Treacherous Witch

In the morning, they share breakfast.

"The queen is moving south," he tells her. "We'll follow. Tell me again, where would you like to go?"

"Jairah," she says, partly because she has a vague idea that's where the queen might go, and partly because it's far away which gives her more time to—

*

The cover-up operation went about as smoothly as she could have expected.

They burned Ophelia's body first, making sure that the corpse was unrecognisable. Valerie left behind her cloak and boots, so that they could be discovered with the body and misidentified later on. Then they set the entire embassy alight.

The bodies of Avon's guards, including Doryn, they took with them to the Avon family hunting lodge and dumped them into the lake. They spent the rest of the night in the lodge, a horrid and uncomfortable few hours with Edrick crying and Valerie and Rufus trying to convince him—convince themselves—that everything would be all right.

Avon did not say a word.

In the morning, Valerie kissed Edrick goodbye and told him that he would see his aunt soon. She couldn't tell whether he believed her.

Still, Avon did not say a word. He and Edrick departed for the villa, leaving Valerie and Rufus behind.

Back in the lodge, she set about her transformation. First, she cut her hair, imitating Ophelia's curly bob. She turned the dark locks gold, changed her eyes from brown to blue and adjusted her skin tone to match Ophelia's rosy complexion. The effect was disconcerting; she looked in the mirror at her own face with Drakonian colouring, as if someone had decided to repaint her. Still, all of these changes were cosmetic and easily done. Altering the fundamental structure of her face would be much more difficult.

Easier, she thought, to cast an illusion. She could wear Ophelia's face like a mask, as long as she didn't have to sustain it for long.

But the bigger problem was her body, not her face. Valerie was four inches taller than Ophelia, whose petite build clearly differed from her own. She had taken note of Ophelia's measurements during the wedding dress fitting.

While she pondered this, she heard a soft rap at the door.

"Val?" Rufus called.

Well, this would be a good chance to test her disguise. She pictured Ophelia's features, a small mouth, dimpled cheeks… Her magic did the rest. She touched her temple, Ophelia's innocent eyes gazing back at her in the mirror, and blinked away a tear.

"Come in!"

She twisted in her seat as Rufus entered the bedchamber, hands clasped in her lap. He visibly recoiled when he saw her.

"Sweet Maska—you could have warned me!"

"How do I look?" She tilted her head from left to right, showing him different angles. "Is it convincing?"

"It's macabre, is what it is," he muttered.

"Oh, don't be like that. Aren't we to be married?"

She put on a Drakonian accent, pitching her voice higher by an octave, but Rufus didn't smile.

"Ha bloody ha. You sound like a hedgehog being strangled. And you're too tall."

She let the illusion drop. "Well, thanks for the feedback. What do you want?"

Rather than answering, he paced around the room looking at anything but her. Valerie frowned. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous. The Rufus she knew never missed a chance to get under her skin. Ophelia's loss had wrecked them all.

"Look," he began, at the same time as Valerie said, "If this is about Ophelia—"

"It's not." He stopped by the dresser, leaning against it. "I ought to say this now before we all get swept up in the mission. Don't turn me into a toad, all right?"

She stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"The Patriarch—Mithras—he's been possessing folk for centuries, right?"

"That's what he told me."

"Hard to imagine having your body snatched like that. Must be horrible."

"It is." She didn't appreciate the reminder. "Why are you asking?"

"Well… You're not going to like hearing this from me, but… Titus looked real shaken after what you did to him at the Senate House."

Titus?

Of all the things they could be worrying about, he picked Titus? Valerie could not care less how Titus felt after their performance at the election. She only cared that he had been captured and sent off to Maskamere as planned.

"So?"

"Seems like a plain wrong thing to do making people into puppets like that."

She had not expected to hear this from him either. Rufus of all people acting as some moral arbiter, the same man who had told her he was only here for a pretty girl. He looked serious about it too, his brows drawn, leaning forward.

"You think I did something wrong."

"I think we ought to be acting right. It's not worth it to vanquish our enemies if we become as bad as they are in the process."

Maybe he was shaken up since they'd threatened him the night before. But she wasn't going to apologise for that. Avon wouldn't.

"We've been plotting against our enemies all this time. Why is it bothering you now?"

"Because…" He spoke slowly, deliberating every word. "I knew men like Titus, back in Maskamere. They didn't turn traitor for nothing. They were disaffected because they thought they had a raw deal."

This conversation was becoming more and more absurd. Did he actually sympathise with Titus? Had they talked on the way to the dock?

"A raw deal how? Maskamere was a sanctuary. We had everything we wanted."

"Not all of us." He paused. "The priestesses in Maskamere made the rules and enforced them too. Some of us wanted to change things. But we all knew what they could do to us if we spoke up."

Valerie had no idea what he was talking about. "That's not true. We decided everything as a community."

"And the priestesses always had the final say."

"Of course they did," she said, exasperated. "They led the community. What's your point?"

He sighed. "I'm explaining this badly. Look, what I mean to say is… You scare me, Valerie. You and Lord Avon both. Maybe you want to be feared, I don't know. Maybe you want to be like the Patriarch and the Emperor and the queen and anyone who has ever wielded that much power, but I don't see that ending well for the rest of us. What good is it to me to remove one tyrant only to crown another?"

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"That's a strong word," she said.

"Tell me I'm wrong. I'd rather be wrong."

It's better to lead with love than fear.

"If I was truly everything you feared, we wouldn't be here right now. I would have returned to Maskamere weeks ago, and you wouldn't even know that we'd met."

He frowned.

Something else was going on here, she thought. They hadn't talked much about their lives in Maskamere. Come to think of it, he'd never spoken about his old home with any great love. But now they were about to return…

"Is this about last night?" she asked. "I already told you, we're going to bring everyone back."

"Aye, so you said."

Gnats. The lives of mortals are short and meaningless.

Rufus had it wrong, she thought. She wanted to save people. Hadn't she done everything she could to save Maskamere? He wouldn't understand because he didn't know the power she wielded, but that didn't make her a tyrant.

"Trust me," she said. "Avon and I, we're going to have to do some things that might seem strange or difficult or cruel to you, but we're doing it to save our people. Mithras is immortal. If we're not willing to use his own tricks against him, we're never going to win. Avon taught me to be ruthless." Rufus snorted at that, but she went on: "Do you think the Patriarch worries about human decency when he comes after us? Do you think Titus wouldn't have used me if he could?"

"Someone has to worry about human decency."

"Then you worry about it." She touched his arm. "You're a good man, Rufus, a kind man, even if you pretend you're not. I don't want to become the thing you fear. So you have to tell me, all right? Tell me if I go too far. Be the one who stops me."

"Ah… I'm nobody's conscience."

"Be mine."

There was an art to this kind of appeal, one that Valerie was well practised in. The hand on his arm, the beseeching eyes, the soft voice. It all came naturally to her. They called her manipulative because she spoke the words that others wanted to hear. They called her a liar because she made this appeal knowing that she fully intended to undo this entire timeline and erase two years of Rufus's life. They called her a witch because she dared to use her powers to protect herself and others.

Well, she didn't care. Let them think her wicked. Rufus could doubt her if he liked so long as he followed her. That was all she required.

But she knew that Rufus was perceptive. He'd always seen through her lies. He withdrew from her touch, and she let her arm drop back by her side.

"I'm not a toad yet," he said, flashing a quick smile. "I guess that's a start. But if you mean what you say, you've got to listen too."

"I always listen."

"I say this with affection, Val. You're the worst listener I know."

"What was that?"

This time he did laugh.

*

Avon returned to the lodge alone. He took one look at her with her short blonde hair and averted his eyes. Rufus gave her a sympathetic look. She hated how tense and fraught everything felt, listening to him report back as if she wasn't sitting right there. She wasn't doing this to mock Ophelia or disrespect her friend.

"I identified Valerie's body," Avon was saying. "The entire city will be reporting the news that the Patriarch was killed. Father could barely contain his delight."

"Then we can go?"

"Yes," he said. "After you've wished Father goodbye."

One last obstacle. The first real test of her disguise. Valerie changed into a voluminous black dress to hide her figure, along with a lacy black shawl and black veil. She was Ophelia in mourning, sworn to a vow of silence after losing her friend. Travelling this way, she didn't have to maintain any illusion. People would only see her distinctive blonde hair.

In other circumstances, she might have enjoyed the ruse. But when Avon took her arm, she felt even more acutely how awful this was, that he had to pretend he hadn't just lost his sister, that he hadn't abandoned her burning corpse and killed his men, all so that she could board this ship without anyone stopping her.

But this was her plan. She had to see it through.

They stepped out of an elegant coach sent by the Emperor himself and onto the dock where the river and the city's edge met. Here the Stormdrake awaited along with its twin vessel, the Sunsnake. The setting sun streaked the sky and reflected off the water in glorious orange and pink, and the city itself seemed to glow with life.

It was also absolutely packed.

After the endless discussions during the wedding planning, they had narrowed down the guest list to under one hundred lords and ladies, but one would not have thought so here by the harbour. Noblemen and women chattered and waved farewell to their loved ones boarding the ships. Guards thronged the area too, keeping out the even bigger crowd of city folk who had turned up to cheer the Emperor's daughter before she sailed away.

Avon set his hand on her shoulder as they made their way to the ship. Guards cleared a path for them. Even so, she felt exposed. She was glad of her veil, surreptitiously looking around for faces she recognised, of which there were more than a few. Lord Warren, the Duke of Glost, argued with his valet over the right way to transport his luggage. Jonathan Lynwood, the Duke's son-in-law and chair of the Society Biologica, had the air of an overexcited schoolboy on his first trip.

She caught snatches of conversation here and there.

"Did you hear about the Patriarch? They say he was murdered by that dreadful witch—"

"If I were the Emperor, I wouldn't let my daughter go."

"They snubbed the Gideons. The Duke is furious—"

"What an awful time for a wedding."

She guessed the rumours and gossip would circulate around the court for weeks, especially with so many guests disappearing to Maskamere for the wedding. Valerie let the talk wash over her; she no longer cared. The only thing that mattered was getting on that ship.

Almost there.

Arm-in-arm, she and Avon boarded the Stormdrake. Near the dragon's head prow, a familiar figure waited for them, dressed in his stately garb.

"Children." The Emperor beckoned them. "Let me see you."

"Father."

Avon bowed his head. Valerie bowed hers too and bent her knees, doing everything she could to shrink. An extra inch or two wouldn't raise any eyebrows; she could be wearing high heeled boots. But she didn't want to give the Emperor any cause for suspicion.

Guards formed a defensive line behind them, shielding them from the other guests. It was a strange moment of privacy—out in the open air, with crowds of people craning their necks for a glimpse of any of them, but far enough away that they couldn't be overheard.

"I cannot join you," said Reinard. "Now is not the time for me to leave the capital. But do not imagine you can act with impunity in Maskamere. You have displeased me greatly since your return, never more so than when you snatched my daughter from under my nose."

"A much-needed break," said Avon, "before the wedding—"

The Emperor held up his hand. "No excuses. Understand that I must pick up the pieces left behind by your machinations. The Gideons blame you for the Patriarch's death."

"They have no proof."

"Still they blame you. You've won your battle. You have not won the war."

He had no idea how true that was, Valerie thought.

"You must make this venture worth it," Reinard continued, "or else I'll disown you, and Ophelia will take another, more suitable husband."

Shocked, Valerie glanced at Avon through her veil. He had withdrawn into himself since the battle with the Patriarch, doing everything she asked without question or a trace of emotion, and she wondered how much pain he was hiding. She'd done the same, she supposed, focusing on the actions she needed to take and not the grief driving them. They were alike in that way.

But she saw some emotion flash across Avon's face as he regarded the Emperor. That emotion was disgust.

"You need say no more, Father. Deal with the problem as you see fit. For my part, I've learned a great deal on this little visit. I now see you as you truly are: a spineless, self-serving, ignoble coward. When I return—if I return—it won't be for you to disown me. I shall be the one disowning you. Come, Ophelia."

He laid a hand on Valerie's shoulder, and she turned ready to leave with him, but the Emperor's hand curled around her other shoulder. Valerie froze.

The Emperor's face twisted. "I'll say goodbye to my daughter," he growled. "You shan't deny me that."

For a moment, it seemed that Avon might pull her away. She knew why he didn't want to give the Emperor any time alone with her. She'd never been able to sustain the illusion for more than two minutes. But denying the Emperor here would be worse, she thought. That would make him suspicious.

She gave Avon a tiny nod. His mouth thinned, but he retreated.

Valerie faced the Emperor alone.

"Ophelia."

The Emperor reached for her veil.

Oh, Maska. She focused again on Ophelia's face, transforming her features… The veil came off, and she could feel that the spell had settled over her face, though she couldn't see how good it was.

The Emperor gazed down at her.

Valerie wished that her knees ached less from this stupid awkward position. She wasn't crouching or even squatting. She'd bent her knees while trying to appear upright, and if her illusion didn't dissolve first, she thought she might just fall over.

"Won't you say goodbye to your father?"

She couldn't respond to this verbally. As Rufus had put it, her Ophelia impression resembled the squeaks of a distressed hedgehog, and she didn't think she could fool the Emperor. At some point, she thought, she would have to practise auditory illusions, but today was not that day.

Not knowing what else to do, Valerie smiled.

Reinard sighed. "Be good for me, my darling. Keep an eye on your brother. Write to me if anything troubles you."

Valerie nodded mutely. She was sweating. Her legs shook.

The Emperor caressed her cheek. "I've arranged a special guardian for you. Don't tell anyone—not even your brother. Understood?"

Another nod. She was struggling to pay attention—a special guardian? Valerie felt the strands of her spell beginning to fray. Thinking quickly, she flung her arms around the Emperor, burying her head into his shoulder. He chuckled, hugging her back.

"Farewell, my darling."

She pulled the veil back over her face as she stepped back. Thankfully, the Emperor let her go. Crossing the deck, Valerie looked around for Avon.

She didn't find him.

Another wedding guest beamed at her instead, one that she didn't expect. She wore an elegant pink gown with short puffy sleeves, a parasol shielding her from the last light of the sun. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her hair was pulled into an immaculate bun.

"Darling!" Lady Melody gushed. "Come along, you poor, sweet thing."