Treacherous Witch

—figure out a way to kill him.

"You're from Jairah?"

"No. But everyone in my village is dead. If anyone survived, they might be in the capital."

"The capital is very different now."

"I don't know where else to go."

"Hmm," he says, which she doesn't like because it could mean anything, and he's looking at her in an appraising fashion that could mean anything too, but—

*

Perhaps uncharitably, Valerie's first thought was to kill her.

She bit her tongue instead as Lady Melody ushered her to the port side of the deck where the crowds at the dock waved and cheered at her. The last few guests were boarding the ship. The light was rapidly fading.

"Won't you take off your veil?"

Valerie shook her head, conscious of Melody's piercing stare. If anyone was going to notice that Ophelia seemed unusually tall, she would bet on Melody first…

But the lady let her be, arching her shoulders in a graceful shrug. "Perhaps you'll feel better when we cross the sea. You and Lord Avon."

Valerie looked down at her feet and hoped that Melody would stop talking. A moment later, she sensed Melody startle, turning around as footsteps approached them.

It was Avon, his face dark with anger. "What are you doing here?"

"My lord." Melody dropped into a curtsy. "Your father sent me. I know this is a difficult time—"

"I told you to stay and look after Edrick."

"I know, but—"

"Get off the ship."

He grabbed her arm, and Melody cried out in shock. But they were too late. Valerie swayed on her feet as the ship began to cut through the water. They had already separated from the gangway, with most of the passengers leaning over the port side of the deck to wave their loved ones away.

Avon called up to the quarterdeck. "Captain!"

The captain, a uniformed man with an enormous twirling moustache, didn't immediately hear him. The crew were fully occupied, men darting here and there to adjust the sails, another at the wheel setting their course down the river.

"I'm sorry, my lord, but I'm here on the Emperor's orders."

Avon stared at Melody, who stared back, unwavering. She seemed to have regained the steadiness in her feet. Valerie wanted to dash in and forcibly separate the two. Of course the Emperor had done this to her. They might have left him behind at the dock, and he might think that she was dead, but that hadn't stopped him from twisting the knife one final time.

"Perhaps you're an innocent party," Avon said, so softly that she had to strain to hear him over the whistling wind and the steady rush of water. "Perhaps my father has forced an unwanted consort on me without even allowing me the decency of time to mourn my previous paramour. If you are so blameless, I'm sorry that you're caught in the middle. Nonetheless, I don't accept your companionship. You'll stay with my sister. Ophelia will decide whether you're victim or perpetrator."

"My lord…" Melody shook her head. "I understand. You need time to grieve. I won't keep you any longer."

She was trying hard to maintain her dignity, Valerie thought, as Melody took her arm. What had she said the last time they'd talked? Wanting is a sin. To accept one's lot is divine. Valerie didn't believe that. Melody might play at obedience, but she did want something. She wouldn't be here otherwise.

And Avon had just given her permission to pass judgement.

They retreated to Ophelia's cabin, the second best quarters on the ship, where Melody fussed around rehanging the wedding gown and arranging her things as if any of that mattered. Valerie sat down on her small bed, hands clasped in her lap, and silently calculated how she should play this.

The return trip to Maskamere would take three days. The chances of maintaining her disguise in front of an attentive Melody during that time were slim. Which meant…

"I've never liked boats. They're so dreadfully cramped." Melody turned away from the porthole with a sigh. "Do you get sea sick?"

Valerie shook her head. She was already starting to feel hot underneath her black veil.

"I couldn't say as much in front of your brother, but the Emperor asked me to join this voyage for you, not him. I can't be at the wedding, of course, no matter the part I played in arranging it, but please know that I'm here for you right up until your big day. Think of me as your special guardian."

Special guardian. The same words the Emperor had used. It sounded like a not very good euphemism for a spy.

"If you need to talk, you can talk to me. You can tell me anything you like. We can even talk about Valerie, if you like."

Revolted, Valerie resisted the urge to shy away when Melody joined her on the bed. The other lady had a solicitous air, looking her up and down like a mildly concerned parent. Did they all treat Ophelia like this? Like a child? Ophelia was only a year younger than Valerie, naive, yes, but she wasn't stupid.

"I know the two of you were close. We've had a terrible shock. But I think we'll all come to realise that perhaps it's for the best. She would have led your brother down a dangerous path. I'll try to help us find a safer one." Melody frowned. "Darling, you're not wearing your engagement ring. What is that curious ring? It looks like…"

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She was looking at the mercurite ring. Valerie had inadvertently clenched her fingers during that little speech, the gleaming black stone catching the last of the evening light from the porthole.

Well, she was about to get caught anyway.

"It looks like the Patriarch's ring," she said. "Funny, huh?"

Before she could react, Valerie ripped off the veil and clapped her hand over the other lady's mouth. Melody's eyes went wide; she let out a muffled scream. Valerie grabbed the back of her head with her other hand, digging her fingers into the base of Melody's skull.

"Don't," she hissed. "Don't yell, don't move. It's easier for me to kill you than keep you alive, understand?"

Slowly, face white beneath her make-up, Melody nodded. Slowly, Valerie let her go. She sat back as Melody gasped for breath.

"Valerie! You're—but how are you—what happened to Ophelia?"

"Ophelia's dead."

"You killed her—"

"No, the Patriarch killed her. I killed the Patriarch. I told you I wasn't going to take your place."

Melody shook her head. "Does Lord Avon know?"

"He knows. No one else on the ship knows. We're going to keep it that way, right?"

Understanding flashed in Melody's eyes, a spark of defiance. "Am I to be your hostage?"

"I like that better than a special guardian. I'm about to lead Lord Avon down a dangerous path. You're going to help."

"How?"

Valerie shuffled a little closer, making herself comfortable. This was going to take some time. "Tell me everything you know about the Patriarch."

*

Naturally, Melody had not understood her command. Like everyone else, she believed the Patriarch to be dead. But as the voyage continued, she and Avon grilled Melody in every spare hour they could find. They wanted every detail of the Patriarch's family life, every underhand deal, every alliance, every secret. The only downside was that Rufus couldn't join them, since the groom's party travelled on the other ship.

But though Melody had countless stories of courtly scandals, it soon became clear that she knew nothing of the Patriarch's true nature.

On the second night, when a storm swept both ships into crashing waves and pounding rain, they lost patience.

"We know about Frask," said Avon. "We know the Patriarch used Titus and his sister against me. We know he made a deal with my father to take Valerie away and install you as a spy. Tell us something we don't know."

"You can hardly expect me to know what you don't know," Melody snapped back in a tone more like her usual acidity. "Perhaps you should congratulate yourselves for being so well-informed."

A lantern hanging from the cabin ceiling swayed as the ship tossed and turned, its flickering light casting strange shadows. Melody looked slightly green, beads of sweat gathering at her brow, but she stood her ground against the pair of them, bracing herself with one hand on the wooden drinks table.

Valerie and Avon faced her, Valerie off to one side leaning against the wardrobe where Ophelia's wedding gown hung, Avon in the middle of the cabin, ducking away from the lantern.

She was getting bored of this. "Useless. Let's throw her overboard."

Avon drew his sword. She caught its brilliant light, just a fraction of it, as the blade overlapped with her ring's magical field.

"No!" Melody held up her hands. "Please, my lord. I—that sword. The Patriarch wanted your sword."

Avon paused. "Go on."

"He described it as a stolen family heirloom. He mentioned that he'd once offered to buy it from your father, but I can't be sure that really happened—his tone was quite jovial."

"Huh," said Valerie.

Avon looked at her. "I thought it was Maska's sword."

"It was. I mean, that's what she told me. But the sword was made for a protector. Do you think Maska and Mithras were together before everything fell apart? Maybe she took it from him."

"What?" said Melody.

They ignored her. Avon frowned. "Or perhaps she misunderstood the Patriarch's words. He could have talked about a stolen heirloom, not his own."

"But he wanted it. Maybe it can kill them."

"We already knew that."

"No, I mean really kill them."

"It didn't kill the queen."

She huffed. True, the sword had pierced her heart, and she and Maska had both returned. But why were they so obsessed with it? It was powerful, yes, but so were the crown jewels. There were probably a dozen or more magical artefacts out there in the world that might eclipse its power.

Melody continued to look bewildered. "What do you mean, kill the queen?"

"The queen isn't dead," said Valerie.

"I thought you more perceptive than that," Avon added. "Don't you know who you've been teaching this entire time?"

Melody's complexion turned the colour of sour milk.

Meanwhile, Valerie's heart pounded. Had he just…?

"Valerie," said Avon. "Come with me."

*

He took her arm and led her back to his cabin, the best quarters on the ship, and it was fortunate that their cabins were next door because she couldn't wait to speak. Once he'd closed the door behind them, she took off her veil and grabbed his hand.

"What are you doing? You told her that I'm the queen?"

"Not directly. I implied it." He shook off her hand and poured himself a glass of whisky. "Lady Melody needs a reason to be useful when we reach Maskamere's shores, or else we may as well throw her overboard right now. I've taken a leaf out of your book. If you spread a lie widely enough, it becomes truth."

"But it won't matter, when we go back."

"No," he agreed, offering her a glass which she declined, "it won't."

Valerie bit her lip. The same fantasies crowded her head again, dreams of golden crowns, a promise sealed with a kiss. She was setting all of this aside, putting her ambition on hold for the sake of her loved ones.

Avon turned away. "We'll leave Lady Melody alone for now. I think we've tormented the woman enough. That will be all."

The sudden change in his demeanour flummoxed her. He'd pulled her away from interrogating Melody, brought her to his quarters. Didn't he have anything more to say?

"James," she said tentatively, "do you want me to…? Should I stay?"

He glanced up, and his eyes were shadowed. "Not like that."

The blonde hair, the blue eyes. In her pale imitation, she was a walking reminder of his sister. He'd barely reacted this entire time, as if Ophelia's death had made him numb to the world. But now she saw the storm inside him. His eyes glittered with tears.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Good night, then," she whispered.

She was about to turn away when Avon hesitated. "Wait."

She waited.

"The last time we met, you said I fell in love with you. Did you love me back?"

Her heart jumped. He was talking about one of her old memories, a timeline that Maska had erased. A time after the war, when she had ventured into the borderlands only to be picked up by Avon and his garrison crossing into Maskamere. She had promised to tell him the full story…

"No," she said honestly. "I stabbed you in the back."

There was a pause.

"I see," he said. "I suppose I'm mourning the loss of something I never had."

"We just didn't have time. We've been on opposite sides for so long, and…"

"And we'll be on opposite sides again."

"But I'm glad," she said. "I'm glad we'll have a next time, another chance."

"You'll have a next time. I'll never see my sister again."

The hollowness in his voice stopped her. For a moment, she had no idea what to say. He was right, in a sense: this version of Avon had lost his sister for good. The Avon who would see Ophelia again would have no memory of the past two years. His previous existence would be wiped clean.

What a terrible power.

He would also have no memory of her, no knowledge of the Patriarch's true identity, no awareness of his father's secrets and little sympathy for the Maskamery people. Nor would he understand the real power of the sword he carried or why Mithras and Maska both coveted it…

"No," she said. "James, you will see your sister again. I promise."

The mercurite ring felt heavy on her finger, whispering with power. A promise is an oath. And priestesses keep their promises.

Avon stared at her with eyes like burning coal. And Valerie felt something she didn't quite know how to describe, something that felt very much like magic. She felt the trust between them, shimmering, delicate, like a bubble or a bird's wing. A connection deeper than words.

He took her hand in his, leaned forward and kissed the ring.

"Then my life is in your hands."

Valerie prayed she could make good on that promise.