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

Sophronia

can’t sleep. The moon is high in the sky, shining through her bedroom window and turning the gilded furniture silver and ghostly—appropriate, she thinks, as she’s been feeling more ghost than girl the last few days. Ever since she caught the dowager queen with Sir Diapollio, Eugenia has been avoiding her altogether. There have been no more invitations to tea, no more walks in the garden catching up on gossip. When they are forced to be in the same room for banquets or balls, Eugenia won’t even look her way. Which is just as well, since wants to avoid Eugenia, too, after reading the letter her brother wrote her. The words still haunt her.

My dearest sister,

The news in your last letter is as welcome as you will be in Cellaria when you return home. We are close to being ready now—I daresay we could attack Temarin tomorrow and emerge victorious before the spring, but I would like to make quicker work of it. I fear Temarin’s defenses are still too strong to fall easily. A little more work on your end and they should crumble under the slightest breeze.

May the stars bless and guide you,

Cesare

knows it’s dangerous to operate under the assumption that the letter is real. Her mother has always stressed the importance of validating any information received and considering the trustworthiness of its source. doesn’t trust Sir Diapollio, so she isn’t sure she can trust the letter, damning as it is.

But Sir Diapollio was right about one thing—she can verify its contents, though it’s important she do so without raising any suspicions. And a queen from a foreign country, who has been on the throne for less time than the moon’s cycle, demanding to see defense budgets would certainly raise suspicions.

She’s spent the past two days trying to get information about castle budgets in more roundabout ways, but every time she’s approached the subject of money at any of her luncheons or teas or dinners, the courtiers have been quick to change the subject; she can’t pry more without again raising suspicions, so she’s been forced to let it go.

She rolls over in bed to look at Leo, fast asleep on his back, one arm bent behind his head. In sleep, he looks like the boy she believed him to be, the one she imagined when she wrote him letters. He looks open and kind and soft. His mother’s betrayal—if it’s true—will devastate him.

One cannot be soft and wear a crown, her mother has told her on more than one occasion, whenever has expressed any kind of moral misgivings during her lessons. Or one will be crushed beneath its weight.

There is some truth to that—not just for her mother, or Leopold, or Queen Eugenia, but for , too. She can feel herself hardening. Perhaps her mother is right after all—to wield power, one must be sharp-edged, ready to draw blood.

She rolls away from Leopold and closes her eyes. She won’t be sleeping tonight, she knows this. It’s something that happens from time to time when her mind becomes too busy to trade its thoughts for dreams. Back in Bessemia, she would sometimes go down to the kitchens, where the pastry chef, Madame Devoné, would be up well before dawn mixing and rolling and baking her creations. She’d had few qualms about putting an inquisitive princess to work, teaching her how to fold batter to keep a cake light and roll layers of butter between dough to add flaky layers to pastries. The monotonous, repetitive actions had always helped calm ’s mind.

It’s a shame she can’t do that now, she thinks, before catching herself. Why can’t she do that now? She is the Queen of Temarin—the only person who outranks her is fast asleep beside her, and even if Leopold were awake, she knows he wouldn’t tell her no.

gets out of bed, finding her dressing gown hanging in the wardrobe and tying it over her nightgown before slipping from the room and into the hallway.

It’s strange to be in a kitchen again—and a strange kitchen at that. She’d grown familiar with the Bessemian palace kitchen. She knew where the grains were kept, how fresh the eggs were, that the oven was temperamental and always a few degrees hotter than it should be. This kitchen is a strange land, and it takes some time to acquaint herself with the landscape. The hour is somewhere between the night staff leaving and the early-morning staff arriving, so the kitchen is mostly quiet. The only other people around are a handful of servants cleaning.

When she asks one of them if it’s all right if she takes up a corner, the servant girl stares at her with wide eyes, not responding except to drop into a clumsy curtsy, which takes as assent.

She has barely managed to gather her ingredients before Violie appears, still dressed in her own nightgown, with her blond hair in a single long braid that coils over her shoulder. can’t quite manage to be surprised at her appearance—she’d guess that the second she arrived in the kitchen alone, one of the servants scurried off to find one of her maids. She’s glad they found Violie, who could prove useful if manages it right.

“How do you feel about cake?” asks her.

Violie blinks at her with tired eyes. “It’s three o’clock in the morning, Your Majesty,” she says. “A bit early for cake, or late, I suppose.”

“Don’t be silly, it will be several hours before it’s ready to eat,” says, beginning to measure out the flour from a sack half as tall as she is. “Cake for breakfast.”

Violie considers the question, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on the island counter. “In that case, I’m all for cake,” she says. “Any reason in particular for this adventure?”

shrugs. “Am I not allowed?” she asks, almost as a challenge.

“There’s no rule against it—though that may be because no queen has ever set foot in this kitchen before,” Violie says. “What can I do to help?”

They fall into an easy silence as sets Violie up cracking eggs and measuring out milk. And as begins to sift and whisk and fold everything together into a thick batter, her mind begins to calm enough that she forms a plan.

“How long have you been in Temarin, Violie?” she asks.

Violie seems somewhat surprised by the sudden question. “A year now, Your Majesty. I found work, briefly, in the kitchens, and then Duchess Bruna hired me just before King Carlisle passed away.”

“So you’ve spent all of your time in the palace?” asks.

“I’ve run errands in Kavelle, but yes, I’ve lived in the palace since I arrived,” Violie says.

“You’ve still seen more of Temarin than I have,” says, shaking her head. “May I confess something, Violie?” she asks, lowering her voice. This is one of her mother’s favorite tricks for gathering information—offer up a secret, not a real one, but something that gives the illusion of vulnerability. “I’m concerned for Temarin. The people seem unhappy—not within the palace, but in the city and, I’d wager, the rest of the country as well. From what I’ve gathered, they’re hungry, and all we’ve done is increase their taxes. Tripled them, last I checked.”

Violie blinks, looking surprised by ’s frankness. “Yes,” she says. “I believe that’s accurate.”

shakes her head as if she’s trying to rid herself of these unpleasant thoughts before continuing. “I’d heard this before I arrived, but as far as I can tell, the palace itself has made no cutbacks—the royal and noble classes seem to be doing as well as ever,” she says. “I looked at the bill for my new wardrobe. It cost twenty thousand asters, not including shoes and jewelry. And if the gifts that have been sent to Leopold and me since our wedding are anything to go by, the rest of the nobles aren’t hurting either, even the ones I believed to be in debt.”

Violie says nothing, but she doesn’t need to. can see that she’s troubled as well.

“Bessemia was not perfect, and I know plenty of our poor suffered there as well, but…” trails off, shaking her head.

“If I may, Your Majesty,” Violie says. “Do you remember…five years back now? Bessemia faced a hard winter followed by a cruel drought. The harvests were all pitiful.”

nods. She was eleven at the time, old enough to begin sitting in on her mother’s council sessions. And it was impossible to forget how Nigellus had eventually used his power to end the drought.

“The effect of it rippled all over the country. No one wasspending money, so no one was making money,” says.

“I don’t know enough about the current situation,” Violie says. “But I’d imagine it’s something similar here. It happens. Economies rise and fall. The Bessemian economy rose again—flourished, even. I’m sure the Temarinian one will rise again as well.”

considers this as she pours the batter into the two prepared pans. Violie might be right, but if the letter is to be believed, there may be something more sinister at work. glances at the large clock hanging above the stove. It’s nearly dawn, which means the rest of the palace will be waking up soon.

“We cut taxes,” says, bringing the conversation back to her intended purpose.

Violie looks up at her, bewildered. “Pardon?”

“In Bessemia,” says, remembering how she and her sisters sat in on those meetings, how Beatriz was bored out of her mind and Daphne more focused on saying the right thing to impress the empress than on listening. , though, was fascinated, reading through the proposed palace budget cuts and new tax laws until she’d all but committed them to memory. “My mother ordered that taxes should be cut. She also used money from the royal treasury to set up a fund to assist those who had lost their jobs or otherwise couldn’t pay for necessities. She pressured every noble family to do the same. They weren’t happy about it—they’d already given up a large share of the income they received from the taxes their estates took from the villages on their property—but she forced their hands. I remember my sisters’ and my birthday that year—instead of the usual elaborate ball, we had a small tea party. My mother said that if Bessemia was suffering, we were all suffering.”

Violie looks at , understanding lighting in her eyes. “And Bessemia recovered,” she says. “By the next year, most everything was back to normal.”

nods. “I find myself curious, Violie, if similar measures have been taken in Temarin. But no one I’ve spoken to seems to know the first thing about taxes or budgets.”

Violie bites her lip, looking uncertain. “Are you asking me to find those documents?” she asks.

smiles. “We’re both strangers here, Violie,” she says. “But this is our home now—I think we both want what is best for it.”

hasn’t said the words, but she knows Violie heard them.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Violie says.

“Excellent,” says, straightening up. “Queen Eugenia told me that she likes to rise before the sun to best seize the day. Will you please send her an invitation to have breakfast with me in my sitting room?”

“Will an invitation suffice?” Violie asks, raising her eyebrows. Clearly, Eugenia’s avoidance of hasn’t gone unnoticed.

purses her lips. “It can sound like an invitation, but see that she understands it’s an order. From her queen.”

—

and Eugenia sit across from each other in ’s sitting room, a round table between them set with cups of hot coffee and slices of cake. Neither has spoken since Eugenia arrived ten minutes ago, though both have finished their first cups of coffee and half of their cake. meets Eugenia’s gaze and gives her a placid smile, which only seems to bewilder the woman more.

Finally, Eugenia gives in and breaks the silence.

“This cake is divine, isn’t it?” she says, trying for a conversational tone that might fool anyone else, but hears the tension in her words. “The chef must be trying out a new recipe—is that cinnamon, do you think?”

“Cinnamon and blueberries, yes,” says as a servant steps forward with a fresh pot of coffee to refill their cups. adds a cube of sugar to hers, but Eugenia leaves it black. “I made it, actually,” adds.

She expects Eugenia to be surprised, but she merely raises an eyebrow.

“Every queen has her hobbies,” she says, shrugging. “I prefer gardening.”

“Among other things,” says, keeping her voice light.

Eugenia’s eyes narrow and she sets her fork down. “You did not see what you think you saw, ,” she says firmly.

“It was quite dark,” agrees. “Perhaps I should tell Leopold what I think I saw—and heard—and ask for his opinion on what it meant?”

“Ah,” Eugenia says, leaning back in her seat and eyeing warily. “So that is where we are.”

feels a stab of guilt. She doesn’t hold Eugenia’s having a paramour against her—stars know her mother has had plenty of lovers. But if is going to take power in Temarin, Eugenia will have to give hers up. And if Eugenia is truly plotting with her brother to overtake Temarin, well… won’t feel guilty about it at all.

smiles and leans forward. “Friends keep secrets for each other, don’t they? And I think we are friends.”

“You are like the daughter I never had, ,” Eugenia says, matching her smile, though there is ice behind it. “And I would hate for any of my…poor decisions…to reflect badly on you and Leopold, should they come to light.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry yourself about that, I’m sure we would manage,” says, shrugging. “But as I said, friends keep secrets. They also support each other, don’t you think?”

“I suppose they do,” Eugenia says slowly, lifting her coffee cup to her lips, though notices that her hands shake slightly. It’s strange, how powerful that makes her feel. It’s alarming how much she enjoys it.

“Leopold has asked me to join in on his council meetings, to offer my thoughts and opinions on how Temarin is being run,” says. “I trust I can count on your support in those matters. It will take all of us together to make Temarin the best it can be. Don’t you agree?”

Eugenia’s jaw tightens, but she manages a smile and a curt nod.

“Wonderful,” says, beaming. She lifts her coffee cup for a toast. “To making Temarin strong and prosperous.”