Castles in Their Bones (Castles in Their Bones #1)

Sophronia

can’t cry, not in the presence of the empress, not even in the carriage on the way to the center of Bessemia, the place where she and her sisters will say their final goodbyes. Tears sting at her eyes, make her throat burn, but she forces herself to hold them back, aware of her mother’s critical gaze, always hungry to find fault—in , it seems, more so than in Daphne or Beatriz.

“Tears are a weapon,” Empress Margaraux likes to say, her full, painted mouth pursing. “But one that is wasted onme.”

doesn’t intend to use her tears as a weapon, but she can’t help the torrent of emotions ripping through her. She forces herself to hold on to her composure, aware of her mother sitting on the bench across from her, silent and steadfast and strong in a way that has failed to master, no matter how many lessons she’s had.

The carriage hits a bump, and uses it as an excuse to wipe away a tear that has managed to leak out.

“You have your orders,” their mother says, breaking the silence. She sounds dispassionate, almost bored. As if she is on her way to a weekend in the country instead of saying goodbye to all three of her children at once. “I expect updates as you progress.”

“Yes, Mama,” Daphne says.

As they sit side by side, it’s impossible to deny the resemblance between them. It’s more than the ink-black curls that frame their heart-shaped faces, more than their heavily fringed eyes—Daphne’s a star-touched silver, like ’s and Beatriz’s, their mother’s a warm and liquid amber—more than the freckles that dance over the bridges of their sharp cheekbones and upturned noses. It’s the way they sit, backs ramrod straight, legs primly crossed at the ankles, hands gathered in their laps. It’s the set of their mouths, pursed and turned down at the corners.

But there is warmth in Daphne when she smiles that has never seen their mother match.

The thought makes her heart hurt, and she looks away from Daphne, focusing instead on the velvet seat cushion behind her sister’s shoulder.

“Yes, Mother,” she echoes, hoping her voice comes out like Daphne’s, level and sure. But of course it doesn’t. Of course it wavers.

Her mother’s eyes narrow and she opens her mouth, a reprimand at the ready, but Beatriz gets there first, a cold, wry smile on her full lips as she throws herself once again between and the empress.

“And if we’re otherwise occupied?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows. “From what I’ve heard, life as a newlywed can be quite…busy.”

Their mother drags her gaze away from , focusing it on Beatriz instead.

“Save it for Cellaria, Beatriz,” she says. “You’ll send an update, coded—just as you’ve learned.”

Beatriz and Daphne both grimace at that, but doesn’t. She took to cryptology far more naturally than her sisters, and though she loves them, she can’t deny that excelling at something they struggle with sends a thrill of pleasure through her. Especially because excels at so very little. She lacks Beatriz’s mastery of flirtation and disguises, can’t match Daphne’s skills with poisons or a lockpick, but she can break a code in half the time it takes them, and craft one almost as quickly as that, and while they all studied economics, was the only one who actually enjoyed poring over tax laws and budget reports.

“And I don’t suppose I need to remind you that your newlywed lives are merely for show,” the empress says, and now her eyes rest so heavily on that her skin begins to itch.

’s cheeks heat up and she feels her sisters looking at her too, with some mix of pity, sympathy, and, in Daphne’s case, a dose of confusion. hasn’t told her about the conversation her mother took her aside to have a week ago, the cold look in her eyes as she asked , without any sort of preamble, if she was developing feelings for King Leopold.

didn’t think she hesitated or gave any reason to doubt her when she said no, but her mother heard the lie all the same.

“I didn’t raise you to be foolish enough to think yourself in love,” she said, pushing a folio of documents into ’s hands—reports from their spies in Temarin. “You don’t love him. You don’t even know him. He is our enemy, and you will not forget that again.”

swallows now and pushes the memory aside, and the information in those documents along with it. “No,we don’t need any reminders,” she says.

“Good,” the empress says before her gaze falls on Beatriz and her frown deepens. “We’re nearly there, fix your eyes.”

Beatriz scowls, even as she reaches for the emerald ring on her right hand. “It itches, you know,” she says as she twists the emerald and holds the ring over one eye, then the other, letting a green drop fall from the ring and into each. She blinks a couple of times, and when she looks across the carriage again, her eyes have gone from silver, like ’s and Daphne’s, to a brilliant green.

“I assure you, you aren’t nearly as uncomfortable as you’ll be if the Cellarians see your star-touched eyes,” the empress points out. Beatriz scowls again, but she doesn’t protest. She knows, just as does, that their mother is right. In Bessemia, star-touched eyes are only somewhat rare, found on children whose parents used stardust to conceive them. They aren’t the only royals to have silver-hued eyes—many an ancestral line has only been continued due to copious amounts of stardust and, in rare cases, assistance from an empyrea. But in Cellaria, magic is outlawed, and there are plenty of stories of Cellarian children killed for having silver eyes, even though wonders how many of those children had eyes that were merely gray.

The carriage pulls to a stop, and a quick glance out the window confirms that they’ve arrived at their destination, the clearing at the center of the Nemaria Woods. Their mother stays seated, though, her gaze moving slowly from one sister to the next.

If looks closely, she thinks she sees a touch of sadness in her mother’s expression. A touch of regret. But as soon as it appears, it’s gone, sealed away behind a mask of ice and steel.

“You’ll be on your own now,” the empress says, her voice low. “I won’t be around to guide you. But you’ve trained for this, my doves. You know what to do, you know who to strike, you know where they are vulnerable. In a year’s time, we will rule every inch of this continent and no one will be able to take it from us.”

As always, feels her heart swell at the mention of that future. As much as she is dreading the next year, she knows it will be worth it in the end—when the entire continent of Vesteria belongs to them.

“There is only one tool I have left to give you,” their mother continues. She reaches into the pocket of her gown, pulling out three small red velvet drawstring pouches and passing one to each daughter.

opens hers and empties its contents into her palm. The cool silver chain slithers over her fingers, a single diamond dangling from it, smaller than her pinky nail. A quick glance confirms that her sisters’ gifts are identical.

“It’s a bit plain for your tastes, Mama,” Beatriz notes, her mouth pursed.

It’s true—their mother’s taste tends to run gaudier: heavy gold, gems the size of croquet balls, jewelry that shouts its price at top volume.

As soon as she thinks it, understands.

“You want these to go unnoticed,” she says, glancing at the empress. “But why? It’s only a diamond.”

At that, her mother’s stoic mouth bends into a tight-lipped smile.

“Because they aren’t diamonds, my doves,” she says, reaching out to take hold of Daphne’s chain and her wrist. As she speaks, she fastens it in place. “I commissioned them from Nigellus. Use them wisely—if at all.”

At the mention of Nigellus, exchanges a furtive glance with her sisters. Their mother’s closest advisor and the royal empyrea has always been something of an enigma, even as he’s been a regular feature in their lives since birth. He’s kind enough to them, if a bit cold, and he has never given them reason to mistrust him. They aren’t the only ones who are wary of him—the whole court dislikes him—but they fear him and the empress far too much to ever do more than whisper about it.

can count all of the empyreas on the continent on two hands—each royal family employs one, except in Cellaria, and there are a scant handful who are nomadic either by nature or by training. While the power to bring down stars is natural for them, it is a gift that requires extensive study to control. An untrained empyrea is said to be a dangerous thing, allegedly able to bring stars down by accident and make their wishes come true simply by giving voice to them, though there hasn’t been an empyrea born in Bessemia in her lifetime.

“Stardust?” Beatriz asks with a touch of derision. “A bit of a disappointment, really. I could have found a vial from any merchant in town for a few hundred asters.”

Beatriz is the only one of them who speaks to their mother that way, and every time she does, a bolt of fear goes through , though in this case she has to agree. Stardust is not exactly a rarity—every time a starshower happens in Vesteria, reapers comb the countrysides, gathering the puddles of stardust that remain, bringing in pounds of it to merchants, who bottle it up and sell it alongside their fine jewels and silks, each pinch good for a single wish—not strong enough to do much more than heal a broken bone or disappear a pimple, but valuable all the same. Stardust can be found in the inventory of any merchant worth his salt, except in Cellaria, that is, where starshowers don’t occur. According to Cellarian lore, stardust isn’t a gift from the stars but a curse, and even possessing it is a crime. To Cellarians, the absence of starshowers is viewed as a reward for their piety and a sign that the stars smile on the kingdom, though wonders if the truth of it is the opposite, that the lore was written as a balm to convince Cellarians that life is better without the magic they don’t have natural access to.

The empress only smiles.

“Not stardust,” she says. “A wish. From Nigellus.”

At that, even Beatriz goes quiet, looking at her bracelet with a mix of awe and fear. does the same. Whereas stardust is a fairly average luxury, a wish from an empyrea is something else entirely. Usually, such wishes are made in person, with the empyrea wishing upon a star and using their magic to pull the star down from the sky. The wishes made that way are stronger, without the usual limits of stardust, but there are only so many stars, so they must be used only in the direst of circumstances. As far as knows, the last time Nigellus wished on a star was to end a drought in the Bessemian countryside that had lasted months. His action doubtlessly saved thousands of lives and kept the rest of Bessemia’s economy from plummeting, but there were many who thought the cost too high. could still see the place in the sky where that star had once hung, part of the Clouded Sun constellation, which signified a change in weather. wondered what constellations were missing stars now thanks to the creation of these baubles.

“And it’s in the stone?” Beatriz asks, looking somewhat skeptical.

“Indeed,” their mother says, still smiling. “A bit of alchemy Nigellus has come up with—the only three in existence. All you have to do is break the stone and make your wish. It’s strong magic, strong enough to save a life. But again, they should only be used when you have no other options.”

Beatriz helps clasp the bracelet around her wrist, and returns the favor for her. With that done, the empress looks at each of them, giving one final nod.

“Come, my doves,” she says, pushing open the carriage door and letting in a burst of bright morning sunlight. “It is time to fly.”