Treacherous Witch

1. Captured

"A girl is given the blessing of the silvertree when she becomes a woman. It's a privilege we grant only to the best of us. She must be bright, competent, and in possession of an iron will."
Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen

It was Valerie's first time in a dungeon, so she didn't have anything to compare to, but she thought this one must be particularly dark and dank. Her breath billowed out in small chilly puffs. The torches hanging in brackets on the walls cast flickering shadows. Chained by the ankle, dirt sticking to her bare feet, she paced around the cell as far as she could, reluctant to sit down in case of scorpions. They liked to lurk in dark corners.

Still, scorpions were the least of her concerns. Her head snapped up when footsteps descended into the dungeon. She swallowed her fear. Hands clasped behind his back, her interrogator moved with a slow, deliberate stride, shoulders bent, and once his eyes settled on her, they did not look away. He was dressed in the fine clothes of a Drakonian nobleman, the waistcoat embroidered with dark green thread, and a silk cape that caught the dancing firelight. His long hair was tied back and streaked with grey.

"Valerie," he said.

She stopped pacing and faced him, refusing to tremble.

"What's your full name?"

They didn't know who she was. Good. She didn't answer.

He touched the silver brooch clasped to his waistcoat. "I am Lord Gideon, Master of Justice. Your family must be worried about you. We need your name if we're to let them know where you are."

His nostrils were oddly large. Perhaps he liked to sniff at anyone he considered beneath him, she thought. That would explain their exceptional size.

"Then again, you Maskamery do everything as a family. Perhaps they're traitors too. Are you related to the prince?"

"No."

He paused, eyes narrowed. The Drakonian justice system was a peculiar one. They didn't hang their criminals like any decent society would. They put them to work, man, woman or child. Except, of course, for witches.

"The Empire always offers mercy before justice. All you have to do is swear your allegiance."

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

No hesitation. She was cold and unblinking. A small smile spread over Gideon's face, deepening the wrinkles on his cheeks.

"Well, I expected nothing less."

He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the water trough standing in the middle of the cell, the iron chain cutting into her ankle. She screamed and thrashed but his grip was powerful, and then he plunged her head into the trough and the icy cold engulfed her—

She couldn't breathe—

The rest of her body jerked like a puppet. The force on the back of her skull was inescapable, the water dulling all sensation except for panic, desperate, clawing panic. 

Then, just as darkness crept into the edge of her vision, just as her muscles burned and her limbs ached and she could fight no longer, the force pushing her down became a pull instead. Gideon yanked her by the hair, and she gulped in much-needed air, her entire body shuddering, coughing, gasping—