There is no power greater than faith. Your faith gives me strength. Your faith will lead us to victory.


    And so it was.


    *


    “The queen?”


    Anwen returned the velvet case to his drawer. He nodded happily, seeming not to have grasped Valerie’s shock.


    But before she could press him on what he meant, the door to the greenhouse creaked open, and Valerie shoved the locket into her bodice. She turned around as Avon approached, her heart racing.


    “Master Anwen,” said Avon. “Lady Valerie. Are you quite done?”


    Anwen bowed. “Of course, my lord. My thanks to both of you. Lady Valerie has been a most excellent pupil.”


    “And my thanks to you.” Avon clapped the old scholar’s back. “We need you as the voice of reason.”


    While these niceties were going on, Valerie clamped down her emotions, forcing herself to stay calm. Inwardly, she was reeling. Had the queen sent the locket? But how?


    It was too late to ask. Anwen bid them good night, then Avon drew her away from the greenhouse and back through the grounds.


    Out in the cool air, she looked around for the silvertree seedling but didn’t see it. Yet she still felt a cocoon of magic around her. The silvertree seed nestled inside her breast cast a magical field just large enough to cover her. She could test its exact range later.


    It meant she had a permanent source of magic. For as long as she wore the locket, she had her powers back.


    She ought to be thrilled. And yet…


    “So,” said Avon, showing her to their ebony carriage, “what did Master Anwen have to say?”


    She climbed in and rearranged her skirt, looking down surreptitiously to check that the locket was out of sight.


    “He was talking about his work,” she answered. “I didn’t know that you’d encouraged him to publish it.”


    The carriage set off, Avon relaxing in his seat opposite her. “His research will be vital to our success. Speaking of… How did you find it in there?”


    She thought of the joy she’d felt creating that light show of magic. The triumph of applause. Lynwood’s excitement, the faces of all those impressed by Anwen’s experiment. Grimmauld Gideon and his posse had sneered, of course. But they didn’t matter.


    “It felt good to use my magic again,” she said. “I hope I made a difference. But…”


    “What?”


    She thought again of Titus’s question. Do you agree that women are particularly suited to magic?


    She had been the only woman in that room. Not a single female scholar or student walked the university’s halls. After tonight, she could imagine the black-robed students studying books of magic, tending the silvertrees, measuring its effects. She couldn’t imagine a convent.


    But she wasn’t quite ready for that conversation.


    Valerie shook her head. “You know them, not me. Was it better or worse than you expected?”


    “About the same. The Patriarch has a voting block made up of his Archbishops, Bishops, the Duke of Hennich, and the representatives from Caldry. We met some of them tonight. Most will vote with him no matter what.”


    “How many?”


    “One hundred and twenty, give or take.”


    Her heart sank. “But that’s so close to a majority.”


    “Yes,” said Avon, “do remind me to chastise my father for allowing the Patriarch to stuff the Senate in this way. But there’s no point trying to convince them. Now, with my allies in Yirona and Arden, I have around ninety guaranteed votes. We may have won a few more tonight. Lynwood liked you. Remember, this is a game of manners as much as anything else. Be careful of calling Titus Steward a poor choice.”


    “But that’s what you called him.”


    “No, I implied it. We Drakonians are not so direct.”


    “Except when you are. You were doing well until they mentioned your father.”


    “Ah,” he said. “You see, direct.”


    “He has to endorse you. How does it look to the senators that he’s saying nothing?”


    “It’s not ideal,” he admitted.


    He’d promised to manage his father, and she had left it up to him. All she’d gotten so far was a reassurance that he wouldn’t have her flogged again, which she supposed was a step up from not trying to kill her, but barely. She didn’t like loose ends, and she especially didn’t like loose ends outside of her control.


    She pursed her lips, thinking. “Your father wants you to remarry, doesn’t he?”


    He paused. “Yes.”If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    She looked at him, and he exhaled, tapping his fingers on his knee.


    “I offered to remarry,” he said, “in return for Father’s support. He refused. We came to a compromise. Your safety in return for my presence at this blasted ball.”


    Her skin prickled. She had been about to suggest a similar idea, that Avon should use the Emperor’s desire as leverage to secure his endorsement. But now hearing that he had already tried it… She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all. Even the fact that he had made a deal to protect her—because how could she be anything but grateful?


    “I see,” she said.


    Since she had told him the truth about the queen and the goldentree, she thought they had turned a corner. He’d been far more upfront about his plans. But not this. In this game of his, she was still only a pawn.


    She would play her own game, then. The locket would stay hidden.


    “I’ve angered you,” he observed. “Valerie…”


    She forced a smile. “You know I’m going to hate every second of you being fawned over at this ball, right?”


    He smiled back. “Just as I’ll want to kill every man who looks at you.”


    “Good,” she said.


    It had a name, this anger, this crawling of her skin. The way she looked at him and felt intensely betrayed by even the idea that he might consider remarrying. She couldn’t stand the thought of him with someone else.


    Its name was jealousy. And it was only bearable if he felt the same way.


    *


    Later, after she’d bid good night to Ophelia and curled up in her soft warm bed, Valerie lay awake still wrestling with the coil in her heart. She’d hidden the locket beneath her pillow. And she could feel it there, in the dark, its warmth on her cheek.


    It tugged at her, a faint, faraway presence. A golden thread.


    She closed her eyes. Shikra?


    Valerie.


    The reply was instant. Goosebumps covered her flesh. Did she want to do this? What if there was some spell on the locket that she couldn’t discern? If the queen was playing some trick…


    She had to know.


    I’m here.


    She didn’t step into the queen’s dream world. Instead, she created one of her own. She imagined Ophelia’s quarters in the light of day—bright, pretty, with the exotic-bird wallpaper and comfortable window alcove, perfect for reading a book or watching the day go by. She placed herself in that alcove with a tray of crumpets and mint tea on a circular table. Steam curled the air. She breathed it in.


    Shikra’s presence waited at the door.


    “Come in,” she called, and for a moment she felt ridiculous, like this was all a terrible playact, a poor imitation of the queen’s manners. A fake. A phoney.


    The real queen stepped inside.


    Shikra looked exactly the same as their last encounter: tall, willowy, her black hair falling around pale shoulders, the red silk of her dress whispering across the floor. She cast around the chamber, taking in the twin beds, the oak wardrobes and dressers, the high ceiling, the airy space of it all.


    “I got your gift,” said Valerie.


    The queen approached the window, but Valerie hadn’t done a very good job with the scenery. The pane of glass glowed with sunlight. Nothing was visible outside.


    She turned to Valerie and her tea tray. “I’m glad to hear it.”


    “Anwen gave it to me.” Her voice trembled. “What did you do to him?”


    “Do? I asked him to bring you the locket.”


    “No, but—he was enchanted. He had to be.”


    Anwen had told her the story of the queen’s death back when she’d studied with him in the royal palace. He had never before given the slightest indication that he believed the queen still lived. Nothing about his behaviour made sense.


    “Yes,” said Shikra. “Now why did you summon me?”


    “How?” she asked. “How did you even talk to him?”


    “Through a book.” The queen leaned down and helped herself to a pot of mint tea. “I think you’re familiar with such magic.”


    The Book of Shadows!


    But she hadn’t seen Anwen carrying such a book. Had he kept it hidden from her? For how long? She thought of all the information he had provided to her, the transcripts of his interviews with the queen that she had devoured so eagerly. She had assumed that he must have interviewed Shikra before her death.


    “I—I had a book too,” she said. “In another timeline, I was supposed to study magic with it. Was it… Was I talking to a real person?”


    Shikra smiled. “Not quite. Your book connected you to Maska’s writings. Whatever you asked, it gave you her answer.”


    “It asked me questions,” she said, trying to remember. “About free will. My purpose.”


    “A test,” said Shikra. “Assessing your temperament. How did you answer?”


    “I don’t know… I was frustrated. I wanted it to give me answers, not the other way round.”


    She hadn’t planned to talk to the queen about this. It seemed inconsequential, a relic of the past. But as she watched Shikra circling the chamber, sipping her tea like a headmistress surveying her classroom, Valerie wondered if there might be something to it.


    If she got hold of a Book of Shadows, could she ask it how to defeat the queen?


    “Let me guess,” said Shikra. “You have an independent mind. You believe in free will. You make your own purpose.”


    She found the queen’s accuracy disconcerting. “So?”


    “So you’re not the type to blindly follow your sovereign. Had I known this, I would have approached you differently that night at the goldentree.”


    They looked at each other. Shikra had paused, standing over Valerie in her window seat. Slowly, the queen knelt down by the table, tucking her limbs under her. She returned her cup of tea to the tray. Valerie slid forward to sit cross-legged on the carpet.


    Now they were facing each other, eye-to-eye. Was this the first time the queen had acknowledged that she might have been wrong in her dealings with Valerie?


    Trial and error, she thought.


    Whenever something went wrong in the timeline, the queen tried again. But she couldn’t do that with Valerie anymore.


    “Maska said it’s better to lead with love than with fear,” she said, recalling another of the book’s quotes. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that.”


    Shikra looked up sharply. She didn’t quite know how to interpret the emotions that flashed across the queen’s face—surprise, then a dark tinge of anger, swiftly contained. Finally, her expression turned pensive.


    “Perhaps I have,” she murmured.


    “So now that I have the locket… We can talk whenever we want, right?”


    Shikra gave a small smile. “I have little else to do.”


    But Valerie was starting to think that wasn’t true. The queen had communicated with Anwen through a book… And there was the mark on Titus, she reminded herself. Who else might the queen be influencing?


    “Can you use it to spy on me?”


    “The locket?” Shikra raised her eyebrows. “Why would you think that?”


    “I don’t know. Why else would you give it to me?”


    The queen tilted her head, green eyes luminous and catlike. “You thought it wasn’t a gift. You’re fearful. I take responsibility for that fear, given how I’ve treated you. Don’t underestimate your own abilities, Valerie. You would know if the locket was enchanted. I had Anwen bring you the locket because I knew you would need it to survive in Drakon.”


    “Right.”


    True, she sensed no enchantment on the locket. And she didn’t see any option here except to take Shikra at her word. It was either give up on her magic… or risk this connection with the queen.


    “Well, then,” said Shikra, folding her hands in her lap. She had regained her composure, Valerie thought. Somewhere along the way, this conversation had thrown her off—she would have to think about that. “How can I help?”


    Titus, she thought. But how to ask?


    “Just… one thing,” she hedged. “Have you bewitched anyone else? Anyone in Drakon, especially. I don’t want any more surprises.”


    The queen’s gaze was firm and unblinking. “No.”


    Liar.


    Shikra was playing her own game too. Fine. Let her. Let both of them have their way.


    “All right,” she said. “I’ll call you when I need you.”


    The dream-room faded away. The firm warmth of the mattress supported her, the pillow soft against her cheek. She pulled the covers up tight around her shoulders, nice and snug, and allowed herself a smile.


    Gifts, gifts. How they courted her loyalty. Avon’s list. The silvertree seedling. The queen’s locket. She’d take them all.


    Valerie turned her head and drifted away into slumber.