Treacherous Witch

4. Negotiation

"Knowledge is power. That's why we don't give it up freely."
Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen

Valerie's courage wavered when the guards reappeared. Walking down the opulent hallways, she became acutely aware of how vulnerable she was. No weapons, nothing she might defend herself with. They hadn't even given her proper shoes, only thin slippers. Her feet sank into the rich soft carpet with every step, and the turquoise blue gown they'd put her in was no good for running with its layers of skirt. In the sun she'd overheat; in the rain she would be sodden. Even walking across gravel would be a struggle. She'd injure her feet in no time if she had to navigate the cobblestones of the city proper.

It was one way to keep someone prisoner, she thought. Give them no protection against the elements or the outside world. Inside the palace, the air was pleasantly cool. Less pleasant were the bayonets of the guards glinting as they marched on either side of her.

They stopped outside a set of ornate wooden doors, and she recognised the insignia on the door handle, carved into the head of a kestrel. The royal bird. Two men in armour gazed at her suspiciously from behind their helmets.

"In," one of the guards grunted, nudging her forward with the butt of his rifle.

In she went, to a set of rooms that had once been the royal quarters, now sullied by Lord Avon's presence. Without warning, fear suffused her. She trembled with every step.

And there he was, Lord Avon himself, looking up from his desk as she approached. His ceremonial armour stood empty nearby, and he was wearing a loose cotton shirt and breeches. He wasn't armed. She scanned the room: an ornate spear hung from a bracket above the suit of armour, and on a nearby table a carving knife impaled the remains of a half-eaten chicken alongside a plate of fruit, bread and cheese. She'd go for the knife, if she had to...

"You look better," said Lord Avon by way of greeting. "I trust your service so far has been respectful?"

She frowned. What did he care if the servants treated her with respect?

"Have you been fed? Watered?"

He gestured over at the supper table, but though she hadn't eaten more than a few pieces of fruit since being brought to the palace, the food didn't look appetising. She felt sick.

"Yes," she said, "thank you."

"I want to commend you," he said, "for speaking up back at the fortress. That was very courageous."

She said nothing.

"I would like proof, however," he went on, "that you are what you say you are before we go any further."

He set a paper down on the desk and moved around towards her. Valerie's instinct was to flinch away. She held her ground.

"What's your name?"

So close, she thought. We were so close to killing him. What price was she going to pay for their failure? Was it worth gambling her life for the cause?

She took in a breath. "Why am I here?" She gestured at her gown. "Why did you dress me up?"

He smiled. Not a real smile, but rather the curl of a lip and glimpse of teeth that one might expect from a predator. A wolfish smile.

"You will address me as Lord Avon or my lord. As for your attire, I could hardly bring you into the palace as you were. Say hello to the witch who tried to kill me! No. You're the lucky Maskamery girl who caught the eye of the Chancellor. I've brought you into my entourage to serve as my consort, and for that I expect your gratitude."