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

Sophronia

Leopold leads through the labyrinthine palace hallways, which she still hasn’t quite figured out how to navigate herself, even after almost a month here. They climb so many winding staircases that her leg muscles scream in pain and her breath goes short.

“Just a bit farther,” he says over his shoulder, though he, too, seems winded.

grimaces at him but steels herself and continues to follow him up, up, up, until finally, he pushes open a wooden door and leads her into a small room, lit only by the afternoon sun pouring through a single wide window.

The room is circular and possibly the smallest chamber she’s seen in the palace—if she and Leopold were to hold hands, they could each touch an opposite wall easily. It’s also empty of any furniture, with only a threadbare, color-leached rug spread over the stone floor.

“It’s the highest guard tower in the kingdom,” he tells her, answering the question she hasn’t asked. “Not much of a use for it since the war with Cellaria ended, but it’s got the best view.”

He tugs her toward the open window and gestures. When looks out, she can’t help but gasp at the sight that awaits. It feels like all of Temarin is spread out before her, stretching all the way to the horizon. Everything is so small she suddenly feels like a child playing with toy figures again. She can barely make out the dots that must be people below, clustered together in the crowded streets of Kavelle.

“They look like ants,” she says, her voice full of wonder. “And they all look the same. You can’t tell from all the way up here who is a commoner and who is a duke.”

“I doubt there are any dukes who dare to wander around Kavelle,” Leopold says, his voice low. He’s standing behind her, his head just over her shoulder, so close she can feel his breath against her cheek as he speaks.

points to a particularly thick cluster of dots in one of the squares. It must be hundreds of people. “What’s going on there?”

“Ah. That’s what I wanted to show you,” he says, sounding quite pleased with himself. “Do you remember when we spoke about the possibility of a public fund? In theory, it would take some time for the tariffs that would pay for it to be put into place, but I decided to get a head start. You cut a significant amount of money from the palace budget for the month, and I managed to…encourage many of the noble families at court to donate—”

“Encourage?” asks, glancing back at him over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“With significant pressure,” he admits with a halfheartedly sheepish smile. “I may have very vaguely threatened a few of them with stripping their titles or taking away various estates. I told Aunt Bruna I’d been considering making her my new ambassador to Cellaria—a very exalted position, mind you.”

“Never mind the fact that their king is mad, magic is outlawed, and they’ve imprisoned the last ambassador we sent them,” says, biting her lip to keep from laughing. She can only imagine how Bruna took that offer.

“She was…less than enthused,” he admits. “Gave me three hundred thousand asters to change my mind. I didn’t even know she possessed that much money, considering how she’s always asking for an increase in her allowance.”

“I’d wager she has far more than that if she was willing to part with it so quickly,” points out. “How much did you raise altogether?”

“Nearly two million,” he says, looking a bit smug. “Enough to budget for five food depositories throughout Temarin—just like that one,” he says, directing ’s attention back out the window to the gathered crowd. “In the five biggest cities now, but I’m hopeful soon we’ll be able to expand the program into smaller towns and villages.”

“How does it work?” she asks.

“Every morning, a line will form, and everyone will take a set amount of rations depending on the number of people in their household—a collection of produce, meat, and grains procured from local Temarinian farmers.”

glances back at Leopold. “And how is that going?” she asks.

He shrugs. “It’s a work in progress. We first opened yesterday morning, and it was chaos—no one was keen to form a neat and orderly line. But when it became clear that it was the only way they’d receive food, things calmed down a bit. There’s some conflict now about how to verify that people are taking only what they need. I heard word that there were some who took extra rations and tried to sell them to those who missed out, at an astronomical markup. It isn’t a perfect system, but we’re working on it.”

feels a smile tug at her lips. “Look at you,” she says.

His cheeks flush, but he’s smiling too. “Yes, well, it turns out I have a knack for this. No one is more surprised than I am,” he says before pointing once again to the square, where several larger shapes move toward the shop. It takes a second for her to realize what they are.

“Wagons?” she asks, frowning.

“Indeed. Carrying fresh game. Ansel introduced me to a group of unemployed workers from various backgrounds. Their skill sets differ, but it turns out with a bit of training from my kitchen staff, they’re all quite capable of putting together a decent stew.”

watches the wagons approach. “There are so many,” she says, glancing back at him. “Where did you find so much game?”

“I issued a challenge,” he says, practically beaming. “It’s the end of the week, the court gentlemen tend to want to hunt. So I said that whoever ended up with the most weight by three o’clock would win a prize. They were all quite motivated.”

“How did you convince them to donate their quarry?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Technically, it isn’t their quarry. It was caught on the palace grounds, so it belongs to me. Or, rather, it belongs to us. And besides, I allowed them to keep the pelts and they know where their next meals are coming from, so no one had any complaints.”

“And the prize?” she asks. “As you said, they seem to have been quite motivated. And since money is so tight—”

“The prize cost us nothing,” he says. “But I thought we might use your late-night kitchen excursions—they were quite interested in the possibility of serving a cake baked by the queen at their next party.”

“Oh, I like that idea,” says with a grin.

“I thought you might,” he says before his expression wavers. “What do you think of the rest of it?” he asks, almost tentatively, as if he’s afraid of her answer.

steps closer to him and lifts her hand to cup his cheek. “I think it’s brilliant— you’re brilliant,” she says.

He covers her hand with his and sighs. “Thank you for telling me not to declare war on Cellaria. You and Ansel were right. I hate that things got as bad as they did,” he says. “I don’t know how…” He trails off, shaking his head. “That’s not true. I know exactly how.”

“Your father died suddenly,” says. “He was young and healthy, no one expected him to fall off his horse—”

“Yet you were plenty prepared. Even though you aren’t even in line to inherit your mother’s throne, she prepared you,” he points out.

bites her lip to keep from blurting out the truth—that she was prepared for something else entirely. Something she has now gone against. She still can’t believe she’s done it, but she has, and she is not foolish enough to believe there won’t be consequences.

“My father never prepared me to be king,” he continues. “I don’t think he believed I was capable of it.”

“If he saw you as a child, Leo, it’s because that’s what you were,” she says softly. “He set you up with a council—”

“My mother put together the council,” he interrupts. “It turns out, my father couldn’t even do that much.”

frowns. “She said your father personally asked Covier and Verning to guide you,” she says. More than that, Eugenia blamed King Carlisle for their incompetence.

Leopold shrugs. “I thought so too. I suppose she was trying to protect me from the truth of my father’s antipathy. But Covier let the truth slip this morning—she brought him and Verning in after my father died. I know they’re lacking, but my mother’s like me. She never had to be political either—I’m not surprised she didn’t know better.”

doesn’t say anything, the gears of her mind turning. She’s already had suspicions that Covier and Verning are working toward Eugenia’s aims, but to what end? How would giving Temarin over to Cellarian rule serve them?

“But you were right,” Leopold says, drawing her out of her thoughts. “The past can’t be changed. Only the future. I want a new council, one with you and Ansel—maybe someone from the merchant class as well?”

is careful to school her expression into something neutral at the mention of giving Ansel so much power. She supposes he’s the first commoner Leopold has ever had a conversation with, and she has to admit Ansel has wormed his way close to Leopold brilliantly, saving his brother and standing up to Leopold just enough to seem brave and bold. Of course Leopold is na?ve enough to fall for it, but isn’t.

“And my brothers,” Leopold continues. “I want to ensure that I don’t make the mistakes my father did. And as of now, Gideon is next in line for the throne. If something were to happen to me, I’d want him to be prepared.”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” says, smoothing her thumb over his cheekbone. “Though Gideon won’t be next in line forever,” she adds.

Leopold shakes his head. “There’s no pressure on that count, Sophie,” he says, stooping to press his forehead against hers. “I meant what I said on our wedding night. There’s no rush. And I know I’ve broken your trust.”

doesn’t speak for a moment. He isn’t wrong—his actions hurt her as well as Temarin. The boy she knew from letters wasn’t the boy she met, the boy she married. He isn’t perfect—but he’s trying.

Her mother warned her about losing her heart to him, but the prospect of not doing so seems ludicrous now, not because she’s forsaken her mother, not because she has no more plots or plans against him, but because she realizes she’s already in love with him. She doesn’t know when it happened or what their future holds. All she knows is that what’s between them now is so much stronger than a perfect figment of ink and paper. It’s real.

She tilts her head up and catches his lips in a kiss that she feels all the way to her toes. She could kiss him like this every day for the rest of their lives, she realizes. The idea makes her giddy. She pulls back a fraction of an inch and grins at him.

“Why don’t we retire for the evening?” she asks.

Leopold’s brow furrows in confusion. “It isn’t even dinnertime—are you tired?” he asks.

holds his gaze and shakes her head. “No,” she says, kissing him again. “I’m not tired at all.”

—

and Leopold have nearly made it back to their room, hand in hand, when they hear shouting coming from down the corridor. Leopold glances at Sophie, frowning.

“I know that voice,” he says, pulling her down the corridor toward the shouts. follows, though she’d like nothing better than to drag Leopold into their rooms and close out the rest of the world for a few hours. She knows that voice too, and she knows deep in her gut that nothing good will come of this.

They round the corner to find Ansel being held by two palace guards, struggling. When he sees Leopold, he struggles harder.

“You liar!” he shouts. The guard holding his right arm reaches for his sword, but Leopold holds up a hand.

“Stop,” he says to the guards. “Let him go.”

The guards exchange a look but do as he says. Ansel looks just as confused as they do, shrugging off their hands, though he makes no move toward Leopold and .

“What are you talking about?” Leopold asks him, keeping his voice level and calm.

Ansel frowns, glancing between him and . “You’re joking,” he says, but when Leopold doesn’t respond, he stands up a little straighter. “You declared war on Cellaria, after you said you wouldn’t. It’s all anyone in Kavelle is talking about.”

“Then it’s a rumor without a foundation,” Leopold says, shaking his head. “You were there when I made my decision to avoid it. Nothing’s changed.”

One of the guards clears his throat. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I was one of the guards who posted notices of the war in town this morning. The palace is recruiting soldiers as we speak.”

Bewildered, Leopold glances at , who lets out a low exhale.

“Your mother,” she says, quietly enough that the others can’t hear her. “She went behind our backs.”

Leopold shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. Covier or Verning, maybe—”

“Covier and Verning couldn’t buckle their own shoes without guidance—your mother’s guidance, specifically. She wanted a war, and when you didn’t give in, she went around you,” says. The rest of it rises to her lips—the letter from Cesare, how Eugenia has spent the year since Leopold took the throne draining Temarin’s war chest, how she has quietly been plotting against him and the whole country—but she holds her tongue. This is not the place, not when they have an audience. Still, the words she does say shock him.

She looks at the guards and Ansel.

“We aren’t going to war,” she tells them. “There was a…miscommunication. We’ll be sorting it out now.”

“It’s too late for that,” a new voice says from behind them. and Leopold turn to find Eugenia approaching, vivid violet silk skirt billowing around her. She doesn’t look smug, realizes. Which is a surprise—after all, she got what she’s been working toward for at least a year.

“I hope you had nothing to do with this, Mother,” Leopold says, his voice low.

“Me?” Eugenia asks, raising her eyebrows. “ I didn’t send a declaration of war to Cellaria.”

“Neither did I!” Leopold snaps.

“And yet one apparently arrived. I understand that it was signed by you,” Eugenia says.

“Signatures can be falsified,” says. She should know—she was meant to falsify King Bartholomew’s signature to force Friv into the war as well, though a signature is nothing on its own.

“From what my spies in the Cellarian court tell me, the letter was also sealed,” Eugenia adds, as if reading ’s mind. “Marked with a drop of blood.”

“Not my blood,” Leopold says.

Eugenia shrugs. “An empyrea would have been able to clear that up easily enough,” she says.

“But sorcery is illegal in Cellaria,” finishes, understanding dawning on her, “so they would never know. And they had a signature, Leopold’s seal marked with blood that was allegedly his, and a mad, paranoid king on the throne who will take any excuse he can get to reignite the Celestian War.”

This has her mother’s fingerprints on it, but can’t see how they got there.

Eugenia nods slowly, unable to smother a smile. “Which means we are now at war with Cellaria, whether you like it or not.”

Leopold shakes his head. “I’ll tell them it was a mistake,” he says.

Eugenia looks toward , and sees that now she looks smug.

“You can’t,” tells Leopold, dread pooling in her stomach. “That kind of back-and-forth will lose you all credibility with your people. And Cellaria won’t believe it was a mistake. We can refuse to go to war with them, but they’ll still come at us.”

It’s a brilliant move, backing Temarin into a corner. Eugenia claims she didn’t do it, and believes her. She knows her mother’s work when she sees it, and with a sinking feeling, she realizes she knows exactly how her mother carried it out, and who helped her do it. Without a word, she pushes past Eugenia, leaving Leopold, the guards, and Ansel behind as she hurries to her rooms. She dimly hears Leopold calling her name, but she ignores him. She runs through her sitting room, into her bedroom, and to the wardrobe where she hid King Bartholomew’s seal.

There, in the box Daphne sent, she finds her sister’s letter and the sample of King Bartholomew’s handwriting. But the seal containing his blood is gone.

Friv’s sigil is the Northern Star—different from Temarin’s blazing sun, but imagines them both in her mind, sees how, if it were her, she would take a needle to the seal’s wax before it hardened, shifting the star’s points into sun’s rays. If someone looked closely they might be able to see the difference, but why would they look at all? Not when it was Leopold’s name on the letter, Leopold’s signature, providing news that King Cesare must have expected and been working toward for so long.

It’s exactly what would have done. But she didn’t. Which means someone else did.

—

finds Violie in the small room next to ’s that she was given when she became her lady’s maid. doesn’t knock, surprising Violie and causing her to jump up from her place on her bed, where she was sitting with an open book on her lap. A book Violie told she couldn’t read.

But Violie doesn’t seem to remember that, or else she’s hoping doesn’t, because she holds the book in front of her and smiles.

“Sophie,” she says. “I’m sorry—did you have need of me? I thought you were with the king.”

’s eyes go to the book, then back to Violie. “I want you gone,” she says, her voice as calm as it is cold. “Now. You can have a few moments to pack your things and then I’ll have guards escort you out of the palace.”

Violie takes a step toward her, but stops her with a raised hand.

“Sophie,” Violie begins.

“It’s Your Majesty, ” tells her. “I trust you’ll find your way back to Bessemia on your own. And when you see my mother, give her my regards. I hope whatever she offered you was worth it.”

turns and starts back toward the door. When her hand is on the knob, Violie speaks, her voice soft.

“My mother’s life,” she says.

glances back over her shoulder. “What?”

“It’s what she offered me,” Violie says. “My mother is ill—the physician said she had Vexis.”

winces. Vexis is a disease of the brain, and though no one knows what causes it, as it progresses, the sufferer’s mind fractures. The past becomes the present, the present becomes the past; oftentimes people don’t know who they are or recognize the faces of their closest friends and family. It is almost always fatal, and there is only one cure.

“We couldn’t afford stardust, and it isn’t a sure thing anyway,” Violie says. “I thought that if I was going to steal stardust, I’d better get my hands on the strongest kind I could. So I broke into Nigellus’s laboratory at the palace. I was caught immediately,” she says with a bitter laugh. “I knew I probably would be. I just…didn’t care. I thought I’d be taken to prison, but imagine my shock when I was brought to the empress instead.”

“And she offered to cure your mother in exchange for what? Spying on me? Are there more of you, watching my sisters?” says.

“No, only me,” Violie says, and she sounds ashamed, though that does little to soothe ’s ire. “You were the weak link, she said, the only one she couldn’t rely on. I was only supposed to watch you, to make sure you stayed on your path.”

“You’re the one who helped lead me off it,” says. “You gave me those budgets.”

“Because you asked,” Violie counters. “What was I supposed to do, refuse you? I thought once your mother told you to drop it, you would—”

“But I didn’t,” says.

Violie exhales, slumping down. “No,” she says. “So your mother asked me to do one more thing before she cured my mother. Find the seal she said was in your possession, forge a note in King Leopold’s hand, and declare war on Cellaria. It was such a small thing—I managed it in a few minutes.”

“How?” asks. “How did you manage to forge his signature?”

“The same way you would have, I imagine,” Violie says. “I was in your mother’s employ for two years before I came here—many of the lessons you were given, I had as well. Forgery, lock-picking, disguises.”

“And you can read,” says, nodding toward the book.

Violie offers her a rueful smile. “No one suspects an uneducated servant,” she says. “You were so busy trying to save me that you never thought…” She trails off, biting her lip. “I am sorry. I didn’t want to do it. I had no choice.”

tightens her grip on the doorknob.

“You had a choice, Violie,” she says. “You traded your mother’s life for millions of Temarinians who won’t survive this war, won’t survive my mother’s siege. Who will die in battle or from starvation or disease. You saved your mother, but how many mothers did you kill?”

Violie blanches, but she holds her ground. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, but knows that if she could, she’d do it all over again, exactly the same.

“Guards will be here in half an hour to escort you out,” tells her, pulling the door open and stepping through. “If I ever see you again, I’ll have you arrested.” With that, she shuts the door with a slam.

There is one last hope, she thinks. She returns to her room, sits down at her desk, and begins writing to her sisters.