Beatriz
makes her way down the palace hallway, two guards following her every step. One guard has been constant, following her, more or less, since she arrived back home—ostensibly for her own protection, though is sure that isn’t their only assignment from her mother. The other post has been rotating among three other guards so far. While none of them have been particularly chatty, she’s managed to extract some information from the head guard over the last few days.
Well, she knows his name is Alban, at any rate, and judging by how utterly impossible to charm he’s been, she would guess that his loyalty to her mother is absolute. Which is a shame, because he’s young and handsome and she would have had a good deal of fun trying to lure him to her side if she thought there was a chance he could be swayed.
She is on her way back from tea with a distant cousin on her father’s side—more out of boredom than anything else, as the woman prattled on about her gardening for more than an hour—and as she walks down the crowded hallway, a servant bumps into her, catching her arm to steady her.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” a voice says—a familiar voice, speaking in Bessemian but with a noticeable Cellarian accent. A piece of paper is pressed into her palm and she just catches sight of Ambrose’s face before he disappears again into the crowd.
“Are you all right, Princess ?” Alban asks.
“Fine,” she says, subtly tucking the paper into her pocket. She told Ambrose to let her know as soon as Violie’s letter arrived, and she would bet several bottles of stardust that’s exactly what he’s just given her. “I’m perfectly fine,” she adds.
She has to remind herself not to hurry, which would surely raise questions, but as soon as she is back in her room alone, she takes the letter from her pocket and opens it, her suspicions confirmed when she notes the unfamiliar handwriting in an all-too-familiar code.
She takes the letter to her desk and sits down, reaching for the quill in the inkstand and getting to work decoding. In the end, the letter reads:
Dear B,
You were right—D was less than welcoming upon our arrival, but I’ve managed to secure a position working at the castle. L did as well, just before he volunteered to accompany D, Prince Bairre, and some Frivian nobles on a trip to Lake Olveen. I tried to stop him, but couldn’t. He is in disguise, but I worry your sister will see through that quickly enough.
While I have no other news to report about D, Queen Eugenia is here in Friv, though I don’t know why. I would wager it has something to do with your mother. I will keep as close an eye on her as I can, though I must be careful as she will surely recognize me.
More soon,
V
immediately rises from her desk and crosses to the fireplace, tossing the letter in. As she watches the flames swallow Violie’s words, she turns them over in her mind.
She doesn’t like the idea of Leopold being so close to Daphne and knows that if her sister hasn’t uncovered his identity yet, she will soon, though there is nothing she can do about that short of trying to intercept any letters Daphne tries to send their mother. But that is a risk she can’t take, not when getting caught would put her and Pasquale at risk. No, Leopold made his choice and he will have to see it through.
Then there is the matter of Eugenia and her presence in Friv, something Daphne mentioned as well, confirming that it was, in fact, the empress’s plan.
returns to her desk to write a response to Violie.
Dear V,
I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that removing E from the equation altogether would solve quite a few problems, and I prefer not to leave anything to chance. It’s your choice to make, though.
As for my sister, let me know the moment she returns from her journey, or if you hear any word of her. Similarly, I will let you know if she reveals Leopold’s location to my mother, though I worry there will be nothing to be done if she has.
I know S loved him, but there is no saving a fool from himself, I’m afraid.
Your friend,
B
After finishing the letter, codes it and folds it into a small square, slips it into her pocket, and starts back out her door, giving the guards standing on either side of her doorway a bright smile.
“I’m afraid I lost a bracelet,” she tells Alban. “I know I had it when I left my cousin’s, but it must have dropped somewhere between there and here.”
And so Alban and the other guard follow as she makes her way through the palace hallway again, pretending to look at the floor but letting her eyes dart up to search the faces of the courtiers and servants bustling by, looking for Ambrose. She finds him standing beside a window and makes eye contact with him. He gives a small nod.
“Oh, here it is,” says, unclasping the bracelet she’s still wearing and crouching down, pretending to pick it up, her other hand going to her pocket where the letter is. As she stands up, Ambrose brushes past her, taking the letter, while she distracts the guards by swinging the bracelet in front of their faces.
When all else fails, she thinks, never underestimate the power of a very shiny distraction.
“Now I’m exhausted,” she says, faking a yawn. “I’d like to return to my rooms, please.”
The guards escort to her rooms once again, trailing behind her and not seeing the satisfied smirk she wears.
—
“Today,” Nigellus tells at her next lesson in his laboratory, “we are going to pinpoint the prime of your power.”
frowns, eyeing the instruments he’s set up on the worktable between them. A dozen vials of stardust; a collection of beakers that contain liquids in a rainbow of hues; a potted rosebush, its leaves wilted and buds closed tight; and perhaps most perplexingly, a sheaf of blank parchment and a pen.
“The prime?” she echoes.
Nigellus tilts his head, his silver eyes scanning her face as if looking for hidden answers to questions he hasn’t yet asked. “Empyreas can pull stars from the sky, but most go their entire lives doing so intentionally just once, if ever. There are other gifts that only we can wield, though.”
nods. “Like your gizmos,” she says, thinking of the bracelets he made for her and her sisters, each containing a wish stronger than stardust.
Nigellus’s nostrils flare. “My gizmos,” he repeats, voice dripping with derision. “I prefer experiments. Or apparati. Instruments, even.”
“Gadgets,” says, just to needle him. She’s rewarded by seeing his mouth twisting in a grimace.
“Are you quite done?” he asks.
can’t stifle a snort of laughter. “The other gifts,” she says. “Like prophecy? And amplification?”
Both of those she’s read about—empyreas with the gift of foresight are rare, but she’s thumbed through books of their prophecies in the library. The most recent volume is a century old. Amplification, on the other hand…
“Amplification is the most common,” Nigellus says, as if reading her thoughts. “So, we’ll begin there.”
He picks up a vial of stardust and passes it to , who turns the vial over in her hands, and he gestures to the wilted rosebush. “Stardust alone should be enough for you to wish it healthy again,” he says. “But if you have an inclination toward amplification, the wish should be so strong that the flowers bloom as well.”
nods, her brow furrowed. She uncorks the vial of stardust and sprinkles it on the back of her hand. She turns her focus to the rosebush. “I wish this plant were healed and thriving,” she says.
Nigellus gives a quick nod of approval at her wording, but his eyes are locked on the roses. watches too, her breath bated, as the leaves shift from brown to green, unfurling where they’d shriveled. The whole plant straightens, growing several inches taller in the process. But the flowers remain tightly closed.
“Hmmm,” Nigellus says.
’s mouth twists, but she tells herself it’s a good thing—she doesn’t have the most common prime. She has something rarer, it just needs to be discovered what.
“Perhaps you’re an alchemist, like me,” Nigellus says, though his voice is full of doubt. He passes her a rag to wipe the stardust off her hand, and when that’s done, he sets another vial of stardust in a holder that keeps it upright just before her, and he hands her a vial filled with amber liquid.
“Pine resin,” he says, eyes on as she turns the vial this way and that, watching the slow trickle of the resin from one end of the vial to the other. “On its own, it’s flammable. You’re going to add the stardust to it and use a wish to transform it into a flame, without the use of a spark.”
“Won’t a wish with stardust be enough to light it?” sheasks.
Nigellus shakes his head. “Not without an alchemy gift.”
concentrates on the vial of pine resin as she slowly pours it into the stardust, keeping a careful distance as she watches them mix. “I wish this pine resin would catch fire.” She braces herself for a pop of flame, but it never comes.
“Hmmm,” Nigellus says again, and this time, disappointment slithers through and takes root.
“Pick up the pen and paper,” Nigellus instructs her. He crosses to the side of the room where a rope and pulley hang. He pulls the rope and with a clatter, the roof opens up, allowing the stars to shine down on them. takes a second to scan the sky, noting the presence of the Hero’s Heart, the Lost Voyager, and the Clouded Sun overhead. Nigellus returns to the table and hands her another vial of stardust. “We’ll try for prophecy now,” he says when she takes it.
“Spread it on your hand again, but this time do not voice a wish. Instead, feel the stars above, soak in their light, and then write whatever comes to mind, even if it doesn’t make sense.”
gives him a skeptical look but does as he says, spreading the stardust over the back of her hand and bringing the tip of her pen to the paper. When she closes her eyes, she can feel the stars on her skin, shimmering and dancing like a gentle gust of wind. But try as she might to listen, no words come to mind. Her pen remains immobile on the paper. After what feels like an eternity, she glances up at Nigellus, who is watching her with a deep frown.
“Don’t you dare hmmm again,” she tells him, setting the pen down and reaching for the rag to wipe the stardust off her hand.
“Every empyrea has a prime gift,” he assures her. “Those are the three most common, but there are others that aren’t as easy to test for.”
“Like?” asks.
Nigellus thinks for a moment. “I’ve read about empyreas who could summon specific constellations into the sky, essentially altering fate,” he offers after a moment. “There hasn’t been one in centuries, but that’s a possibility.”
“Or it was only ever a myth,” points out.
Nigellus continues, ignoring her. “There have also been rumors of empyreas who can sense coming starshowers, able to pinpoint exactly when and where they will occur, but of course, we won’t be able to test for that yet either.”
hears the disappointment in his voice, feels it flooding her own veins. She feels like she’s failed. Much as Nigellus might insist that all empyreas have a prime gift, doubts she does. And if she doesn’t, what good is she? She can’t pull stars down from the sky without dire consequences, so what good is her magic at all?
She looks up at the sky, watching as the Hero’s Heart rolls out of the east. The Queen’s Chalice appears from the south, and ’s stomach clenches as she remembers the star she took from the constellation back in the Sororia. Guilt still nags at her over that, though she wouldn’t be standing here now if she hadn’t done it. Neither would Pasquale. She can’t regret it, but she isn’t proud of it either.
As her eyes scan the constellation, she frowns. Something isn’t right, she realizes. She hurries toward Nigellus’s telescope.
“?” Nigellus asks, but she ignores him, pointing the telescope at the Queen’s Chalice and fiddling with the dials on the side until she has a close-up view of the constellation, and all of the stars that make it up. Including one star at its center that shouldn’t be there.
“It’s back,” she breathes, forcing herself to straighten up and step aside so that Nigellus can see as well. “The star I pulled down, the one I wished on. It’s back. It’s small, dim, but it’s there.”