Treacherous Witch

(In her dreams, she dies.)

*

Avon stopped. The light of his blade wavered.

"You can bring her back?"

Valerie knelt by Ophelia's body, checking for a non-existent pulse. Corpses surrounded them. They seemed like mockeries of real people, these limp vessels of flesh. The real Ophelia would never lie so still, her head lolling at an unnatural angle, her rib cage ripped open and exposed…

"Resurrection is trivial." Mithras shrugged. "Yes, I can bring her back. For a price."

"Name it."

"No!" said Valerie, at the same time as Rufus called out the same thing. She knew where this was going. She couldn't let it happen.

"True miracles require sacrifice. To bring back your sister, you must take a life. One of your men, perhaps. Any would do."

Valerie scrambled to her feet, wyvern claw in hand, ready to stop them if necessary. She could not let grief overcome her. Ophelia wasn't dead—she didn't have to stay dead. Like Markus, like her family, like every other wretched soul that had perished since the war, they were all in a state of limbo.

Only she could bring them back.

Avon glanced at Rufus and his guards. He looked pained, sick even, but he would sacrifice any of them in a heartbeat for his sister, Valerie knew that. Rufus stared back at him, and his troubled expression told her that he knew it too.

But the Patriarch hadn't finished.

"As for my payment," he continued, "I too require a sacrifice. Yours."

Valerie's blood ran cold.

"Mine?" Avon whispered.

"I would have your life, Lord Avon. Do we have a deal?"

"Avon—" Valerie started towards him.

He sheathed his sword, and she blinked as its light disappeared, plunging them back into gloom. Slowly, as if weighed down by the whole world, Avon approached his sister's body. Valerie cast a small light so that he could see her—and so that she could see him. He looked… broken. Defeated. The sight terrified her.

He knelt down by Ophelia, cradling her small body in his arms. Tears trickled down his face. Valerie crouched beside him, laying a hand on his arm.

"You can't do this. You know that, right? What about everything we promised?"

He gave her a hollow look. "I can't live without my sister."

"Don't say anything. Don't agree to this."

He shook his head. She was full of urgency, but it had all drained out of him. His anger had faded into despair.

The Patriarch was watching. Rufus, Edrick and the other guards were watching. Maybe all her dead loved ones were watching. Ophelia wouldn't want her brother to sacrifice himself. Doryn would have taken a hail of bullets before he allowed his lord to be harmed.

But they were gone, so it was up to her.

She straightened up and faced the Patriarch. "Shouldn't you be including me in your terrible bargain?"

Mithras' eyes glittered. "No need. You're already mine."

"You know what?" She approached him as she spoke, shaking with anger. "You had your chance. I would have helped. I said you could go to Maskamere without anyone getting hurt, and you could have. But you're the reason my family is dead, and now you kill Ophelia too?" She gripped the wyvern claw tightly with one hand behind her back. "You're a monster. And I'm going to make you regret everything you've done."

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She was feet away from him, close enough that she felt his power overwhelming her like a hideous smog. But after two years of resisting the Empire, Valerie had learned that magic wasn't the only weapon in her arsenal. The Patriarch's body was old and sluggish, and she was fit and young.

She flew at him and buried the wyvern claw in his throat. The Patriarch staggered back. He clutched at his neck, blood gushing out with surprising vigour. Then he fell to his knees, and chills ran through her spine as he let out a horrible, gurgling laugh.

"See you in Maskamere," he croaked.

She watched, transfixed, as the Patriarch struggled to breathe, his great belly heaving up and down. One of the guards hurried over to Avon still cradling his sister's body. The second guard joined Rufus, stepping in front of her as the Patriarch wheezed out his dying breaths.

A few seconds later, the Patriarch's body went still.

Valerie's heart was still racing. He hadn't fought back. She had a horrible feeling that he'd provoked her into killing him.

Rufus knelt down and checked his pulse.

"Dead," he confirmed.

No, she thought. Not dead. No one stays dead around here. I didn't stay dead, the Duke didn't stay dead, the queen, Markus, Ophelia, Doryn, my mother, my cousins, everyone in the village, I keep seeing them over and over and over again—

Avon's hand closed around her shoulder and Valerie jumped.

"Bring her back," he said hoarsely.

She realised that she was trembling. Bring her back. Only she could bring them back. They were all relying on her to bring them back.

"Right," she whispered.

Rufus stepped forward. "Whoa, my lord. You don't still mean to sacrifice someone?"

He thought they were going to do it the Patriarch's way. She hadn't told Rufus about the goldentree's power to reverse time.

She and Avon looked at each other.

Right then, as their eyes met, she felt a strange and powerful connection. She saw Avon's grief, his hatred for the Patriarch, fear and doubt and anger all bubbling away under the surface, an exact mirror of her. But Avon knew what he wanted. His single-minded resolve pulled her out of her spiral and made her focus.

Bring her back.

Bring them all back.

Valerie took a breath. "No one is being sacrificed. But you have to do exactly as I tell you, do you understand?"

"I do."

She gestured at the two guards behind him, the only survivors of this battle with the Patriarch. "They have to die."

Avon didn't hesitate. "Kill them."

Rufus looked alarmed. "Wait, what the—"

Valerie set her sights on the two guards, Avon's men. His authority over these men was absolute, and he had granted that same power to her. Their lives were in her hands. They were confused, fearful. They didn't understand.

She snapped her fingers.

And just like that, the guards' necks snapped. They collapsed to the floor like puppets with their strings cut. Edrick screamed. Rufus cursed loudly, stumbling away, hands scrabbling for his pistol.

"Rufus," she said. "Don't run."

"You're mad!" he gasped. "Both of you, you're bloody mad!"

She looked at Avon, who drew his sword, and the two of them advanced on Rufus, backing him against the wall.

"Drop the gun," said Avon.

Rufus did so, raising his hands. The gun clattered on the bloodstained floor. The house stank of death. She would be glad to get away from this place.

"We're not going to hurt you, Rufus." She softened her tone. "You want to save Ophelia too, don't you? We need your help."

"Save her?" Rufus shook his head. "Of course I want to save her, but what gives you the right to choose who lives and who dies? Good men died fighting for you tonight. They had lives too, families, people they cared about. Does that mean anything to you?"

"We'll bring them back," said Valerie. "All of them."

"All of them?"

"All of them. But you have to trust me. Are you with us?"

Rufus looked between them, Avon silent and stern, Valerie determined. Taking the blame for Lord Gideon's death had trapped her in Drakardia. She would not take the blame for the Patriarch's death, which meant they could leave no evidence and no witnesses. The guards were unfortunate but necessary casualties. If Rufus proved uncooperative, they'd get rid of him too.

It didn't matter, after all. If resurrection was trivial, then death was inconsequential.

Avon stepped forward and Rufus flinched, raising his hands again. "All right, all right! Look, I know my place. You give the orders, I follow them. That's what I'll do."

Valerie nodded. "Good."

Avon retreated to his son. She moved away from Rufus and lifted her sphere of light to illuminate the devastation in the entrance hall. Bile rose in her throat. What a terrible mess. It reminded her of…

No. She wouldn't think about that again. It was all going to be undone. All the death, all the suffering. She'd fix it all.

She looked at Ophelia's body, a lump rising in her throat. "We have to get on that ship tomorrow. So what happened tonight… We can't let it stop us. The wedding has to go ahead."

Rufus frowned. "What?"

Both men looked confused. Her light passed over their faces.

"Valerie ran from the Patriarch," she said, concocting the story as she spoke. "He found her hiding out in the old Maskamery embassy… and they fought. They set the place on fire, and they both died in battle. We'll let the Emperor's men discover the bodies. Tomorrow… Lord Avon escorts his sister to their ship. She's in mourning for her friend, but the wedding goes ahead. That's how we all get to Maskamere."

"Valerie," said Rufus. "You're not saying…"

"I am saying." She stared at Ophelia's sweet face, memorising those round cheeks, the shape of her nose, chin, the exact shade of her skin… "I'll be Ophelia. You're marrying me."