"The great project of empire is always infrastructure. As the reach of the Empire expanded, the same questions prevailed: How to link up such vast areas? How to move people, goods, ideas? How to maintain supply chains? And above all, how to maintain control in even the most distant territories?"

Clement Pyridge's History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II

The preparations for their trip to Bolebund took place in secrecy and in haste.

As Valerie embroidered the finishing touches to Lord Avon's jacket—she'd been given very little time to weave his invisibility spell—Priska entered her chambers and cleared her throat.

"Lady Ophelia is here to see you, ma'am."

She looked up, breaking her concentration. Ophelia approached, hands clasped in front of her, and offered a tremulous smile.

"Lady Valerie. I hope I'm not being terribly intrusive?"

"No, not at all." She left the needle and thread in her lap. "How are you?"

"Alive, thanks to you. I wanted to say so at the party, but my brother whisked you away... Thank you." Ophelia shook her head, her eyes big and sincere. "It seems like such an inadequate word for saving my life. You must know that I'm so grateful. James too."

Valerie looked at her but sensed no guile. Which meant Avon hadn't told her about Valerie's part in the attempted poisoning. Ophelia believed only that she had saved her life.

"Those of us who are blessed," she said, "we try to use our gifts to help others. I'm only sorry I didn't sense it in time to save Lord Silver."

Ophelia nodded. "We are all aware of the danger. I think James would send me back to Drakon if he could, but..."

"Your suitors. How are they?"

"One of them backed out after the dinner. I hope I shan't get a reputation as a poisoned chalice." She smiled. "There is another who seems promising. I'll tell you all about him when you return. And you must tell me if the sands at Caphika are as white as they claim."

This was their cover story. Officially, she and Avon were travelling to Caphika, a small island to the south. The Drakonian nobility loved it as a private retreat.

"Of course," said Valerie.

She thought their conversation was coming to a natural end, but Ophelia lingered. She glanced around the queen's room in a strangely furtive manner before taking another step closer.

"Valerie... May we have a moment in private?"

She indicated Priska, who was watching quietly in the background. Valerie nodded, surprised, and waved her hand to dismiss the maidservant. As soon as Priska had gone, Ophelia shuffled her feet, her puffy gown rustling around her.

"James told me where you're going," she began. "I suppose it was silly of me to think that marriage would be enough when the resistance is so fierce in the north."

Valerie frowned. She set aside the jacket and her work tools on the table, standing up to take Ophelia's hands. "It's not your fault if they didn't tell you."

"No, but... James worries about me, but I worry about him too." Ophelia sighed. "Valerie, can you... Can you protect him?"

Her eyes widened. For a moment she was speechless. "I..."

"My brother is too proud to ask, I'm sure. But you'll be by his side?"

"I'll be by his side," she said.

"Do you promise?"

She hesitated. A priestess keeps their promises. She understood now why that was, the delicate shift of relationships that underpinned her power. She'd made the mistake of breaking her deal with Avon and placed herself further in his debt as a result. It would be unwise to do the same thing with Ophelia.

"I promise, I'll be by his side." Physically, at least. "Lord Avon needs me. I don't know how much he told you, but there is a reason I'll be there with him. I promise I'll see it through."

There, she thought. She would do exactly what she had set out to do. It wasn't a lie when it was technically true, was it?

*

With menservants carrying her suitcases, Valerie was first escorted to the palace entrance where the other ladies fluttered their fans and wished her a wonderful trip. Then she was taken through the city and to the docks, where they made a great fuss of setting off from the Stormdrake, Lord Avon's private ship, unfurling the white sails and waving at the city residents from the deck.

Was the cheering genuine? Valerie wondered that standing side-by-side with Avon. She scanned the crowd which was a mixture of Maskamery and Drakonian—hemmed in of course by the city guard who wouldn't let any of them get within fifty feet of the ship. At this distance, wearing her corseted gown and holding her parasol, she could probably pass for Drakonian. Only her olive complexion gave her away.

Regardless, it was all staged. As soon as the ship left the dock, she and Avon disappeared below deck to change into their commoners' garb.

She was dressed as herself before she had been captured: Valerie Crescent, the dressmaker, in a dark green gown, grey shawl, and leather boots of much coarser material than she'd grown used to wearing at the palace. Fitting, perhaps, for her return to the resistance.

But they had a long way to go before that. Avon emerged wearing a fitted jacket and rough breeches, though he'd kept his expensive belt and fine boots, sword at his hip.

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"How do I look?" he asked.

"Like you've never sold a bottle in your life, my lord."

They would be posing as wine merchants, which she thought was an excuse for dragging along barrels of the stuff with them. Sure enough, as they crossed the deck to the other side of the ship where the men were preparing their skiff, several were rolling barrels over to the galley. No one looked at them.

"Captain!" said Avon, addressing one of the guards. "What are you playing at? Let us on the boat."

The captain, an older man with whiskery hair, jumped to attention. "My lord!"

Avon glanced at her as they stepped on to the skiff. "I told you, my lord," she said. "No one will see us unless we draw attention to ourselves."

As the skiff was lowered onto the water, she and Avon once again headed below deck. Avon seemed to find his lack of presence disconcerting. He barked at two of the guards, startling them each time, before returning to the bridge.

They set off along the estuary. The sea salt smell faded, the skiff making its way inland on the river.

Valerie went above deck as soon as the guards would let her. She found a good lookout spot by the prow, where she breathed in the fresh air and watched the Maskamery countryside go by. Dragonflies hovered over the water. Birds sang in the trees. Wheat swayed gently in the fields. Out here in the country, there was little sign of Drakonian presence. She could almost imagine that this was the Maskamere she used to know.

Until the air turned cold. Her stomach cramped, a shiver that reverberated through her entire body.

The dead zone.

Valerie swallowed, her mouth turning dry. There were six other men on the skiff and none of them had reacted. To them, the afternoon sun was still shining down, the breeze warm and light. The trees still grew and the birds still sang. But there was no magic here. Her shawl sat limply on her shoulders, no longer hiding her.

Heavy footsteps came up behind her. Avon.

"The men have stopped ignoring me," he said.

"They'll forget you soon enough."

She didn't want to say the reason why. And if Avon knew, he didn't press her.

He leaned by the prow, gazing out at the water. "You'll be pleased to know I've gained the confidence of the council."

"My lord?"

"We met this morning." He looked at her. "Lord Gideon spoke out in your favour."

"Lord Gideon?"

She trembled. Gideon... She hadn't had a chance to talk to him since the dungeon, but he'd always been lurking, watching her. The knowledge of her suspicions about his loyalties sat heavy in her gut.

"He sees the potential that magic can bring. And he thinks that you saving Ophelia is a sign of you turning. I disagree."

"Why's that, my lord?"

"I think you have a soft spot for my sister. How did she win you over so quickly?"

"Because she listens to me."

She answered without thinking and then stopped, realising that she'd said too much.

Avon's mouth twitched. "You mean she's easily influenced."

"That's not what I said."

"Well," he said, "my council has the same concern about me. Fortunately, they believe that Gideon despises you. His argument was therefore much more convincing."

"I thought you said he was spying on you."

The more she heard about the inner workings of Avon's government, the more it confused her. She was beginning to sense that she had only scratched the surface of a tangled web of alliances. Why would Gideon vouch for her? Why would he turn traitor? What does he want?

"Yes," said Avon, "but not for my father. There are forces in Drakon that keep even the Emperor in check. Gideon's faction is one of those."

"Faction... You mean he's a rival?"

"He's from a very powerful family, yes."

"But you said he was useful."

"We appease our rivals by offering them positions of influence. In my position, true loyalty is hard to come by."

"Don't you think it's strange that he'd change his mind about me? What do you think he wants?"

Avon's gaze pierced her, and she tried not to falter.

"What do you think?" he asked.

She turned away, folding her arms. "He took pleasure in tormenting me. I wouldn't trust a man like that."

"Keep the beast well-fed and he won't bite."

The remark was almost glib. She turned back to him, frowning. "Did you offer him something?"

He paused, and she knew that he had. She was getting better at reading him. Why was he so intent on surrounding himself with very dangerous tools that would turn on him the second they saw an opportunity?

"Whatever it is," she said, "you shouldn't have. What if he's setting you up for a fall? You've made this big gesture about supporting magic, Gideon backs you up... Now you're vulnerable if he turns on you."

"That's why I have you. Once we open that door..."

"You don't even know what's behind the door."

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Don't you understand, Val? This was never about the seal. It's about you."

"I..."

He took her hands, and it occurred to her that right here and now, standing by the prow of a Drakonian boat, she had never been more vulnerable. She had no magic to defend herself. Whatever hope he was pinning on her meant nothing without the silvertrees. She hoped he knew that.

"It's about proving that magic can do good, that it's worth embracing. If we can do that, we can change the future of Maskamere for the better."

He was getting better at reading her too, she thought. He'd learned what to say to appeal to her.

"My lord!"

She turned as the captain approached them.

"Excuse me, my lord," he said, "but you should get below. We're about to reach the railway."

"Ah," said Avon. "Now this is something you should see. We'll go below in a moment."

The captain retreated. Valerie was puzzled until Avon pointed up ahead. At first she thought it was a settlement like the villages they had passed so far. Certainly there was human activity. Men hauled wagons high above the muddy bank, and tents were set up in the field beyond. Then she saw it, the tracks snaking along the gravel-covered ground. Gleaming metal bars formed two parallel lines, connected by planks of wood. And the men were building it. Fixing the planks with hammer and nail, laying the metal tracks.

She had never seen anything like it.

"We're building this line through the heart of the realm," said Avon, "and another along the east coast. When we're finished, both lines will connect through Jairah, and we'll finally start to bring this country into the modern age."

"But what does it do?"

"It's a railway line. Trains move along these tracks at great speed. When it's ready, we'll be able to reach Bolebund in a fraction of the time compared to travelling by boat."

Trains. Weren't they a type of Drakonian carriage? She didn't know.

The workers near the bank had noticed the skiff. Before they could ask questions about what a woman was doing onboard, Avon ushered her to the bridge, leaving his men to exchange greetings. Valerie sat down in a corner out of sight.

Avon raised an eyebrow at her. "You're quiet. I thought you'd have more questions."

"No, I..." She shook her head. "I didn't know you were doing this."

"You haven't heard Lord Warren talking about it? It's his pride and joy; he hardly talks about anything else."

Another shake of the head. "Not to me."

"Is something bothering you?"

He found space on the narrow bench beside her. Valerie stared down at her hands. In truth, she was feeling terribly ignorant, and she didn't like that at all. More than once, Avon had told her that Drakon was more technologically advanced than Maskamere, and she had always thrown it back at him. If they were so advanced, why didn't they share what they had learned with her people? And now she had encountered first-hand evidence that they were bringing something new to Maskamere. Worse, if Avon's description was accurate, it seemed like it would genuinely be beneficial.

"Val?"

She blinked at him. "I don't know, my lord," she said. "It's just you always say you want to do good in Maskamere and I never believed you."

He looked amused. "Do you believe me now?"

"I suppose I do."

"When this is done," he said, "we'll go on a tour of Maskamere. We'll plant new silvertrees, and I'll show you everything that we've built."

After the attack on Bolebund, she thought. Only when the entire country had been defeated could the Drakonian transformation truly begin.

And she was the only one who could stop it.