch herself if she had to.

Melody had disappeared into the hallway. Before Valerie reached the door, it burst open. In marched six imperial guards, followed by a tall grey-haired man in a dark green mask: Grimmauld Gideon, the Duke of Hennich.

She stopped short, panic setting in. "Stay back!"

The older Gideon brother folded his arms. "Surround her."

Within seconds, the six guards encircled her, and six bayonets pointed at her. Slowly, Valerie put her hands up.

"That's it," said the Duke. He advanced on her, passing between two of the guards. "Careful now. This one bites."

Her eyes darted around, trying to keep tabs on all of the guards. If she could find an opening to duck through…

"Did Lady Melody explain?" the Duke added. "Your stay here is going to be permanent. Allow me to escort you to our room."

"Eat shit!" she spat.

The Duke nodded at one of his comrades. He jabbed forward—and his blade slashed her thigh. Pain lanced through her—then it crackled back through her flesh and into a lightning strike that flashed through the blade and into the guard wielding it. He screamed, toppling over. She might have taken the chance to run if she hadn't already collapsed on her knees.

She healed the wound, but the memory of the pain seared bright in her flesh. The other guards had already closed up the gap left by their unconscious comrade.

"Maska curse you!" She got to her feet and glared at the Duke. There was no point hiding her magic. Better if they saw she was unhurt. "Dog! Do you want to know how your brother died? Do you want to know how I killed him?"

The Duke's eyes glittered.

"I put my hands on his flesh," she said, "and I boiled him alive. His eyeballs popped. He died screaming."

"Take off your clothes," said the Duke.

That caught her by surprise. "What?"

"We know you're wearing some magical trinket, witch. Take it off."

She gritted her teeth. Titus. Damn him. Of course he'd told them about their fracas in the bathroom. The Duke didn't look surprised that she'd been able to defend herself either. So he knew what her spell did, and now he'd confirmed that it was still active.

Obviously, she wasn't about to obey him. She stood her ground.

"Shoot her," the Duke commanded.

He indicated the next guard, but the man hesitated. He wasn't the only one. Valerie saw several wary faces, and in turn she felt the simmering energy of the spell in her dress, ready and eager to strike at her foes. Their fear empowered her.

"What are you playing at?" the Duke hissed. "I said shoot!"

The man pulled his trigger. The sharp crack of the gunshot reverberated in her ears and Valerie flinched, but it didn't hit her. He'd shot somewhere at her feet. The other guards had already backed off a step or two, giving her more space.

She looked again for the gap in their lines, a possible way out…

Meanwhile, the Duke looked incensed. "Shoot her, you fool! Not the floor, her!"

"At least your brother fought me himself!" she taunted him. "He wasn't a coward."

The Duke's face twisted. He grabbed the bayonet from the unfortunate guard, pointed at her and pulled the trigger. The blast filled her ears, and at the same time, pain exploded in her thigh. She was thrown a good few feet across the floor and towards the empty fireplace, narrowly missing being impaled by another bayonet. Whimpering, Valerie clutched at her wound. Heal. Fix it, quickly, come on.

The Duke stepped forward, lifting the bayonet. "Died screaming, did he? Go on. Keep resisting. Give me a reason to kill you."

"Dog," she groaned. There was shrapnel in the wound. It would not be so easy to heal. "I'll curse you. You think your brother suffered? I'll make it so much worse for you."

The next bullet ripped into her shoulder. The pain in her thigh had not gone away; it throbbed and bled, but the pain in her shoulder eclipsed it at once, fresh and raw. Heal, she thought. Heal, please, heal. She forced the wound to close. Her dress was soaked with blood.

The guards closed in. Whatever power she had grasped at earlier had disappeared. They'd found the loophole in her spell: it only responded to direct contact. Her only hope now was that the gunshots were loud enough to attract attention. Surely Avon would notice she was missing. Surely the kerfuffle would raise the alarm at the party. He would come to rescue her.

She dragged herself into a sitting position. "You can't kill me," she rasped. "You're dead if you do."

This time, he aimed at her head. "Last warning. Take it off, now."

She stared into the barrel of the gun. The locket felt heavy and conspicuous around her neck. This was it. She could either surrender… or find out whether a witch could survive a bullet to the head.

Valerie made her choice.