Daphne
sits before the fire in her room, the letter from Sophronia in her hand. She’s read it once but can’t bring herself to read it again. I need your help, Daph, Sophronia has written, outlining how everything has gone sideways in Temarin—how Sophronia has tipped everything sideways by going against the empress’s plan. You must have seen how wrong she is now, how wrong we are to do her bidding.
It’s ludicrous to , who has seen nothing of the sort. What she has seen is that Friv is a wild land, in need of a stronger hand than King Bartholomew possesses. She can’t understand why Sophronia couldn’t simply do as she was told. did her duty, she stole King Bartholomew’s seal, had a knife pressed to her throat, ingratiated herself with rebels she’s fairly certain want her dead— has gone above and beyond what she was instructed to do. Sophronia couldn’t even manage to forge a simple letter, tolead the king who is supposedly madly in love with her into war.
And what about Bairre, a voice whispers in her mind, though she is quick to quiet it. What about Bairre? He doesn’t want to rule, he said so himself. In some ways, she’ll be doing him a favor.
I cannot depend on your sisters, the empress told shortly before they left to meet their destinies. Sophronia is weak and Beatriz is flighty. You, my dove, are the one I can depend upon, and the only one I trust to rule in my stead when I’m gone.
considers sending the letter on to their mother so that she can deal with whatever problems Sophronia has caused, but she hesitates. It sounds like the empress already has the situation in hand, and doesn’t want to get Sophronia in any more trouble with their mother, no matter how angry she is. But she can’t write back to Sophronia either, certainly can’t offer her any kind of help. She feels only a quick pang of guilt as she tosses Sophronia’s letter into the fire before getting to her feet and calling for a maid to help her change into her riding habit.
—
“You must remember never to promise anything—not even the asters in your pocket. I know you and Lord Cadringal arefriends, but things have changed. You’re both now responsible for many more people than just yourselves,” tells Bairre while they wait for the Cadringals to meet them at the border of the castle’s hunting grounds. Lord Cadringal and his five siblings arrived an hour before dawn, so the hunt has been arranged for the afternoon, giving them plenty of time to rest and recuperate from the trying trip. struggles to push Sophronia and her letter from her mind, to ignore the guilt nagging at her. It occurs to her that the advice she’s giving to Bairre applies to her as well—she loves her sister dearly, but if Sophronia has diverged from their path, cannot follow her. Her mother is depending on her. Sophronia will come around, she tells herself. She’ll realize her error and their mother will forgive it, eventually.
She shakes Sophronia out of her thoughts and focuses on Bairre, who is frowning at her, an expression she’s grown familiar with and even become somewhat fond of. He’s been pacing for the last few minutes, his hands clasped behind his back. “You don’t know Rufus—he won’t ask anything of me.”
knows she should feel annoyed with him, but she’s surprised by the hint of jealousy that pricks her, that he seems to genuinely believe that. Maybe he was right about her. Maybe she is mercenary, but only because she’s had to be. Sophronia’s voice barges into her thoughts again— Ineed your help, Daph —but again pushes her out.
“I can guarantee you that before the hunt is over, he’ll pester you to talk to your father about lowering his region’s taxes,” she tells Bairre.
Bairre considers this. “I don’t see why we couldn’t,” he says. “I’ve been hearing stories about how this past winter was more difficult than anticipated. A lot of the highland clans are struggling.”
They’re more than struggling, thinks. They’re plotting.
“Just don’t make promises you won’t be able to keep,” she says, her thoughts straying again to her sister. Sophronia promised loyalty to their mother, she promised to do as she was told. Those promises have been broken now, and though pities her, she’s also angry at Sophronia. How difficult could it have been to just follow orders?
“?” Bairre says, looking at her strangely.
She shakes her head, trying once again to clear Sophronia from her mind, though she feels her lingering in the corners like cobwebs. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Are you all right?” he asks, frowning. “You seem out of sorts.”
“I’m fine,” she says, with a tight smile. “I didn’t sleep well last night, I suppose.”
Bairre opens his mouth to reply and she suspects he will push her on that flimsy excuse, but his eyes catch on something over her shoulder. His expression shifts and he raises his hand in a wave. turns to follow his gaze and seesa group of six coming toward them—all with the same bright red hair. She counts three girls and three boys, the oldest of whom must be Rufus. She knows that he and Bairre are the same age, but as he comes closer she realizes he must tower over Bairre by nearly a foot, and over her nearly double that.
“Rufus,” Bairre says, holding a hand out toward him, but Rufus ignores it and crushes Bairre in a hug instead.
“Good to see you, Bairre,” he says when they pull apart, his highland accent so thick that can barely dissect the words. “I was so sorry to hear about Cillian.”
“I was sorry to hear about your father as well,” Bairre replies.
Rufus nods his thanks before turning to . “And you must be the charming Princess we’ve heard so much about over the years,” he says, taking her proffered hand and kissing the back of it before releasing it and straightening up. “Might I present my sisters, Liana, Della, Zenia. And my brothers, Verne and Teddy,” he continues, nodding to each in turn.
“Theodore, now,” the youngest boy, Teddy, insists.
“Right,” Rufus says with a smirk. “Theodore. You lot remember Bairre— Prince Bairre. And this is his bride-to-be, Princess .”
The cluster of siblings bow their heads toward her and Bairre.
“Your Highnesses,” they murmur.
smiles in response. “Now then,” she says. “Shall we hunt?”
—
The bow feels good in ’s hands. The second she lets her first arrow fly, hitting a fat pheasant midflight, she feels a strange peace settle over her. Everything else might be a muddled mess, but this she knows.
“Good shot, Princess,” Rufus says over his shoulder with an appraising smile.
“,” she tells him, reaching behind her to pull another arrow from the sling. “It’s only fair, Rufus.”
“ it is,” Rufus says, turning toward Bairre. “Quite a markswoman, isn’t she?”
“Indeed,” Bairre replies, his eyes scanning the woods around them for any sign of movement. “ is all kinds of deadly.”
The way he says it, isn’t sure whether he means it as a compliment or an insult. She decides to take it as a compliment.
“Do you hunt often, Rufus?” she asks. “I’ve heard the game up north is even more plentiful.”
She still isn’t sure of him, at least not in regard to whether he’s sympathetic to the rebels. His affection for Bairre seems genuine, but knows that it’s quite possible for a person to smile at you one moment and stab you in the back the next.
“Our deer grow to nearly twice the size of the ones here,” he tells her. “Though they’ve been scarce the last few months.”
“Hush,” Rufus’s middle sister, Della, says. She glares at them over her shoulder. “You’ll scare away the game.”
“She’s very serious, Della is,” Rufus says to , his voice a somber whisper. Still, his sister hears and shoots him another glare. “You have sisters as well, don’t you?” he asks .
“Yes, two,” says, keeping her voice quiet as she searches the woods for any hint of movement. The mention of her sisters feels like a knife in her chest, though she tries not to showit.
“Older or younger?” Rufus asks.
She glances at him, surprised. No one has ever asked her that question before, she realizes. Everyone has always known her, and her sisters, as a unit almost. “We’re triplets,” she tells him. “Though, technically, I’m the middle one. Beatriz is the oldest, Sophronia is the youngest, though only by a few minutes each.”
I need your help, Daph. The voice echoes in ’s mind no matter how she tries to drown it out.
“You must miss them,” Rufus says, oblivious to her thoughts. “Though I admit, there are plenty of times I’d like to put a few hundred miles between me and my siblings.”
Liana is the only one of his siblings to hear this, and she fixes him with a glare.
“How are you finding being a new lord?” asks, changing the subject. If she doesn’t get the topic away from her sisters, she thinks she’ll go mad. She needs to focus on the task at hand and gather information for Cliona. “I’m sure it’s a lot of responsibility to have taken on so suddenly.”
Rufus winces. “It’s a position I was raised for, though I never thought it would be so soon,” he says, then pauses. “And it has been a difficult year, even before my father passed. Our crops didn’t produce their usual amount, and as I said, the population of deer and other game seems to have gone down. Our people are struggling.”
catches Bairre’s gaze and lifts a shoulder just an inch in a shrug, as if to say I told you so.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” says.
Rufus waits for a moment to see if she’ll say more, offer anything, but when he realizes she won’t—she can’t —he shrugs. “Friv is a stubborn country, . We’ve survived worse, I’m sure we’ll survive this.”
He doesn’t sound sure, though. doesn’t doubt that if Cliona’s father were to approach him, if he were to promise Rufus things that Bairre and can’t, Rufus would have to consider his offer. Taking even more allies away from Bartholomew will further her mother’s goals as well.
“Can we stop for some water?” Zenia interrupts, pouting. She’s the youngest, only ten. She carries her bow by the string, hanging at her side in a way that makes cringe. She hasn’t fired an arrow all afternoon and seems perfectly content with that.
“We haven’t seen any deer yet,” Verne says. “We should get at least one before we pause.”
“We would have gotten more than that if the rest of you would hush, ” Della says.
Of Rufus’s siblings, Della is ’s favorite. It must be middle-sister camaraderie.
“Zenia’s right,” Bairre says with a sigh. “Let’s take five minutes, and then we’ll try awhile longer.”
Della scowls but drops her bow, sticking the arrow she’d nocked back into her quiver.
Liana opens the satchel she carries, drawing out several skins of water and passing them out. When she hands hers, she doesn’t look at her.
“Tell me, , are your sisters as much of a pain as mine are?” Rufus asks, causing Liana to throw his waterskin at him, nearly hitting him in the face with it.
“Oh, absolutely,” says, unscrewing the top to the waterskin. “Once, Beatriz got so angry with me, she went into my room and emptied my entire wardrobe onto the lawn outside my window. It was quite a surprise when I returned from the bath.”
And my other sister decided to throw a decade and a half of careful planning away the first chance she got, she adds silently.
Everyone laughs, even sullen Liana. Satisfied, lifts the waterskin to her lips and takes a deep drink. After walking and riding for an hour, the water is cool and refreshing. She takes another drink, but before she can finish it off, there’s the snap of a twig to her left and she freezes, the skin halfway to her lips.
There, in the middle of the lush forest, is the most beautiful stag has ever seen. There were deer aplenty in Bessemia, but they were lithe things, more sinew than meat. This stag is easily twice the size of those creatures, towering all the higher because of the antlers crowning his head. He’s a handsome creature, and he hasn’t seen them yet, has somehow missed their chatter. He grazes on, head bent low over a patch of grass.
Slowly, lowers her waterskin, setting it softly on the ground at her feet before reaching for an arrow and nocking it.
“What—” Verne starts, looking at her with bewildered eyes before Rufus claps a hand over his mouth, nodding toward the stag. The others follow his gaze, but no one moves to draw an arrow.
This one is all ’s.
She draws the arrow back, keeping her eyes on the stag and, specifically, on the long stretch of his neck. The muscles in her arm tighten and strain, but she forces herself to take a deep breath, to focus on the stag and nothing else.
Then she releases the arrow, sending it whirring through the air with a soft whistle.
It misses by a yard, finding the trunk of a tree behind the stag. At the sound, the animal straightens up, its eyes finding . For a second, it stares at her, unmoving, before taking off into the woods.
Della and Rufus are ready, giving chase with their siblings at their heels, but ’s feet are anchored to the ground. They feel so heavy suddenly. Her whole body feels heavy. The bow falls to her side and her head spins.
“?” Bairre asks. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she says, too quickly. She shakes her head to try to clear it, but that only makes him look at her more strangely. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you shouldn’t have missed that stag,” he says before pausing. “And you look ready to keel over any second.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, though she has to force the words through the fog descending on her mind. Why is she so tired? She wasn’t a second ago, but now all she wants is to find a soft patch of ground somewhere and lie down, just for a moment.
“I’m fine,” she tries to tell him, but the words don’t make it out of her mouth before her knees suddenly buckle and her mind goes quiet and black. The last thing she’s aware of is Bairre’s arms catching her before she hits the ground.