"Congratulations on your glorious victory! And don't be too smug about it, if it pleases you. Everything is obvious in hindsight."
Letter from Lord Isaac Dryden to the Chancellor of Maskamere, Lord James Avon
There was to be a victory ball, Lord Avon announced, in celebration of General Leamsbrand's triumphant return and the beginnings of peace in Maskamere. Tonight the lords and ladies of the court would dance and feast. Tomorrow the returning soldiers would march through Jairah to be welcomed as heroes.
She couldn't bear it. The atmosphere in the palace was horribly jolly, the guards breaking out into spontaneous cheers, the lords clapping each other on the back. Only the servants were subdued.
Finally, after enduring what felt like an hour of Lady Ophelia excitedly speculating about touring the north with one of her suitors, Valerie had snapped at her to shut up. The other ladies had been shocked, Ophelia red-faced and teary-eyed.
She escaped instead to the gardens, making her way towards the greenhouse for a long overdue visit. The sun blazed down. Master Anwen pottered around as usual shielded by his wide-brimmed hat. The old scholar had set up a rickety table by the vegetable patch, where he peered through a magnifying glass at a soil sample.
She cleared her throat.
Anwen looked up, his face breaking into a beaming smile. "Lady Valerie! How does this day find you, my dear? How was your trip with Lord Avon?"
She smiled back. "Fine." Anwen was one of the few people she felt bad about lying to. She took a breath, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve. "Actually, I have some news."
She told him about the third silvertree, how she'd received the blessing in Bolebund. Naturally, Anwen wanted to fetch his notebook at once, but she had another piece of news to break to him first.
"No," she said gently. "No, Anwen... The Chancellor has decided that our lessons need not continue. I know how to break the seal now. You've done everything you can, and I wanted to thank you for your help."
"Oh," said Anwen. He picked up his magnifying glass then put it down again, seeming to lose his train of thought. "Oh—of course. But we must capture the results, must we not? The key to breaking the seal, the answer to what awaits below the temple—it will form the centrepiece of my book."
"I know. I'm sorry, Anwen, and I'll tell you all about it when it's done, but for now I can't say anything more."
"No," he muttered, "no, sensitive political information, of course." He chewed his lip, then looked up at her. "Bolebund, did you say? My dear, you weren't caught up in the war?"
"No..."
Anwen removed his hat, pressing it to his heart. "My condolences, my lady, for your loss."
It was the first time anyone in the palace had offered sympathy for losing the war, and the first time Anwen had acknowledged it. Valerie blinked, her eyes filling with tears.
"Thank you."
"Is there anything I can do?"
The old man's eyes were bright. She shook her head and gulped. Her chest felt tight.
"I..."
"There's no shame in grieving," said Anwen. "Nor in taking your time."
She wasn't sure if it was his words or his gentle tone that did it. But he'd opened the floodgates, and Valerie rushed forward and sobbed into his shoulder. Anwen patted her head with a bewildered but sympathetic air.
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.
She entered the ballroom and all heads turned. As they should. What a shock these people would get when she seized her crown. Victory for the Empire—I'll show them victory.
Lord Avon took her arm in his coat and tails, and the musicians began to play an unfamiliar melody.
She glanced up at him. "We didn't have time to rehearse."
"Improvise."
Well, then. They stuck to the basic steps. How easy it was to follow his lead and glide across the floor. She let the music sweep over her, a simple pattern like a cross stitch.
"Gideon's watching," she whispered, leaning into his shoulder.
The Master of Justice stared at them with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Go to him," Avon whispered back. "I'll be at the temple when you return."
He twirled her around for a final flourish and she laughed, flushed. Then Avon went over to congratulate General Leamsbrand, and Valerie moved away from the dance floor to grab a glass of champagne. She looked for Lord Gideon, but someone else approached her first.
Lady Ophelia was almost comically nervous, her eyes big and round, cheeks red, her champagne flute trembling in her hand.
"Lady Valerie," she said, "please, if I may apologise for my silly story earlier today. I cannot stop thinking about what a fool I was, and I couldn't bear it if you don't forgive me. I swear I shall be up all night—"
"Hey." She laid a hand on Ophelia's arm. "You're already a better person than nearly everyone here by thinking you have anything to apologise for at all. I shouldn't have told you to shut up, that was rude. I just..." She sighed. "All this victory talk was getting to me."
"No, I was being terribly insensitive. And you told me you were from the north, yet I didn't think of how that might come across..."
"It's okay. I forgive you."
"Really?" Ophelia's face brightened. "Friends?"
"Friends," Valerie agreed, squeezing her arm.
Ophelia went off to share her relief with Lady Rose and Lady Amilia. If only everyone were so easy to deal with. Speaking of... Her fingers tightened around her champagne glass. Lord Gideon sidled up to her.
"A convincing performance," he sneered. "What did you say to Lord Avon?"
"Nothing incriminating. Is the prince here?"
"Sneak out that way." Gideon indicated one of the exits that led to the palace gardens. "But not yet. One of my men will tap you on the shoulder when it's time."
She nodded and moved away from him, pretending to be interested in a tray of canapes. Canapes, as far as Valerie was concerned, weren't real food, but the lords and ladies of Drakon loved them. In the meantime, she was thinking: How many men does Gideon have under his command? How many traitors?
The answer to that question might determine which of the men triumphed over the other. To Valerie, it didn't matter. She'd finally learned the lesson that Avon had taught her: to rig the game.
How?
How does a gambler guarantee a win? Simple: bet on every horse.
*
Next, the boat.
At sunset, she sneaked out through the palace gardens and to the river. A Drakonian skiff waited for her, one of the guard boats that patrolled along the boundaries of the palace. Black like the guards that escorted her, but the sun's last rays cast a deep red and gold glow over the water. The royal colours.
Valerie stepped on to the deck. She ducked into the cabin, her heart beating fast.
Inside she found a narrow table, a map of the Triatic Sea which bordered Maskamere's east coast on the wall, and oil lamps illuminating the drinks cabinet and empty flagons on the sideboard. Perhaps this vessel had travelled further than others of its ilk.
And standing before her, a solitary figure in his battered coat and traveller's boots: Prince Bakra. She hadn't seen him in months. He looked thinner and paler than their last meeting, with shadows beneath his eyes, but their determined light hadn't faded.
"Valerie!" He stepped forward and hugged her, no formalities. "I'm so glad you're alive."
"You too, Your Highness. How did you...?"
"Lord Gideon spoke to you?"
She nodded.
Retreating, Bakra pointed to the table. "Please, sit."
She joined him, perching on an uncomfortable wooden stool and tucking in her dress. The last of the sunlight was disappearing beneath the port window.
"I want to say thank you," Bakra began, "for holding out. I can't imagine what you must have endured."
She resisted from giving a sharp retort, nodding instead.
"Bolebund has fallen," Bakra continued, "and the Abbess Sopphora was killed. It's all up to us now."
"I heard," she said. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"It was my fault." Bakra looked away, his eyes wet. "I convinced her to hand over the Masked Crown and left the city's defences weakened."
She swallowed. He hadn't heard about her involvement, then. Only Lavinia and Juniper would have been able to pass on that information to the resistance, and she didn't know whether they had survived. She hoped Bakra's ignorance wasn't a bad sign.
"So Lord Gideon told you that we needed the Masked Crown to open the seal?"
Something was off with the timing there. She had only learned that the Masked Crown was a requirement to open the temple door after they'd returned from Bolebund. But the prince was implying that Sopphora had handed over the Masked Crown before the city had been invaded.
Bakra nodded. "He's given us a route to the palace. I have fifty men ready to land."
"What was the deal you made with him?"
"The king's throne for Maska's elixir."
As Gideon had said. So that part was true.
"And what's stopping Gideon from killing you as soon as he gets what he wants? Your Highness..."
Bakra held up a hand. "I understand your concern, and I thank you for it. You needn't worry. Gideon won't be getting what he wants."
"What do you mean?"
"There is no elixir."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"Shikra made it up. All the stories about what lies under the temple—beasts and ghouls and treasure—it's all made up."
"Then what...?"
"It doesn't matter what lies beneath the temple," said Bakra firmly. "You're not going to break that seal."
Her head was spinning. "Then why come here? The crown jewels—"
"Are why we're here," said Bakra. "The jewels are what will win us this war. In your hands, they can vanquish the Drakonians for good. Each of the jewels has a different power. The Masked Crown creates. My aunt Sopphora used it to hide the resistance, build our network in the north. The Kestrel's Eye restores. I wish we'd had that, to undo all the damage in Bolebund, all the towns and villages burned... But what we need now is the Golden Sceptre. The Sceptre destroys. You can march into the palace and smite all our enemies in a moment."
"I..." She swallowed. "Can't you do it?"
"I can't wield the jewels. They can only be used by those who are thrice blessed."
"And all this time in Bolebund... Sopphora didn't bless you?"
He frowned. "I left you in the palace for a reason. I knew all I needed to do was get the Sceptre to you at the right time—"
"I can't." He stared at her, caught off-guard, and she went on: "I can't smite any Drakonians. I made a vow."
"A vow?"
"Lord Avon wouldn't let me acquire this much power without a safeguard in place. He made me vow never to use magic to harm him or any Drakonian except in self-defence or by his command. I swore it under the light of the silvertree."
"You can't wield the Sceptre." His voice was hollow in disbelief. "Why would you make such a vow?"
"I didn't have a choice!" she snapped. "What about you—you must have a contingency plan..."
But his expression told her that he didn't. He stood up, pacing around the narrow interior of the boat. "There has to be a loophole," he said. "A way around the vow."
"Find someone else who has been blessed. Give the Sceptre to them."
"There's no time! I agreed with Gideon we'd make our move tonight."
"All right," she said, "fine, we find a loophole. I can't just smite everyone. But if you have men with you, if you can fight, I can help you get to Gideon and Avon. What's beneath the temple?"
"What?"
"The temple!" she snapped again, rapidly losing patience. "They're both desperate to get into the chamber, to claim their treasure. Gideon wants it. Avon will be waiting for us. We can set a trap. But I have to know what's in there."
"You can't open that door," he said.
"Why did the queen deny you access?"
"That's an order, Valerie. From your prince."
"Why won't you tell me?" A horrible suspicion came over her. "Don't you know?"
"I know," he said, "and I'm commanding you not to open it. As you say, we'll set a trap. We'll make this work."
He started pacing again, muttering to himself. She stared at him. Her heart trembled.
"Your Highness," she began. "There's something else..."
He looked at her. "What?"
"The queen..." How to say it...? "Your sister... She's alive."
"What?"
The same word, the same question, but a very different tone. He sounded almost... scared.
"I saw her. When I was blessed by the silvertrees. She spoke to me, she wanted me to remember—"
"She can't be." He twisted around on his feet, like a caged animal with no way out. "I saw her, I saw her die. What exactly did you see?"
"I don't know, her spirit? It was in this... other place..."
She tried to describe it. It was difficult to find the words. Her people didn't believe in ghosts, the lingering souls of the dead. But she had no explanation for it, when she'd confirmed that Queen Shikra's corpse was indeed Queen Shikra's corpse.
"I don't know what it all means," she finished. "Is she alive somehow? And I think she's trying to tell me something with this memory of the silvertree, but I don't know what."
Bakra had listened in silence during this story, his face becoming paler and paler.
"I think," he said at last, "that my sister's wishes will become clear in time. Until then, we must proceed as planned."
"You don't know what it means?"
"I wish I did." He sighed, shaking his head. "You know that men are forbidden from receiving the blessing. Oh, the priestesses turned a blind eye to the stone masons and the metal workers and the beastmasters. Useful trades. But the men of my family, the royal family, they're much stricter with us."
"Why?"
"It's the price we pay for the throne. But we'll put all that behind us. This could be our last chance to win this war."
"And the silvertrees," she said. "Your Highness—"
She was going to ask him if he intended to restore the silvertrees, a question she hadn't asked before because it had never occurred to her that he wouldn't. But the strange tension in his voice put her on edge. He'd always spoken of his sister with love, never fear. What had changed?
They were interrupted by Lord Gideon appearing at the door. He was carrying a wooden case, which he set down on the table.
"Your Highness. Your attire, as promised. Where is the Crown?"
"I have it," said Bakra. "As promised."
Valerie resisted from rolling her eyes. She suspected that both of these men intended to betray each other. But now that she'd inadvertently ruined Bakra's plan, what could she do?
"We'll give you a moment," said Gideon, and held out his hand to Valerie.
She followed him off the boat, frowning, and fixed him with a suspicious look once their feet were on firm ground.
"What's going on?"
"A disguise," said Gideon. "Prince Bakra will accompany us dressed as a Drakonian guard."
"He's coming with us?"
"He insisted."
Oh, Maska, she thought. This could go so very wrong in so many ways.
"And the crown jewels?" she asked.
"You'll get them soon enough. Why don't you say hello to your friend?"
"What?"
A chill ran through her. She didn't like that smile on Gideon's face at all. And then one of the Drakonian guards who had escorted her to the boat stepped forward, removing his helmet to reveal a thatch of straw-coloured hair.
"Long time no see."
Her heart plummeted.
Markus.