Treacherous Witch

40. Rig the Game

"The crown jewels of Maskamere were not merely symbols of royal excess but powerful magical artefacts in their own right. Of the three, the Golden Sceptre was considered the most significant threat. Eyewitness tales spoke of terrifying scenes whereby the queen used the Sceptre to strike down enemies and innocents alike. Every divine act of nature was within its power: fire, storms, earthquakes, hurricanes, floods. The other two jewels, the Kestrel's Eye and the Masked Crown, might repair the damage, but only at the behest of the capricious queen."  

Clement Pyridge's History of Our Glorious Empire, Vol. II

She woke with a gasp.

Her lungs, intact. She was sweating, strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Valerie passed her hand over her eyes and swallowed, looking around.

She was in a narrow cabin, lying down on a makeshift stretcher. A slight sway told her that they were afloat. The small patch of sky visible from the porthole gave no indication of their location. Had they already left Bolebund?

"You're awake," said a voice behind her.

Valerie sat up, pushing off the blanket covering her, and looked over as Lord Avon approached, holding a glass of water.

Like the second blessing, she thought. When she'd woken up with Avon, after that strange dream...

The silvertree.

He'd...

She took the glass of water and stared at him. "You tried to kill me!"

Avon cocked his head. "What?"

The memories came rushing back. Her first blessing. The death of High Priestess Glynda. And Avon had been there, leading the charge. How could she have forgotten that they'd protected the silvertree?

"I..." She shook her head, gulping down the water. She needed time to process.

Her memory of High Priestess Glynda's death was all wrong too. She had an image of the massacre, of Glynda's body in the courtyard with her throat cut. She'd forgotten that she had witnessed Glynda's death. She'd forgotten everything from Glynda knocking on her door to her escape from the convent.

Before reliving the events of that night, what did she think had happened to the silvertree at St. Maia?

I didn't think about it.

She tried to grasp for any moment when she'd reflected on the demise or survival of the tree, any conversation where she'd explained what had happened to someone else. But it was like trying to hold water. A blind spot in her own head.

Remember, Queen Shikra had said. Had the queen restored her memory? Or altered it?

If she couldn't trust her own memories, how could she trust anything at all?

Valerie began to shiver.

"Valerie?" Avon crouched in front of her. "Can you stand?"

She let him pull her up. Then he insisted that she drink hot soup brought in by a member of the crew. They were both still in their enchanted travellers' clothes, Avon having to bark at his men to get their attention. His right hand never strayed from the hilt of his sword.

If the dream was true, that sword had killed High Priestess Glynda. And now, today, it had killed Abbess Sopphora.

She hadn't led Avon into a trap. He'd set one for the Abbess, using Valerie as bait, and she'd fallen for it.