Violie
It takes another day of travel for , Leopold, and Ambrose to make it to the inn Ambrose mentioned, but in that time learns more about their new companion than she could find out about Leopold in almost a week together. Though she would wager that Leopold would say the same thing about her—their days mostly passed in silence. Neither of them likes the other, and neither of them trusts the other, and so there has been little to discuss.
Ambrose, however, seems to like both of them right away, and he seems to trust them implicitly—a quirk can’t quite wrap her mind around. In just a day, has learned about not just Ambrose’s childhood in the Cellarian countryside but the names of his parents and their three dogs, and every detail of how he felt when his uncle named Ambrose his heir at the age of twelve and had him brought to court, where he met Prince Pasquale.
Though it’s one detail Ambrose doesn’t share, suspects there is something other than friendship between the two—it’s clear in the way Ambrose says his name, the slight color that touches his cheeks, the way he glances away. He isn’t very good at keeping secrets, realizes, and she finds that she envies him his lack of practice in that area.
never had any choice but to be a good liar. She doubts she’d have survived this long otherwise.
When the chimney of the inn pokes out through the trees, sags with relief. She doesn’t care how many stables she needs to muck or dishes she has to clean—she’ll happily cut off her own arm if it means she’ll have a bed to sleep in tonight and a full belly.
“We should give you a name,” Ambrose tells Leopold. “Technically, we’re still in Temarin, after all. We have to make sure no one recognizes you.”
Leopold frowns, considering it. “I could be Levi,” he says. winces and he gives her a sideways glance. “What’s wrong with Levi? It’s close enough that it should be easier for me to remember.”
“Nothing’s wrong with the name,” she says. “But the second you open your mouth, they’ll know you’re noble-born. Try not to say anything.”
Leopold’s jaw twitches and she knows if it were the week before, Leopold wouldn’t let anyone speak to him that way, especially not a lowly servant girl. But after a brief hesitation, he nods.
“Fine,” he says. “Though your Bessemian accent will raise eyebrows too.”
knows that’s a fair point, even if she is good with accents. Tired as she is, she doesn’t want to take that risk. “Fine,” she echoes. “Then Ambrose will take the lead.”
Ambrose looks uncomfortable with that idea, but nonetheless, he dips his head in assent.
—
The Etheldaisy Inn is small but well kept. As soon as sets foot inside, a wave of heat hits her and she realizes just how cold she was, trekking through the snow all day. An assortment of mismatched rugs covers the floors, leading the way into a parlor whose walls are covered in cheery paintings of the snowcapped mountains outside. On a small table beside the door sits a clay vase filled with the inn’s namesake flower—etheldaisies. takes a step closer. She’s never seen fresh etheldaisies before, only dried bunches merchants brought through the Bessemian markets, but she’s always loved them. Delicate white flowers that appear fragile but can survive the fiercest of blizzards.
A woman bustles in from the hallway, brushing her hands off on a dusty apron, cheerful smile at the ready, though when her eyes fall on Ambrose, it slips away and she frowns.
“Didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” she says, her accent mostly Temarinian, but with a Cellarian lilt around the vowels. “Though I did warn you there was nothing good to be found in Temarin these days.”
Ambrose glances at Leopold, then back at the woman. “Things have gotten worse, apparently. King Leopold’s been overthrown and Bessemia’s invaded.”
The woman considers this. “Well, from the stories I’ve been hearing over the last year, that might just be an improvement over King Leopold.”
This time, glances at Leopold, but if the dig affects him, he doesn’t show it. His expression remains placid.
“I see you traded your last friend for two new ones,” the woman says, her gaze moving to and Leopold.
“He and I parted ways when we heard the news,” Ambrose says carefully. “But I met and Levi and they’re going the same way I am. It’s safer to travel in groups, you know.”
“It’s safer not to travel at all, this time of year,” the woman corrects, and the way she frowns, suspects she’s truly concerned about Ambrose’s well-being.
Ambrose must see it too, because he smiles softly. “So you keep telling me, Mera,” he says. “Is there any chance we can work off room and board for a night?”
The woman looks between the three of them. “I could use some help in the stables again,” she admits. “I don’t suppose any of you know how to bake? A girl staying here has a sweet tooth, and I’d like to keep her happy.”
blinks. She helped Sophronia with her baking a couple of times, enough that she learned some basics. “I can,” she says, summoning her best Temarinian accent.
The woman’s eyes fall on and she nods. “Only one other group is staying here just now—a girl and a boy around your age and a man…” She glances back over her shoulder to ensure no one is listening before she drops her voice to a whisper. “He’s the Bessemian empyrea, if you can believe it.”
’s stomach plummets and before she can think twice, a name slips past her lips. “Nigellus?”
The woman’s eyes narrow. “There isn’t any other empyrea in Bessemia last I heard,” she says.
can feel Leopold’s glare and Ambrose’s worry, but she forces herself to smile. “I’ve heard rumors, of course. I imagine everyone has. They say he has the ear of the empress herself,” she says.
The woman keeps her eyes on for a moment longer before giving a quick nod. “Steer clear of him—all of you. He isn’t a friendly sort and I won’t have you bothering him.”
nods quickly. The last thing she needs is to be seen by Nigellus—though they’ve only met once before, she doubts he’s the sort to forget a face, and he’ll surely have questions for her.
Then again, has a few questions herself about what, exactly, the royal empyrea of Bessemia is doing so close to Cellaria, where a wrong look might lose him his head.
—
Mera shows the three of them to a small room with a small table holding a plain pitcher and a narrow cot set next to a washstand. Though the room is sparsely decorated, it’s warm, and that’s all cares about at the moment.
“This is the best I can do,” the woman says. “The empyrea and his companions are set up in my other three rooms—”
“It’s perfect,” Ambrose says. “Thank you, Mera. Let us know what needs to be done.”
“Nothing tonight,” she says. “You’re of no use to me hungry and tired. We’ll discuss it in the morning. Come down in an hour or so for dinner.”
When she’s gone and it’s only the three of them, lets out a long exhale. “Nigellus knows me,” she says. “He can’t see me.”
Ambrose and Leopold exchange a look but nod. “I’m not certain he won’t recognize me, too,” Leopold admits. “He’s seen portraits, I’m sure.”
“If Mera requires any work that risks being seen, I’ll do it,” Ambrose says.
“I have to admit, though, I’m curious what he’s doing here,” says. “He’s loyal to the empress—I can’t imagine what would bring him to Cellaria apart from Princess Beatriz.”
Leopold takes in her words, his eyes widening. “If the empress was responsible for Sophronia’s death—”
“He might be here to dispatch Beatriz as well,” finishes. “Mera mentioned companions, around our age. I know I wasn’t the empress’s only spy. Perhaps he has others with him.”
Ambrose has turned pale. “The real question is, are they on their way to finish off Beatriz, or are they returning home having already done it?”