Treacherous Witch

"—Maskamere's defender. I cannot leave. But you can."

*

She was speechless.

"Marry me," said Avon, "and we'll fight him together."

She stared at him, then at the ring. For once, she had no retort. "I…"

"This will protect you. It's the strongest protection you can have in Drakon."

Of all the ways she might devise to escape the Patriarch's grasp, Valerie would never have imagined a wedding being one of them. She could hardly get past her shock. Marry him. Then what?

If she became Avon's wife, she would lose her status as a free citizen of Maskamere, should it ever regain independence. She would be giving up her freedom, not for an eighteen-year repentance, but for life. She would still be shackled to him, which meant that he would still have power over her. She'd been fighting all this time to break that hold.

But circumstances changed. They now faced formidable enemies. If she refused, the Patriarch would claim her back like some piece of meat, and given her experiences so far, she knew which master she would prefer. Avon could save her from that.

Even so, she didn't want to do it. Every fibre of her being railed against it.

She lifted her eyes to Avon's frown. "Would I become a subject of the Empire?"

"You already are."

"Would it make me legally your property?"

"You already were."

"And I'd have to convert? Renounce my faith, everything I believe in?"

"You would swear on the Divine, yes," said Avon, "but I would not ask you to renounce your faith. Though you might want to reconsider it yourself, given everything we know about Maska now."

She grimaced. Yes, she still needed to confront this crisis of faith. Of course, he was only saying it because he wanted her to practise magic. All part of his grand plan. But even if she swore in name only, that still meant something. She would have to live as if she worshipped the Divine, would have to pretend as Flavia had done when she'd converted to please Lord Thorne. Wouldn't that give the Patriarch even more power over her?

There had to be another way. "When you rode to the Patriarch's palace to rescue me, would you have killed him then, if you had to? What's stopping you now? Sure, he'll jump into Titus's body, but he'd be easier to—"

Avon shook his head. "If we could simply murder our way to victory, I would have done so already. Killing the Patriarch would create an unpredictable power vacuum and quite possibly incite all-out rebellion."

"Good," she said. "Maybe this place needs to burn down. See how you like it."

She saw the moment his face closed off, the tension in his shoulders and jaw. Avon stared at her, then closed the velvet box and put it away. She almost winced at the soft snap of the lid.

When he spoke again, all the warmth had drained from his voice. "I see that my proposal has offended you. But you're not thinking rationally."

Her anger flared up at once. "Don't. Don't tell me what to think."

"I am protecting you, Val. Would you rather belong to the Patriarch or to me?"

"Neither!"

The unfairness of it all tasted bitter on her tongue. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sprang up, her nightgown floating around her as she paced about the room.

"Don't you understand what I've been telling you? This is a Drakonian game. His game. It's rigged, this entire place is rigged against me. Why are those my only choices? Why are those always the only choices? I'm tired of being suffocated. I'm tired of my only protection being a cage. I have the blessing of the goldentree. I could be the most powerful sorcerer in Maskamere. I could do so much good—I could help people, my people. But no, I'm stuck here, and I'm being slowly crushed. You want to fight him? Then stop playing his game. Stop trying to control me."

"I'm not—" He hissed a breath through his teeth. "If you view my protection as a cage, then so be it. I'll put you there gladly, if only to save you from your own stupidity."

"Maskamery don't marry. Did you think of that before you asked me?"

A muscle in his face twitched. "Do you want me to force you? Shall I drag you down that aisle kicking and screaming?"

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"I want to go home!"

"Your only chance of doing that is with me. The world does not care for your childish tantrums, Valerie, and neither do I. Sit down."

He practically pushed her into the rocking chair. Valerie glared at him, and he took hold of her chin, lifting it towards him.

"Take a minute and think. I'll wait."

He turned away. Valerie sat there in the chair, breathing in and out, fingers clenching compulsively. She was a jumble of emotions.

He was right. She was raging against her circumstances, but raging wouldn't do anything. The impotency of her anger only fuelled it. And that emotion was clouding her judgement.

So think.

After the ordeal in the palace, she had felt such relief returning to Avon's arms. She craved his protection as much as she resented it. Now he had played his usual trick of giving with one hand and taking away with the other. The loss of her magic did not overly trouble her; she had no doubt they would fix that. But marriage…

Was there another option? She'd thrown out killing the Patriarch as if it were easy, but of course it was anything but. Other than that, she could only think of running, and truthfully, she didn't know anything about marriage. Only what her books had taught her, that wives were slaves. How she had pitied the women of other nations, left defenceless in their lands without magic. How none of them were free. How the brutality of men reigned, how their violent impulses were left unchecked.

But she lived in this world now, where her only shield against the brutality of one man was the brutality of another.

Perhaps his jealousy would drive Avon to violence. The thought crossed her mind again, to do something that could not be undone, to force his hand. Escape this wretched timeline.

Lady Melody's words echoed in her mind: Consequences.

She took a deep breath. "All right. Since you're so rational, let's talk this through. My contract was turned over to the Patriarch. I've never even seen it. What does it say?"

Silently, Avon lifted a sheaf of paper from his briefcase and handed it to her. She read the first page, frowning.

The document had been signed by Lord James Avon, Chancellor of Maskamere, and Lord Emmett Gideon, Master of Justice. Concerning the unrepentant traitoress, Valerie Crescent, hereafter designated "the Convict"… The Council nominates Lord James Avon, hereafter designated "the Benefactor" as sole caretaker of the Convict, to redeem her moral character in light of the Divine and ensure her repentance in service to the Drakonian Empire.

She knew that she was a criminal serving her master, Lord Avon. But to see it there in black and white, knowing that he had signed that document to claim legal ownership of her… Her hands trembled. And he claims that Drakon has no slaves.

She skimmed the rest. "It doesn't say anything about being a courtesan."

"The manner of your repentance lies at the discretion of your benefactor."

Which meant the Patriarch could legally do whatever he liked with her. The thought wasn't comforting.

She eyed Avon over the paper. "Do all courtesans have a contract like this?"

"No. Most courtesans aren't criminals."

She couldn't imagine why anyone would choose this life. It had been one of those taboo subjects at court in Jairah. Melody had scolded her for asking. Perhaps they were desperate for coin. That was why Melody had betrayed her.

"What about Lady Melody? She said she would take my place."

"Yes," he said. "She came to the villa, and she remains there now. I wish her no harm, but I'll have nothing to do with her either. She's another spy like Lady Juliana."

Part of her couldn't blame the woman. She'd been in a difficult situation and she'd gotten herself out. But Valerie felt hurt by it too. Perhaps she had misinterpreted Melody's interest in her as respect or even friendship. She had always been a pet project, a barbarian Maskamery for the other lady to train and mould. Nothing more.

Still, she wished she had handled it differently. Melody could have been an ally.

Valerie sighed and set down the contract. "I don't know. Don't you need your father's approval?" She remembered how Rufus had asked the Emperor for permission to marry Ophelia. "He'll say no."

"Normally, I would," said Avon, "but there is a provision for an Archbishop to ratify the settlement instead. Lord Rutherford has already agreed to stand in."

"What about the election? We're close, aren't we?"

"It's the day after tomorrow."

"So we marry, and then the Patriarch stands up in the Senate and tells them all that your wife bewitched you. I've spoken to enough people at this court to guess how they'll react. You'll lose the election, and we'll both be stuck."

He frowned.

"But if you win," Valerie went on, "we won't need to get married. We can go back to Maskamere. Smuggle me there if you have to."

"The Patriarch would come after you."

"He's going to come after me anyway! You said it yourself, he needs me."

"You're right," he said. "It will damage my chances at the election. But if I have to risk losing the election or losing you… I know what my choice will be."

Some part of her appreciated the sentiment. But it didn't sway her argument.

"It's two days. Do you really think we can't hide for two days?" She thought for a moment. "Is he using the wyvern? Is it looking for me too?"

"As far as I can tell, no. It's taken up residence on the roof of the Senate House. I imagine he doesn't want anyone to make the connection."

"Then let's wait until after the election. We can decide what to do then."

"Cruelty runs in that family like blood through a vein," said Avon. "You do understand that, don't you?"

"Of course I do! I'm the one they tortured. I'm willing to take the risk. Look, I'll think about your proposal. But the most important thing right now is to get my magic back. Can you do that for me?"

She didn't expect to change her mind, but she needed time to think. It all depended on the election. Winning would give them an easy route back to Maskamere. Losing would not.

Avon sighed. "I don't like this."

She took his hands. "I'm not rejecting you. You know that, right? Only…"

"My entire culture."

He looked weary, the sadness in his eyes tinged with regret. She didn't want to get into that argument with him again. He knew how she felt, both about Drakon and about him. He had the means and the motive to reject the Empire, she thought. But he would have to come to that conclusion himself.

"Do you think you'll win the election? Tell me honestly."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Hard to say. Father endorsed me, but some of the guests at the ball noticed my, ah, distemper."

So he might have messed up their chances already. And the Emperor might take back his approval if he suspected that Avon had played a part in Valerie's escape.

"That's all right," she said. "I know what to do."