The first time she kills a man, the queen is with her.


    She’s worn herself out making enchanted armour for the queen’s forces—what’s left of them. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. They pass in and out of magical territory, and every time they find the blackened stump of a silvertree, Shikra’s face darkens.


    The one place where magic never fades is by the queen. It’s as if she holds the power of the goldentree within her. So Valerie sits always by Shikra’s side, weaving—


    *


    She didn’t believe it. Or, if she did believe it, it didn’t matter. Perhaps they had been close once. She even wondered if her intense admiration for the queen had somehow bled through the timelines. Or maybe, deep down, she had always coveted the crown. It didn’t matter, because everything was different now, and Shikra was only trying to manipulate her.


    Valerie resolved to never seek advice from the queen again. No more reaching out. She would contact Shikra only when she needed to.


    So when she rose from her bed, she did her best to clear all thoughts of the queen from her mind. These next two days would be about navigating the treacherous waters of Avon’s extended family.


    Can’t wait.


    Still, Valerie had come up with an ingenious plan to hide the locket, if she did say so herself. Rather than attempt to hide it in her clothing or leaving it behind in a drawer where it might be found, she used the silver chain to tie her hair which she then wrapped around the locket. The end result was a bun which she held in place with a decorative net. It covered the locket completely, safe and snug.


    And oh, how wonderful it felt to lighten the shadows beneath her eyes and put a rosy tinge in her cheeks without the need for paint or powder. She didn’t mind lingering in front of the mirror that morning. She made herself flawless again. Fresh again. Fit and healthy again.


    She breathed out the stress and fatigue and breathed in the magic that cradled her in its warm embrace. Then she rose and twirled around in a brand new gown, one of her purchases from her shopping trip. She’d chosen a dress of simple white cotton with a subtle leaf pattern around the hem. A blank canvas, of sorts.


    She walked into the kitchen to find Avon already at the table with what remained of the bread rolls and pastries from yesterday’s picnic.


    “Oh, my,” she said. “Did you get dressed all by yourself?”


    To his credit, he chuckled. He didn’t seem ruffled either—and she made sure to check, looking him up and down. Waistcoat buttoned, check. Shirt tucked in, check. Hair tied back, check.


    “Somehow I managed.” He tapped his fingers. “Did you sleep well?”


    “Mmm-hmm.” She poured water into a teapot and cast a quick spell to set it to boil. “Remind me who we’re expecting today?”


    “My uncle. Admiral Rhys Avon. And Anwen, of course.”


    “Not your father?”


    He exhaled. “No, Father will join us tomorrow. I’ve also invited Lord Falconer. That gives me today to… persuade my uncle to support our cause.”


    “You want me to do another demonstration?”


    He nodded. She glanced over at the silvertree seedling, its leaves glimmering in the morning light. It wasn’t a bad plan, she supposed. Anwen could enthuse for days about his magical research. All she had to do was create a few twinkly lights and look pretty.


    Valerie stirred tea leaves into the pot, then joined Avon at the table, serving them each a cup. She leaned over and nabbed a pastry.


    “Okay,” she said, “so let’s say your uncle loves me. He’s on your side. Do you think between you, you can convince your father?”


    “That would be the goal.”


    She folded her arms, unconvinced. What was Avon’s uncle going to say that Avon couldn’t?


    “I know,” said Avon. “Father is stubborn. No matter what I do, he…”


    “It’s weird, isn’t it?” She leaned forward. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”


    He nodded. “At first I thought it was because he truly believed I was bewitched. Now I don’t know what to think. That’s why I’m hoping my uncle can help.”


    His hands curled around the steaming cup of tea. She wondered what he wasn’t saying. The problem was, she had only seen Avon argue with his father about this once, after that first dinner. They’d very nearly come to blows. After that, every other conversation between Avon and the Emperor had taken place behind closed doors, and he hadn’t been forthcoming about what was said. She couldn’t possibly know Avon’s father as well as he did, and yet, she thought, Avon looked lost.


    How did one persuade a stubborn member of the Avon family that magic wasn’t all bad?


    “I have an idea,” she said. “You remember what happened with Ophelia? How I saved her life?”


    “After you let your accomplice poison my drink,” said Avon. “Yes, I remember.”


    “Well, what if I saved the Emperor’s life?”


    “Save him from what?”


    “We’d stage an accident.”


    He stared at her. “You’re not serious.”


    “Come on! We stage a little accident, then I heal him, and he has to admit that magic is useful. He would owe me, Avon, that’s power. I need power.”


    “That sounds an awful lot like you plotting to kill my father.”


    “If I was going to do that, I wouldn’t be talking to you about it.”


    He rubbed his eyes. “What exactly are you proposing?”


    “Poison?”


    “That’s no accident. He’d blame you immediately.”


    “All right, then shoot him.”


    “Accidentally? How? Besides, that could easily kill him.”A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    “Take him out on a boat on the lake and capsize it.”


    “He’s a strong swimmer.”


    “Set the lodge on fire.”


    “Endangering us all and burning down my property. No.”


    She huffed. “All right, you think of something.”


    They stared at each other. Then, at the exact same moment, they both burst into laughter. The absurdity of the situation felt utterly surreal—here they were, plotting against the Emperor of Drakon in his son’s kitchen. Her pastry was dry.


    “All right,” said Avon, clearing his throat. He took a sip of tea. “I don’t doubt your ability to improvise. Your idea does have merit. If my uncle and I can’t persuade my father with words, then we will need to consider other options. And Father could do with a shock. But I won’t risk his life. Too many variables.”


    “You’re going out hunting tomorrow, right? There must be something we can do.”


    She still thought shooting him was a good option, honestly. Avon could just say that his rifle had slipped. Sorry, Father. Thought you were a boar.


    “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think perhaps there is…”


    *


    Later that afternoon, four people arrived at the jetty on a small boat. Valerie and Avon came out to meet them. She scanned their faces: Avon’s mute manservant; Cilla, her lady-in-waiting; a stout man dressed in the garb of a valet; and an older gentleman, perhaps in his mid-fifties, with grey-streaked hair, a weathered face and sharp, gleaming eyes.


    “You couldn’t send me a ship?” the gentleman called. “That leaky old tub is filling up faster than a bishop’s whore.”


    Avon clasped his hands behind his back. “Mind your language, Uncle. We have a lady present.”


    The gentleman chuckled as he climbed the last few steps to meet them. “Come here.”


    Valerie stepped back as he enveloped Avon in a big bear hug, clapping his back. Behind them, the servants began unloading the boat. They were expecting Anwen later. Avon wanted the chance to speak to his uncle first.


    “Uncle,” said Avon, turning towards her, “meet Lady Valerie. Lady Valerie, meet my uncle, Admiral Rhys Avon.”


    Valerie eyed the older man’s brass-buttoned coat, the medals decorating his breast pocket, his high leather boots.


    She curtsied. “My lord.”


    The Admiral’s eyes alighted on her. “So this is your famous witch. Oh, dear.”


    “She prefers the term priestess,” said Avon. “Why don’t we go inside?”


    They retreated into the lodge, where Cilla served them tea in the main room. Valerie perched on the couch and tried not to glance towards the kitchen. The servants would go in and out, of course. Might they notice the seedling?


    Her worries were interrupted when Avon sat down next to her and casually put his arm around her shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat. She ought to have gotten used to these pretended intimacies, but every now and then he surprised her. Valerie looked up at Avon, hoping she didn’t appear uncomfortable, but he only met her gaze for a fleeting second before taking his tea.


    The Admiral watched them from the armchair by the fireplace. “Do you two know what a scandal you’ve caused? Even I’m hearing about it.”


    Avon sipped his tea. “What have you heard?”


    “I won’t repeat rumours and slander. What’s the truth of the matter?”


    She and Avon glanced at each other. “The truth,” said Avon, “is that Valerie and I are working together to transform the Empire. You remember Grandfather’s stories, don’t you?”


    “About Maskamere? Oh, yes. You were enchanted by them.” The Admiral gestured at Valerie. “If you didn’t know it already, my lady, your master was obsessed with Maskamere. Devoured every book he could on it.”


    “Really?” She looked at him, delighted. Was she imagining it or had his face tinged slightly pink?


    “I don’t speak of childish fantasies.” Avon wouldn’t meet her eyes. “My ambition is quite real. Whatever rumours you’ve heard are from those trying to discredit us. Unfortunately, Father isn’t convinced.”


    The Admiral snorted. “I’m not surprised.”


    “I’ll be frank with you, Uncle. I summoned you because I need your help. Did you hear about the vote of no confidence at the Senate?”


    “Yes. Disgraceful.”


    “Well, I need you to shore up the vote with your people. And I need you to knock some sense into my father.”


    The Admiral laughed. “Knock some sense into him? The old boy doesn’t listen to me. Never has.”


    “He doesn’t need to. We have something else in mind…”


    Valerie watched the Admiral closely as Avon explained the plan. He nearly choked on his tea when Avon mentioned arranging an accident.


    “You want me to put myself in harm’s way?”


    “You won’t be in any real danger. Valerie will heal you.”


    This was the compromise they’d agreed to. Avon wouldn’t risk his father’s life. But if they had a willing victim…


    Well, perhaps the shock of nearly losing his brother would persuade the Emperor to give magic another chance.


    The Admiral squinted at her. “And I’m supposed to take your word for it that she’s trustworthy? Half the court thinks you’re bewitched.”


    “I’m not,” said Avon impatiently. “As I explained to the Senate, it’s literally impossible for me to be bewitched given that magic does not exist in Drakon.”


    “Well, if it doesn’t exist, how are you going to heal me?”


    “We have a silvertree,” said Valerie. “A seedling. Master Anwen is taking care of it for us. He’ll bring it to the lodge, so I can use it to heal you.”


    The Admiral frowned. “Hmm…”


    “Our family reputation is at stake,” said Avon. “We cannot let the Patriarch humiliate us. We must beat him.”


    Just then, Avon’s manservant entered the lounge and tapped on the door.


    Avon stood up. “Speaking of Master Anwen... That’ll be him arriving on shore. Excuse me for a moment. I’ll fetch him.”


    “Of course,” said the Admiral. “No trouble at all.”


    Avon disappeared with his manservant. Valerie fidgeted in her seat. She knew this was deliberate on Avon’s part—she wanted to talk to the Admiral, and he wanted to speak with Anwen, but she also had no idea what state of mind Anwen might be in after the queen’s enchantment.


    “Well,” said the Admiral, “don’t look so nervous. You’re the one with magical powers.”


    “Sorry, my lord.”


    “How is my nephew treating you?”


    Valerie blinked. That was an impossible question to answer, and not at all a question she had expected either. She hardly knew what to say, and so settled for: “Very well, my lord.”


    “Rather intense, isn’t he? Very capable but apt to dominating a conversation, particularly with the gentler sex. If you’re willing to share it, my lady, I would like to know your honest opinion. Where are you at in all this?”


    The Admiral shared the same piercing gaze as his brother and nephew. With the Emperor, she felt judged; with Avon, she felt seen. With the Admiral, she felt… accepted. He didn’t look at her with hatred or disgust like the Emperor, nor did he assess her the way Avon did, as if she were a puzzle to be solved. There was a twinkle in his eye, his manner relaxed in a way that put her at ease.


    “Where am I at?” The experience of being asked her opinion was so novel in Drakardia, this question nearly stumped her too. “Stuck, I guess. Lord Avon wants to restore the silvertrees, so we can practise magic again. I want that too. And he wants magic to be accepted everywhere in the Empire. Only… I don’t see that happening any time soon. Especially without the Emperor’s support.”


    “Yes,” the Admiral murmured. “I see your dilemma. What about this election? Wouldn’t you prefer to see a Maskamery candidate win the Chancellorship?”


    “It’s not that simple. I’d like to see that someday, but I have to make it back home alive first. Lord Avon promised we would return, but…”


    “But not before he’s Chancellor again,” the Admiral finished. “Your investment in our family is purely a means of survival, then?”


    “It was,” she hedged. “If I said it was more than that, would it make a difference?”


    “It would make the difference between a transactional relationship and a personal one, yes. I don’t ask for myself, you understand. But for my nephew, that difference is a very important one indeed.”


    “I think he wants a personal relationship,” she said, “but he’s treating it like a transactional one.”


    “Because you’re a courtesan, yes?”


    She decided now was not the time to bring up the fact that she’d tried to kill him, and nodded.


    “Well, take it from a man who married a courtesan.” The Admiral’s tone was surprisingly kind. “Stranger things have happened.”


    “You married a courtesan?”


    He chuckled. “James isn’t the only member of our family to cause a scandal. Do you really want to change my brother’s mind?”


    “Yes,” she said at once.


    “Then I’m afraid you’re going about it the wrong way. This plan of yours won’t work.”


    Her heart sank. “Why not?”


    “Because I know my brother. And the Reinard I know would never turn down an opportunity to strengthen the Empire. Something changed in him after our mother died.”


    “Your mother?”


    Avon had talked about his grandfather before, but never his grandmother. Curiosity lit a fire within her; she sat up straighter, hanging on his every word.


    “She and Reinard despised each other. Yours truly stuck in the middle. Well, the Patriarch and his ilk had been banging on about the evils of witchcraft for years. My brother always ignored it. General wisdom was that Maskamere was too big and too well-defended to conquer. A month after our mother’s passing, he convened the Council to propose the invasion.”


    “But…” She was thinking furiously. “Is it connected? What changed his mind?”


    “I don’t know. But you can do something about that, can’t you?”


    She stared at him. “You want me to find out what happened?”


    “Can you?”


    A dozen ideas zipped through her mind. But Valerie didn’t get the chance to voice any of them, because that was when the scream came from the kitchen.