Treacherous Witch

—she knows that she must kill him.

She knows it will not be easy.

"What's your name?" she asks.

It's dark; he's set an oil lamp on the table. She watches him remove his jacket and boots. Torchlight flickers outside; he casts a long shadow across the tent.

"Didn't you hear my men?"

"They called you General. I mean your real name."

After a moment, he answers—

*

Election day.

On the outside, the day seemed as ordinary as any other. The sun broke out from behind scudding clouds. A damp rain fell in the morning, leaving behind the scent of fresh dew on the moor. Across the lake, the city of Drakardia went about its business as usual.

The normality of it all sat uneasily with her; it did not match the fluttering in her stomach. Valerie hid away in an enclosed carriage, listening to the merchants hawking their wares and the clip-clop of hooves, and tried not to think about all the ways her plan could go wrong. She felt as if she were holding her breath before plunging into a great storm.

The Book of Shadows had proved a dead end. It refused to answer their questions. It was therefore imperative to win the election and return to Maskamere before the Patriarch seized her.

With the carriage shutters closed, she couldn't see the city passing by. But she felt the change in the air, the whisper of power.

"Stop!" Valerie called.

They rolled to a halt.

In the seat opposite her, Doryn frowned. "Here?"

"Tell him to go back a little. Hurry!"

He slipped out of the carriage to give instructions to the driver, Avon's valet. Valerie breathed in, nervous. They had arrived at the Senate House, or close by, and she could already sense the wyvern on its rooftop perch. If she could sense it, it was only a matter of time before it sensed her too.

The carriage rolled back a foot. Doryn opened the door, his body blocking her view.

"Is that enough?"

They adjusted until they had the positioning exactly right. This was vital: half the carriage had to be within the range of the wyvern's magical field and the other half outside it. In the enclosed interior, that meant Valerie sat just outside it, while anyone seated opposite her would be inside the field.

Avon's manservant disappeared into the Senate House. Doryn stood guard outside. Valerie waited.

She knew that in the Senate House, the men were gathering. Whether or not she and Avon had succeeded in persuading them, he would stand before them today as the incumbent candidate for the Chancellorship of Maskamere, and they would vote for either him or his challenger.

The Patriarch had placed the pawns on this particular board. But, Valerie thought, there was no reason she and Avon couldn't use them too. And there was one particular piece she thought was key to this entire game.

Several minutes later, two men ducked into the carriage. One of them was Doryn, grim-faced, his left hand holding a wooden cane, his right firmly set on the other man's shoulder.

Titus.

Doryn shoved him into the corner and closed the door behind him, leaving all three of them contained in a small and immediately stuffy space. He slipped a mercurite ring from his finger and gave it to Valerie, who put it on.

"You," Titus spat.

He was slightly dishevelled, his fancy coat hanging at an odd angle off his thin frame. Doryn seemed much larger than either of them.

Valerie twisted the ring around her finger. "Before you accuse me of betraying you, you betrayed me first. The Duke and his men knew about my locket. They never would have captured me if it weren't for you."

Titus stared at her.

"I've been where you are," she went on. "Imprisoned by a man more powerful than me. I knew the Patriarch wouldn't kill you."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to lose the election."

He made a disbelieving sound. "You're mad. If I lose, I'm dead."

"If you win, you're dead. I said we'd help you escape. You're almost out of time. Are you really going to reject my help again?"

"You're just like the rest of them." His voice dripped with disdain, an emotion she frankly thought he was in no position to have. "You arrogant bitch."

"Quiet," Doryn warned.

"Look," she said, "I'm giving you one chance to say yes. Let me take over your body today. It won't be for long—just until they finish the vote."

Titus blanched. It was interesting to watch: his face turned the colour of curdled milk, then those familiar angry red spots appeared in his cheeks.

"You want me to give you permission to possess me?"

"I know how it feels to be controlled by someone else. I want us to do this as allies. Let me help you."

She couldn't get into the Senate House herself. Even if the Patriarch wasn't hunting her, women were not allowed to enter. Nor did she and Avon want to leave this vote to chance. By possessing Titus, she could all but guarantee his loss and get him away from the Patriarch as quickly as possible. She hoped he would see the sense in her plan. But if he didn't…

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Titus leaned forward. "And if I refuse?"

She shrugged. "The next few hours are going to be a lot more unpleasant."

Pawns did not get to refuse. Valerie held out her hand.

He cowered away. "No! Don't. I'll throw the election. I'll stand up there and make myself a babbling fool if that's what you want. But let me do it myself."

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I can't trust you to do that."

She grabbed his hand. Titus made a violent motion towards her, wild-eyed and erratic, but Doryn swung his cane against the other man's chest. In the moment they collided, Valerie found the glyph on Titus's wrist. It called to her and she answered the call. She swooped in—

Her perspective reversed. Something hard dug into her chest. Her ankle throbbed. Opposite her, a dark-haired young woman fainted into the seat.

"Doryn," she gasped, swallowing the word with an unfamiliar tongue. "It's me."

Slowly, he withdrew. He stared at her, then at the unconscious Valerie in the other seat. "This is too strange for me."

"You're not the one in another body. Maska, he's injured too."

Her fault, of course. But she could fix that. Valerie sent a wash of healing magic into Titus's ankle, repairing the damage that she had inflicted. A wave of fear and rage radiated through her; she squashed it with a thought.

"You'll take care of my body?" she asked Doryn. "Take me back to the lodge?"

He nodded, though he avoided her eyes.

"All right," she said. "Wish me luck."

*

Fortunately, Valerie knew the way to the chamber. Her first movement was wobbly. The simple act of walking felt off; her legs were too long, her gait different. She felt like a gunshot waiting to go off, as if all of Titus's rage lurked beneath the surface, coursing through his blood. He had been terrified, she reminded herself. She could banish his fear from her mind, but it lingered in the body.

Still, she felt ungainly.

She leaned on the wooden cane that Doryn had given back to her, glad that she had an excuse to be unsteady on her feet. The Senate House loomed ahead, and she almost tripped over when she caught sight of the twin wyverns flanking the entrance. Right—she'd forgotten about the statues and how oddly lifelike they were.

The real wyvern perched on the rooftop above the great double doors, its wings tucked, its pose regal. Its size was almost identical to its brethren, but their stone visages paled in contrast to its gleaming black. They looked fiercer too, contorted into frozen action poses—one about to take off, the other about to pounce—while the real wyvern was elegant and still.

Valerie tried not to look at it as she passed through into the entrance hall. Its magic radiated out over the entire building, and it was the Patriarch's creature, not hers.

She sensed the Patriarch's power before she saw him. Passing through the halls, she nodded at the gentlemen who greeted her, then descended a set of steps, carefully, before she reached the circular chamber where the senators gathered. Purple robes rustled, the murmur of voices whispering around the floor.

As before, light poured down from a circular glass pane in the ceiling and illuminated the centre of the floor. But she hardly noticed it or the podium where she and Avon had endured their interrogation.

Then, the Patriarch had sat in his great chair in his great white robes and passed his judgement upon them. Today, Mithras occupied that chair. The halo of power around him was so strong, it drew all the light to him, leaving the rest in shadow. He seemed obvious now, this immortal puppeteer, and she wondered at how he could be invisible to everyone else.

Of course, he recognised her too.

The Patriarch lifted himself out of his marble seat with deceptive speed and bore down upon her. She held herself proud and upright, enjoying the momentary advantage of Titus's body being taller than his, and schooled Titus's face into what she hoped was a disarming smile.

"Your Eminence." She placed careful emphasis on the vowels, imitating the Drakonian accent. "I do hope I'm not late."

"Master Titus," he said. "You don't look well. Why don't you sit down? Let me speak for you."

"No need. I'm eager to speak."

His jaw clenched. But he had to pretend as she did, play their respective roles. What irony, she thought. Two sorcerers wearing the skins of others, and everyone around them oblivious.

The Patriarch leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Ruin this for me, you little slut, and I'll strike you down myself."

If she had been Valerie, she might have shivered at those words. But even if he killed Titus stone-dead, he couldn't kill her. Her real body lay safe and sound somewhere else.

For a fleeting moment, Valerie tasted the elation of invulnerability. Then the Patriarch called for order, and she reminded herself that this was not a foregone conclusion, that if she acted completely mad, he could call her out as bewitched and they would lose the vote. Her task was not to aggravate the entire audience, only a select few. She had to lose believably.

The senators gathered in their seats. She moved over to the box for guests, where for the first time she glimpsed Avon in his black coat. Their eyes met; she gave the briefest of nods. That was as far as any acknowledgement could go.

The Patriarch rose. Silence fell.

"Esteemed members of the Senate." He folded his hands inside his robes. "We reconvene today to discuss the matter of the governance of Maskamere. Following the Senate's vote of no confidence, Lord James Avon stepped down as Chancellor of Maskamere. He returns asking for your vote to reinstate his position. You will judge for yourselves if anything has materially changed in Lord Avon's conduct.

"We also welcome a new candidate for the position: Master Titus Steward, formerly an ambassador of Maskamere. Each candidate may nominate up to three representatives, including themselves, to speak for up to five minutes. Let us start with Lord Avon. He has nominated Lord Theodore Warren, the Duke of Glost, to speak first. Lord Warren."

Startled, Valerie watched the Duke of Glost step up to the podium. Powerful and well-built, he carried a no-nonsense air, commanding the immediate attention of the senators as he glowered at them. She remembered him from the Society Biologica. He had been sceptical then. Had Avon changed his mind?

"Esteemed senators," the Duke of Glost growled. "You know I don't like speaking at these things, so I'll keep it short. You all know Lord Avon. He conquered Maskamere. He took over the Chancellorship of Maskamere after Lord Turnbull failed miserably. As Chancellor, he crushed the prince's rebellion and turned our fortunes around. None of us can stand up and honestly question his competence as a governor. The man was born for leadership.

"As for his attachment to magic, it's frankly embarrassing that we've all been scared off by old wives' tales. Drakon didn't achieve greatness by acting like a timid child. Our ancestors took risks. I've no doubt there were fools in the Senate three centuries ago who baulked when Lord Owain Avon proposed the merging of old Drakon and Yirona. It took the foresight of an Avon to forge the Empire. I daresay it'll take the foresight of another to see us through into a new age. Stop wetting yourselves at the thought of witchcraft and start thinking about what we could do with it."

At that, the Duke stomped off. Valerie's mouth twitched. He hadn't minced his words, and she wondered how palatable that would be for the other senators. Still, he was a Duke, one of the highest ranks in the realm. She saw nothing but respect in the eyes of the audience, even if it was grudging.

"Now for Master Titus's first representative," said the Patriarch. "Lord Grimmauld Gideon, the Duke of Hennich."

Valerie could not hide her astonishment. The Duke of Hennich stepped up to the podium, his grey hair slicked back, as hale and hearty as if these hands she were borrowing hadn't slit his throat the other night.

The man was a cockroach. How was he still not dead?

Then she thought of the inscription on Mithras' tomb. Resurrection is trivial. She thought of the book they'd found in the monastery, the records kept by the Resurrected Monks.

Nibhet M. 26. Resurrected.
Bhrann W. 44. Sacrificed.

One resurrected. One sacrificed. Two servants had died that night in the palace. Those deaths were unaccounted for; she had not killed any servants and nor had Avon.

What if the Duke had bled to death on the floor that night? Mithras must have sacrificed the servants to bring him back. Why two and not one, she didn't know. Maybe they had both discovered the Duke's dead body and he'd silenced them. She had never seen the spell performed. She didn't know exactly how it worked.

But if she was right, then Mithras hadn't just healed his son. He'd resurrected him. Twice.

Valerie stared at the Patriarch, into whose lair she had once again ventured, and wondered if she would ever get out.