Daphne
When and the others arrive back at Eldevale Castle, they find it in chaos.
“Someone tried to murder Lady Eunice last night,” the stable master explains to her as he and a handful of stableboys take charge of the horses. ’s mind sticks on tried to and she struggles to hide a grimace. Clearly, she’s overestimated Violie’s talents. She’s so engrossed in thinking about how she can do the deed properly that she nearly misses the stable master’s next words. “The villain has been caught, luckily, and Lady Eunice is expected to recover, though her maid wasn’t so lucky. It has put everyone in quite a state today.”
“Understandably so,” manages to get out. She thinks she’s hiding the maelstrom of her emotions well enough, but as soon as the stable master leaves, Bairre takes hold of her elbow, leading her away from the others.
“, what did you do?” he asks, and despite the tone of his voice, she’s almost glad that he’s speaking to her at all. He hasn’t said so much as a word in her direction since their talk at the inn the night before.
“Nothing,” says, which is true enough. She didn’t do anything, apart from pointing Violie in Eugenia’s direction. Before she can explain further, Leopold approaches.
“Someone tried to kill my mother?” he says, not sounding remotely upset.
glances between them. “I…used stardust to communicate with Violie. I mentioned that if she felt confident your brothers would be safe in Rufus’s care, it might be beneficial for her to take care of Eugenia herself.”
“You what?” Bairre asks.
exhales. “I know I have plenty of sins to atone for, Bairre, but arranging Eugenia’s assassination isn’t one of them. Tell him, Leopold.”
Leopold looks at Bairre. “She isn’t wrong about that,” he says. “The stars won’t darken when my mother’s life ends. But you can’t let Violie pay the price for it.”
Dread pools in ’s stomach and she knows Leopold is right. should have handled matters herself, even if it upset her mother, even if it revealed ’s new allegiances. We need you to be brave now too, , Sophronia’s voice echoes in her mind.
“No, of course I won’t,” says to Leopold. “But we need to think this through carefully—the reason I sent Violie to do it without me was so my mother would be unaware that my loyalties have shifted. If she knows they have, we’d best be braced for war.”
Her gaze lingers on Bairre. In an ideal world, she would have given him time to sort out his feelings and his alliances, to process everything she’s told him, but time is a luxury they no longer have.
Bairre holds her gaze for a moment and eventually gives a short jerk of a nod.
“Do what needs to be done,” he says, the words stilted.
It isn’t the understanding or forgiveness hoped for, but it’s enough, for now.
—
finds King Bartholomew in his study with two advisors she recognizes—Cliona’s father, Lord Panlington, and Lord Yates—the three of them deep in what looks to be a very serious conversation. When she enters the room the three men look up at her in surprise before the king rises to his feet, his two advisors following a beat later and all three offering deep bows.
“,” Bartholomew says, surprised. “I didn’t know you’d returned.”
“We’ve only just,” says with a smile she hopes is bright enough to hide her fear. “But Bairre and I wanted you to be the first to hear the good news.”
King Bartholomew raises his eyebrows. “Good news?”
glances sideways at Panlington and Yates, both of whom are watching her with unmasked curiosity. She returns her gaze to King Bartholomew and lowers her voice. “It might be best if we spoke in private?”
“Of course,” King Bartholomew says, waving a hand to dismiss his advisors. When they are gone and King Bartholomew and are alone in the study, she smiles.
“We were able to locate Gideon and Reid,” she says. “They are alive and safe.”
“That, at least, is good news,” King Bartholomew says, running a hand through his short-cropped graying hair. “Where are they now?”
“On their way somewhere safe,” says. At King Bartholomew’s confused look, she continues. “It did not seem the castle was a very safe place for them—I’m sure their mother will agree. We were able to locate an ally of their family’s willing to shelter them. Eugenia is welcome to join them as well,” she adds, a lie, but what she hopes is a believable one. That Gideon and Reid are on their way to an ally of their family’s is the only information could get from Leopold, and she hopes it’s enough for the king.
King Bartholomew lets out a sigh and sinks back down into his chair. “While I do wish I’d been consulted on the matter, I believe the two of you made the right decision,” he says. “I don’t believe those boys or their mother are safe under my roof.”
feigns confusion before letting understanding dawn on her face. “I heard word on my arrival that someone had been poisoned,” she says slowly. “Tell me it wasn’t Eugenia.”
“I’m afraid so,” King Bartholomew says.
“Is she…?” asks, letting the words trail off. She knows Eugenia isn’t dead, but she needs to know how severely she’s been injured. The poison she told Violie to use is a potent one if used at close range, but even in smaller doses it can cause long-lasting complications—muscular paralysis, bleeding in the brain, seizures.
“The physician says she’ll live,” Bartholomew says. “But she’ll have quite a long recovery ahead of her. Her maid wasn’t so lucky.”
bites her lip and glances away, letting her brow furrow. “I just don’t understand why someone would do something like this,” she says.
“The assassin herself was poisoned with the powder she intended to use on Eugenia. But as soon as she wakes, I’ll make sure I get that answer,” he says.
pauses. At least Violie is alive, though if she was poisoned, she might face the same long-term effects as Eugenia. And on top of that, knows the Frivians have no qualms about torture—it was used against those who arranged her own assassination attempts. King Bartholomew must misread the worry on her face.
“We have no reason to believe the girl was working with anyone else,” he says. “I can assure you the castle is quite safe.”
“Oh, that is a relief,” says before pausing. “How sure are you that she was responsible and working on her own? I’m having difficulty imagining a girl capable of assassinating a queen all by herself. Perhaps it was someone else and she was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
It’s a long shot, but has made convincing arguments out of less.
King Bartholomew frowns. “I find that difficult to believe, given the circumstances,” he says. “But, of course, she will be given a trial to defend herself and we will consider all evidence carefully before reaching a decision.”
“Of course,” says. “And when will that take place?”
“That depends largely on her recovery,” he says. “But I would like this matter dealt with as soon as possible.”
“I’m sure we all would,” says. She decides to press her luck further. “Perhaps I should speak with the assassin. It’s possible this is the same one who targeted me, is it not? If so, I would like the chance to interrogate her myself. It’s likely my doing so would unnerve her and give us our best chance of getting answers.”
King Bartholomew shakes his head. “Much as I admire your courage, I can’t allow it. The assassin might be a girl close to your own age, but she has proven herself dangerous, and it would be a mistake to underestimate what she’s capable of.”
wants to argue but forces herself to bite her tongue. She dips into a shallow curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty. Please do keep me informed, both about Eugenia’s recovery and the assassin’s trial.”
“Of course, ,” King Bartholomew says, inclining his head toward her. “Try to get some rest in the meantime, I’m sure your journey was very tiring.”
knows there’s little rest in her near future, but she nods and starts toward the door. When she reaches it, she pauses, looking back at King Bartholomew.
“It was a lovely ceremony, for Cillian,” she tells him. “Bairre gave a wonderful speech, and the northern lights were a sight to behold.”
King Bartholomew looks up at her again and offers a tight smile. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “I was sorry I couldn’t be there myself, but I hope he felt me there nonetheless.”
gives him one final nod before leaving him alone in his study.
—
has just barely finished her bath and is pulling her dressing gown on when there is a knock at her door.
“Come in,” she calls, tying the sash around her waist. She assumes it will be her maid, but when the door opens she turns to find Bairre in the doorway. “Oh,” she says, surprised, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s fully covered, she reminds herself, and he’s seen her in a nightgown, which showed significantly more skin. But still, he blushes as he closes the door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, not quite looking at her. “But it’s urgent.”
Bairre, she notes, did not take the time to bathe, though he at least appears to have washed his face and changed out of his riding clothes.
“You confirmed it’s Violie under arrest?” she asks, her stomach sinking even before he answers.
“It’s her,” Bairre says. “What did my father say?”
fills him in on the conversation she had with the king and Bairre nods, brow furrowed in thought.
“That fits with what I learned myself,” he admits. “Eugenia’s scream seems to have alerted her maid, who entered the room, surprising Violie into dropping the powder. Eugenia and Violie got smaller doses, but the maid died almost instantly.”
wonders if she should make an effort to summon guilt over the unknown woman, but there’s no time for that.
“Is that all the evidence?” she asks instead.
Bairre nods. “She was discovered in Eugenia’s bedchamber after a scream was heard. Three women were found inside: Violie, Eugenia, and the dead maid,” he explains. “That’s all the evidence, but it’s more than enough.”
“Only if Eugenia is in a state to identify her,” points out.
“Even if she isn’t,” Bairre says. “Immediately after guards arrived, Eugenia pointed Violie out. By then she couldn’t speak, but the guards believed her meaning was clear.”
’s mind spins. “Have they set a date for the trial?” she asks.
“The day after tomorrow,” he says. “The physician says that if Violie hasn’t woken by then, she never will.”
doesn’t let her mind linger on that thought. “Violie can say the maid did it,” she says instead. “That she happened to be walking by when she heard Eugenia’s scream.”
Bairre winces.
“What?” asks, dread pooling in her belly.
“There is another witness,” he says. “The cook, who Violie was working for, claims Violie—or Vera as she’s been calling herself—was fixated on Eugenia. She said something about a threatening cake?”
blinks, trying and failing to wrap her mind around what, exactly, a threatening cake is.
Bairre continues. “The story making its way around is that she was an angry Temarinian rebel who followed Eugenia here and has been plotting revenge for weeks.”
“Not the truth, but not so far from it either,” says, sinking down onto her bed. “I have to speak with her. Violie, I mean.”
“There’s more,” Bairre says slowly. “They’re saying she’s responsible for the attacks on you and on our wedding.”
“Who is saying that?” asks, frowning.
Bairre doesn’t answer right away. “I traced the rumor back to Lord Panlington,” he says.
stares at him. “The rebels are using her as a scapegoat too,” she says.
“It seems they…underestimated the negative effects of the bomb,” he says slowly.
can’t help but snort. “What, killing Fergal?” she asks. “I didn’t realize he was so popular.”
“He wasn’t,” Bairre says. “You, however, are.”
It takes a moment to understand what he’s saying. “Me,” she says.
“The story has spread throughout Friv now, carried by the common people and the lairds who came for the Wedding That Wasn’t, as it’s come to be called. Apparently everyone is talking about the foreign princess who was supposed to crumple at the first gale winds, but instead survived three assassination attempts—four if you include the wedding, which most do—and never cowered, a strong horsewoman and excellent archer who puts many Frivians to shame, and that was before you insisted on trekking across Friv in the dead of winter to partake in the funeral rites of the betrothed you never got to meet. Even in the few hours since I’ve been back I’ve heard outlandish tales of stags in the woods bowing to you as their queen, of how on our journey to Lake Olveen, you and your horse left a trail of daffodils in your wake, how when you made your crossing through the river into Friv, you did so nude so that nothing would come between you and your country.”
can’t help but laugh. “Well, that one you know is a lie,” she says, remembering how cold and miserable she was that day. If anything, she’d wished for more clothes. Bairre, however, doesn’t laugh.
“It isn’t a lie, not really. It’s a myth,” he says.
A myth they’re building around me, thinks, trying and failing to understand that.
When she doesn’t speak, Bairre continues.
“If the rebellion had set off a bomb at our wedding days after you’d arrived, they could have taken credit and people would have celebrated, . Maybe more so if you’d been killed as well. No one wanted you here—you knew that as well as anyone. But now…” He trails off.
“Now, I’m a folk heroine come to life, and the rebels have made themselves the villains of the story,” finishes for him.
“It isn’t the image they want to portray,” he admits.
“No, I’m sure it’s not,” she says. She glances at the clock in her room—it’s late, nearly midnight. “Nothing can be done tonight, Bairre,” she tells him. “But tomorrow, I think it’s long past time I spoke to Lord Panlington myself.”
Bairre doesn’t like that idea—she notices the way his frown deepens, his silver eyes narrow. Finally, though, he nods. “I’ll arrange it,” he says.
“Thank you,” she says before hesitating. “Really, Bairre. I’m sure the last thing you want to be doing is helping me clean up my mess.”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer, but finally he lets out a long exhale. “The thing about your messes, , is that they tend to drag the rest of us into them by force.”
He turns to go, but by the time he reaches the door, ’s anger catches up to her. “That’s very rich, coming from someone who let a bomb knock me unconscious,” she snaps.
Bairre freezes, and even though his back is to her, she knows her words hit their mark.
“I’ve told you the truth, Bairre, about everything, and there may be a lot that I’ve done that you might view as unforgivable, but we both know that goes both ways. The only difference is that I’ve told you my secrets; you’re still keeping plenty of yours.”
For just an instant, thinks he might turn back toward her, and she wishes he would—even if only to fight. But instead, he walks out of her room and closes the door firmly behind him.