Violie
It’s easier than expected to secure employment at the castle. She and Leopold arrive at the castle kitchen the next morning and recite an elaborate tale they concocted of their travel from a small village in the Crisk Mountains, a remote enough area that it is unlikely anyone will be able to contradict their story. has even forged reference letters from a made-up inn, recommending her for employment in the kitchens and Leopold for work in the stables—two places where they would best be able to avoid notice from Princess Daphne and Queen Eugenia.
It’s ’s understanding that Princess Daphne did frequent the stables in Bessemia, enjoying at least one daily ride, but the royal stables in Friv are large enough that Leopold should go undetected. And if they did happen to cross paths, Daphne only knows Leopold from an outdatedpainting, and with his hair darkened to nearly black, it’s not likely that she would look at him long enough to recognize him.
As it turns out, though, all of ’s plans aren’t necessary. No sooner do and Leopold show up at the servants’ entrance to the kitchen than the head cook—a woman in her sixties with frizzy gray hair and dark brown eyes heavy with exhaustion—offers them employment with her, as a kitchen helper and Leopold assisting in transporting supplies from town to the kitchens.
“I’m sure a strapping lad like you would be welcome in the stables as well,” she tells Leopold. “But I’m quite desperate after that disaster of a wedding, and if you work for me, you and your wife can lodge together and work similar shifts.”
Which is how and Leopold find themselves in the kitchen at dusk after their first day of work, exhausted but too smart to complain about the labor or ask exactly what the disaster of a wedding the cook mentioned was. Leopold goes back and forth from the cart outside to the pantry, carrying large bags of grains, flour, and produce, and rolling barrels of ale. keeps an eye on the great pot of stew the cook has set about making, stirring it and adding spices. She thought it sounded like an easy enough task, but after an hour her arms are aching. Not nearly as much, though, as Leopold’s must be, she thinks.
Leopold is just bringing in two large milk pails when the cook drops the rolling pin she has been using to roll out short crust pastry.
“Oh, Your Highness!” she calls out, and Leopold and both freeze. For a moment, fears she’s addressing Leopold; then her mind turns to two other people who might be addressed by that title, both of whom and Leopold need to avoid. But when glances behind her, she lets out a sigh of relief: the cook is addressing a young man around her own age with dark brown hair and a moody expression.
assumes he must be Prince Bairre—King Bartholomew’s bastard son and the accidental heir to Friv’s throne. And Princess Daphne’s betrothed.
“I’ve told you not to call me that, Nellie,” he says to the cook, though his voice is soft and his smile kind. “You’ve known me since before I could walk.”
“True as that might be, you are a prince now. What can I do for you, Your Highness?” the cook replies.
Prince Bairre rolls his eyes, but again the gesture is more affectionate than anything. “Have you seen…” He trails off, glancing at and Leopold, who pretend to be focused solely on their tasks. “Have you seen Aurelia?”
Aurelia is the new empyrea, has surmised from other kitchen chatter she’s overheard today. She thought the Frivian empyrea was called Fergal, but the change seems to be a recent one.
“Can’t say I have, today,” the cook says. “Though a friend of mine in the stables said she left for the highlands yesterday—said she felt a starshower coming.”
Prince Bairre lets out a huff of a sigh before shaking his head. “Just as well—I’m heading in that direction myself in the morning.”
“Not another scouting party?” the cook asks. “You’ll forgive me for saying so, but there’s been no sign of those boys, Prince Bairre. I’m not sure another scouting party will suddenly change that.”
stiffens and glances at Leopold. Though his back is to her, she can see the sudden tension in his shoulders, the way he is hanging on every word even as he pretends not to pay attention.
“There have been some sightings of two boys matching their description near Lake Olveen,” Bairre says.
The cook doesn’t reply, though is sure she’s thinking the same thing has thought since hearing of the princes’ disappearance—if they haven’t been discovered by now and no ransom note has been sent, it’s likely they’re dead. The sightings very well may be no more than rumors, but if the princes did make it to Lake Olveen, it raises even more questions. There is nothing that far east but the Whistall Sea.
“It isn’t your fault, Prince Bairre,” the cook says instead, her voice softening. “The attack seems to have been planned—they would have been taken no matter who was watching them.”
“They should have had more guards,” Bairre replies, his voice turning gruff.
“For two little highland lairds?” the cook asks, her eyes cutting to and Leopold and narrowing. Bairre catches her warning and nods quickly.
“Of course, that would have been deemed unnecessary,” he says briskly. “But as it happens, I’m going to Lake Olveen on an unrelated matter. My father can’t leave Eldevale at the moment, but someone needs to take Cillian’s ashes east.”
frowns. Cillian, she knows, is the Frivian prince who died, Bairre’s brother, though that was months ago now. Admittedly, she doesn’t know anything about Frivian death traditions, but it seems like a long time to let pass before scattering ashes.
“We’ll need provisions, if you can spare them,” Bairre continues.
“Of course I can spare them,” the cook says, her voice softening. “Now out with you, we have a dinner to serve.”
Bairre gives the cook a small smile and offers his thanks before ducking out. Leopold only hesitates a second before following him, and knows deep in her bones that he is going to do something reckless. She moves to follow him, but the cook steps in her way.
“You aren’t due another break until after dinner,” she says, her voice full of steel.
thinks quickly, putting her hand to her mouth and feigning illness. “Please, I’m going to…” She fakes a gag and the cook is too quick to jump out of her way, letting run past her and after Leopold.
By the time she reaches the hallway, though, it’s too late. Leopold and Prince Bairre are already deep in discussion.
“I grew up north of Lake Olveen,” Leopold is telling Prince Bairre, still clinging to the accent they worked so hard on. It isn’t perfect, but close enough that Bairre might just attribute the flaws to regional differences. “It would be an honor to accompany you on Prince Cillian’s starjourn.”
The word starjourn is distantly familiar to , and while she’s sure it has something to do with Prince Cillian’s ashes, she doesn’t know more than that, though Leopold seems to.
“I appreciate the offer, but we’re traveling light. We don’t require any more servants.”
As Bairre begins to walk away, Leopold speaks again. “What about trackers?” he asks. Bairre pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a furrowed brow. “You said you were still looking for those boys—I’ve been hunting my whole life, I’m good at tracking.”
“Game,” Prince Bairre is saying. “Not people.”
“Similar idea, though, isn’t it? Looking for tracks, listening, et cetera,” Leopold says. “If there’s a sign of them near Lake Olveen, I’ll find it.”
wants to shake him. She knows that Leopold wants to find his brothers, she understands that, but she can’t let him risk his own safety. Though as soon as she thinks it, she realizes that sending Leopold out of the castle might be a sensible choice—it means there is less likelihood of him crossing paths with his mother or Princess Daphne, and gives a chance to keep an eye on both of them without worrying over him. If she could find some proof of Eugenia’s part in Sophronia’s death, she might just earn Daphne’s trust by the time Leopold returns.
“As I said, we leave first thing in the morning from the stables,” Bairre says, extending a hand, which Leopold takes in a firm shake.
—
The cook is understandably frustrated that Leopold is leaving so soon, but she is more exhausted than angry.
“I won’t tell you your job won’t be here when you return—I doubt I’ll fill it before then,” she says with a sigh.
When they’re back in the servants’ room they’re sharing that night, turns to face Leopold, watching as he bundles up his single change of clothes.
“This is a risk,” she tells him. “You know this is a risk.”
Leopold doesn’t answer for a moment, continuing to pack. Finally, he sighs. “They’re my brothers—the only family I have left. If there’s been a sign of them—”
“Your mother’s alive. She’s here,” points out, even as she knows that isn’t a winning argument. She hesitates a second longer. “Leopold, do you really think it’s possible that she’s responsible for their disappearance?”
Leopold, to his credit, doesn’t dismiss the idea as quickly as he would have once, but after a moment, he shakes his head. “I don’t see why she would have done such a thing,” he says. “If she wanted them dead, she would have left them in the palace with me during the siege. She went to great trouble to get them out beforehand. Why do all that, then cart them all the way to Friv, to have them”—he hesitates—“to have them kidnapped?”
considers it. “She’s in league with Margaraux,” she reminds him. “The kidnapping of two Temarinian princes, the last remaining heirs to the throne, as far as most know, might be enough of an excuse for Bessemia to declare war.”
“For foreign princes?” Leopold asks, doubtful.
“Not foreign anymore, though. Not really. Margaraux ‘saved’ Temarin from the rebels there, and she’s claiming to have every intention of turning the throne over to you if you’re found, or presumably Gideon. As of now, though, Temarin and Bessemia are under her rule. She could position an attack on your brothers as an attack on Bessemia, should she be inclined to. If they’re heading as far east as Lake Olveen, she could be trying to get them on a ship heading somewhere far away, though I admit that seems a bit merciful for her.”
Leopold considers that, his face going a shade paler. He does realize, thinks, that his brothers are likely dead. He might not be ready to face that fact, but he does know, deep down, that the chances of finding them alive are slim.
has to stop herself from reaching out to touch his shoulder. Instead, she balls her hand into a fist at her side.
“What is a starjourn?” she asks him.
He clears his throat. “Seems strange, that there’s something I know that you don’t,” he comments. “I feel like you’re constantly teaching me things.”
“I never learned much about Friv,” says with a shrug. “I don’t think Margaraux could have anticipated I would find my way here.”
“A starjourn is part of the funereal process, though it has to be done during the aurora borealis,” Leopold explains.
That has heard of, though she’s never been able to picture it, and any paintings or illustrations she’s seen have always seemed fake, in some way. Something so beautiful couldn’t possibly exist in nature.
“They only happen in late fall into winter, though there’s never a guarantee of exactly when,” Leopold continues. “But it’s customary in Friv to bring ashes of lost loved ones to scatter in a body of water under an aurora borealis, as a way of sending a lost soul back to the stars they came from. I’ve heard that the ceremonies are beautiful, though obviously, I’ve never been to one myself.”
“Why Lake Olveen?” asks. “There are bodies of water aplenty nearer to the castle.”
Leopold shrugs. “The aurora borealis is best seen farther north, from what I’ve heard, and it might be that there’s a personal significance in the lake,” he says before pausing. “I exchanged a few letters with Cillian growing up, before he…” He pauses again. “I didn’t know him well, I wouldn’t pretend to. The letters my parents forced me to write to him and Pasquale and even Sophie, at first, seemed like a chore. I’m sure they felt the same. But he seemed kind, and clever.” He shrugs.
isn’t sure what to say—she didn’t know Cillian at all, whether he was kind or clever doesn’t matter to her.
“While you’re gone, I’ll work on Daphne,” she says after a moment. “I’m not sure all the proof in the world will convince her of her mother’s involvement in Sophie’s death, but maybe I can prove Eugenia’s involvement at least.” When Leopold doesn’t respond, presses on. “She’s your mother—you know her better than anyone, I expect—” She breaks off when Leopold gives a snort.
“I don’t think I know her at all, all things considered,” he says, shrugging. “If I did, Sophie would still be alive and we wouldn’t be freezing to death in Friv.”
bites her lip. “But she is your mother—is there a weakness to exploit? A secret I should know? Anything that might come in handy?”
For a moment, Leopold says nothing, cinching the tie that holds his knapsack together. “She’s superstitious. It was a point of contention between her and my father—she believes in ghosts and hauntings and curses and he mocked her for it.” He pauses. “And despite everything else, I believe she does love me and my brothers. Perhaps she views me as a lost cause now, but I believe she would go to great lengths to protect them.”
nods, turning this over in her mind. It’s a cruel card to play and part of her is surprised that Leopold suggested it, but she supposes even his moral compass goes wonky where his mother is concerned.
“You should get close to Prince Bairre, if you can,” she tells him. “I don’t know much about him, but since Daphne has proven difficult, we might have better luck appealing to him. At the very least, he might provide some insight into her.”
“I’ll try,” Leopold says. “But I’m not good at this, not like you are. Manipulating and lying and using people.”
isn’t sure what to say to that, not sure if he intended the words as a compliment or an insult. “You haven’t had to be,” she says after a moment. “But you know what’s at stake now. Not only your life but mine as well, and your brothers’, not to mention all of Temarin. I don’t believe you’ll fail easily with that weight on your shoulders.”
Leopold swallows, but after a few seconds, he nods. “You should be careful here as well,” he says. “Underestimating my mother would be a mistake.”
thinks about Sophronia, who made that mistake. “Underestimating me is a mistake too,” she tells Leopold. “And it’s one I hope your mother makes.”