Daphne
wakes up just as dawn light is streaming through her still-open window, making her head throb. It takes her a moment to remember why that is—a lingering headache is an aftereffect of the knockout poison in her ring. The ring that was stolen by the Bessemian girl who claimed to know her sisters. Violie.
The next time you see Eugenia, mention my name and see her reaction.
sits up in bed, leaning back against the pile of plush pillows and realizing that she’s still dressed in the gown she wore to dinner last night. Violie tucked the covers up to her chin so that when her maid came to help her undress, she’d appear to have done it herself and fallen asleep early. A thorough plan, given that Violie would have largely been acting on instinct. She couldn’t have expected to find the poison ring in ’s jewelry case.
Which begs the question how she knew the ring contained poison. It was designed to look like any piece of jewelry, though knows Sophronia and Beatriz had the same rings. She doesn’t believe much of what Violie told her, but she was at least telling the truth about knowing her sisters—Sophronia’s love of baking isn’t widely known, and Violie’s description of Beatriz referring to as a ruthless bitch had to have come from the source. Besides, Beatriz does have a mean left hook—one has been the target of several times herself.
But the rest? That the empress was responsible for Sophronia’s death? That was a lie. The real question is whether it’s a lie Violie herself believes, or whether she has some ulterior motive for trying to turn against her mother.
And then there is the matter of Eugenia—who doesn’t trust but who is, at the moment, a grieving mother. That situation requires a delicate hand if she’s going to get any worthwhile answers.
Ignoring her throbbing head, climbs out of bed and strips off her rumpled gown, leaving it in a pile half under the bed where her maid might believe she missed it last night in the dark. She rings the bell beside her bed, and when her maid appears a moment later to help her ready herself for the day, she instructs her to send an invitation to Eugenia for tea.
“It’s my understanding that Lady Eunice has declined all social invitations since the disappearance of her sons,” the maid says, using the false name King Bartholomew gave Eugenia to keep his court from knowing he’s harboring a Temarinian dowager queen.
“Of course,” says, all wide eyes and sympathy. “But I confess I’m worried for her well-being. If Lady Eunice wishes to refuse me, I must insist she does so face to face.”
—
Tea is set up on the winter terrace, which is enclosed by glass walls and a glass roof that allow visitors to view the falling snow without enduring the cold. Three braziers are set up around the small table at the center to keep the space warm and comfortable, though knows as soon as she sets foot on the terrace that Eugenia will still find it too cold.
’s surprised to realize that she no longer does—a thought that disconcerts her. She doesn’t want to acclimate to Frivian temperatures.
She has barely sat down at the table when Eugenia bursts through the door, and when her eyes fall on , there’s a flash of fury before she manages to cover it with a congenial mask.
“Your Highness,” Eugenia says, ducking into a brief curtsy before sitting across from , who motions for the servants to bring out the tea and cakes.
“I’m so glad you could join me,” tells her, her own smile affixed to her face.
“I don’t believe I had much of a choice,” Eugenia says, barely masking the bitterness in the words. “I won’t be staying long—I can’t abide company these days, I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Of course,” says smoothly. “Why, when I received news of Sophronia’s death, I could barely stand to leave my room.”
“You understand, then,” Eugenia says, appearing to relax.
“Well,” says, still smiling, “my sister was slaughtered. As far as anyone knows, all three of your sons are still breathing. Unless you have reason to believe different?”
Eugenia must hear the test in her words, because she falters for just an instant before collecting herself.
“You’re young,” she says. “I envy you your hope. If the villains who kidnapped Reid and Gideon intended to keep them alive, they would have tried to extract a ransom by now, and Leopold could not possibly have survived the brutal siege.”
He did, though. That’s another thing Violie said that is sure is the truth. She considered sending scouts into Eldevale to search for him, but many of those scouts would doubtlessly be loyal to the rebels, and she doesn’t trust their motives. She’ll write to her mother this afternoon,though, to let her know that Leopold is nearby.
She thinks about Violie’s directive to mention her name to Eugenia and presses on with the line she spent the morning crafting.
“Tell me, I’ve been wondering about another person in the Temarinian palace—a friend my sister mentioned in her letters,” she says.
Eugenia frowns in confusion. “You’ll pardon me for saying so, Your Highness, but Sophronia had no friends. It wasn’t her fault, Sophronia was a dear girl, but Temarin has always been hostile toward foreign queens who lord it over them, and Sophronia had let her power as queen go to her head.”
That doesn’t sound like Sophronia at all, but bites her tongue and focuses on her task. She can’t let Eugenia distract her.
“It was a Bessemian girl, actually,” she says. “A maid, I believe. Her name was Violie.”
studies Eugenia’s response closely—the flare of her nostrils, the sudden stiffness in her posture. She knows the name, and hearing it makes her uncomfortable.
“I do remember Sophronia being fond of her maid,” she says carefully. “Though if you’re asking what happened to her after the siege, I confess I haven’t a clue. I always suspected, though…no, I shouldn’t say.”
“Say,” encourages, her voice coming out sharper than she intends.
Eugenia makes a show of hesitating, but understands that a show is exactly what it is.
“I always suspected,” Eugenia goes on, lowering her voice, “that she was working with the mob who besieged the capital. There was a rumor that she was…romantically involved with the young man leading them—Ansel, I believe his name was. I must confess that I’ve heard other rumors from some very reliable sources that she was the very person who captured Sophronia as she was fleeing the castle.”
—
Eugenia leaves moments later, not even finishing her tea or pastry, but before can do the same, Bairre steps onto the terrace, raking a hand through his hair and glancing around, his eyes lighting on her. From the look of his wind-mussed hair and dirty riding clothes, he’s come straight from one of the search parties that have been sent out looking for the princes.
“Any sign of them?” asks, getting to her feet, but Bairre shakes his head and she sinks back into the chair with a sigh.
Bairre fills the chair Eugenia just vacated, but wishes he wouldn’t. She knows what he’s going to ask her.
“Did you learn anything from Zenia yesterday?”
In all of the chaos with Violie, hasn’t quite forgotten her conversation with Zenia, but she’s no closer to knowing what to do with the information.
“We were right,” she tells him hesitantly. “There was more to Zenia’s instructions that she didn’t share originally.”
“What was it?” Bairre asks, leaning forward across the table.
“She was supposed to get me alone before giving me the poison, and she was supposed to take me somewhere. Her nanny had drawn it for her on a map. I went there myself yesterday to see if I might learn something.”
“Clearly, you learned nothing if you traveled into those woods alone,” Bairre says, but ignores him.
She bites her lip. “The place she was supposed to take me was just beside your mother’s cottage,” she tells him.
Bairre goes still, his forehead creasing. “The woods are vast,” he says, shaking his head.
“They are,” agrees. “But that’s where Zenia’s nanny told her to take me before giving me the poison.”
“Zenia got the location wrong,” Bairre says, shaking his head. “Or you did.”
“Does that make more sense to you?” asks him. “That I misread the map Zenia made, and in the forest you yourself just described as vast, I somehow ended up at your mother’s cottage? What would the chances of that be?”
“It’s more likely than the alternative,” Bairre snaps. “Are you forgetting that my mother saved your life?”
“Of course not,” says, keeping her voice level. “But I do wonder if she would have done so had you not been there, asking it of her.”
Bairre doesn’t speak, his jaw tense. forces herself to continue.
“She knew that a person both royal and star-touched would die. Perhaps she wanted to ensure it wouldn’t be you,” she says, as gently as she can.
“She wouldn’t—” Bairre starts, but he breaks off with a scowl. realizes that he knows she would. Maybe two weeks ago he wouldn’t have believed it, but his mother and the rebels had Fergal killed. Why wouldn’t she want killed too, if she thought it would protect Bairre? “She wouldn’t hurt those boys,” he says instead. “Do you still think the assassination attempts and the kidnappings are related?”
“I’m not sure they aren’t,” says carefully. “But there are too many pieces missing from this puzzle.”
Bairre drops his head into his hands, rubbing his temples. “We’re still searching for them. There were whispers of two boys that matched their description near Lake Olveen.”
“Lake Olveen?” asks, alarmed. “That’s all the way to the east.”
“A doable journey, if only just,” Bairre agrees. “The real question is why send them to Lake Olveen. There’s nothing out there.”
It’s a fair question, but not one she can answer.