Daphne
spends the entire day after her would-be wedding in bed, resting, though she tells anyone who will listen that she’s perfectly fine, every bump and bruise healed by Aurelia. No one listens, insisting that a little rest won’t kill her. isn’t so sure—the boredom alone makes death seem appealing, though she manages to write and code a letter to her mother, apprising her of the rebels’ latest move and telling her everything she knows about Aurelia, Bairre’s birth mother and an infamous empyrea in Friv who helped Bartholomew take the throne and end the clan wars. She considers telling her mother about Aurelia’s talent for prophecies, including the one about Sophronia’s death—the blood of stars and majesty spilled—but holds back. That information won’t help the empress now, and doesn’t want to write those words, to see them scrawled in ink.
The following morning, though, when Cliona asks if she’d like to join her for a shopping trip to Wallfrost Street, can’t get out of bed fast enough. Their last trip to Wallfrost Street ended with a blade being held to ’s throat, but even that is preferable to another day in this stars-forsaken room.
And this time, Cliona tells her as they ride side by side through the thicket of woods that separates the castle from the surrounding city of Eldevale, they aren’t merely going there in search of dresses and jewels.
“King Bartholomew wants to send a message that the attack at the wedding doesn’t frighten him, or you by extension,” Cliona says.
casts a glance at the ten guards who flank them—at enough of a distance to give her privacy, but close enough to send a message.
“The extra guards might undermine that message,” she points out.
Cliona shrugs. “Well, he wants to appear bold, not idiotic,” she says. “Someone did set off a bomb at your wedding, after all.”
“ You set off a bomb at my wedding,” hisses.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t know the first thing about explosives,” Cliona says before pausing. “That was Haimish’s job. And besides—you weren’t the target. You were never in danger.”
rolls her eyes. She believes Cliona means that, but it doesn’t bring her much comfort.
“Bombs are unpredictable,” she points out. “If Bairre hadn’t pulled me away when he did—a second before the explosion, which I hope no one else noticed—I’m not sure we’d be having this conversation.”
Cliona bristles. “No one noticed,” she says. “The explosion served as enough of a distraction.”
“It served as more than that,” says. “You meant to kill Fergal.”
She watches Cliona carefully, but no hint of guilt crosses her face. She shrugs again. “An unfortunate sacrifice,” she says. “But we needed an opening.”
The words turn ’s stomach, though she knows they shouldn’t. The cool way Cliona is describing a murder she helped to arrange isn’t so different from the way might. But when closes her eyes, she still sees Fergal’s disembodied head. Was that necessary? she wonders. If she’d been in Cliona’s position, would she have done the same?
knows the answer, and that unnerves her as much as anything else.
“Tell me,” she says, pushing the thought from her mind. “How exactly did you convince King Bartholomew to name his former lover and Bairre’s mother to the newly vacated empyrea post?”
“Necessity,” Cliona says. “Empyreas are a rarity, and Bartholomew can’t simply wait for another one to come along. Besides, Bairre’s parentage is a rumor, and you’re one of six people who know different.”
does quick math—if she, Cliona, Bartholomew, Bairre, and Aurelia know the truth, that leaves one person remaining. is fairly certain it must be Cliona’s father.
“Which begs the question: Why?” asks.
Cliona glances at her, the corner of her mouth kicking up in a smirk. “Last time we discussed it, Princess, you were saying you didn’t trust me. So why, exactly, should I trust you?”
She digs her heels into her horse’s sides and quickens his pace, leaving to catch up. lets out a Bessemian curse beneath her breath and glowers at Cliona’s back.
—
watches Cliona carefully after they dismount and turn their horses over to a stable hand before continuing down Wallfrost Street on foot, popping in and out of stores to browse, but even more so to be seen. is aware of the townspeople watching, peeking through windows and coming out to greet them on the street. A few are bold enough to call her name and wave. waves back, a smile pasted onto her face.
All the while, though, she keeps Cliona in her sights. The last time they came here, Cliona used the outing as an excuse to meet with Mrs. Nattermore, the dressmaker who also kept weapons and ammunition in her storeroom. But if Cliona has an ulterior motive for today’s trip, can’t find it. They make idle chat as they pass through stores— assuring anyone who asks that she and Bairre are perfectly fine, unfrightened, and looking forward to rescheduling the wedding as quickly as possible.
Cliona is free with her spending money, buying emerald earbobs, gray velvet boots, and an ermine cloak, but that in itself is unremarkable.
Eventually, they make their way back to the castle in time for dinner.
—
At the castle, dinner is a subdued affair—unsurprising, supposes, given the recent violence and the destruction of the castle chapel. The day before, she ate all of her meals in bed, so this is the first time she’s seen the effect of the attack on the court and the handful of highland families who remain. The tone is a far cry from her betrothal ball, where the ale flowed freely and the guests were loud and rowdy. Instead, it is more reminiscent of a funeral. Conversations are relegated to mere murmurs and few people seem to be drinking.
herself is seated with Rufus Cadringal on her left and Aurelia on her right, with Bairre directly across from her, though he is deep in conversation with Cliona’s father, Lord Panlington. Watching them, wonders what, exactly, they’re discussing.
She glances at King Bartholomew, sitting on Aurelia’s other side, at the head of the table. Does he feel a sword hanging over his head? she wonders. Does he know that the woman who pulled down a star to see him on the throne is the same one aiming to take it from him?
And still doesn’t understand why Aurelia has aligned herself with the rebels at all. Aurelia told her it was because of prophecies told to her by the stars that spoke of a coming war, but she didn’t tell exactly what they’d said apart from the blood of stars and majesty spilled, and that prophecy was fulfilled when Sophronia lost her head.
At the thought, ’s stomach lurches and she looks down at her half-empty plate.
“Are you all right?” Rufus Cadringal asks beside her. “You look a bit green…” He trails off. “You haven’t been poisoned again, have you?”
forces herself to smile at Rufus, who looks genuinely alarmed. She can’t blame him; he was there when she was poisoned before—his sister was the one to do it. “I’m fine,” she assures him. She decides the truth is the safest course. “Just thinking about my sister Sophronia.”
Rufus’s eyes soften. “I haven’t offered my condolences yet, but I’m very sorry for your loss,” he says.
has heard similar sentiments—more over the last few days than she cares to count. Polite and perfunctory words to which she responds with a polite and perfunctory Thank you.
But there is nothing polite or perfunctory in Rufus’s words. feels the weight of them, feels them burrow beneath her skin. She hates it.
“When I came here, I never planned on seeing either of my sisters again,” she tells him, the truth as he understands it, though not the truth believed. “We went our separate ways, into separate lives. In a way, Sophronia died to me the second our carriages left the clearing in Bessemia.”
“You wrote to each other, though,” he says.
shrugs. “It isn’t the same. I’d come to terms with the fact that I’d never see her smile again, never hear her laugh. I don’t think…” She trails off. “It doesn’t feel real yet. It doesn’t feel permanent. Maybe it never will.”
thinks of Beatriz and a thought suddenly occurs to her: Beatriz could die too. She could be dead already. Would even know if she was? What if she really, truly never sees her sisters again?
Suddenly, she remembers the night of their sixteenth birthday, when they’d escaped their party and hidden upstairs in their parlor, trading a bottle of champagne back and forth between them, arguing about which of them would be the first to execute their mother’s plans and return home.
“To seventeen,” Sophronia said, raising her glass of champagne.
remembers laughing. “Oh, Soph, are you sloshed already? We’re sixteen.”
But Sophronia only shrugged. “I know that,” she said. “But sixteen is when we have to say goodbye. By seventeen, we’ll be back here again. Together.”
lifts her mug of ale to her lips to hide the expression she knows gives her away. It isn’t that anyone would think it strange that she’s upset, given everything that’s happened the last few days, but feels like it would be a mark of weakness all the same, and she won’t show off her vulnerabilities, not when she is surrounded by wolves.
She pushes all thoughts of Sophronia aside. Focus, she thinks before turning toward Aurelia, who has barely touched her food or ale. Instead, the older woman is looking around the table with her unwavering star-touched eyes. When her eyes meet ’s matching ones, a single thin eyebrow arches upward.
“An aster for your thoughts, Princess ?” she says.
“I’m afraid my thoughts will cost you far more than that,” replies, making Aurelia laugh.
“It’s good to see that after so many mishaps, you’re still as witty as ever,” she says.
’s smile is tight. “Tell me, how have you found court over the last couple of days?” she asks. “It doesn’t seem like a place you would feel at home in, and I know you have gone to great lengths to avoid it.”
Aurelia shrugs, taking a small sip of her ale. As she does so, ’s eyes are drawn to the royal empyrea ring she now wears on her thumb—the same ring saw on Fergal’s severed hand.
“I think that you of all people would understand, Princess: we must go where we’re directed,” she says. “I’m sure if you’d had any say in things, you wouldn’t have chosen to come here either.”
can’t argue that—she often envied her sisters their destinies. Cellaria with its lush weather and beaches and Temarin with its lavish metropolitan capital city seemed far preferable to dreary, desolate Friv.
“I did my duty,” says, though the truth is she knows now that she might be the luckiest of her sisters. There may be people in Friv who want her dead, but they seem to be far less capable than those in the other countries.
“As did I,” Aurelia replies evenly.
But my duty didn’t involve killing anyone, thinks, though she isn’t sure that’s the truth. She killed several assassins in the woods, though that was in self-defense. Her mother prepared her to kill, though, and if she wrote to hertomorrow instructing her to kill, would do it.
Even if it were Bairre? a voice in her head asks. Even if it were Cliona? The voice sounds like Sophronia’s.
doesn’t want to answer those questions, so she shoves them to the back of her mind. It won’t come to that, she tells herself.
glances around the table, but everyone is engrossed in their own conversations. Her eyes briefly catch Bairre’s, but he glances away and goes back to speaking with Lord Panlington.
“Tell me,” says, turning her gaze to Aurelia once more. “Have the stars been saying anything new to you?”
sees the way one corner of Aurelia’s mouth pulls down, the way her eyes dart around, not searching for anything in particular.
“No,” she says carefully. “Nothing new.”
“You aren’t a very good liar,” tells her.
Aurelia’s expression sharpens into a glare. “It isn’t a lie. I’ve heard nothing new.”
“But you’ve heard something,” says.
“I’ve heard the same thing as ever, Princess,” Aurelia says, holding ’s gaze. “The blood of stars and majesty spilled.”
’s stomach twists, and though she’s eaten little tonight, she still feels like she might be ill. “That was Sophronia,” she says. “That prophecy has already come to fruition.”
“It seems the stars disagree,” Aurelia says, but as casual as the words come out, sees the tension in her jaw. After all, Bairre himself has the blood of stars and majesty running through his veins. As does . As does Beatriz, and the last time spoke to her, she was under house arrest in Cellaria.
The blood of stars and majesty spilled.
As far as knows, the three of them are the only people alive who are both royal and star-touched. Bairre, Beatriz, and . None of those are options will allow.
“The stars can disagree all they want,” tells Aurelia. “But in this, they’ll be wrong.”
Aurelia considers for a long moment. “Well,” she says finally, “there is a first time for everything, I suppose.”