Treacherous Witch

"—her people were there for her. People like you."

She shakes her head in despair. "I've barely done anything."

"You've helped far more than you know." She lifts Valerie's hand, presses it against her heart. "Do you believe in me? Do you believe in Maska?"

She can feel the queen's heartbeat, strong and steady. "Always," she whispers.

"I'll tell you a secret. The others can't know—"

*

The Patriarch went quite still. "See her?"

"I'm linked to her. To the queen. I can speak to her whenever I want."

"Show me."

Her cheek still hurt from the blow he'd struck. She touched it gingerly. He'd revealed to her what he wanted, and so, Valerie thought, she had something to bargain with. She could see the desire in his face, the way he focused in on her like a hound finding a scent. If the immortal Mithras had hunted the immortal Maska for a thousand years, then surely he couldn't turn down this opportunity.

"Get me out of this contract first. Make Lord Avon the Chancellor and come with us to Maskamere. I'll show you there."

The gleam in his eyes faded. He gazed at her, blank and pitiless, and she thought she might actually go numb with fear.

"The little girl has become suddenly demanding."

Yes, she thought. I have to be demanding. If she acted like he was in control, that was the same as him being in control.

"I'm not your servant. I'm not going to entertain the Duke. And I'm not going to convert to your stupid Church. I have the blessing of the goldentree. I was resurrected. I possessed Titus. Could a gnat do all that?"

"The little girl thinks she has power because she has something I want." He sneered like every nobleman in Drakon sneered, convinced of his own superiority, even more convinced that she was dirt beneath his boot. "The cook has something I want. The whore has something men want. Real power is taking what you want."

"Then you don't have power here," she answered, "because you can't take what you want from me."

Silence fell. The rotten smell of meat on the table faded, just a little. She breathed again and healed the bruise on her cheek. A tiny sliver of magic, born of defiance, nothing more.

Then the Patriarch shrugged. "My son will see to that."

To her chagrin, he turned away. He hadn't taken the bait, and she had nothing else to offer him. The Patriarch shuffled over to ring the bell for his valet, while Valerie stood rooted to the floor and thought frantically of how to escape.

"You don't have to do this! Please. I can take you to the queen. Just…" Her voice cracked. "Let me go first."

The Patriarch didn't glance back. "Do you surrender?"

She hesitated. The door to the dining room opened, and the valet entered and bowed. When Valerie still didn't speak, the Patriarch made a dismissive gesture.

"Take her to the Duke."

"The Patriarch is lying to you!" Desperate, she addressed the valet. "He's a sorcerer! He's not who he says he is!"

"Oh, and tie her hands and gag her, would you," the Patriarch added. "We mustn't let the witch spill more blood."

The valet ignored her pleas. As he summoned guards to escort her from the dining room, she reflected miserably that to him she was a witch and therefore untrustworthy, while the Patriarch was the highest Divine authority in the land and the man who paid his wages.

They tied her hands behind her back with thick rope that burned her skin, then gagged her with a ball of thick dirty wool that tasted foul in her mouth. Two guards gripped each of her arms hard enough to leave bruises. Ahead, the valet led the way through the palace and to the stairwell where she had confronted the Duke. But this time, she didn't have the locket. She didn't have anything.

Tears stung her eyes and soaked into the material of the gag as they rolled down her cheeks. This might be the worst situation she had ever been in. Worse even than the dungeon in Maskamere where the other Gideon brother had tortured her. Dread compressed her chest, making it hard to breathe. They were going to inflict injury she couldn't heal—why else would the Patriarch hand her over to the Duke? Maybe she shouldn't have wiped away that bruise. He must have noticed.

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Meanwhile, her hope of Avon coming to save her was fading. He had no idea of the Patriarch's true identity. Even if he did come, how could he fight against the Patriarch and all his men? Would he start a civil war to rescue her?

They climbed the stairs and she resisted one last time, dragging her feet, refusing to take another step. They hauled her up anyway and stopped by a half-open door where two voices drifted out. One belonged to the Duke. The other…

Titus!

What was he doing here?

The door was made of oak and sturdy. The valet knocked before entering, then the guards dragged her in and she took in the scene.

"…punish her too."

Titus stopped, turning to her. He and the Duke were standing in the middle of a bedchamber. No, not a bedchamber. There was a bed, a four poster set against the far wall, and next to it a oak wardrobe where a man's jacket hung off the door. But the other items in the room would have looked more at home in a dungeon: a wooden rack, a metal cabinet covered in spikes, a set of hammers, nails, rods and blades meticulously arranged on a table, a shelf of decanters filled with a mix of clear and murky liquids, and a set of pokers resting in a stand by the lit fireplace.

She immediately wanted to throw up what little food she had eaten.

The Duke smiled at them. "Leave her," he ordered.

The valet bowed and retreated. The guards shoved her forward, then retreated too. She blinked away the tears in her eyes and hoped they didn't see them.

"She crippled me." Titus's voice shook with rage. "I want to start."

He was leaning on a wooden cane, and though she couldn't see his injured ankle beneath his pinstriped trousers and boots, Valerie knew she had inflicted considerable damage. Which meant the Patriarch had chosen to heal his son, the Duke, but not Titus. And the Duke isn't even his son, she reminded herself. Mithras the sorcerer had healed him… but not Titus.

"You can start," said the Duke, his eyes burning into her, "but I'll finish."

Titus limped towards her. She backed off, not that it would do her any good. Save her seconds, maybe.

"Do you know where you are, witch?" the Duke asked, as if she had any capacity to answer. Perhaps he preferred a mute audience. "This was my brother's tower. We always said he enjoyed his instruments."

Her back hit the door. Even if she could have grabbed the handle, the guards would be waiting outside. The tension in her chest increased, her breathing already frantic. She felt cornered. She felt she might burst.

The Duke came up behind them, his gaze fixed on her with cold fury. "Consider this a fitting revenge."

Titus lifted his cane. Swung it back, ready to strike. Valerie braced herself.

Then he spun on his heel and struck the Duke cleanly in the head.

She bit down on her gag in shock. The Duke reeled back with a cry. Then came the solid thwack of the cane connecting with flesh as Titus hit him again and again. The other man fell heavily, cursing, and kicked out with his foot but Titus barely flinched. He struck again, once, twice, thrice, until the cane was bloody, the Duke's nose smashed, his body still.

Valerie watched it all and tried not to panic.

Finally, Titus leaned on his cane and caught his breath. He turned back to her. Then he limped forward and pulled off the gag.

Immediately she gasped for breath. The stench of blood filled the air.

"Take it off," Titus snarled.

She didn't grasp his meaning. "What?"

"The mark—take it off!"

Now she understood. Titus had experienced firsthand what it was like to be possessed by someone else, to be a passenger in his own body, and he had clearly enjoyed that about as much as she did.

"I can't!" she said. "Titus, we have to get out of here. You just killed the Duke—"

"Did I?" The laugh he gave was slightly hysterical. "No, no, no, I remember stabbing him last night, see. And then this morning they rolled up the corpses of two of the servants, and the Duke came down for breakfast perfectly fine. And they all pretended that it was perfectly fine. Madness."

"How did the servants die?" she asked at once. "Was it Avon? Was there a fight?"

"Shut up!" He pointed the cane at her. "I'm in charge here, witch. Take off the mark or I'll kill you right now."

"I told you, I can't! You read Anwen's paper, you saw the demonstration. You know magic only works near the silvertrees."

"Then how did you shock me? How did you steal my body?"

"I was wearing a locket that had a silvertree seed inside it. I hid it before they caught me. I can show you where it is."

He stared at her, mouth quivering, and she shivered at the madness in his eyes. They looked slightly bloodshot. A vein pulsed in his forehead. This wounded animal was not her friend. He had betrayed Maskamere, and now he had learned that his body was merely a tool to his benefactor, he had betrayed the Gideons too.

Still, she had no other option right now.

"Listen," she went on, "the Patriarch is not who he says he is. He's not the sorcerer. He's possessed by one, like I possessed you. He's spent all his life moving from one body to another, and I think that's why he marked you. You're his next vessel."

"He told me to stay in the palace until I recover."

"Because he wants you close by. He's getting ready to take over. Do you believe me now?"

By the bed, the Duke stirred, groaning. Valerie's heart jumped. He wasn't quite dead.

"We have to go!" she urged again. "Untie me!"

"Motherless dogs," Titus muttered. "Don't you dare betray me."

He untied the rope binding her wrists, while Valerie kept an eye on the barely conscious Duke on the floor. He was staring at them through half-lidded eyes. His fingers twitched. But he hadn't moved.

"There are guards outside, right?" she said. "Do you think they heard us?"

"This room is practically soundproof. Daddy Gideon didn't want little Gideon's victims to disturb the household."

"Right…" So they had a little more time than she thought. "What are you going to do about him?"

Titus had finished untying her hands. She rubbed at the red marks on her wrists and watched as, quite without emotion, he limped over to the table of younger Gideon's toys, picked up a knife, then knelt by the Duke and cut his throat.

Well, she thought, he's really done it now.

"We can find your sister," she said. "Avon and I can protect you; we'll find you a place in Maskamere after we win the election—"

Titus approached as she spoke, one hand leaning on the cane, the other brandishing the bloody knife.

"Hands behind your back," he said. "You have to look like a prisoner."

She'd barely flexed her wrists, and now he was telling her to twist them behind her again. But if he was right that the guards hadn't heard anything—and no one had come barging in yet—then a ruse was probably their best chance of escape.

Valerie nodded. "All right. Let's get out of here."