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

Sophronia

The package Daphne sent has been thoroughly examined, as Violie explains to , apologizing for its delay in reaching her. But however thoroughly the palace staff might have searched it, they didn’t discover King Bartholomew’s seal and a sample of his writing hidden in the false bottom. Daphne has done her duty, and once Beatriz does hers, it will be ’s turn, though in the meantime she hides the entire box in the back of her wardrobe. Part of her hopes Beatriz makes her move soon so she can see her sisters again, but she’s surprised to realize that a part of her is dreading it. Though the harsh words from her mother’s letter echo in her mind, reminding her that queen is not a role she is meant to fill, knows she could be a good one in Temarin, and what’s more, Leopold is on his way to becoming a good king as well, now that he’s trying.

Temarin is a broken land—in part, at least, due to him—but knows that they can fix it. After seeing firsthand how the people have been suffering, she finds she isn’t eager to turn the responsibility or the crown over to her mother. The crown feels like hers.

The riot was a step backward, but in hindsight, knows that they should never have organized a speech in the first place.

“We wanted credit,” she told Leopold the night after the riot, when they’d gone to bed, both of them exhausted and contemplative.

“We tried to help,” he said, shaking his head. “They didn’t want it.”

“We could have halved their taxes and said nothing, let our actions speak for us,” she said. “But we didn’t. Because we wanted credit, we wanted approval. But Leo, we can’t take that without taking blame as well. And blame for the bad far outweighs the good we’ve tried to do to counteractit.”

“But we’re trying, ” he told her, sounding alarmingly close to a child—though perhaps it wasn’t so alarming at all. In many ways, Leopold is more of a child than ever has been. “Don’t they appreciate that we’re trying?”

“We wanted credit for trying,” she said with a heavy sigh. “But after so much betrayal, so much hurt, so much death—why should they give us credit for doing the bare minimum to clean up a mess we made ourselves?”

Leopold didn’t say anything for a moment. “So how do we change their minds?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I suppose we start by acknowledging that we may not be able to, that the damage done might be unfixable. And then we keep trying to fix it anyway. Not for the glory of it, but because it’s right.”

Leopold didn’t say anything for so long that thought he might have fallen asleep. Just as she was about to drift off, though, he spoke again.

“You keep saying we, ” he said. “It wasn’t we. It was me. I’m sorry that you were hurt because of me.”

rolled toward him so that they lay face to face. The moonlight pouring through the window cast a silver sheen over his face, turning it spectral. He looked older than he had the day before, like he’d lived a lifetime in just the last few hours. “We’re in this together, Leo,” she told him softly.

She thinks about that now, when she is alone in her room—the perfect opportunity to take out the seal so she can forge a letter in King Bartholomew’s handwriting, drawing him as well into the imminent war. Her mother has always said it’s good to be prepared, and is sure Beatriz will have Cellaria frothing for war any day now. She should get the letter done, so it can be ready to deliver when the time comes. She should do as her mother said and not worry about Eugenia and her plots, should let her do even more to weaken Bessemia. She shouldn’t care if Eugenia drives it into the ground. She should do what her mother told her to do.

Instead, she encodes a letter to Beatriz, asking about the origin of the Cellarian wine the queen has been spending millions of asters on, then rings for a servant to send it out with the day’s mail.

—

The only good thing that comes from having dinner with Ansel is that Eugenia is even more distrustful of him than . Every time he slurps his soup or uses the wrong fork, she flinches like he’s physically struck her—not that Ansel notices. He’s too busy charming the princes with stories of his time as a fisherman’s apprentice sailing the Vixania Ocean.

“I heard there are sea monsters in those waters!” Reid says, his eyes growing wide.

Ansel scoffs. “That’s what the Frivian sailors would have you believe—so that they get to keep all the fish for themselves,” he says. “The worst monster I met on those trips was my captain. He snored like an angry bear and was quick with his fists.”

“He hit you?” Gideon asks.

Eugenia jumps in, the glare she shoots at Ansel making the room feel chillier. “That is not appropriate conversation for the dinner table.”

“Apologies,” Ansel says, offering a sheepish smile that doesn’t quite match the mirth in his eyes.

“Are you still a fisherman?” Leopold asks, using his knife and fork to cut a bite of steak. The way he holds the gold cutlery, the way he knows exactly how to cut his food, even the way he chews it, marks him as a king. Leopold likely doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but Ansel does. He holds his own cutlery with clumsy hands, and if had to guess, she’d say he’s never eaten steak before.

“No, Your Majesty,” he says. “We mostly caught firetail—agood, moderately priced fish—but over the past year, it’s become too expensive for the lower classes to afford, and itisn’t fine enough for nobility like yourselves. The captain let most of us go.”

Leopold glances at , and though she’s glad to see the discomfort in his eyes, the urge to do something, she’s too wary of the messenger. Ansel has been polite since he arrived for dinner, and it’s possible that his speaking with Violie was a coincidence, but doesn’t trust him. She’s learned to listen to her instincts.

“What do you do now, then?” asks, reaching for her wine goblet and taking a small sip, keeping an eye on Ansel all the while.

Ansel holds her gaze. “Odd jobs, mostly,” he says, shrugging. “I suppose the last one I did was scrubbing down the gallows after hangings.”

He says the words conversationally enough, but has to suppress a shudder. Eugenia, however, suppresses nothing.

“That’s enough, ” she snaps, dabbing her mouth daintily with her napkin, her expression queasy. “It is poor form to discuss such unpleasantness while we are dining.”

can’t help but roll her eyes. Eugenia can block out the mention of the unpleasantness all she likes, but she had an active hand in causing it. And if she forgets it, will gladly remind her.

“Oh, Genia,” she says, biting her lip. “You look unwell—Iknow how guilty you must feel. Would you like to lie down?” she asks.

Leopold gives her a warning look—still loyal to his mother. It’s why needs Beatriz to confirm her suspicions about the vineyard. He won’t believe his mother capable of treason and treachery without proof.

“I’m fine,” Eugenia bites out.

“I’m glad to hear it,” says, before turning back to Ansel. “Did you spend much time in Friv while you worked on the ship? Or Bessemia, perhaps?”

Ansel glances from to the still-glaring Eugenia. “I can’t say I did—I only worked on the ship for a year, and as the newest member of the crew, I was never allowed off when we docked. I’ve never set foot on soil that wasn’t Temarinian.”

nods and nibbles at her dinner roll. She wishes Daphne were here—Daphne could lure information out of anyone, their mother’s always said so. She could ask them about the weather and by the end of the conversation, somehow know their darkest secrets. , on the other hand, isn’t even sure Ansel is his real name, let alone who he has ties to.

“We can find a job for you,” Leopold says suddenly, looking quite pleased with himself. “Somewhere in the palace, perhaps? Do you have any skills besides fishing?”

The last thing wants is for Ansel to be lurking around the palace, but she holds her tongue for now.

“That’s too kind of you, Your Majesty,” Ansel says, shaking his head.

“It isn’t kind enough,” Leopold says. “You likely saved my brother’s life,” he adds, glancing at Reid, who sinks down in his chair, his ears going red.

“Well, I appreciate it all the same,” Ansel says before pausing. “I’m good with horses. Is there an opening in the stables?”

Leopold smiles. “I’ll speak to the stable manager myself tomorrow morning,” he says.

“Leopold, I really don’t think—” Eugenia begins, but she’s interrupted by the dining room door opening and a flustered messenger hurrying in. He manages a quick bow.

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty,” he says to Leopold and in turn. “We’ve just received worrisome news from Cellaria. Our ambassador, Lord Savelle, has been arrested for sorcery—they say they’re going to execute him.”

The rest of the table—even Eugenia—is shocked, but isn’t surprised by the news. She sees her mother’s plot coming together in this, sees an unavoidable war on the horizon. A war she is supposed to shove Temarin into. Daphne did her duty, now Beatriz has done hers. It’s ’s turn at last.

—

In the wake of the messenger’s announcement, everyone leaps into action. Servants are sent to find Lord Covier and Lord Verning, the princes are sent back to their rooms, and , Leopold, and Eugenia are brought to the council chambers. It isn’t until they are near the door that notices that Ansel is still with them.

“I’m sorry our dinner was cut short, Ansel, but if you come back tomorrow we can get you situated in the stables,” she tells him, hoping he takes the words as the dismissal theyare.

Ansel glances at Leopold. “Actually, Your Majesties, I was hoping I might join you.”

Eugenia lets out a loud snort she makes no effort to disguise. “Why in the name of the stars should you?” she asks. “This is a matter of great national importance, and you are…a failed fisherman’s apprentice,” she says.

“Mother,” Leopold says, giving her a warning look before turning back to Ansel. “But I’m afraid she’s right.”

“All due respect, Your Majesty, but you are making decisions that affect the entire country, while only consulting with a very narrow segment of it. Perhaps the voice of someone less privileged by birth would be welcome?”

wants to argue that point, but she knows it’s a valid one. Her mother has several members of Bessemia’s merchant class on her council and has always said that different viewpoints can be helpful. just doesn’t want Ansel ’s viewpoint. Leopold’s brow furrows for a moment and he glances uncertainly at his mother, then .

“Leopold,” Eugenia says. “You can’t possibly be considering this.”

“He has a point,” Leopold says. “We’re discussing the possibility of war here, Mother. A war that will mainly affect those outside the palace walls. If I want to create a better Temarin, I need to hear from those who live in the heart of it. He stays.” With that, Leopold strides into the room and sinks into the chair at the head of the great oak table

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ansel says, bowing his head before following Leopold into the room and taking the seat to his left—the seat that usually belongs to Eugenia. With a clenched jaw and a murderous look in her eyes, Eugenia takes the one next to Ansel, while takes her usual chair at Leopold’s right.

Seconds later, Lord Covier and Lord Verning arrive, taking two of the remaining seats at the table. They both spare Ansel a bemused look but don’t question his presence. Instead, Lord Covier clears his throat and begins.

“According to our sources, Lord Savelle was arrested a few days ago—they found a vial of stardust among his things, and they say he acquired it because he’s an empyrea who used star magic in order to harm King Cesare,” he says. “There has never been any evidence that Savelle is an empyrea, and as to the stardust…well, he knew that giving up magic would be required of him when he took his post. He’s held it for two decades without even a hint of an issue, that unfortunate business with his bastard aside. I find it difficult to believe that has suddenly changed.”

Eugenia jumps in. “As I said before, Cesare has always been mercurial, and we had word that he was becoming increasingly paranoid. These charges are at best a figment of his imagination, at worst a flimsy excuse to force us into another war. And if he wants a war, we can give him one.”

“With what money, Eugenia?” asks before shecan stop herself. This may be her mother’s plan, but it isEugenia’s as well, and she knows better than anyone howill-equipped Temarin is. They couldn’t win a snowball fight.

“We will find money,” Eugenia says, as if that much can simply be dug out of a parlor sofa. “If they execute Savelle, they are declaring war. We have no choice but to defend ourselves and our countrymen.”

“Your countrymen will be those who shoulder the cost and the burden,” Ansel says, leaning forward. “During the last war with Cellaria, I hadn’t been born yet, but I heard stories from my parents—they said their taxes went up significantly. Some months they even doubled.”

“Surely you aren’t implying that there is a price you are unwilling to pay for our country…,” Lord Covier begins. Then he frowns. “Who are you?”

Leopold makes quick, distracted introductions, and LordCovier and Lord Verning exchange contemptuous glances.

“Your Majesty—Temarin can’t afford a war,” Ansel says again. “The people are already suffering.”

Leopold frowns. “How much money does a war cost?” he asks, glancing around the table.

“Well…er…that’s a complicated question,” Lord Verning says, clearing his throat.

“Then let’s uncomplicate it,” Leopold says. “Tell me the average cost per month of the last war with Cellaria, as well as a detailed look at where the money to pay for it came from. How much from the treasury, how much from taxes, how much from other sources.”

Lord Verning blinks. “I don’t have that information on me, Your Majesty.”

“Then go find it,” Leopold says, grumbling the words more than speaking them as he rakes a hand through his hair. Lord Verning hesitates for a few seconds before pushing back from the table and hurrying from the room, casting a bewildered glance back at Leopold over his shoulder.

“And where is the Cellarian ambassador?” Leopold continues. “I want a guard put on him at all times.”

“You wish to make Lord Fiorelli a prisoner?” Lord Covier asks, glancing at Eugenia uncertainly.

“Lord Fiorelli may prove to be the only bargaining chip we have, and I’m not about to let him slip back to Cellaria when he hears about this mess,” Leopold says, looking at one of the guards standing by the door. “Go, put one of your men on him.”

The guard gives a quick bow before leaving.

“Sympathetic as I am to the matter of cost, Ansel,” Leopold says, turning back toward him, “there are bigger factors at stake—King Cesare is planning on killing my ambassador. My mother is right—that is an act of war in and of itself. Who’s to say he won’t be pushing at Temarin’s borders next? And then there is the personal aspect,” he adds.

“Yes, in regard to Princess Beatriz…,” Lord Covier says, looking down at the papers in front of him. ’s heart gives a stutter. Beatriz is fine, she has to be. “There were some reports from our spies that Lord Savelle and Princess Beatriz had grown…close. They’ve dined together alone and had taken to walking together in the sea garden when no one was about. One of our spies speculates that that closeness might be the real reason for his imprisonment.”

struggles to keep her face impassive, though she knows there is truth to that rumor. Beatriz told her so herself—she said she’d enjoyed their walks together, even liked the man. She still betrayed him, though, thinks, because that was her assignment.

Just as ’s assignment is to push Leopold to declaring war. Once she forges an alliance between Friv and Temarin with King Bartholomew’s seal, Friv will fall in right behind it, entering a war that will leave all three countries so vulnerable that Bessemian forces could conquer them without much of a struggle.

understood this in the abstract, when she viewed it playing out like pieces on a chessboard, cold marble figures falling one by one, but now that she’s here, she’s seen the personal cost behind it, how this war won’t just devastate Temarin’s security and economy but will kill its people—both in battle and from starvation.

Yes, her mother will be there to pick up the pieces; yes, she will eventually rebuild the country; yes, it might eventually become stronger as a result. But how many Temarinians won’t survive to see it?

The thought shouldn’t bother her. Bessemia above all . But even though the crown she wears is a hollow one, even though she has only been playing the role of queen, she can’t help but feel that these are her people. That she will be failing them.

Lord Covier continues, oblivious to ’s churning mind. “As I mentioned in our last meeting, there are plenty of scheming nobles looking to have Pasquale disinherited—Ibelieve they’ll use Princess Beatriz’s ties to Savelle against her, and against Prince Pasquale as well. I’m in agreement with your mother. If we strike early, strike now, we will be able to catch them by surprise. We can work with the prince and princess to have King Cesare deposed and put them on the throne instead, before they lose any more support. Everyone wins.”

Everyone won’t win, thinks. Maybe if Eugenia hadn’t depleted Temarin’s war chest, if the empress weren’t waiting to declare her own war once Temarin was wounded, maybe Lord Covier’s plan would have merit. knows that when all is said and done, the only one who will win is the empress. thought she would win with her, alongside Daphne and Beatriz—and isn’t that what winning looks like? The three of them together again, home again. Her sisters will be so surprised when they reunite, thinks—she’s gotten quite good at standing up for herself, they won’t even recognize her. Maybe she won’t recognize them, either.

That is what winning looks like, what it has always looked like. But it doesn’t feel like winning now, not when she understands the cost.

“Sophie?” Leopold asks, drawing her out of her thoughts. “You’ve been unusually quiet. What are you thinking?”

looks up at him and immediately wishes she hadn’t. His expression is open, his eyes utterly guileless. He trusts her, wants her help, and she knows without a hint of doubt that the advice she is supposed to give him will ruin him. Will ruin Temarin. She might not like Ansel, but he’s right—Temarin can’t afford this war. And the people who will suffer the worst will be the people most vulnerable. All so that her mother can claim a crown— another crown—and more land, more power.

She used to think Temarin would be better off under her mother’s rule, and maybe once that was true, but now? Leopold might not be perfect, but he’s trying. He cares. And knows that together, they can pull Temarin out of the hole it has sunk into. She knows they can make it better, even better than her mother could, if only because they won’t have to break it first.

knows the answer she is supposed to give. She imagines herself saying it. You should declare war. Four words. Not even her words, really, but ones that have been scripted for her since before she took her first breath. Words she has always been destined to say.

“Ansel is right,” she says instead. “Temarin can’t afford a war—going into it will destroy us.”

Leopold frowns. “Even if not doing it puts Pasquale and Beatriz in danger?” he asks.

swallows. “Beatriz can take care of herself,” she says, hoping that it’s true. “Temarin can’t.”