Treacherous Witch

35. The Prisoner's Dilemma

"I tell my priestesses to look for value, not authority. They shouldn't only look up. Good ideas can come from anyone."
Interview with Queen Shikra III, as told to Master Anwen

Valerie flopped on the bed in her chambers with a big sigh, hoping that Lord Dryden wouldn't keep Lord Avon too long. Was he thinking of the kiss? She could think of little else.

She could have returned to the party. But her mind was buzzing, thoughts darting around like flies. She could hardly contain herself.

That Avon wanted to kiss her wasn't surprising. But that she'd welcomed his touch... That was new.

She pulled out the pins from her hair and shook her curls loose, lying down with her head on the pillow. The magic in the silvertree wood washed through her, comforting and familiar. Valerie wasn't used to processing her own emotions. Goals, yes. She worked through those, planned and adjusted, planned and adjusted. But somewhere along the way she'd lost her course.

Become my queen.

It was absurd. He'd thrown her in prison two days ago.

She could take him up on his offer. Her goal was the same: to restore magic to Maskamere. If she could do it through Avon rather than Bakra, then she didn't need the resistance. Why fight a losing battle?

And if she could make Avon believe that, then her revenge would be all the sweeter. He'd offered to make her his queen. His words betrayed his true thoughts: he still didn't regard her as an equal. How could they rule together when they wanted drastically different things for her country?

If she wanted to become queen, she could do it without him. No treachery required. Bakra would restore the silvertrees. And there was no guarantee that Abbess Sopphora would survive this war...

Blasphemy again. He'd put the idea into her head, and now she could think of nothing else.

The door to the bedchamber creaked open, and Valerie sat up, startled out of her reverie.

"My lord."

"My apologies for the delay." Avon shook his head, unbuttoning his cuffs. "Lord Dryden is most passionate."

"What did he say?"

He pursed his lips. "He wished to remind me of my father's orders—and the good of the Empire."

"Do you agree with him?"

He regarded her for a long moment. Then he removed his tail-coat, waistcoat and necktie, coming over to sit beside her.

"I believe my plan is for the good of the Empire. But what I think doesn't matter. What's important is whether I can get enough of the council to agree with me. Several are yet to be persuaded."

"Why are they so short-sighted? You want Maskamere to be more productive, don't you? Tell them that we're unproductive because the magic has gone. That's why the crops failed—the harvest wasn't blessed."

He looked at her sharply. "Is that why?"

"Master Anwen thinks so... The queen blessed the crops every year."

"And I had an agricultural expert investigate the crop failures. His report was damning. Poor, outdated equipment, lazy workers, poor use of land. Even so, last year's harvest would have been adequate if we hadn't suffered a plague of locusts."

"What?" Her head was spinning.

"Perhaps they're too used to relying on the blessing of the harvest. They've forgotten how to farm the land for themselves."