"The crown jewels of Maskamere were not merely symbols of royal excess but powerful magical artefacts in their own right. Of the three, the Golden Sceptre was considered the most significant threat. Eyewitness tales spoke of terrifying scenes whereby the queen used the Sceptre to strike down enemies and innocents alike. Every divine act of nature was within its power: fire, storms, earthquakes, hurricanes, floods. The other two jewels, the Kestrel's Eye and the Masked Crown, might repair the damage, but only at the behest of the capricious queen."

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

She woke with a gasp.

Her lungs, intact. She was sweating, strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Valerie passed her hand over her eyes and swallowed, looking around.

She was in a narrow cabin, lying down on a makeshift stretcher. A slight sway told her that they were afloat. The small patch of sky visible from the porthole gave no indication of their location. Had they already left Bolebund?

"You're awake," said a voice behind her.

Valerie sat up, pushing off the blanket covering her, and looked over as Lord Avon approached, holding a glass of water.

Like the second blessing, she thought. When she'd woken up with Avon, after that strange dream...

The silvertree.

He'd...

She took the glass of water and stared at him. "You tried to kill me!"

Avon cocked his head. "What?"

The memories came rushing back. Her first blessing. The death of High Priestess Glynda. And Avon had been there, leading the charge. How could she have forgotten that they'd protected the silvertree?

"I..." She shook her head, gulping down the water. She needed time to process.

Her memory of High Priestess Glynda's death was all wrong too. She had an image of the massacre, of Glynda's body in the courtyard with her throat cut. She'd forgotten that she had witnessed Glynda's death. She'd forgotten everything from Glynda knocking on her door to her escape from the convent.

Before reliving the events of that night, what did she think had happened to the silvertree at St. Maia?

I didn't think about it.

She tried to grasp for any moment when she'd reflected on the demise or survival of the tree, any conversation where she'd explained what had happened to someone else. But it was like trying to hold water. A blind spot in her own head.

Remember, Queen Shikra had said. Had the queen restored her memory? Or altered it?

If she couldn't trust her own memories, how could she trust anything at all?

Valerie began to shiver.

"Valerie?" Avon crouched in front of her. "Can you stand?"

She let him pull her up. Then he insisted that she drink hot soup brought in by a member of the crew. They were both still in their enchanted travellers' clothes, Avon having to bark at his men to get their attention. His right hand never strayed from the hilt of his sword.

If the dream was true, that sword had killed High Priestess Glynda. And now, today, it had killed Abbess Sopphora.

She hadn't led Avon into a trap. He'd set one for the Abbess, using Valerie as bait, and she'd fallen for it.

Avon paced around the cabin, the fading light from the porthole casting shadows over his face. She finished the soup, hiccoughed, then huddled back in her seat. Avon turned, his gaze piercing hers.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"On our way back to Jairah. Well away from rebel-held territory. We're safe."

The invasion of Bolebund had been planned for nightfall. Which meant it was starting right now... Had Lavinia escaped? She didn't know, and she couldn't go back to find them. She could only hope that her warning had been sufficient.

She lifted her eyes to his. "You killed the Abbess."

"Thanks to you," he said, with a slight hint of a smile.

"You used me to get to her."

Her heart was heavy as she said it. She'd been so consumed by her desire for the third blessing—she would have sacrificed almost anything to get it.

And I did. I sacrificed a city.

She let that thought sit for a moment. She could dwell on it later.

"You weren't subtle about your intentions," Avon said. "I expected betrayal, although it rather looked like you were kidnapped."

"The Abbess didn't trust me. She refused to let me pray to the silvertree."

And with that, she thought, Sopphora had sealed her fate. She could have warned Sopphora about Avon, could have helped in the fight if the Abbess hadn't pinned her to the chair.

"But you have it now. The third blessing."

She nodded.

She'd expected her magic to be amplified. This didn't feel like that. The light of Avon's blade glowed no brighter. Had anything changed?

Even if it hadn't, she ought to act like it had. She was conscious of her second promise to Avon, to only tell him the truth. That didn't make it impossible to deceive him. But she had to choose her words carefully.

"I thought that if I had the power of an Abbess, I could save the city." She stood up, a little shaky. "But you were never going to give me that chance."

Stolen story; please report.

"Were you going to betray me?"

She looked away. "Yes."

"What about now?"

He was silhouetted by the dying sunlight, mouth drawn in a line, hand gripping the hilt of his sword. And in that stance she glimpsed the one tiny shred of power she had over him: the sword was his defence against her magic. Which meant he was wary of her using it.

But it wasn't enough. She couldn't bluff her way into victory. She needed real power.

"I don't think there's anything I can do right now." She shrugged, her mouth a bitter curve. "You win."

In saying this, she knew she had doomed the city. Abbess Sopphora was dead. Bolebund would fall. The last vestige of a safe haven for the resistance in Maskamere would disappear, and Bakra would be forced to make a move.

The bigger war was yet to come. Suppose that her dream had been true. The revelation that the queen had wanted her to remember... It couldn't be Avon's part in the war. That wasn't news. No, it had to be the silvertree. The silvertree at St. Maia had survived.

What did it mean? Did the queen want her to go there? To reconnect with the tree? Why?

Meanwhile, Avon's eyebrows rose. "You're not usually one to give up."

"I didn't say that I was."

"Hmm," he said. "That will do for now. What do you call me?"

Oh. She looked down. "My lord."

"Again."

She resisted the urge to make a sarcastic remark. "My lord."

"My offer still stands, Valerie," he said. "I look forward to you choosing me."

Her stomach knotted. In the dream, when she had confronted him, he had driven his sword through her heart. Was that, in any sense, real? She'd strayed from the path of her reawakened memories the second she'd recognised him. Perhaps that Avon was only a figment of her imagination.

No, she thought. He was that ruthless. She'd become complacent because he hadn't laid a hand on her, had barely blinked when she'd tried to kill him a second time. As long as she remained a useful pawn to him, he wouldn't get rid of her. He'd simply anticipated her treachery and factored it into his plans.

They were still playing this game of tit-for-tat, except now he'd made it even harder.

"The prisoner's dilemma," she said. "Where are we with that?"

He smiled. "I didn't tell you the real solution."

"What's the solution?"

He didn't answer at first, turning away to the cabin door. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. "Rig the game."

*

Valerie stood stock still, trembling. The truth at her fingertips was overwhelming.

Lord Avon spoke first. "You know how to break the seal."

"Yes, my lord."

"Well?"

They were standing once more in the basement of the temple, Lord Avon, Lord Gideon, Captain Doryn, and half a dozen guards all hanging on her every word.

"I need the crown jewels. All of them."

Soft murmurs filled the air, the guards glancing at each other. Gideon openly jeered.

"The girl lies! All she wants is to send us on a wild goose chase—no, to give her more power, as if being thrice-blessed isn't enough. Give her the crown jewels? You may as well hand over the keys to the kingdom."

Well, yes. That was the point. Her vision had been clear. When she'd touched the stone, she'd seen herself (an interesting detail, she thought) with the Kestrel's Eye around her neck, the Masked Crown on her head, and wielding the Golden Sceptre. The seal had shattered into nothing, and the great stone door had rolled away, revealing a dark opening.

What she hadn't seen was what lay beyond the door. The royal family's greatest treasure, the elixir of life? Or some malevolent beast that should never again see the light of day?

"You spoke out in the girl's favour at our last council meeting," Avon reminded Gideon. "What were your words? A tame witch."

Valerie bristled.

"I spoke out to support you," said Gideon. "Would you give a gun to a monkey?"

Avon looked at her. Valerie mimicked the motion of cocking a rifle and blasting Gideon's brains out, which was all the reaction his insult deserved.

"Obviously not," said Avon. "Captain, what do you think?"

Doryn shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know, my lord. Perhaps whatever lies behind that door is best left alone. We don't need it to win the war."

"The crown jewels are powerful weapons," said Avon. "Not things we should allow into the hands of a sorceress, no matter how tame she is."

His gaze fell on her. Valerie stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm.

"My lord," she said. "Please. I won't use the crown jewels to harm you, I swear. You have my word."

And she had to make good on her word or fall prey to the curse. Avon knew she was telling the truth. He regarded her for a long moment, expression thoughtful, then nodded.

"We have two of the jewels," he said. "Which means we only need to find the third."

She nodded back. "The Masked Crown. I think Bakra has it. At least, he did when I last saw it."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No. I didn't see him in Bolebund."

Avon glanced at Doryn.

"We've yet to receive a report from the north, my lord. I expect a messenger shortly."

"Well, if he's dead, we'll find the crown. If not, he'll be lurking in one of his other hidey holes, and we'll hunt him down."

"Offer to parley with him," Valerie suggested. "I don't think he'd come himself, but maybe I could get his representative to talk."

"Perhaps," Avon murmured.

"My lord." Gideon stamped his cane against the ground. Both he and Doryn had been watching this conversation with obvious and satisfying dismay. "The girl's words are poison. Do you want her to bring another assassin to your door?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

Gideon's mouth tightened. "This is talk for the war chamber, not this accursed place. May we reconvene?"

"Very well."

Doryn escorted her back to her quarters. She felt his eyes on her the entire way.

"Is something troubling you, sir?" she asked when they reached the door to the queen's rooms.

"Gideon's right," he muttered. "You are a snake."

In Enyr, that would be a compliment. The Drakonians had other ideas.

"At least I'm putting up a fight," she shot back.

He had no answer to that. He looked away first, and she watched him leave, her stomach flipping. She might have lost an ally.

*

Valerie was quiet as Priska prepared her for dinner. She looked down at her lap, nails digging into her palms. Her stomach churned. She'd felt sick all day and she wasn't sure why.

After all, hadn't she realised her childhood dream? She was thrice blessed, the power of an Abbess, no matter what it had taken to do it.

Except that she wasn't an Abbess, and she understood enough about her magic now to realise that her lack of status was the thing holding her back. Queen Shikra had been all-powerful because she was the ruler of Maskamere. The land belonged to her and so did its people. What did Valerie own? Nothing. Only the items in this chamber, borrowed gifts from the queen.

The crown jewels might change that. She recalled what Prince Bakra had said. Only a high-ranking priestess could wield them, which was why she hadn't bothered going after them before. But did high rank mean holding the title of Abbess, or being thrice blessed? Before the war, they would have been one and the same. Now...

She didn't know. That was the problem. Too many unknowns. She wasn't about to go haring off north at the half-guessed behest of a dream-vision from the queen. Which left the temple and whatever lay inside it. Another unknown.

Valerie sighed and lifted her gaze, staring at herself in the mirror. She needed someone to talk this through with her. And Priska was just finishing braiding her hair...

"Priska," she said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"What would you think if the Drakonians restored the monarchy? I mean, if they put a Maskamery on the throne."

Priska blinked. "Do you mean if they retreated?"

"No... Maskamere would still answer to the Empire. But we'd have more independence. We could bring back the silvertrees."

"I don't know, ma'am. I suppose it depends if things would get better for us or not."

Right. That was all people cared about, really. Having a roof over their heads, some modicum of freedom. It would be easy to get used to life in the Empire. Many had done that already.

Rig the game, Avon had said. She had to figure out a way to restore the Maskamere that she wanted, the one where the silvertrees thrived and she had true status. She didn't have Bakra's royal heritage, Gideon's authority, or Avon's political power. The one thing she had that they lacked was magic, which was why Avon had made every effort to constrain it.

With Sopphora dead, she was the only one who could open the door in the temple. She needed the crown jewels to do it. That, she thought, was her best chance of gaining something useful, something that might give her an advantage in this fight.

But she couldn't get the crown jewels alone. And anyone she chose to help her would be a gamble. The only thing she was certain of was that she had to make the first move. If she waited for someone else to act, she'd be stuck in the same pattern, reacting while others schemed around her.

And so she formulated a plan.