Treacherous Witch

"A precaution," he tells her.

"Why?"

"There's no guard between us."

"You make me sound so dangerous." He finishes tightening the knot and steps back. She's conscious of his proximity, her heart beating faster when she faces him. "I thought I—"

*

Rufus and Avon returned to the embassy later that afternoon. Rufus had a few scrapes and bruises from tumbling out of the carriage. Avon looked unhurt. Valerie and Ophelia immediately beset them with questions.

Avon held up his hand. "Titus and his sister are safely away to Maskamere. We lost the wyvern."

"What about our ship?" Valerie wanted to know.

"What about my wedding dress?" Ophelia added.

"You shall have your dress," said Avon, "and we'll set sail with the wedding party tomorrow night. There's only one more matter to resolve before then."

He gave Valerie a significant look, and she knew what he meant. She and Avon would not have an extravagant wedding party like Ophelia. He intended for them to be married in secret, by the Archbishop, Lord Rutherford. There was only one thing stopping him: Valerie had not yet accepted his proposal.

"Are we to stay here tonight?" Ophelia asked. "What if they come looking for us?"

"We left the Patriarch a few breadcrumbs, love," Rufus told them. "That'll keep him occupied for at least another day."

"His attention will be divided with Titus on the run," Avon added. "Still, we should stay vigilant. Doryn, I want guards posted at both entrances and preparation for a swift getaway if necessary."

Doryn nodded. "Aye, my lord."

They retreated to the drawing room, where a delighted Edrick ran to his father, and Avon swung the little boy up into his arms. With no servants to wait on them, Ophelia fetched a wine bottle from the kitchen and poured them drinks.

Valerie listened to the story of Rufus's daring escape with a mix of relief and impatience. Her gambit had paid off. But she wasn't home yet. The conversation moved on to their future plans. She kept going over everything in her mind, wondering at what they might have missed.

"So," said Rufus, "do you reckon the Patriarch will take the bait? It's an obvious trap."

"He may not care." Avon sipped his wine. "As I understand it, he's desperate to reach Maskamere."

"Right, but what's stopping him from coming to Maskamere himself?"

"The same thing that's been stopping him all along," Valerie answered. "The barrier. He can't enter any land protected by the silvertrees while he's wearing the mercurite ring. And he can't possess the Patriarch's body without it. That's why he's stuck. He sent Lord Gideon to Maskamere instead, but we killed him. Then he tried to send Titus, but we have him now. I don't think he'll take the bait with Titus. I think it'll be his other son."

"The Duke of Hennich," said Avon.

She nodded. Perhaps the older Gideon brother had outlived his usefulness to Mithras since the election, but he'd resurrected the man twice. And if one were a paranoid immortal sorcerer, it would be prudent to have at least two bodies available to occupy at any given time. After all, they'd gotten rid of one back-up already: the spymaster, Baron Frask.

Unless Mithras had resurrected him too. She glanced down at the mercurite ring on her finger, the one they had stolen from Frask.

Rufus drummed his fingers on his knee. "What if he hops into someone else? Like any of us?"

"He can't," said Valerie. "It's not easy to possess someone. He can only mark people he already controls."

This wasn't an assumption on her part. She had asked the Book of Shadows, thinking that if it wouldn't tell her how to kill Mithras, at the very least it ought to offer some insight into his sorcery. The book had made it clear that such a spell was forbidden, but also that it could only be cast on bodies the sorcerer had a claim to.

Avon frowned. "Could he mark you?"

"I don't think so."

Was she certain of that? No. The Patriarch had taken on her contract in order to gain power over her. She'd experienced that firsthand in the palace. But if he could mark her, wouldn't that have been the perfect time to do it?

"What about the wedding guests?" Ophelia asked. "We didn't invite any of the Gideons, but we'll have so many people there…"

"I know what to look for now," Valerie reassured her. "If anyone else is marked, we kill them. If the Patriarch possesses anyone, we kill them too. A sorcerer can spot another sorcerer. He can't hide in plain sight."

"Exactly," said Avon. "If the Patriarch takes the bait with Titus, so much the better. If he doesn't, he'll need time to lick his wounds and find another route into Maskamere."

"He has one," Valerie added, "with the Duke. I lost my locket in the Patriarch's palace, the one that has a silvertree seed in it. If the Patriarch found it, all he has to do is give it to the Duke, and he'll have access to a body that can cross into Maskamere."

"Or he could give it to a random servant," Rufus pointed out.

"He could," she admitted, "but I'd spot them too. Do you really think he wants to jump into the body of a servant? He wants to have power and status in Maskamere, so that he can stand up to the queen. That's why he tried to make Titus Chancellor."

Rufus glanced at Avon, his brow wrinkling. Ophelia looked back and forth between them, scrunching up her nose.

"What?" she asked. "Oh, please tell me I'm not the only one horribly confused?"

"If you're thinking that I would be his optimal target," said Avon, "then I agree. Unfortunately for the Patriarch, I'm not so easy to influence."

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"Well, then," said Rufus, stretching out next to Ophelia, "what's our next move?"

"We celebrate your wedding," said Avon, "and then Valerie and I will do something dangerous but necessary."

"Which is?"

"We seek advice from the queen."

There was a short silence.

"Ah," said Rufus. "You're both mad, you know that?"

"We can kill the Patriarch's bodies as many times as we want," said Valerie. "It doesn't matter if he can keep jumping into another. If there's a way to stop him for good, the queen will know it."

And, she thought, we can turn it back on her. But she was getting ahead of herself thinking about that.

"My lord," said Doryn.

Valerie started. The captain had been silent throughout their conversation, and she had almost forgotten that he was standing guard by the door. But Avon turned to him now as he jerked a thumb in her direction.

"What about her? You departed Maskamere to break the queen's possession of her. Do you no longer believe her vulnerable?"

Avon looked at her.

"I'll fight," said Valerie instantly. "I'll make sure you know what's happening if she tries. But I think I'm safe, at least for now. The queen wanted me to learn about our enemies in Drakon. I promised to tell her only if she agreed not to possess me. The information we have about the Patriarch is important. She'll want to know."

Doryn grunted. She saw scepticism in his expression, but she wasn't sure if it was because he didn't trust the queen or he didn't trust her.

"Well, then," said Avon, standing. "I trust we all know our roles. Gentlemen, I thank you for your help. The threats against us have only grown, and yet we have risen to meet them. The challenges in Maskamere will be greater still. I have no doubt we'll meet them too."

Doryn nodded. "Aye, my lord."

Rufus agreed. "Aye, my lord."

"And ladies," Avon went on, turning his gaze to the two of them, "keep your courage. We're going to need it."

Valerie looked at their dour faces. Ophelia's forehead wrinkled with worry. Despite his bravado, Rufus's eyes had lost their twinkle. Avon was his usual serious self. And Doryn never smiled.

She understood their concern. Nothing was certain, and nothing was guaranteed. But worrying about it only wasted energy.

"Maska," she said. "Cheer up! I know it's not over yet, but think of what we did today. We won the election! We got Titus and Priska out from under the Patriarch's nose. We're all here, we're alive and Ophelia is getting married. Forget about the future for a second. Let's celebrate while we can."

Avon folded his arms. "Did you have something in mind?"

She grinned. "Who's hungry?"

*

Their hideout in the embassy inspired her. Valerie gathered all the house's occupants together—that meant herself, Avon, Ophelia, Rufus, Edrick, Doryn and a handful of guards—and declared they were to have a Maskamery style dinner.

No servants remained in the residence since Doryn had sent them off with Priska. Avon's manservant had boarded the ship with Titus and the Admiral, Cilla had been sent home after their escape from the hunting lodge, and Ophelia had not been allowed to bring any of her ladies-in-waiting.

So, Valerie once more had the pleasure of ordering Avon to help with the cooking. She recruited Rufus and Ophelia too, and Edrick got his own special role stirring a pan of white sauce, which he did with admirable enthusiasm. Doryn and his off-duty guards set the tables: one in the main dining room and another in the kitchen for his men.

"Oh my gosh!" Ophelia squeaked every other minute.

She seemed terrified by absolutely everything: the heat of the oven, the bubbling of the saucepans, the prospect of chopping the vegetables. Rufus helped her through it. He had a way with her that was rather sweet, Valerie thought, as he gently guided her hands to drizzle olive oil over the sliced potatoes.

"Look at that," she joked to Avon. "The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach."

He looked amused. "I believe the saying is the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"Huh. I guess that's true too."

Miraculously, no one was burned and they only had one mishap with spilled sauce. They left Doryn and his men to their feast in the kitchen and brought their share of the food to the dining room: moussaka with crusty bread and cheese, green beans and spinach. Avon poured the wine, except for Edrick who received a glass of water. The little boy was delighted to join them.

"First time, kid?" Rufus asked, ruffling his hair.

Edrick nodded.

"He normally eats with the governess," said Avon, "so he's going to be on his best behaviour tonight."

The little boy sat up straighter.

They ate dinner together, the five of them, and as the wine flowed and the food was shared, the party became merry.

Rufus offered a toast. "To victory!"

Valerie lifted her glass. "To freedom."

Avon followed suit. "To us."

Ophelia looked flustered. "Oh, I don't have another thing. To us too. And freedom. And victory."

Yes, she thought. To all of those things. And to Maskamere. She thought of embracing her mother again. The beauty of the silvertrees. Markus, grinning at her from under his thatch of straw hair. She couldn't stop smiling.

Their glasses clinked as they cheered, and the dinner continued in high spirits. After dessert, they amused Edrick by playing Drakonian parlour games including Hunt the Slipper and The Master's Cat. These were all new to Valerie, but she enjoyed them immensely. She especially enjoyed Avon's obvious competitive streak even when he tried not to show it and the look on his face when she caught him out giving a bad response in the Philosopher's Mission.

The evening drew on, and Edrick began to yawn. Ophelia bid them good night and took his hand to put the little boy to bed.

Rufus got up and stretched. "Time for me to get some shut-eye too."

"Separate rooms," Avon warned him.

"Aye, my lord."

He gave a short bow and departed. She and Avon lingered. Now they were sharing a couch by the dying embers of the fireplace, the curtains drawn, the oil lamps on the mantelpiece creating a dim, cosy ambience.

He looked at her. "Are you tired?"

"Maybe." She sighed. "I almost can't believe it. We're finally ready to go home."

"As promised."

"Right."

"You're welcome."

She shrugged. "You couldn't have done it without me."

"I know."

"You're welcome."

He smiled, and she felt a stab of triumph at getting that reaction. He looked so… delectable, she thought, in that loose white shirt that was just open enough to make her imagine running her hands underneath it. His long legs were crossed. She found herself looking for the belt buckle of his breeches.

Clearly, the alcohol was getting to her.

"To our glorious Chancellor," she said, toasting him.

He gave a mock toast in return. "My ferocious witch."

She drained the last of her wine and set the empty glass on the sideboard. None of them had bothered to clean up. They would be leaving tomorrow.

She scooted up next to him on the couch. "You know what I just realised?"

"What?"

"I'm not your prisoner."

"That's true," he agreed.

"We should celebrate."

"I thought we were."

"We should celebrate more."

He smiled, but then his face became serious again. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've secured my position. We've yet to secure yours—"

"No, no, no, don't ruin it. We'll talk about that later." She didn't want to hear the word proposal coming out of his mouth. Before he could reply, she pressed a finger to his lips, then ran it down his neck and chest, the fabric rustling beneath her touch. "Don't you want to celebrate?"

She tilted her head.

"Oh," he said softly.

For a moment, nothing happened. He seemed almost surprised. She found it endearing, and it only made her grin sharper when, quite deliberately, Valerie took hold of his knee, uncrossed it, then clambered into his lap. She felt his breath hitch, her hands resting on his chest. Their eyes locked, and in the next moment, they moved as one: she leaned in, he leaned up and her entire body thrilled with the sensation of his mouth against hers.

It felt electric, Avon's immediate response igniting a fire that raced through her skin. His hand curved around her back. He kissed her like a man dying of thirst. His lips tasted of wine and the dessert they'd eaten earlier: raspberry, chocolate and cream. She wanted nothing more than this and so much more than this: all of him, now.

Her hands tangled in his shirt. She pressed against him, greedy, insistent, then felt him shift as he rose in one fluid motion, Valerie slipping from his embrace. He took her hand, and she caught herself.

"Wait."

He turned back, and her heart skipped a beat at his closeness, the way his body leaned over hers.

"Before we go…" He looked flushed and breathless. She could only imagine how she looked. "There's a lesson you should learn from Maskamere. One concerning relations between women and men. It's very important."

"What's that?"

"The woman comes first."

He chuckled at that. "You wicked little witch."

She squeezed his hand and smiled. "Come on. Let me show you how wicked I can be."