Treacherous Witch

42. Secret Meeting with the Prince

She didn't even know why she cried. All the pieces were in place. She was poised to take everything back.

Perhaps for everything she couldn't get back. Everything the war had cost her. Everything her time in the palace had forced her to be: scheming, ruthless, weighing up the cost of human lives against the path to victory. Everything she had sacrificed for a chance of power, a chance to fight back.

She cried, and with that the last vestiges of cloud weighing on her heart floated away.

*

"Is everything ready?" she asked as Priska put the finishing touches to her hair, swept up in a fan of curls.

"I hope so, my lady," said Priska. "I don't know why his Lordship announced it so late. We've all been in a panic, scurrying around to prepare."

There had been no time for another shopping trip. Nor to finish the pink summer gown she had been working on and intending to debut at the next event. Instead, Valerie was wearing the royal gown: the scarlet dress she had made for the queen.

She'd altered it since Enyr, made further improvements to hide the hasty adjustments from that first trip. Now the corset was built into the gown, its ribbing perfectly fitted to her measurements. She'd removed the halterneck so that her shoulders and neck were bare and redone the hem of the skirt, painstakingly embroidering the roses and the jewels until they gleamed with life.

And now, tonight, in putting on the gown she made a delightful discovery.

The dress was enchanted.

With her thrice-blessed senses, the glimmer of her magic transformed into crystal clarity. The hours and days she had poured into it. The wishes and hopes. All far more potent than she had ever realised.

She had wished that the dress might bring back the queen, and that was exactly the spell she had crafted. A spell to revive the queen.

It was dizzying to think about. Was the queen alive because of her? That seemed impossible. Like all her other spell-woven garments, the magic only affected the person wearing that garment. And Valerie was the only person who had ever worn the dress.

Even so, it was a beautiful piece of magic. The dress was a living object, imbued with her power. When she regarded herself in the full-length mirror, she felt transformed.

Her tears had dried. She was no longer Valerie the dressmaker, the girl who had lost her family, her village, and her future to the Empire's fire. No longer the rebel seeking futile revenge.

She was a princess, soon to be a queen. And this gown was no longer Maskamery but a hybrid style. Its contours matched those of the Drakonian ladies, though with a more daring cut, while its colours were Maskamery red and gold.

"It's beautiful," said Priska. "Which necklace would you like to wear with it, my lady?"

She picked out a few pieces from the jewellery box, but Valerie shook her head.

"None of these. Lord Avon has a gift for me. I'll be wearing that tonight."

Priska looked curious but she didn't ask, snapping the box shut. Valerie took a deep breath. The Kestrel's Eye, she thought. A pendant to adorn her neck. The Golden Sceptre, a staff. And, finally, the Masked Crown. Just like the queen in her portrait.

Gideon had contacted her. She was meeting Prince Bakra tonight.

*

First, the ball.