Violie
In her time working in the Temarinian palace, grew used to a measure of comfort, even as a servant: her bed was always soft and large enough for her to sprawl out on with ease, her clothing was always freshly laundered, she bathed every other day. After five days in the Amivel Woods, she knows she will never take those little luxuries for granted ever again.
Still, she is at least managing better than King Leopold, who, suspects, has never experienced a moment of even slight discomfort in his life.
Well, that isn’t fair, she reasons with herself. She is sure he was uncomfortable enough when Ansel was holding him prisoner during the palace siege. When he first appeared out of thin air in the cave deep in the Amivel Woods where and Sophronia had agreed to meet, his wrists were red and chafed raw from being bound for so long, and used a strip of material from her dress and clean water from the nearby Merin River to tend to them while he told her what had happened.
Sophronia had lied to her—lied to both of them. She had never intended to save herself, only ever Leopold. couldn’t even bring herself to be truly angry about it—after all, she had lied to Sophronia more often than she’d spoken truth. only wishes Sophronia had been selfish for once in her life, though that would be akin to wishing the stars didn’t shine.
watches Leopold now, as he sleeps on a bale of hay next to her in a small, empty barn beside a cottage that appeared abandoned—a farm, once, she supposes. There is no sign of life now—neither animal nor human.
But the barn remains, at least, and the few bales of hay left inside make a more comfortable bed than either of them has found over the last few days.
Sophronia was so enamored with Leopold, thinks, watching his relaxed expression. His bronze hair tousled and dirtier than it’s likely ever been, dark circles beneath his eyes, his mouth hanging open slightly. She was so in love with him that she gave her own life for his.
It isn’t fair of to resent him for that, but she does all the same. And now she is saddled with a useless king—a useless king with a bounty on his head, no less, and plenty of people who would rather kill him themselves than claim it.
Not for the first time, considers leaving him behind. She could sneak away before he wakes up and he would never be able to find her, if he bothered looking at all. She would be free of him, free to return to her mother, free of any responsibility to anyone else.
Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll take care of Leopold.
Sophronia’s voice comes back to her, extracting a promise never thought she’d have to keep, not like this. But she promised all the same.
Leopold’s eyes flutter open slowly, a frown creasing his brow, just as it does every morning, as he takes in his strange surroundings. Then they find her and she watches again as the last six days filter back to him. She watches his eyes widen, his jaw tense, his heart break. Just as it does every morning when he remembers Sophronia is dead.
doesn’t have to remind herself. In her nightmares, she sees it happen again and again, watches as Sophronia, wan and unkempt from days as a prisoner, is led up the steps to the scaffold, watches as the executioner guides her head to the wooden block, wet with the blood of all those who came before her, watches as the silver blade of the guillotine falls, severing Sophronia’s head from her body while the crowd around and Leopold cheers.
Sophronia didn’t even scream. She didn’t cry or beg for her life. In that moment, she seemed to be miles away, and that, tells herself, was the only small blessing the stars gave her.
No, never forgets, not even when she sleeps.
“We’ll reach the Alder Mountains today,” she says, even though she’s sure Leopold knows this. She needs to say something to fill the awkward silence that so often envelops them. They were strangers last week— doesn’t think he so much as glanced at her when she was Sophronia’s lady’s maid. Now, each of them is all the other has, the two of them bound together by Sophronia’s final act.
Leopold nods but doesn’t speak, so feels compelled to continue, to fill the silence. “There’s a popular trading route near the sea,” she says. “We’ll have better luck making our way through there than trying to scale the mountains themselves. We should take a look at the cottage before we leave, though. I don’t think anyone has been here in a while, and perhaps there is some food or something we can sell—”
She breaks off at Leopold’s horrified expression.
“You want me to steal from my own people?” he asks.
grits her teeth. “They aren’t your people, not right now, at least,” she says. “And if you die in the Alder Mountains, you’ll never rule Temarin again.”
“I don’t care, I can’t just—”
“I promised Sophronia I would keep you safe,” she says. “Are you going to let her sacrifice go to waste to honor principles that are, if you don’t mind my saying it, entirely worthless at this point?”
It’s a low blow, but it lands and Leopold’s jaw clenches. Over the last few days, has learned that the mention of Sophronia is a surefire way to silence him, though it’s one that leaves her feeling a bit unmoored as well.
The urge to apologize rises up, but before she can, a sound outside the barn draws their attention—footsteps.
hastens to grab the dagger she keeps in arm’s reach always—this time it’s embedded in the bale of hay just beside where she slept. On light feet, she tiptoes to the barn door and hears the low murmur of voices speaking…Cellarian?
Her mastery of the language isn’t as strong as her knowledge of Bessemian or Temarinian, but she recognizes the sound of it.
She frowns, glancing at Leopold, who must hear it as well, because he looks equally perplexed. While they’re close to the Alder Mountains, which serve as the southern border between Temarin and Cellaria, there isn’t much travel back and forth between the countries apart from tradesmen, and they are far from any main roads tradesmen might take.
The footsteps and voices draw closer, and presses herself to the wall beside the door, while Leopold crouches low behind a bale of hay, a large stick he’s been using as a makeshift weapon in his hands.
The door creaks open and two men step inside, one who looks middle-aged and the other around and Leopold’s age. Both of them look the worse for wear, though notes that their clothes are fine beneath the grime.
It doesn’t matter who they are, thinks. Everyone in Temarin is on the lookout for Leopold, the runaway king with a bounty on his head. If these people realize who he is, he and will both be as good as dead. She tightens her grip on her dagger and prepares to pounce, but Leopold’s voice stops her.
“Lord Savelle?” he asks, straightening.
The older man turns to Leopold, blinking rapidly as if expecting him to disappear before his eyes. “Your…Your Majesty?” he asks. “Surely that can’t…King Leopold?” he asks, as if saying the name aloud will shatter the illusion.
Leopold drops the stick and shakes his head as if trying to clear it. “It’s me,” he says. “I thought you were in a Cellarian prison, or dead.”
“And I thought you would be in your palace,” Lord Savelle says, looking Leopold over with a furrowed brow. “And much cleaner, too.”
“Shortly after we received word of your imprisonment, there was a coup—we barely managed to escape the palace. We were on our way to Cellaria to seek refuge with my cousin.”
The younger man shakes his head. “Pasquale and Beatriz were arrested for treason,” he says. “We also just managed to escape.”
“Stars above,” curses, looking toward Leopold, who clears his throat.
“Lord Savelle, this is—”
“No need for introductions, I detect that Bessemian accent,” Lord Savelle says, offering an attempt at a smile. “Queen Sophronia, I presume. Your sister saved my life at great cost to herself and I’m eternally grateful.”
’s heart sinks. She knows she and Sophronia look alike, knows that this is at least part of the reason the empress recruited her, but now that knowledge turns her stomach.
“It seems that’s something the girls in that family have in common,” she says with a grimace. “I’m afraid Queen Sophronia did not escape the siege at the palace. I was her maid, .”
“Queen Sophronia is imprisoned too?” the younger man asks, the Temarinian words thick with a Cellarian accent. He’s handsome, with the look of gentry—the sort of boy with soft edges and kindness that hasn’t been filed away yet.
and Leopold exchange a loaded look.
“No,” Leopold manages after a moment. “No, she was executed.”
It isn’t something they’ve ever talked about, not since they rushed back into Kavelle after realizing Sophronia had lied to them about her plans.
Lord Savelle’s and his companion’s eyes widen. “Surely there must be a mistake,” Lord Savelle says.
swallows. Again, she sees the blade fall and Sophronia’s blond head roll away from her body. There was so much blood.
“There isn’t,” she says before turning back to the boy. “Who are you?” she asks.
“Ambrose,” he says. “I’m…I was…Pasquale and I are…friends,” he manages.
“He helped me escape Cellaria,” Lord Savelle explains. “Princess Beatriz used magic to get me out of prison and I met Ambrose and Prince Pasquale at the harbor. Our boat was nearly out of sight when we saw the guards come and arrest Prince Pasquale.”
glances at Leopold. “We’ll need another plan, then,” she says.
“And we will as well,” Lord Savelle says. “We were on our way to you, though I suppose now you don’t have armies about to invade Cellaria,” he adds.
“He doesn’t,” says. “But the Empress of Bessemia does.”
Lord Savelle frowns, looking between Leopold and . “What does Princess Beatriz’s mother have to do with it?”
“It’s quite a long story,” says. “And I certainly could do with a bit of food before telling it.”
Ambrose holds up a knapsack. “We bought food with the last of our coin,” he says. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Oh, we couldn’t—” Leopold begins, but is too hungry to be polite.
“Thank you,” she says.
—
Over a breakfast of bread and cheese in the kitchen of the abandoned cottage, tells them everything she dares—how the Princesses of Bessemia were trained as spies to further their mother’s goal of conquering the continent, how herself was recruited two years ago to spy on Sophronia, who the empress suspected was too weak to follow through, how Sophronia did go against her mother, and how the empress coordinated with Leopold’s mother, Queen Eugenia, to overthrow Leopold and Sophronia and execute them both.
“I tried to help Sophronia escape, but she insisted she wouldn’t leave without Leopold,” says as they eat the last of the bread and cheese. “The plan was for her to use a wish her mother had given her and her sisters to send both her and Leopold to meet me in a cave far from the palace—”
“But she knew all along that the wish would only be strong enough to save one of us,” Leopold finishes, “and she used it on me before I could stop her.”
“The wish…a diamond-like bracelet around her wrist?” Lord Savelle asks. Leopold and nod. “Princess Beatriz used hers to save me.”
“So we can’t count on Cellaria for protection,” Leopold says. “We can’t stay in Temarin, and Bessemia can’t be trusted. Perhaps Friv? Sophronia’s sister there might offer help—Daphne.”
manages not to make a face, but everything she knows about Princess Daphne tells her that help against the empress would be unlikely. Leopold is right, though—unlikely is the best chance he has of finding protection. , however, isn’t interested in protection.
“You three should head to Friv,” she tells them, pressing her finger to the wooden table to get every last crumb—who knows where her next meal will come from, after all. “I’ll travel on to Cellaria to find Beatriz.”
The three of them stare at her, shocked, but to it is a perfect plan. By entrusting Leopold into Lord Savelle’s care, she’ll no longer have to nanny him, and half her debt to Sophronia will be cleared. If she could rescue Beatriz as well, thinks, Sophronia would consider them even.
Lord Savelle is the first to break the silence, clearing his throat. “When we docked in Temarin, we heard a rumor among some sailors that Princess Beatriz and Prince Pasquale had been sent to a Sororia and a Fraternia in the Alder Mountains,” he says. “We’d hoped to gain the support of Temarinian forces before seeking to free them. Trying to do so without an army is…well…”
“A death sentence,” Leopold finishes. “The Alder Mountains alone claim a dozen lives a year, at least, and Cellarian Sororias and Fraternias are practically prisons. You can’t simply walk in and out.”
“I’ll go with you,” Ambrose says, taking by surprise, though when she meets his steady gaze, she knows there will be no talking him out of it. She nods.
“No offense, Ambrose, but that isn’t terribly reassuring,” Leopold says.
Ambrose shrugs. “I’d have turned around and gone back for them as soon as we heard that rumor, but I needed to get Lord Savelle to safety, like I said I would. is right—the two of you should continue on to Friv. We’ll return to Cellaria.”
“And do what?” Leopold asks.
glances at Ambrose. “I don’t know, but it’s a few days’ journey at least. Plenty of time to figure it out on the way.”
Leopold stares at , brow furrowed. After a moment, he gives a quick nod. “Fine, I’m going too.”
snorts. “You can’t be serious,” she says.
“I’m as serious as you are,” he says. “You aren’t the only one who owes a debt.”
Deep down, knows he’s right, that she isn’t the only one plagued by guilt and haunted by Sophronia’s death. For all of Leopold’s many faults, he loved her.
“You owe a lot of debts,” she counters, pushing aside any sympathy she feels. “Don’t you think they’d be better repaid in Friv?”
Leopold holds her gaze, but he doesn’t fight back the way she expects. Instead, he sighs. “No,” he says. “I don’t. Sophronia wanted us to go to Cellaria, to find Beatriz and Pasquale. Their current peril wouldn’t have changed her mind, and it doesn’t change mine.” He turns toward Lord Savelle, whose forehead is creased in thought. “Can you continue on to Friv on your own?”
“No one is looking for me. If I travel alone, I should avoid notice, but there is nothing for me in Friv. I have a distant cousin in the Silvan Isles—in Altia,” Lord Savelle adds, naming one of the smaller islands. “I’ll wait things out there, and if any of you have need of help or shelter, come find me.”
“With what money?” asks. “I thought you said you’d spent your last aster.”
Lord Savelle offers her a half smile. “I’m not so old that I can’t work for passage, my dear,” he says. “I’ll swab decks or clean fish if need be.”
“Here,” Leopold says, digging through his coat and producing a jeweled pin—the one he wore the night of the siege. It’s one of the few things he still has, in addition to his signet ring, diamond cuff links, and his velvet cloak with the ruby buckle. While the items are worth enough to keep them fed for a year or more, selling them in Temarin is too risky. Lord Savelle is right, though—no one is looking for him, and after the journey he’s had, no one will suspect he’s part of the nobility. They’ll assume he stole it, and likely praise him for it.
Lord Savelle takes the pin and pockets it. “And you three?” he asks.
“If you can work, so can we,” Leopold says, shrugging.
“There was an inn we stopped at on our way here, at the edge of the mountains,” Ambrose points out. “They let us wash dishes and muck stables in exchange for dinner and abed.”
“Sounds good to me,” Leopold says, and can’t help but snort. She doubts Leopold even knows what mucking a stable means. He has no business making this trip. He’ll only slow them down and likely complain all the while. She opens her mouth to protest again, but closes it just as quickly.
She promised Sophronia she would keep him safe. Keeping him longer in Temarin with Lord Savelle won’t accomplish that, not when the entire country is looking for him. Cellaria is the safest way.
“We shouldn’t dally, then,” she says, pushing back from the table and standing up. “The cottage might be abandoned, but I don’t want to risk crossing paths with anyone else—I doubt they’ll be as friendly as you two turned out to be.”