Treacherous Witch

She remembers Shikra's last words. She remembers the task the queen set for her. And so, when she sees the sword worn by her captor, she knows who he is, and—

*

Twenty eight days had passed since the Patriarch had declared Lord Avon unfit to retain his position as Chancellor of Maskamere: a full moon cycle. For Valerie, those days had vanished in a blur. She'd been powerless, scared, stressed and far too often threatened by those who sought to humiliate her or worse. She'd snatched at what magic she could in the present, while at night her dreams retraced the past she had lost. Time slipped through her fingers like sand, as one by one the remaining silvertrees were destroyed and now only one survived: her last chance to grasp at time, to turn over the hourglass, to restart.

One more day to go.

Today, on the eve of the election, Valerie's only task was to stay hidden. She and Avon debated whether to stay in the hunting lodge or change location. Staying here was perilous. Avon had denied all knowledge of Valerie's escape, of course, but his absence the previous night would have been noticed and it only made sense to suspect his involvement.

On the other hand, travelling through or leaving the city would also be perilous. They considered going to a trusted friend like Anwen or Lord Rutherford. But any travel risked discovery, and any household contained eyes they didn't trust.

So, she stayed at the lodge. Avon predicted that the Patriarch would not risk trespassing on his family property, at least not so soon. Valerie was more nervous that the Emperor would come to take her instead.

Avon did not stay with her. He had a different mission. She needed magic to read the Book of Shadows, which meant she needed a magical source. Valerie knew of four close by: the silver locket which she had lost in the Patriarch's palace, the mercurite ring worn by the Patriarch, the wyvern perched like a statue on the Senate House, and the one they decided to go for: the mercurite ring worn by Baron Madoc Frask, the spymaster she had met at the ball. Easier to steal from him than from the Patriarch, and it would have the added bonus of denying the Patriarch access to another marked body.

While he went off to do that, Valerie did not stay idle.

"Marriage?" Ophelia's eyebrows shot up. "Oh my gosh, did James propose? He did, didn't he? Congratulations!"

"No," she said impatiently, "not congratulations. I need to know what it means."

She and Ophelia lounged like two gossiping schoolgirls on the couch in the main lounge surrounded by hunting paraphernalia: the glass cabinet filled with rifles, the grotesque animal trophies displayed on the walls, the men's boots propped by the door. Edrick read one of his schoolbooks in the corner. They'd arrived in the morning with a full case of books. Another risk, but Avon had become paranoid that the pair of them might be in danger at the villa, and she couldn't blame him.

Ophelia gave her an impromptu hug. "Oh, but it's wonderful news. We'll be sisters!"

"But why is it wonderful? What's so wonderful about it?"

The other girl laughed. "I… Do you truly not know?"

"Imagine it's a strange foreign ritual I know nothing about."

"But you've been with me during the wedding planning."

"The wedding is a big party, I get that. But marriage is a contract for life, right?"

And she'd been thinking about it. Of course she'd been thinking about it. After the assassination attempt, Valerie had been sentenced to eighteen years' repentance. As far as she could tell, marriage was a life sentence. What was the difference?

"You'll be life partners," Ophelia agreed. "With good fortune, you'll grow old together. Of course, it doesn't always work out that way, but…"

"You're marrying Father?"

Valerie blinked. Edrick was gazing at them over the top of his history book. She hadn't expected him to listen in on the conversation.

"No," she said hurriedly. "No, we're just… It's hypothetical, all right?"

"Why?"

"It's ladies' chatter," Ophelia added. "Never mind us, silly, we're only chattering."

That seemed to satisfy him. The little boy returned to his book, and Valerie spoke more softly.

"What does the marriage contract say? Is there a way out of it?"

Lady Juliana was the Emperor's third wife, as she recalled. The first, Avon and Ophelia's mother, had passed away. She didn't know what had happened to the second. Could a wife leave her husband?

"A way out? You mean divorce?" Ophelia frowned. "But you haven't even married yet."

"Divorce," she repeated. "Divorce ends the marriage?"

"Yes, but you don't have to worry about that as long as you have a husband who will take care of you. James will be kind to you. He was so devastated when his first wife passed away, I thought he might never marry again."

"That's great," she said, "but I really do care about ending it. What exactly does the contract say?"

Like her previous question, Ophelia seemed to find this one bewildering. Her lips pursed, her round cheeks dimpling. It was as if she'd never considered the matter before, despite the fact that she was soon to be married herself.

"Well, I couldn't say exactly, and the settlements will all be different anyway because of the dowries and such. They can take months to negotiate."

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"But won't you need to sign the contract?"

"Oh, I don't sign it. Father will sign it on my behalf."

Of course, she thought. I should have guessed. She hadn't seen her own contract until last night because it didn't belong to her: it was an agreement between Lord Avon and Lord Gideon. Apparently marriage worked the same way.

"Will Rufus sign it?" she asked.

Ophelia nodded. "Father will take care of the legalities for me, and I expect James can take care of it for you. Oh, but… I think Lady Melody did give me something to read, wait a moment…"

She fished out a thin paperback from her stock of reading material and handed it to Valerie, who read the title: The Discerning Wife's Guide to Marriage, by Lady Briony Bretton.

She skimmed the contents. The first duty of a wife is to obey her husband… The second and most important duty of a wife is to bear his children… In marital relations, submit to your husband and let him fulfil his sacred duty.

The Drakonian attitude to relationships, as ever, was almost comically absurd. Did any Drakonian women enjoy their partners? What about the women who preferred female lovers? No wonder they were all so uptight.

She looked for anything about a contract and found a section entitled Marriage in law:

By law, husband and wife are as one person. You shall enjoy the benefits of coverture, whereby your husband shall bear responsibility in all legal matters, represent your democratic vote, and hold all lands, property and income on your behalf. Your marriage dowry shall pass to him, to hold or invest as he sees fit for the benefit of your household.

Should your husband pass and your children be not of legal age, his lands, property and income shall pass to you to hold on behalf of his children. If his children are of age to inherit, they shall be required to grant you sufficient income and accommodations to sustain the rest of your natural life. Should you be childless, you are entitled to none of his lands, property and income, and instead will receive your widow's dowry to sustain you until you remarry. Ladies, be sure to bear children quickly! There are few things less attractive than an ageing widow, and a gentleman may surely turn up his nose at such a prospect unless he is offered a most substantial dowry.

This appeared to grant the wife limited rights, which she guessed she wouldn't get as a courtesan—certainly not as a criminal. Finally, she reached a section about ending the marriage:

Wives, do not divorce your husbands! This must be seen as an absolute last resort, for you will lose access to your children, your home and your husband's protection. Divorce must be mutually agreed by both parties, for it is separating that which was once whole. You are entitled to a portion of your dowry to sustain you after the divorce. If your husband is desperate to be rid of you, demand of him a full lifetime's financial support. He may even be willing to share responsibility for his children until they come of age. If he is less eager to separate, you may receive only a pittance.

There are exceptional circumstances where the Church will allow divorce requested by only one party in the marriage. Your Archbishop has the power to grant this or the Patriarch himself. But this is very rarely given. Remember, the union of husband and wife is Divine! Be as one with your husband, and you will be together for a lifetime.

She didn't exactly understand all the terminology, but at least the requirements for divorce were clear.

"So it is perpetual," said Valerie, "and the only way out of it is if you both agree or if the Church allows it. Lady Briony seems to advise that you should get as much as you can from the husband in the divorce."

"Oh, I know," said Ophelia. "She's terribly progressive."

"The point is you can't leave without permission. I was right. It is imprisonment."

Ophelia's brow creased. "But it's not like that at all. It's more like… securing your future. I know the rules might seem tedious. But they protect all of us. If it were easy for a gentleman to divorce without penalty, he might be a cad and abandon his wife for no good reason."

Valerie disagreed, but she could see that she had already distressed Ophelia enough. The poor girl didn't want to think about divorce while she was still looking forward to her own wedding.

"I get that," she said. "You need guarantees. I just wouldn't want to be trapped."

"You won't be trapped if you're with someone you love." Ophelia leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Hardly any courtesan gets to marry a highborn lord. It'll cause such a scandal. I bet Mother will faint."

She tried a crooked smile. "As if I haven't caused enough of one already."

"Will you say yes?"

"I'd rather not," she said, and Ophelia's face fell. "But I might not have a choice."

"Do you really think that badly of him?"

"Not him." She sighed. "What do you think it'll be like? You and Rufus?"

"Well," said Ophelia, "please don't laugh at this, but I imagine you and me and Rufus and James, all living in Maskamere. You and James will live in the palace like kings and queens. Rufus and I will have our own manor and lands in the north. We'll visit each other every month, and we'll go riding or dining or watch a play together, and you can show me your beautiful dresses. And when we're not together, I shall paint and enjoy peaceful walks in the garden, and when I'm lonely, Rufus will comfort me, and when he's lonely, I'll comfort him. Then we'll have children, and we'll never be lonely again. I'll bring them up with light and laughter. No governess. No more of this horrid business with Father or the Patriarch." She stopped, cheeks flushing. "Sorry, I… I dream about this often. Does it sound so impossible?"

"It sounds like a dream," said Valerie, which was about as diplomatic a response as she could manage. "Even if it doesn't work out between me and your brother, I hope it goes well for you and Rufus. You deserve it."

Ophelia smiled. "I hope so too. This wedding is going to be the most important day of my life, and I want it to be perfect. I want both of you to be there, without this… this terror hanging over us."

This wedding, she realised now, was the equivalent of the blessing for Ophelia. Valerie remembered how excited she had been in the lead-up to her blessing, how thrilled to be borne through the gates of the convent in her robes and flower crown, how her family had gathered with the entire village to celebrate. She remembered the words High Priestess Glynda had spoken, grand and solemn.

She remembered as if it were yesterday.

"Do you promise to use this gift wisely and with restraint, for the betterment of Maskamere?"

"I do."

Those words had imprinted in her heart: a pledge of loyalty to Maskamere, her first promise as a priestess. How naive she had been then, as naive as Ophelia sounded now with her dewy-eyed view of the world.

She supposed it was her job to make the terrors go away, so that girls like Ophelia could keep on dreaming.

*

That night, Avon returned with the mercurite ring as promised.

"Frask?" she asked.

"Dead. We made it look like an accident."

So the Patriarch would know they'd made a move against him. A piece had been removed from the board. Now it was her turn.

Fresh-faced and fully healed, Valerie brought the Book of Shadows into the lounge and opened it on her lap where she could see the pages illuminated by the light from the fireplace. Avon and Ophelia sat on either side of her, the three of them squashed together on the couch, their faces intent.

Avon handed her a quill pen, and she asked it a question:

How do you kill an immortal sorcerer?

The book responded: Which sorcerer?

She hesitated. Then she wrote: Mithras.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the name Mithras bled into the page, flooding it in startling crimson. The ink reformed in response:

Mithras is dead.

Mithras is not dead. Mithras is alive. How do we kill him?

The word Mithras dissolved even as she wrote it. Now the book itself started to bleed, scarlet droplets seeping out of the pages. Ophelia's hand flew to her mouth. Valerie almost dropped it in shock.

Terrified, she stared at the bloody words that inked themselves across the page, repeating over and over and over:

Forbidden. Forbidden. Forbidden.