On the morning of her blessing, her cousin Aster rushes into the women’s quarters to warn them that the Empire is about to attack. All able-bodied men must go to the border. Everyone else must stay at home. Queen’s orders.

The villagers gather around the bonfire that was meant to be lit for the harvest festival. Faces full of shock and fear and worry, and when High Priestess Glynda comes down to the bonfire, she tells them—

*

She didn’t wake up in a coffin. That was an improvement.

It was unfortunately the only improvement, because when Valerie’s eyes fluttered open and she breathed in salty air, she noticed one thing immediately.

She was in a place with no magic.

The room swayed. Wooden boards creaked. The tiny cabin was familiar. She was lying on a bunk bed aboard Lord Avon’s personal vessel, the Stormdrake, and she only had to turn her head to find Avon sitting in a winged armchair beside her.

He cocked his head. “How do you feel?”

Valerie sat up, trying to decide that for herself. Her head… Somewhat woozy. Her throat was dry. Her limbs drowsy, but some quick exercise would solve that. Still, she was conscious of the absence of magic. No magic, no sorcery. No power.

She swallowed. “A little thirsty, my lord.”

He nodded, standing up, and walked over to a side table from which he poured a glass of water from a flagon. Then he returned, passing the drink to her, and she sipped it gratefully.

He settled back in his chair, crossing his legs. “Let me see. Did I understand your riddle? The queen wasn’t dead. She murdered your friend. And rather than give in to her possession, you cried out to me for help.”

“Yes, but…” She hesitated.

Avon was smart. Valerie had counted on that when she had revealed the queen’s presence to him. She had also counted on his mercy. The sensible course of action would have been to kill her. He’d already done that once. But if he still cared about her, if he had any feelings for her at all, then she had given him a chance to find a different solution.

“Try something,” said Avon, watching her. “Lie to me.”

She looked at him, wrinkling her nose. Her grey dress felt stiff and dirty. Slept in for too long. At home, she would have refreshed herself with magic. No such luck here.

“I love you,” she said, and he flinched.

For a moment, there was silence, except for the waves crashing outside the ship.

Avon’s face darkened. “Something else.”

“Jairah is the capital of Drakon.”

A simple factual statement. No room for interpretation or uncertainty. It ought to have triggered the curse.

Nothing. She remained awake.

“There,” said Avon. “No magic, no curse. No queen. You’re welcome.”

So he had chosen to save her. He must have taken her out to sea, beyond Maskamere’s shores and into the open waters where the silvertrees’ influence couldn’t reach. She ought to be grateful or at least relieved, but her chest still felt tight. Where exactly were they? How long had she been asleep?

Avon spoke again before she could ask. “Why did she kill Markus?”

Because she wants to turn back time and undo the entire war, and she needs my body as a vessel to do it.

No. She couldn’t give Avon yet another reason to kill her.

“To make me do what she wants.”

“Which is what?”

“Killing you.”

“Why not do it herself?”

Avon’s eyes were sharp, knowing. He could catch her out in a lie if she wasn’t careful. She needed a story that would gain his sympathy without making her sound like the queen’s pawn.

Valerie took a breath. “She already tried. In the temple. She wasn’t happy when I stopped her. So she killed Markus and told me that I wasn’t to interfere again. Either I let her do it, or I kill you myself.”

“I see,” he said. “That was quick thinking, using the curse against her.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Ha. I suppose that makes us even.” His smile faded. “I am sorry about your friend. We couldn’t wait for his funeral.”

Markus’s funeral… She could hardly bear the thought. She would have spent it wracked with guilt over not following the queen, the fact that her actions had indirectly caused his death… It was a mercy to be spared that.

I saved your life, the queen had said. I can save them too.

Valerie blinked tears out of her eyes, looking away. “Where are we going?”

“Drakardia. The Imperial Seat.”

She nearly spat out her drink. Drakardia! The capital of Drakon, the very heart of the Empire. Hundreds of miles from Maskamere, far from the sea and even farther from the silvertrees that blessed her with their power.

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“We can’t!” she said. “They’ll kill me.”

In the eyes of the Drakonian Empire, she was a witch and deserved nothing but the pyre. And after everything that had happened in Maskamere, after revealing herself to the palace court, she could hardly deny the charge.

“Not as long as you’re with me.”

He’d said something like that before. But that had been at the court in Jairah, where Avon’s word was law. Taking her to Drakardia was practically a death sentence.

“We have to turn back.” She stared at him, desperate. “The queen is gone. You only needed to take me to a place without magic to get rid of her. Not all the way to—”

“We’re not turning back.”

His tone was final. It brooked no argument.

“I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I, yet,” Avon replied. “The Emperor has summoned me.”

The Emperor. Avon’s father. The man who had ordered the invasion of Maskamere. The last orders Avon had received from his father had been to take Bolebund, the last free city in Maskamere, and destroy the last of the silvertrees. He had accomplished the former, but not the latter.

If the Emperor knew that Avon had disobeyed his orders…

“His message didn’t give a reason,” Avon continued, “but I can guess. We may both have to defend ourselves.”

“I…” Her throat dried up. She gulped down more of the water, feeling sick. “Why go then? Why not stay in Maskamere?”

“My father would be even more displeased, and we would have only delayed the inevitable.”

It was the implication of his words that disturbed her most. That he had no choice. That he—Avon, the man who seemed to hold such absolute authority—was at the beck and call of his father, and she was being pulled along in his wake.

“Don’t worry,” said Avon. “I will speak on your behalf. You will act as you did at the palace when your magic was revealed.”

“As your loyal servant.”

“Yes.”

His pet witch, she’d said then, with a degree of levity she did not feel now. She did not mind being a cat with a collar when they both knew that she could unsheathe her claws if she so wished. But a cat without claws, that was something different.

“And once we’ve spoken to the Emperor, we’ll go back, won’t we? You’ll take me back to Maskamere.”

She didn’t like how uncertain she sounded. How she was already pleading with him, already dependent on his good will.

Avon didn’t shy away from her gaze. “Yes,” he said. “When it’s safe.”

Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it back down, standing up. That wasn’t a promise. Neither of them had said it, but he had to be thinking it too: what if Shikra possessed her the moment she set foot in Maskamere? What if it was never safe for her to return?

Had she escaped the queen only to be thrown straight back into the clutches of the Empire?

“I need some air, my lord.”

“And a change of clothes, I should think,” said Avon. “Take all the time you need.”

*

Lord Avon departed the small cabin with a promise that he would send a servant to attend to her. In the meantime, Valerie was left alone.

She felt shaky.

Okay, she thought. Deep breaths. She could figure this out.

Ducking under the low door, she exited the cabin into Avon’s quarters. The movement of the ship had her feeling queasy, and she took a moment to regain her balance. Then she looked around. A map on the table showed the sea routes the Drakonians used to traverse the Empire. Next to it: a flagon of wine and a loaf of bread and cheese on a platter. She ripped off a crust of bread and chewed it, hoping it would settle her stomach.

Avon had said he would take her back to Maskamere when it was safe to return. Which meant he didn’t believe that the queen was gone for good. And why would he? She didn’t believe it either. They might have banished Shikra temporarily, but Valerie remembered what the queen had said at the goldentree.

“Our connection to the goldentree gives us an anchor to this world too…”

The world of the goldentree, that strange magical realm she’d visited whenever she’d convened with the silvertrees… The goldentree acted as a tether to that world. Shikra had claimed that when she died, the goldentree had brought her spirit back.

So, when Valerie had severed Shikra’s connection to her body by crossing over into a land without magic, it stood to reason that Shikra would have snapped back to the realm of the goldentree.

Which left her with a real dilemma. Because she wanted to return home. Valerie had the power of the goldentree, a power she’d barely begun to explore, and Maskamere was the only place in the world where she could wield that power. Her home, her family, her ambitions—they all led back to Maskamere.

But if she did go back, what would happen?

Valerie sat down at the table and reached for the map, tracing over the coast of her homeland.

She wanted two seemingly contradictory things.

To save her family. Save Markus. Restore the silvertrees.

And stop the queen.

But she couldn’t choose who to save. If she did what Shikra wanted and returned to the night of her blessing, then her family would be alive again, but so would Shikra. Valerie had no idea how the queen had planned to stop the war. The night of her blessing was the same night as the invasion—surely too late to prevent it.

What else had Shikra wanted her to do? Go to Drakon, she’d said. Find out how the war had begun. Valerie didn’t know how that was supposed to happen either.

In the meantime, she had to deal with her current situation. The ship was travelling northeast across the Triatic Sea. Valerie scanned their most likely course on the map. Once they reached Drakon, she had no easy way back.

Could she convince Avon to help her? Telling him the truth was risky, but…

“My lady?”

Valerie started. She’d been so lost in thought, she’d missed the soft knock at the door. The girl who entered was a little older than herself, wearing the grey servants’ uniform, and carrying a dress.

“Priska.” Valerie caught her breath. “Priska, what are you doing here?”

The other girl curtsied. “The Chancellor asked me to come with you.”

“To Drakon? Is he mad? It’s dangerous!”

Priska Steward was her lady-in-waiting, one of many Maskamery women pressed into servitude by the Empire. She had helped Valerie once or twice gathering information in the palace, but had otherwise gone unnoticed, carrying out her duties as a faithful servant of the Empire.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t—”

“You had no choice.” Valerie shook her head as Priska draped the gown over a chair and came over. “I know. He… He knows we’re friends, I think. I suppose he thinks he’s doing me a favour.”

It meant that she wouldn’t be entirely alone in Drakardia. But she wouldn’t have wished this on Priska if she’d had a choice. Valerie knew little about the Drakonian capital except from her lessons at the convent. The city was divided between the nobility and the servant class, she’d read, a pattern she’d witnessed every day living in the palace under Drakonian occupation, and the Drakonians were unforgiving masters.

Which meant Valerie would have to do her best to protect Priska from whatever they were about to face.

The other girl said nothing, helping her to wash and dress as they’d done many times before in the palace. She tightened Valerie’s corset, and Valerie took in an anxious breath.

“Did anyone send a message to my family? Do they know I’m alive?”

But Priska didn’t know. Valerie stood up, feeling hemmed in by the dress and cabin both.

“My lady?”

Valerie had been about to dismiss her. “What is it?”

Priska hesitated. “I...I might be able to help. My mother was the Ambassador to Drakon. And my brother Titus was a Messenger. They were both in Drakardia when the war broke out…”

Her heart raced. This was unexpected. “They’re in the capital?”

Priska clasped her hands. “I don’t know. It’s been two years… I haven’t heard from them, but… There’s a chance, isn’t there?”

“There’s always a chance.” Valerie squeezed the other girl’s arm. “You should look for them. Not for me, for yourself. We stick together, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

Gratitude lit up the other girl's features. “Thank you, my lady.”

Valerie let her go, taking a minute to pace around the cabin before she readied herself to go outside. Her mind was already racing. Priska’s family, the Stewards, were known as the right-hand women to the royal family. One of them had been an adviser to Prince Bakra during his rebellion. If Priska’s mother still lived, she would surely be a valuable source of information about the war.

And if she could find out how the war had started here and now, Valerie thought, then she’d have something to bargain with against the queen when she returned.

Now to find out who else was on this ship.