—the silvertree.

The Drakonian men have spotted her. Shots punctuate the air. One of them must be the one that explodes in her thigh; she doesn’t know which. She cries out, losing her footing—

*

They took her to the cellar below the kitchen. Dry, cool and windowless, it served as a storage room for wine barrels and sacks of grain. It also contained a human-sized iron cage, empty except for a few bits of straw. Valerie stopped short in disbelief.

“Strip her,” the lead guard ordered.

She flinched away from the first hand that touched her and gave the man such a wounded look that he fell back. That didn’t last long.

The guards had been quiet and wary as they’d marched her down, all business. But when more of them grabbed her and it became clear that Valerie wasn’t resisting, they began to jeer and poke. Her hair was pulled roughly out of its bun, and the beautiful scarlet gown she’d worked so hard on was all but torn off. One man slapped her backside and she yelped, blinking tears out of her eyes.

No, she wouldn’t show them that she was scared.

They shoved her into the cage, where she fell heavily on her side. She scrabbled away as fast she could, curling up against the metal bars.

The last guard met her eyes as he turned the key in the lock. “Whore.”

Dogs. She imagined turning them all into dogs with a flick of her hand, stupid hairy beasts with lolling tongues and flea ridden fur.

Then they were gone, and the cellar plunged into darkness. Valerie exhaled a shaky breath. She felt almost as if she were floating, unable to see herself, and with little sense of anything beyond the hard floor of the cage. Gradually, her eyes adjusted, and the blackness eased into a deep gloom. The tiniest chink of light escaped from a gap in the door above. Enough to make out the outline of her hand when she held it up in front of her.

She was sore and bruised. Could she at least heal herself?

I’m blessed by the goldentree. Come on.

But summoning her magic was like trying to wade through thick mud.

That was no accident, she knew. Lord Avon had ordered her locked up in an unfamiliar place to curb her power.

He promised to make me queen.

Ha. She had been a fool to believe him.

Not that she didn’t understand his actions. After all, Shikra had tried to kill him. But what had happened to the queen? Had she gone back to the goldentree? Found another body to possess? The possibilities were disturbing.

Her backside ached. She shifted uncomfortably against the iron bars. Mastery over the self. The first and most basic level of power. Valerie closed her eyes, focusing. She shut out all her thoughts—and there were many of them jostling for attention, the memories of everything that had happened since the battle in the temple, worries over the fate of her allies, Markus, Iora, her family, the prince’s death…

She breathed, in and out, in and out. Focusing on her awareness of here and now, the cool dry air of the cellar brushing against her skin, the breath in her lungs. In and out.

Then, one by one, she healed away her bruises. The task vexed her; she felt drained in every possible sense of the word. She kept recalling the guards’ hands groping her body, their snide insults, the indignity of it all. It shook her in a way she had never been shaken before.

They deserve nothing but death.

That thought comforted her momentarily.

But even with her flesh intact, she was still naked and shivering in a cage. Valerie wondered if it had been placed here to contain her, if Avon had anticipated that he might someday need to lock her up in the palace. She looked around, straining her eyes to make out the shape of the room.

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Across from the cage, she spotted a near empty burlap sack by the other sacks of grain. It might be within reach… Valerie stuck her arm through the gap in the metal bars and, after a minute or so of fingers scrabbling, managed to grab the sack and pull it through into the cage. There she tore a hole in the base, shook out the last of the grain, and pulled it over her head.

The material was rough and scratchy, but at least it covered her.

She was glad that she had done it too, because only a few minutes later light poured into the cellar from the steps above, and Avon entered. A glowing blade illuminated him, casting strange shadows over his features. He’d come armed this time.

He stopped in front of the cage, and she stared at him balefully.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”

“You killed me.”

“Before that.” His fingers curled around the bars. “I saw you go into the chamber.”

Part of her wanted to refuse him. If he was going to demand answers, the least he could do was treat her with respect. But that would only prolong her imprisonment.

“I went into the chamber,” she said, “and I found Queen Shikra. She was trapped in there without a body. She said that I could bring her back.”

“And you did.” His voice was cold.

“Not willingly. I didn’t know that she would possess me. She… She did that by force.”

“You fought back?”

She nodded. “I saved your life. You’re welcome.”

That was true. After the queen had possessed her, Valerie had wrested back control of her will long enough to give Avon a chance to fight back. And he’d taken it, first by killing Prince Bakra and then turning his blade on her.

The same blade he had drawn now, glittering like his eyes in the dark. “But you were happy to let me fight the prince. We all wanted what was inside that chamber—you got there first.”

He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t sorry, and she wouldn’t apologise. She got to her feet, smoothing the burlap sack over her knees, and approached the metal bars. To her gratification, Avon stepped back.

“What else did you find in there?” he asked. “Was it only the queen?”

She curled her hands around the bars, deliberately choosing the same spot he’d retreated from. The iron was still warm from his touch. “Are you going to let me out?”

“Not until I know it’s you.” He shook his head. “How are you alive, Val? Is this your sorcery or hers?”

“Mine.” She realised that didn’t clarify. “It was the gown. It holds a spell of resurrection… It brought me back.”

“Just you?”

“I think both of us. I don’t know. I can’t feel her anymore.”

He still looked suspicious, his brows drawn. How was she supposed to prove that she wasn’t the queen?

“I have to tell you the truth,” she added. “You know that.”

Avon hadn’t given her the blessing of two silvertrees without exacting his price: first, a vow not to use her magic to harm him or any Drakonian, and second, a promise to only tell him the truth. In this situation, the curse might actually prove beneficial, she thought, since it meant that he could trust her.

“But the queen doesn’t,” he said, and her heart sank.

The queen could lie to him. Shikra had made no promises to Avon, which meant that if the queen still possessed her, she could be deceiving him.

What could she say that only Valerie would say? She tilted her head, looking up at him through the bars.

“Do you remember the last time you locked me up in the palace, my lord? You put me in my bedchamber. Then you stabbed me in the hand.” She held it up. “This one. Do you want a go at my other hand this time?”

“I’d rather not,” he answered. But he hadn’t sheathed his sword.

“We danced in Enyr,” she went on. “That was the first time you kissed me. I didn’t want you then. You gave me the blessing of the silvertree. My second blessing. We took the third in Bolebund the night the city was attacked. You gave me all this power, and now you’re terrified. You don’t know what I can do.”

He said nothing, watching her. Waiting for her to slip up, she thought. More talk could get her killed.

“I wrote you a letter,” she said. “Did you read it?”

His mouth twitched. A moment later, he slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a crumpled piece of paper.

Her heart leapt. So he had read it.

“A worthy opponent,” he said, quoting her words. “High praise.”

“I meant it.”

He stepped forward. Hesitated. Reached out. His fingers brushed over hers for only a moment before he let his hand fall back by his side. Her skin tingled where he had touched her.

“What happened to the resistance?” she whispered.

“Gone.”

“All of them?”

“Dead or captured, yes. The war is over.”

She almost didn’t dare to ask. “What about…”

“We informed your family of your passing.” His expression softened for the first time. “Had you not awoken today, your body would have been returned to them.”

“Will you let me see them?”

“I’d let Valerie see them. Not her.”

“You promised,” she said. “You promised that you’d let me go after I opened that door. No matter what, you said.”

“I promised Valerie. I made no such promise to the queen.”

He didn’t believe her. And why would he? She could give him her entire life story, every moment they’d shared together, and he might still suspect that Shikra had somehow plucked it from her mind.

She huffed out a breath in frustration. “I’m not the queen! It’s me, Valerie, I swear it on my life. What else can I do to prove it to you?”

If he suspected that the queen still lurked within… He would kill her. She couldn’t see any other way that would end. He’d done it once already.

Avon looked at her for a long moment. She swallowed, catching her breath.

“I would have a second opinion,” he said at last. “Someone else who knows you.”

Her heart rate spiked. “Someone else?”

“The rebel you saved. Markus.”