In the wake of the Dragon War, I led my people to salvation. My enemy poured scorn on me. He told me I could not succeed. He told me I was weak, and I did not believe him. I believed that I was strong, and I became strong. My people believed in me, and I became stronger still. I said to my enemy: You have forgotten that it is better to lead with love, not fear. And I said to my people—


    *


    The gathering had split off into smaller groups, laughing and talking while waiters served more alcohol. Anwen had joined one such group; Valerie glimpsed his hands flying around as he engaged the scholars in conversation.


    Meanwhile, five or six whiskery old men already surrounded them.


    Avon inclined his head. “Lord Warren. Please meet my consort, Lady Valerie.”


    The Duke of Glost, Lord Theodore Warren, was a large, red-faced man, powerfully built, with grey-flecked eyes and a bullish presence that suggested a constant imminent threat. He squinted at her.


    “A pleasure, my lord,” she said.


    The Duke grunted.


    “So,” said Avon, “what did you make of Master Anwen’s demonstration?”


    Lynwood’s eyes brightened. “Fascinating! I must admit I thought the paper was a bit mad… but, well, seeing is believing, eh?”


    “Exactly my point,” said Avon. “Magic should be taught and studied, yet we shy away from it like superstitious fishwives.”


    “For good reason,” Warren pointed out. “It’s inaccessible. Blasphemous.”


    “And since when have men of science feared to venture into the unknown? You know my views on blasphemy.”


    “That I do. Seems your Lady Valerie has views of her own.” Warren spoke plainly, without calculation, and fixed her with a brusque stare. “What did you say about being worthy?”


    “In Maskamere, we’ve always been selective about who we give the blessing to,” she replied. “That’s why men are forbidden to receive it.”


    He raised his eyebrows. “So you think men aren’t worthy to learn magic?”


    “You have to stop fearing it first.”


    “Hmm.”


    Lynwood nodded. “We should learn from the Maskamery, you know. I don’t know why the Council hasn’t made it a priority.”


    “I’ll put it to them,” said Avon, “as soon as this election is done.”


    Lynwood’s convinced, she thought. Maybe he’ll persuade the others. The Duke’s expression settled into a frown, but he didn’t contradict them.


    “That fellow over there,” said Lynwood, “Titus Steward, he’s the one standing against you?”


    “Backed by the Patriarch,” said Avon, and the men around them murmured. “I won’t underestimate him given the Patriarch’s support, but I must confess I’m mystified by the choice. He’s Maskamery with very little understanding of how to govern a province of the Empire, and believe me the Maskamery are not ready to govern themselves.”


    “I can believe that,” said Lynwood. “I hope you didn’t take offence to Master Titus’s question, my lady.”


    “It was a political question,” she said, “not a scientific one. Would you like to hear my opinion on Master Titus, my lord?”


    Eyebrows shot up among the group, the men glancing at Avon. He remained composed; only Valerie felt the slight tension in his grip.


    Lynwood too glanced at Avon, seeking silent permission, before chuckling awkwardly. “Well, now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”


    “Master Titus is a poor choice for Chancellor,” she said. “Even if he could lead us, the Maskamery would see him as a traitor. They’d sooner hang him than accept him as leader.”


    “That is indeed problematic,” said Lynwood, whose face had flushed. “Ah, but shall we get back to discussing Master Anwen’s excellent paper? I would be particularly interested in hearing your opinion on…”


    “If you’ll excuse us.”


    Avon smoothly exited the group, taking Valerie’s arm in his.


    “Okay?” she whispered.


    “Yes,” he murmured back. “If I squeeze your arm, say nothing.”


    Valerie nodded, and they made their rounds. She imagined Lady Melody with her list of guests—and there were several she recognised from the wedding invitations—reeling off each and every name, rank and region of origin. She had to learn that too.


    As for affiliation? She guessed that from the scholars’ body language when they approached. Some smiled at Avon, some were curious, but others looked reluctant or even hostile. Avon made the same argument to each of them, couched in slightly different language: they had been presented with a great opportunity to study magic. And he was the safe option to lead Maskamere into a new relationship with the Empire.


    Of course, she was also looking out for the names on the list that Avon had given her. She found none until they joined the last group in the room. Six gentlemen whispered like school children at the back of the lecture hall. They included Grimmauld Gideon, the Duke of Hennich, who simply walked off when they approached.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    “I see the Duke didn’t fancy the whisky,” Avon joked, but he didn’t elicit a smile.


    “Ah, you know how he gets.” A middle-aged man with smooth, plump cheeks and clever eyes held out his hand. “Lord Canwell. My apologies, Lady Valerie, for my friend’s rude exit.”


    The Duke of Arden! She straightened up at once. Canwell took her hand and kissed it.


    “He’s not the only one tired of this nonsense,” said one of the scholars, a thin man with long, greying hair. “We’re courting far too much controversy over a paper that should never have been published.”


    “Why do you say that?” Avon asked.


    “Floating lights and witchcraft? It brings the name of our Society into disrepute. The entire thing’s a joke, begging your pardon, my lord.”


    “Well, I’m not joking,” said Avon. “I’ve lived almost a year in Maskamere, and I’ve witnessed magic far greater than a floating light. I assure you it’s quite real.”


    “Yes, and wyverns are made of magical rocks, and the Black Knights summoned a sea dragon. Should we start investigating all old wives’ tales?”


    What a twerp, she thought.


    “That’s a lovely head of hair you have, sir,” she said. “Shall I remove it?”


    The scholar turned beet-red, spluttering for a response. Avon gripped her arm, but she didn’t need to say anything more. Valerie smiled sweetly.


    Canwell gave a startled laugh. “A convincing argument! She’s got you there, friend. What do you say?”


    The scholar shook his head, muttering his excuses. With that, the group seemed to have lost its appetite for argument and drifted away—except the Duke of Arden. Avon had promised him a spectacle, he explained, and he was delighted to have received one.


    Canwell raised no further doubts on the veracity of their demonstration. The conversation instead returned to the legitimacy of magic as a topic of study.


    “What does the Emperor have to say about it?” he asked. “Should we expect a change of policy?”


    Avon’s mouth tightened. “Our policy in Maskamere will be determined by the election. The Emperor will support the outcome chosen by the Senate.”


    “He’s neutral, then?”


    “I shouldn’t like to put words into my father’s mouth. Let me put this to you instead…”


    Avon spoke with typical eloquence, but Canwell had exposed a weakness, she thought. The Emperor had not endorsed his son. Granted, as far as she could tell, he hadn’t spoken out against Avon either, but it must appear strange that Avon’s own father was failing to openly support him.


    “Lady Valerie?”


    She turned to find Anwen approaching her. His kindly face broke into a smile, and she couldn’t help smiling back.


    “You were wonderful, my dear, wonderful… I hope I didn’t give you stage fright, eh?”


    “Not at all,” she said. “I enjoy putting on a show.”


    Avon had turned towards them too, frowning, and Anwen leaned forward. “Lord Avon, may I borrow your protégé for a minute? We’ll be in the greenhouse if you need us.”


    He glanced at her. “Very well. I’ll join you shortly.”


    *


    She and Anwen returned to the greenhouse, where Valerie again felt the warm glow of the silvertree’s magic. The seedling pot had been returned to one of the desks. Doryn stood there guarding it like a grumpy uncle saddled with an unwanted toy.


    “Are we taking it back to the villa?” she asked. “The silvertree?”


    “Oh, no,” said Anwen, hurrying over to the teacher’s desk. “Lord Avon asked me to keep the seedling safe. You know where to go, Captain?”


    Doryn nodded. “Are you ready to leave?”


    Anwen opened one of his books, flicking through the pages. “In a moment. Would you mind waiting outside?”


    Doryn took the plant pot with him. She watched it disappear with a pang of disappointment. These few precious minutes of having her magic back had been so wonderful… She didn’t want to go back to being powerless. Avon had promised to bring her the seedling, hadn’t he? So why was he sending it off somewhere else?


    The answer, of course, was obvious. Even as she thought about the possibility of bringing the seedling to the villa, she knew the risk was too great. If the Emperor didn’t find and destroy it, the Empress would. She couldn’t trust half the servants. The seedling was too small, too vulnerable.


    “Where is it going?” she asked.


    Anwen chuckled. “Even I don’t know. Lord Avon has been very particular about the need for secrecy.”


    “He’s right to be,” she said. “You should be careful too.”


    “Indeed. How are you, my dear? You look a little tired.”


    You don’t know the half of it.


    “Life is tiring without magic,” she replied, managing a laugh. “It’s been hard.”


    He nodded. “The work of the great natural philosophers has never been easy. Not that I count myself among the greats, but still… To be published is the first step. To be accepted in the canon could take many years.”


    “The canon?”


    “The Chronicle of Nature. The fourth book of the Divinity.” He tapped the book, then frowned. “You are unfamiliar?”


    “The Divinity… You mean your holy book? But how could you get accepted in it?”


    “Oh, it’s a long and tedious process,” said Anwen. “I was never interested, but Lord Avon insists that my work is of great import and ought to be considered for inclusion. He has such ideas. Almost makes me feel young again.”


    Valerie was still trying to grasp the concept of adding to the Divinity. “Are you saying you change the book? But aren’t the church’s teachings fixed?”


    “Oh, goodness, no. Religions are like nations; some are young, some are old, but none are everlasting. The most successful adapt with the times, even if they claim to be immutable. A good friend of mine researches anthropology with a particular focus on barbaric faiths… Perhaps you’d be interested to meet him.” He blinked. “But I digress. What was I saying? Ah… Yes, the Divinity is a living book, much as the cosmos is a living thing. As our understanding of the world grows, so does the Divinity. At least in theory. The Society is rather frustrated with the church’s tardiness of late. They’ve always been slow to accept new discoveries…”


    “But they can accept them,” she said.


    “Indeed.”


    “Which means one day they could accept that witchcraft isn’t evil. That magic is part of nature, like you said?”


    “Yes,” said Anwen, “and so they should. Magic wasn’t always considered an affront to the Divine, you know. It was once described as a gift.”


    “Huh,” she said. “When?”


    “Oh, centuries ago.” Then Anwen snapped his fingers. “That’s right, a gift! I almost forgot. I have something for you.”


    He took a thin velvet case out of his desk drawer and presented it to her with great care. Valerie looked down at the case, then at Anwen. Was this why he had wanted to speak to her in private?


    She took the case. It felt light in her fingers. And she sensed a warmth emanating from it too, a pulse of magic… But that was impossible. Doryn had already taken the silvertree seedling; she ought to be outside its range… She even glanced behind her to check, but the greenhouse was empty. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.


    Burning with curiosity, she opened the case. The lid swung up off its hinges. She stared at the item inside, nestled on a velvet cushion. Her heart leapt.


    “The queen’s locket. How did you…?”


    Valerie had worn this locket before, a token given to her by the resistance. But she’d left it behind in the palace. She picked it up, examining the smooth silver surface, the etched clasps.


    Anwen gestured. “Look inside.”


    She fumbled with the clasp. Part of her dreaded to open it, in case she somehow unleashed the queen’s magic. The last time the locket had been in her possession, it had been empty. It held no enchantment and possessed no magic. This time…


    She opened the locket. The object inside resembled an acorn, except for its silver shell. The power it emitted was tiny but unmistakable.


    Valerie looked up at Anwen, hardly daring to believe it. “It’s a silvertree seed.”


    He beamed. “And it’s yours, my dear. With best wishes from the queen.”