Beatriz
When the empress sends a messenger to inform that she and Pasquale are required in the throne room immediately, ’s first instinct is to take her time. Pasquale, however, hurries her along, all but dragging her down the hall as they follow the messenger. She supposes he’s used to catering to his own father’s whims—at any moment, Cesare could have been in the right mood to have them executed for the fun of it. knows her mother well enough to know just how far she can push her before she snaps, and dawdling has only ever been enough to annoy her.
“It’s smart to stay on her good side,” Pasquale says with an apologetic smile when she tries to tell him as much.
knows he’s right, but she can’t help but want to needle her mother every chance she gets. Every time she manages to make the empress’s mask fall, even for an instant, takes it as a personal victory. But she knows, logically, that in doing so she isn’t doing herself or Daphne any favors.
The messenger ushers them through the doors of the throne room, but that is as far as they can go. The throne room is so packed with courtiers that can barely make out the top of her mother’s head where she sits on her throne, a silver-and-pearl crown resting atop her jet-black hair. The empress’s eyes find for just an instant before cutting away and focusing again on whoever stands before her.
frowns—why would her mother summon her and Pasquale here, only to ignore them? She opens her mouth to speak, but the empress gets there first.
“Let me see if I understand this, Lady Gisella,” her mother says, her voice booming, loud enough to be heard throughout the throne room. gasps at the name, and beside her, Pasquale goes stiff, his neck craning to get a better look. envies him his height—from her vantage point, she can see nothing.
“You’re telling me,” the empress continues, “that my daughter, Princess , and her husband, Prince Pasquale, were…overcome with a sudden bout of piety and elected to forgo their claim to King Cesare’s throne in order to voluntarily commit themselves to a Sororia and Fraternia in the Alder Mountains. I must confess, I have difficulty believingit.”
“I don’t blame you, Your Majesty,” Gisella’s voice replies, the sound of it enough to make ’s hands ball into fists at her sides. Even here, lying to the Empress of Bessemia, Gisella’s voice is smooth and melodic. is sure she’s smiling as she does it. “But Cellaria had quite an effect on the princess. She became an entirely different person in the few weeks she was there—and if you’ll forgive me for saying so, she took Lord Savelle’s imprisonment very hard. She wasn’t the same afterward. My brother—the king—and I didn’t wish to see her and Pasquale leave court, but try as we might, we couldn’t change their minds. I’m sure you know how stubborn the princess can be when she’s made her mind up.”
A murmur goes through the crowd, though a few of the courtiers standing close to and Pasquale have taken notice of them now, appearing as confused as feels. So this is the story Gisella and Nico are spinning in an attempt to avoid Bessemia’s wrath. She finds she’s a bit disappointed—even if hadn’t beaten Gisella here, she doubts anyone would have believed her story. The idea of choosing to live in a Sororia is laughable.
Rather than confronting Gisella about the lie, though, her mother purses her lips, as if she’s considering her words. “, in a Sororia,” she says. A few titters erupt from the crowd. “You’re right, of course, that she’s stubborn, and if this is the course she and the prince have chosen we surely must accept it. What path forward did your brother have in mind with this…new development?”
When Gisella speaks again, can hear the smugness leaking into her voice. It’s almost comical, how unaware she is of the trap she has wandered into. If she were anyone else, might even pity her for it. “King Nicolo would be honored if the treaty between our countries would hold. He’s aware that you’ve taken control of Temarin and would offer you his support there— Unlike King Cesare, he has no interest in expanding his own reach.”
“Yes, I’d imagine a young upstart boy barely out of the schoolroom would have enough difficulty running one country, never mind two,” the empress says, earning more laughter from the courtiers, and thinks she would give just about anything to see Gisella’s face. “Nevertheless, that is generous of him. Perhaps I ought to consider it.” She pauses and her eyes find ’s in the crowd once more. At a gesture of her hand, the crowd in front of parts and she gets her first glimpse of Gisella, standing before her mother dressed in a striking gown of red-and-gold brocade, her white-blond hair styled into an elaborate plait that drapes over her shoulder.
“What do you think, dearest?” the empress asks , and even though she doesn’t trust her mother, she knows she’s being given a gift, and one she isn’t about to waste. She steps through the crowd, the heels of her satin slippers clicking against the stone floor as she walks toward Gisella, Pasquale at her back.
“I think,” says, enjoying how Gisella’s shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice, even before she turns to look at , dark brown eyes wide and mouth twisting, “that Lady Gisella is very lucky that our palace dungeon is more comfortable than a Cellarian Sororia.”
Even though Gisella looks like she’s smelled rotting meat, she drops into a curtsy, her eyes never leaving ’s.
“Your Highness,” she says before her gaze darts to Pasquale. “Your Highness,” she repeats to him, staying in her low curtsy. “I see there’s been a…miscommunication.”
“Oh?” the empress says, a single eyebrow arching up. “Then by all means, Lady Gisella, please explain why you believe my daughter and her husband went voluntarily into a Sororia and Fraternia, when they claim you and your brother sent them there by force in order to steal a throne that is rightfully theirs?”
Gisella’s eyes dart between , Pasquale, and the empress. She opens her mouth, then closes it again, but no words come out.
“I thought as much,” the empress says, gesturing again. Guards approach Gisella, who allows them to bind her hands behind her back with a set of gold manacles.
savors the sight of them leading her away, and a quick glance at Pasquale confirms that he’s enjoying it too. They’ll take their joy where they can find it, thinks before turning back to her mother.
“It was very kind of her to fall into our laps,” says. “She’ll make an excellent hostage—she and Nicolo are very close. I’m sure he would do just about anything to get his sister back.”
The empress waves a hand and the courtiers file out of the throne room. When only she, , and Pasquale remain, she stands up from her throne and steps down from the dais onto the stone floor.
“It’s a boon we won’t waste,” the empress says. “I’ll write to this imposter king to let him know.”
“Oh, allow me to,” says, unable to hide a grin. Her mother narrows her eyes. “Please,” adds, and she can’t remember the last time she begged her mother for anything. For this, though, she’ll beg.
“It isn’t a love letter, ,” the empress says.
glances at Pasquale, realizing that if her mother is mentioning that in front of him, she has a clearer understanding of their marriage than thought.
“You once told me how important it is to know an enemy’s weaknesses,” she tells her mother instead. “I know Nicolo’s weaknesses.” I am one of them, she adds mentally, thinking about how he stood outside her bedroom window after being named king, begging her to be his queen.
She won’t tell her mother that, though. It would mean opening up a path toward her victory that doesn’t require keeping Pasquale alive, and won’t risk that.
“Very well,” the empress says. “Visit our new prisoner as well, would you? See if you can’t extract a few secrets out of her.”
Dear Nicolo,
I’m sure that by now you’ve received word of Pasquale and me escaping the Alder Mountains. It is a shame that news did not reach your sister before she sought an audience with my mother. Don’t worry—I’ll extend the same courtesy to her that you extended to us: imprisonment, but not death.
I told you once that I’d carry the memory of you as I last saw you, drunk, desperate, and disappointed, into my darkest hours, and rest assured that it’s brought me great joy. But I believe the sight of Gisella being dragged away by palace guards just may have supplanted it.
Enjoy your throne, while you still hold it.
Yours,
After sending the letter to her mother for approval, takes Pasquale down to the dungeon to visit Gisella, even arranging to have tea brought for them to enjoy. Much as she might like to deprive Gisella of all human comfort, the way she was at the Sororia, she knows that the show of kindness will knock Gisella off-balance far more than cruelty, and will need every advantage she can take.
And sure enough, Gisella isn’t quite able to hide her bewilderment as servants file into her cell, bringing a table, chairs, a silk tablecloth, and a painted porcelain tea set. As they set up, glances around the space—bigger than her room in the Sororia, but similarly devoid of windows. There is a narrow bed in one corner with a thin quilt draped over the foot, as well as a washbasin and a desk with a spindly wooden chair. Sparse, thinks, but nothing for Gisella to complain about, all things considered.
“I suppose you’re here to drag information from me,” Gisella says when the servants file back out. and Pasquale take their seats at the table, and after a moment of hesitation, Gisella does the same.
“It seems there’s much to catch up on,” says, reaching across the table to pour tea into the three cups. “I’ve written to Nicolo to apprise him of your…situation.”
“Am I being held for ransom?” Gisella asks.
“Not quite,” Pasquale says. “Much as Nicolo might love you, we all know he wouldn’t surrender the Cellarian throne to get you back safely. And I’m afraid ’s mother will settle for nothing less.”
“Execution, then?” Gisella asks, and despite the breeziness she tries to inject into her voice, hears a real thread of fear beneath the surface.
“It hasn’t been ruled out,” she lies, simply to keep Gisella on her toes. takes a sip of her tea and sets it down on the saucer. “The tea is quite good,” she says.
Gisella frowns at the cup in front of her. “Poisoned, I expect?” she asks.
laughs as if the idea is ridiculous. “I drank it myself, didn’t I?”
“My cup could have been poisoned,” Gisella points out. “Paint the bottom with a thin layer of poison paste, let it dry. When the hot tea is poured in, the poison dissolves.”
“My, that sounds like the voice of experience,” says with a grin before looking to Pasquale. “Perhaps we should be taking notes.”
Pasquale smiles back before reaching across the table to take Gisella’s cup. He looks at for just a second, giving her the opportunity to stop him, before he takes a sip of Gisella’s tea.
“You see?” he says, handing it back to her.
Pasquale’s blind trust in takes her by surprise for an instant before she realizes she trusts him just as much. A frightening thought.
Gisella glances between the two of them, her brow still furrowed in uncertainty.
“Oh, go on, Gigi—you must be parched from your journey here, and we’ve already established that we don’t want you dead.”
“Yet,” Gisella adds, but she lifts the cup to her lips and takes a long sip.
can see her tasting the tea, searching for anything that might be poison. When she finds none, she takes a longer sip.
“How long did you stay in Cellaria after we were sent away before coming to see my mother?” asks.
“Oh, are we getting right into the interrogation?” Gisella says, taking another sip. “I left a week after you did. There was some debate about sending a letter, but we thought sending me to personally appeal to the empress would be a show of trust and good faith.”
“That was a misfire,” Pasquale murmurs, earning a smirk from and a glower from Gisella.
“And in that week,” continues, “how was Nicolo’s court receiving him as king? I can’t imagine he didn’t ruffle a few feathers.”
Gisella’s jaw tightens, but she holds ’s gaze. “Oh, he’s very well liked,” she says before breaking off to cough. When she’s done, she continues. “He’s spent years making friends, and, of course, my father has spent decades doing it. Cellaria is happy to have Nico as a king.”
She coughs again, and schools her expression into one of concern. “Oh, it sounds like you’re getting sick, Gigi—luckily you’ll have plenty of time to rest and recover, I suppose.”
Gisella glares at her and takes another sip of tea.
“I have a question,” Pasquale says, surprising . His eyes are on his cousin, not hostile, the way suspects she looks, though not with the open expression he used to look at Gisella, either. “When did you decide to turn on us?”
Gisella blinks, the question taking her by surprise. finds herself curious about the answer too—not that it changes anything, she reminds herself. But still. She is curious.
“You served me an opportunity on a silver platter,” Gisella says. “I won’t apologize for taking it.”
frowns. “You’re saying that you had no plans to betray us until we told you about our plan to break Lord Savelle out of prison?” she asks.
“It was a foolish plan,” Gisella says. “We would have been fools not to take advantage of that.”
“But you and Nicolo started poisoning King Cesare long before then,” Pasquale says.
“Well, yes,” Gisella says with a shrug. “You can’t pretend to mourn him—I know you better than that.”
“Then your plan doesn’t make sense,” says. “You were planning to kill the king and conspire with Queen Eugenia…for what?”
“Oh, you puzzled that part out, did you?” Gisella asks, sounding unbothered. “We didn’t particularly care what the endgame was there—if Pasquale ended up on the throne, our status as his favorite cousins meant that we rose with him. If Eugenia succeeded in her plot to drive Temarin and Cellaria to war and managed to take the throne here, surely she’d reward us for our help.”
“You were playing both sides, then,” Pasquale comments. “How noble.”
“We were surviving,” Gisella corrects, her voice coming out sharp. “, you barely spent two months in the Cellarian court and even you know that is no easy feat. Yes, we poisoned a cruel king. Yes, we stepped on your necks to rise a little higher, become a little safer, a little more untouchable. You aren’t really mad at me for that, you know.”
“I beg to differ,” snaps, but Gisella ignores her.
“You’re mad at yourself for letting me—for letting Nico.”
doesn’t respond to that, in large part because she suspects Gisella is right. She finishes her tea and pushes back from the table, Pasquale a beat behind her. “Don’t forget my advice, Gisella,” she says with a saccharine smile. “I told you that you climbed so high the fall would kill you—I suggest that now is the time to brace yourself for impact.”
—
After leaving Gisella’s cell, and Pasquale return to ’s room, careful not to speak again until they are safely behind closed doors.
“Was the tea poisoned?” Pasquale asks, looking at with a dose of fear that makes her uncomfortable.
“Only with a truth serum,” she says, shaking her head.
He frowns. “I thought as much, but she did lie…didn’t she?”
gives a snort and shakes her head. “Oh, several times,” she says. “But try to tell a lie right now.”
Pasquale looks uneasy. He opens his mouth to speak and coughs. When it passes, he continues. “I trust Gisella.”
grins. “There, did you catch it?”
“The cough,” Pasquale says. His eyebrows arch up. “The cough precedes the lie. No wonder she kept doing it.”
“Precisely. If I’d given her a truth serum that prevented her from lying, she would have known. This way, she’ll never have a clue. It’s more subtle—we don’t know what the truth is, but we know what she’s lying about.”
“The court is turning against Nicolo,” Pasquale says. “That’s certainly interesting.”
nods. “Though not necessarily surprising,” she adds. “The Cellarian court is temperamental at best, and Nicolo inheriting the throne would have ruffled plenty of feathers. I expect there are a few families planning a coup.”
“Your mother will be happy to hear that,” Pasquale says, grimacing.
“I’m sure she would, but she won’t hear it from us,” says. “I’m not keen on giving her any more information that will encourage her to send us back to Cellaria at her earliest convenience. There’s more I need to learn from Nigellus, and if she tries to make a move against Daphne—”
“I understand,” Pasquale says. “But can you keep the truth from her?”
frowns. Maybe a few weeks ago, she would have said yes, but now she knows better than to underestimate her mother. And she understands what, exactly, is at stake if she fails. “I’ll have to,” she says, shaking her head. “There’s no other choice.”