"—together."

*

She led Avon, hand-in-hand, through the dark tunnel and into the light. This time, Valerie knew what they were about to face. This knowledge did not soothe her; if anything, it increased her anticipation.

They emerged into a pale, featureless world covered in fog. The flat, rocky land curved into a steep climb. She and Avon trudged up the hill, deliberate and steady. Her breath billowed out in the cold mist.

At the top of the hill, the goldentree stood tall and proud—and so did the queen.

Avon stopped short, his hand clutching hers tight, face bathed in the light of the tree. That same light touched Valerie too, striking her all over again with its splendour. Its enormous trunk stretched up as far as her eyes could see, every branch, twig and leaf shining with its own luminescence. What was a sorcerer compared to this everlasting magnificence? Nothing; a speck.

Yet she felt welcomed by its light, sheltered by its boughs. She had the blessing of the goldentree, a tiny spark of its power that lived in her too. A connection deep in her bones.

So, too, did the figure that swooped down before them.

Maska looked exactly as Valerie remembered, this ghost of a queen, with shining black hair and luminous eyes, a sweeping, ethereal presence.

The queen spoke. "You shouldn't have brought him."

She felt Avon recoil beside her. His hand had already gone to the hilt of his blade.

"Last time we met, you possessed me." Valerie held the Golden Sceptre aloft, not quite a threat, but close enough. "He's here to make sure you don't do it again."

Avon spoke. "We've come to ask how to destroy Mithras. I should think that a goal on which we can all agree."

The queen ignored him, addressing Valerie. "Where is he now?"

"Mithras? We captured him. He's in the palace."

"Then we must hurry. Fulfil your end of the bargain. Tell me what you've learned. How did Mithras return?"

"I… We found a monastery. The Resurrected Monks." She described the scene they'd encountered in the mountains of Arden: the empty coffin, the bodies, the remnants of some ritual sacrifice. "He took the body of the Patriarch forty years ago. He's been preaching against Maskamere ever since."

"So the Patriarch orchestrated the invasion."

She nodded. "He whispered in the Emperor's ear. He knew things… about the Emperor's lineage. Why Avon can wield Maska's sword."

"Did you know?" Avon asked. "About my family history?"

Again, the queen ignored him. "I see. The seeds of this war cannot be undone. Forty years ago cannot be undone."

"You can't go back that far?"

"I'm afraid not."

Valerie hoped the queen was telling the truth. Forty years ago was before either she or Avon were born. If Maska reached that far back into the past, either one of them might never exist.

"So what do we do?" she asked instead. "How can we stop him?"

The queen sighed. Then she turned, walking a few steps away from the goldentree. She spoke over her shoulder. "Tell your bodyguard to leave."

Avon bristled. Valerie saw that the queen's contempt had irritated him. Before he could respond, she laid a hand on his arm.

"Go on."

He shook his head. "I won't leave you."

"You don't have to. We'll be right over here."

She glanced first at the queen, then nodded over to the goldentree. For a moment, she thought Avon was about to object. Then he turned away too, climbing the last few feet to the roots of the goldentree where he leaned against the trunk to watch them.

As for Valerie, she joined the queen on the other side of the hilltop overlooking the dead forest. The sight still gave her a pang: here and there a living silvertree glowed in the mist, but they were surrounded by the stumps of the dead trees that had been cut down or burned during the purge.

The queen too gazed over this devastation, an unfathomable sadness in her eyes. "Do you understand what you've done? How close we are to Maskamere's complete and utter ruination?"

"I…" Startled, she didn't know what to say. "That's why I'm here. To make it right."

"To do that, you need to trust me. Can you do that?"

"I don't know." She met the queen's eyes. "You're Maska, aren't you? Were you ever going to tell me?"

Surprise flickered across the queen's face. Then it hardened again, her lips thinning. "Mithras."

"He called you Mae. Is that your real name?"

The queen flinched at that, and Valerie blinked. Somehow she'd struck a nerve.

"No," she said. "You have the potential to become one of us, Valerie, so let me help you avoid the mistakes I made. Maska was my birth name, and I lived as Maska for over a century. I never meant for that to change. Even then, Mithras used and discarded bodies like sacks of meat, and I vowed that I would never become like him. I wanted desperately to be good. I wanted to save my people. I wanted to be loved. I tried and tried and tried—every single day, sometimes—to save everyone and please everyone. It took me a long time to learn the futility of such a mission, longer than I would like to admit.

"But we were at war. The history of Maskamere—the history that you haven't seen—is one of constant struggle against Mithras and his desire to reclaim me. That forced me to make hard choices. Who to sacrifice. Who to save. Understand this: people are more willing to accept sacrifice during times of war than times of peace. During the war, I became a hero to my people. Then came peace. And the grievances piled up. Every decision I made that displeased someone—they remembered. Every time I favoured one family over another, it became a black mark against me. Every perceived slight was gossiped about and exaggerated over time. And the longer I lived, the more envious and resentful my people became. Eventually, the most envious of them betrayed me. I tried again and again and again, and I only delayed the inevitable. Time kills us, Valerie. There comes a point when you have risen so high, there's only one direction to go. I fell, every time, until I too gave in to the inevitable. I became someone else."

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Valerie drank all of this in, fascinated. "You became the next queen."

"So they didn't hold my prior offences against me. A clean slate, if you like. Now my people can love Maska, and she will never do anything to tarnish that love. The queen bears the burden of their rancour. When it becomes too heavy, I cast it off and start anew."

"Is that what's happening now? I mean, you as Shikra, Titus betraying you…"

"Yes. Sooner than I expected. Some of these grievances are old. They build up over generations, become ingrained. Now that Mithras has returned, he'll only make them worse."

"But you stopped him before."

"I did. But even after I vanquished him, I couldn't erase him completely. His roots are too deep. To understand how to defeat Mithras, you must understand how he operates. He is a cult leader. He gathers devoted followers, marks them as his vessels and sends them out to spread his word. The Divinity is his legacy. As long as people still believe in him, still follow him, they can bring him back."

The Resurrected Monks, she thought. They brought him back.

"Can't you do the same?" she asked. "I mean, you have us. Any of us would have resurrected you if we could."

The queen's eyes flashed. "I said that I would not become like Mithras. He cares nothing for his people. I have died for mine a thousand times."

But she still hadn't given a straight answer, Valerie thought. "How do we kill him?"

"The same way you kill any man. Kill him and all his vessels. The hard part is stopping his followers from bringing him back."

"But the Resurrected Monks are gone." She frowned, trying to make sense of it. "They all died in the ritual. Does anyone even know how to perform it?"

"He will have taught it anew. He's had forty years to rebuild his influence, forty years when I didn't know he had returned and could do nothing to stop him."

Valerie's heart sank. "So when we go back…"

"Our task will be to root out not only the Patriarch, but everyone in his cult."

Titus, she thought. Titus and Baron Frask and the Duke of Hennich—probably the entire Gideon family—and who knew who else. And Maska called that the easy part.

"But if we succeed," she said slowly, "if we track down him and all of his followers… he'll be gone for good?"

"We may never be certain. But that is what I must ask of you, Valerie. You must go to Drakon and stop him before he tears Maskamere apart."

So this was the queen's mission. Yet again, Maska was asking her to put herself in harm's way, to venture into enemy territory alone, with no magic, and somehow finish the task that Maska herself had failed to accomplish in over a thousand years. Her heart quavered at the thought.

She looked over the queen's shoulder at Avon watching them from under the shadow of the goldentree. He was out of earshot, but even from here she sensed the intensity of his gaze.

"I don't know if I can do it," she said.

"You evaded Mithras to get here. That is no small feat."

She snorted. "You have no idea."

Maska smiled a sad, knowing smile. "I know better than you can imagine. And I will use all of my power to help you. You don't have to do this alone."

Despite her mistrust of the queen, Valerie felt the sincerity in those words. If she believed anything, she believed that Maska would do whatever it took to defeat Mithras.

More than that, she wanted to have faith. After all, Maska represented the foundation of her own identity. She remembered the affection she had felt for the queen, how she had basked in her praise and stayed loyal to her cause. Without Maska, she would not be alive today. She would not have grown up a free woman, would not have been blessed by the silvertree, would not have survived the Drakonian invasion.

In every possible sense, she owed Maska her life.

But, Valerie thought, that would not stop Maska from sacrificing her if necessary to achieve her goal. She could not forget that in this game between Maska and Mithras, she and every other mortal on this earth were merely pawns.

You don't have to do this alone.

No, she thought. I don't.

"Maska," she breathed, and then shook her head. "Sorry, I shouldn't… What should I call you?"

The queen gave a gentle smile, cheeks dimpling. "Maska is my name."

She nodded. "I don't know if we can do it. But I understand now. We have to try."

"Then are you ready?"

Ready to follow the queen, to turn back the clock and plunge into the unknown. At least this time she would be prepared. She knew the enemy they were facing. She knew what needed to be done.

Valerie paused. "Just one more thing. I want to say goodbye."

She turned towards Avon, and the queen frowned but let her go. So Valerie crossed the hill, her breath misting in the cool air, and the moment she stepped over the last root to reach Avon, he pulled her into his embrace.

"It's all right," he whispered, for she was shaking.

"James, I…" She felt ridiculous. The goldentree illuminated them both, but it was Avon she took the most comfort from. "It's time. She's going to help me. We're going to stop the war."

He drew away, though he still held her waist. "Before you go… There's something I must tell you—"

"You don't have to."

He frowned.

She looked up at him, praying that he could read her face. "Trust me," she whispered. "Unbind me. I need free rein, do you understand? No more promises. Say it after me. I release you from all oaths."

His frown deepened. She pressed one hand to the goldentree trunk, its power flooding into her.

"Trust me," she repeated. "Please."

At the corner of her vision, she sensed the queen's presence flicker. The magic of the goldentree soared through her veins, her crown, her pendant, her sceptre. She kept it at bay.

Avon swallowed. "I release you from all oaths."

Something fizzled and snapped. A contract, torn up. A debt, written off. Her breath hitched and then flowed again.

"No promises," she whispered. "I give you the blessing freely."

Shock widened Avon's eyes. Then she let the floodgates open. More power, a shining, unbearable light—and surely, if there was ever such a thing as the Divine, this was it—she drank it in and pressed her other hand against Avon's chest, urging him to open his heart—

"Accept it! Let it in."

She could hardly see his face, but she felt him, all of him, the life within him, the rush of his blood and his breath—

"I accept it," he gasped.

"No!"

The queen's cry interrupted them. Claws scraped at her skull, an unwelcome third presence forcing its way into her head—

"Stop this!"

But Valerie was ready. She would not be caught off-guard again, would not let the queen take control of her body.

"No," she ground out, redoubling her efforts, focusing on pushing the queen out even as the goldentree's power rushed into Avon.

For a second, she heard the queen loud inside her head. Valerie! Stop this now!

Then, with a final wrench, she and Avon broke apart. They fell away from the goldentree, Valerie landing on one of the roots with a hard thud. She scrambled up, testing that her limbs were her own, that she was still in control. Panting, she looked around until her gaze caught a most peculiar sight: the queen, lying fallen in the tree roots, her pale form fading like an old painting.

Valerie stared at her, not quite able to comprehend what she was seeing.

Next to her, Avon got to his feet. "Val?"

Maska met her eyes. "He shouldn't… be here…"

Avon glowed with power. Like her. Like the queen. All three of them had the blessing of the goldentree, and that couldn't be undone. She had defied her queen, again, and she had pushed Maska away, again.

Valerie felt light-headed.

"Come on," she urged Avon, grabbing his hand.

She dared not wait. The queen might recover, and Mithras had not been banished from this world. She dashed down the other side of the hill with Avon, down to the ruined forest, down to her final destination: the silvertree at St. Maia.

It stood tall and proud, the last surviving tree she had been blessed by, and her only route into an uncertain past and an even more uncertain future.

No more promises, she had said to Avon.

She was choosing to do this, because she wanted to. Because even though she was about to step into a world full of enemies, it was worth it to save her loved ones. Because she wanted everything. Because she had Avon by her side. In the trunk of the silvertree, she saw an opening, the same vision that had captivated her before: High Priestess Glynda holding the hand of a young acolyte, her eighteen-year old self, as she received her first blessing.

Avon looked at her, uncertain. She smiled up at him. She knew what to do.

Valerie stepped through the silvertree, and the world rushed away.

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