Beatriz
The Etheldaisy Inn is just barely on the Temarin side of the border, Nigellus explained, though if they crossed any kind of border, didn’t see it. Nigellus might have mentioned more but even though he talked for most of the hour’s walk, ’s teeth were chattering so loudly she barely heard him.
Pasquale has kept an arm around her shoulders, but by the time they finally reach the inn’s great oak doors, can barely feel her skin anymore. She’s dimly aware of Nigellus ordering them rooms and hot baths, of Pasquale helpingher upstairs, of a strange maid undressing her and helping her into water so blissfully hot that steam unfurls from its sudsy surface.
She must fall asleep at some point, because the next thing she knows she’s burrowed under a mountain of blankets, in a bed much bigger than her cot in the Sororia but smaller than the bed she shared with Pasquale in the castle. Pas.
She sits up, blinking around the dark room, but she’s alone. She wiggles her fingers and toes, relieved to find that her time trekking through the snow caused no harm, though a part of her wonders if Nigellus’s magic helped with that, and if it’s another debt she will owe him. It’s a thought for another day.
She gets to her feet, determined to find Pasquale, since they couldn’t speak more than a few words while they walked. She’s sure they have much to discuss, but mostly she wants to assure herself that he’s safe.
As if he’s been summoned by her thoughts, the door opens and Pasquale steps inside, his eyes finding hers. He lets out a long breath.
“I thought I’d dreamt it all,” he says, sagging against the doorframe. “I was in my cell at the Fraternia, picking maggots out of the gruel they’d given me, and then suddenly I was in the snow, with you.”
He doesn’t ask a question, but knows he deserves an answer. After all the secrets they’ve shared, it should be easy, but Pasquale was born and raised in Cellaria, its customs are all he knows. He told her once that he didn’t believe magic was sacrilegious, the way most Cellarians do, but it is one thing to say so in the abstract, quite another to be faced with it directly.
“Close the door,” she tells him softly, sitting back down on her bed.
Pasquale does as she asks and comes toward her, his steps tentative.
“I’m not an idiot, Triz,” he tells her before she can speak again. “I knew you were hiding something—and I assumed you’d used magic to help Lord Savelle escape.”
“A wish,” she tells him, shaking her head. “My mother had given it to me before I left, in case of an emergency. Magic, yes, but not mine. Not that time, at least.”
He considers this. “The stardust on our windowsill?” he asks.
remembers being dragged before King Cesare, accused of using magic. She denied it then, she even believed that denial, though now she knows better. She remembers the servant girl who was executed in her stead.
She nods. “That was the first time. I hadn’t even meant to then. It took a while for me to realize I had. When I told you it wasn’t me, I believed I was telling you the truth. But this time, I meant to.”
She thinks about the star she wished on, the one she pulled down from the sky. There is one less star because of her. Several less, she supposes, if she considers the two she wished on by mistake.
“It was an emergency,” she says, to him and to herself. “I had to do it.”
She braces for judgment from Pasquale, but he only nods. “I’m glad you did, Triz,” he says before glancing at the closed door behind him and then back at her. “And the empyrea? Nigellus? He can be trusted?”
“Stars no,” says with a scoff. “He’s been my mother’s lapdog since before I was born, and I certainly don’t trust her.” She relays the details of Sophronia’s death and what Nigellus told her, that the empress had orchestrated it and had tried to have killed as well.
“But why rescue you, then?” he asks. “If your mother wants you dead…” He trails off, brow furrowing. “Perhaps you were safer in the Sororia. It could be a trap.”
“I thought about that,” says. “But Sophronia’s death was public, with an audience, and it gave my mother an opening to invade Temarin. Killing me in the Alder Mountains wouldn’t serve that purpose. It could be their plan, but they won’t enact it yet, and if they do, we’ll be prepared.” She pauses. “He wants to teach me how to control my power, and I need to learn. Empyreas aren’t exactly commonplace.”
He nods, but he still looks troubled. “I’m sorry about Sophronia,” he says after a moment.
The words are kind, but feels them like a knife between her ribs. She gives a curt nod. “She wasn’t an idiot,” she tells him. “My mother always said she was, but Sophronia was smart. It was the kindness. She was too kind, and it got her killed.”
Pasquale must hear the warning in her voice—she hopes he does. She doesn’t know what she will do if she loses him,too.
She clears her throat. “And then there’s Nico and Gigi to worry about. I don’t imagine they’ll be thrilled to learn we’ve escaped.”
Pasquale lets out something akin to a laugh. “I’d give just about anything to see their faces when they hear,” he says.
smiles too, but she still feels hollow. Not even the thought of Gisella’s face, red with rage, or Nicolo’s guilty eyes is enough to fill her with joy or anything close to it.
Pasquale’s smile fades and he drops his gaze from hers. “You haven’t asked me how the Fraternia was.”
“Oh,” says, frowning. “I assumed it was like the Sororia, more or less. Lonely. Boring. Though I admit, bland as the food they served was, I never had maggots in mine.”
“The maggots were the least of it,” Pasquale says, shaking his head. He doesn’t elaborate and doesn’t push him. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “But in the hardest moments, I thought about what I would do when I got out. And the truth is, I didn’t think about Nico and Gigi and revenge, I didn’t think about Cellaria or being king. I just thought about Ambrose.” He pauses. Considering his next words. “Let Nico be king—it isn’t a duty I ever wanted.”
“They betrayed us, Pas,” says, struggling to keep her voice level. “They banished us to the mountains to die—they’d have had us executed if they could have.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Pasquale says, his voice mild. “If I recall correctly, Nico tried to get you to marry him.”
Heat rises to ’s cheeks. She was such a fool over Nicolo, and both she and Pasquale have paid for it. “And I said no,” she says.
Pasquale fixes her with a long look. “We never talked about it,” he says. “About what, exactly, was between the two of you.”
doesn’t want to answer that question. Whatever she thought was between her and Nicolo doesn’t matter—it was never something with a future, even before he betrayed her. She knows Pasquale won’t believe her if she claims she doesn’t miss him, or even Gisella, so she cloaks her broken heart in thorns of anger.
“The only things between Nico and me were lies,” shesnaps.
“Triz, I have no interest in defending him, but the lies were yours as well,” Pasquale points out.
hates that he’s right. “My lies never put him in danger,” she replies.
“No,” he agrees. “Only me.”
She bites her lip. “What, then? You want to just…forgive him? Forgive both of them?”
Pasquale shrugs. “Not forgive, no. But I don’t want to waste my life seeking vengeance against people who took something I didn’t want. Honestly, Triz? If I never set foot in Cellaria again, I will die happy. I don’t want to go back.”
It’s a radical statement, though not one that is surprised to hear. Pasquale has never wanted to be king, and if she’s honest, the role doesn’t suit him. But if he walks away from Cellaria and the throne, he’s also walking away from the only thing that truly binds them together.
“Where will you go, then?” she asks, trying to ignore the worry twisting in her gut. “I’m sure you’ll want to find Ambrose.”
He considers it. “If I knew where he was, I’d leave right this minute,” he says. “But I don’t, and I know myself well enough to know that I can’t survive out there on my own.” He hesitates. “Besides, Ambrose doesn’t need me right now. You do.”
bristles at that—she doesn’t need him, she doesn’t need anybody. The very idea of it is mortifying.
“I’m the one who just saved you, in case you’ve forgotten,” she tells him.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he says. “But we promised to look out for each other, didn’t we? That goes both ways. If you’re going to Bessemia, I’ll be right there with you. Learn how to use your magic, figure out your mother’s plans. And when the time comes to strike, I’ll strike with you.”
’s chest grows tight and all she can manage is a quick nod. “Then we’ll strike together,” she says.