Treacherous Witch

11. Domain Theory

"What is power? Power is our ability to shape or influence reality. Sorcery is the manifestation of that power."
Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen

She wrote back to Aurelia in golden ink using the gold-lined paper in the palace. Priska would deliver the letter on her behalf. She could say nothing revealing as the message would no doubt be intercepted, but at least she could reassure her grandmother that she was all right.

"Wait," said Valerie, as the maid was about to depart. "What's your family name, Priska?"

A slight hesitation. "Steward, ma'am."

They were one of the most well-known and respected families in Jairah. For centuries, the Stewards had been proud to serve the royal family, dealing with all things related to the upkeep of the palace. There was Steward blood in the royals and royal blood in the Stewards. Malkoha was one of them. She wondered how Priska and the old scholar were related.

Valerie met Priska's eyes through her vanity mirror. "Crescent."

"I know it, ma'am. On the High Road?"

She nodded. "How does it compare? Serving the Drakonians?"

Priska bit her lip. "I shouldn't say."

"You know I won't say anything."

"Well... Most of our menfolk died during the war. They kept the women, but they no longer respect us. Our name means nothing."

There was an unspoken rule in court not to mention the ladies' family names. The Drakonians could do it if they wished but not the Maskamery. She still hadn't learned Lady Flavia's family name, despite repeated hints.

It was all part of the Drakonian dismantling of the Maskamery way of life, she thought. The things of value to them—family, the silvertrees, the priesthood—they had stripped away. And they were imposing their ideas of social status: masters and servants, husbands and wives, lords and courtesans, on to a culture they didn't even try to understand.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"It's... it has gotten better since Lord Avon arrived," Priska said, surprising her. "He has less tolerance for misbehaviour. Perhaps you can influence him."

"I can try."

She had her doubts about that, but she thought about it as she made her way through the palace and into the gardens. Was Lord Avon kinder than his predecessor? If so, that was a damning indictment on Lord Turnbull. She hadn't tried to influence him because she hadn't expected to be here for long. All her energies had been focused on escaping the palace.

That, and the task she had been given. She was despairing thinking of how she could prove to Avon that they were making progress in breaking the seal and so avoid getting her family—and herself—into trouble, but Anwen himself hopped out of the greenhouse and waved a stack of papers at her in glee.

"I've solved it!"

"You have?"

"This proves it—well, not incontrovertible proof, we must test it, of course, but I have a working theory."

He thrust the papers at her, and she took them in bemusement. Above them, a flock of goldfinches twittered in the trees. It was a beautiful spring day.

"A theory about what?" she asked.

"Why your spell isn't working." He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his sleeve, then returned them to his nose. "Did you bring the items I asked for?"