Treacherous Witch

2. Infiltrating the Palace

"Queendom: A land ruled by a female tyrant (a "queen") where power is passed down through her bloodline. Maskamere was the only known example before being embraced by the Empire."
Clement Pyridge's History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II

The assassination was Prince Bakra's idea.

At first, he wanted to do it. "I'll cut the bastard down myself!"

"How?" she asked.

"I'll go into the palace—"

A clamour of protests shut him up. It was said that the royals had the countenance of hawks, ever watchful, ever fierce. With his boyish face and weak chin, Bakra reminded her of a juvenile with its feathers fluffed up, squawking and flailing about. Two years of exile and dwindling support outside the north had left him with a palpable sense of desperation.

At least he had surrounded himself with competent advisers for this mission. They were a small group, six of them. The prince's second-in-command, Quintus Viper, Captain of the Royal Guard, spoke up first.

"Your Highness, you are our leader. We cannot afford to risk you being captured."

They were hidden in the back room of an apothecary, odd as that might seem, but there were few places in the city for a prince to hide and the owners were sympathetic to their cause. Strange smells drifted here and there. She caught the scent of rosemary and glanced over at her friend Iora, who smiled and held a dried flower to her nose.

"I know the palace better than anyone," Bakra argued. "I could find the royal chambers in my sleep."

"So could I," Quintus countered. "Let me go, Your Highness."

"And both of you highly recognisable to those in the palace," said Malkoha, who was another of the survivors from the palace, a Steward who had taught Bakra as a boy. "Half the household remain from our time, Your Highness, and we require someone who can slip in unnoticed..."

"The staff won't give me away," said Bakra. "I am their prince; they owe me their loyalty."

Malkoha shook his head. "It would be dangerous to rely on that."

The three of them were huddled around the table in the middle of the room, which Iora had cleared of its usual clutter. Markus stood watch by the door to the apothecary in case of intruders. Meanwhile Valerie had perched awkwardly on a cabinet next to Iora, since it seemed that every other available surface was covered in potions, poultices, dried herbs, flowers, mortars and pestles.

Still, this was the first time they'd let her into one of these meetings. She'd take an uncomfortable seat if it meant she was in the room.

She cleared her throat.

The group continued talking.

"Then we must infiltrate the palace without detection," Bakra was saying.

"Could we find a sympathiser in the palace?"

Markus had heard her; he cocked his head. "What?" he mouthed.

"I could do it," said Valerie.

"It comes down again to who you can trust," said Malkoha, "and we can't know which of the palace staff are trustworthy. All the families in Jairah are pledged to the Empire."

Malkoha was almost seventy with ears as bushy as his hair, so perhaps he could be forgiven for not hearing. It still rankled.

"I said, I could do it," she repeated, louder, and stepped into Bakra's line of sight.