Daphne
reads Beatriz’s letter, rolling her eyes when she realizes that once again, her sister didn’t bother coding it as she should have. Unlike the last one, this one isn’t even written with any kind of hidden meaning. Though reasons that if she’s sending it from Bessemia, there’s no reason to expect someone would read it there. The Frivians very well may have, though as far as she can tell they didn’t—something that doesn’t surprise . Security in Friv has always been a bit lax, as far as she’s seen.
It’s kind of Beatriz to worry about her safety, she supposes, but after three assassination attempts and a bombing, the warning is a bit late.
I’ve every reason to believe Sophie’s death was orchestrated by an outside force makes hesitate. Sophronia’s death was orchestrated by the mob who executed her, which is enough of an outside force for , but Violie’s claim echoes in her mind—that the empress caused Sophronia’s death. Surely that can’t be what Beatriz means—even by her standards it’s ridiculous.
But the letter does mention Violie, though not by name. Sophie told us she had friends coming to find us. They found me, but I can’t keep them safe so I am sending them on to you. That can only be Violie and Leopold. Please protect them—if not for me, then for Sophie.
’s stomach twists into knots at that and she thinks of the letter she already sent to her mother, telling her that she believed Leopold was in Friv. It was the right thing to do, she tells herself, but she suspects Beatriz might have a point. Sophronia wouldn’t have wanted her to.
Sophronia is dead, she reminds herself. She trusted the wrong people—and it’s quite possible Violie and Leopold were among them. isn’t about to make the same mistakes.
Still, she rereads the last paragraph until her eyes blur.
Being back in this palace, in our old rooms, I miss you and Sophie so much it makes my heart ache. It still seems impossible to believe that I’ll never see her face again. I’ll never forgive you if you meet the same fate.
crumples the letter in her fist, blinking away her gathering tears. She throws the page into the dying fire and watches as it blackens and curls, her sister’s words turning into nothing but ash and smoke, though the echo of them lives on in her mind.
It’s only then that her eyes catch on another letter sitting on her desk, this one unmarked, though knows who it’s from even before she breaks the plain seal and pulls the single page from the envelope.
My dove,
I do hope you ’ re staying warm in Friv this time of year. Should you find yourself catching a chill, I ’ ve heard the waters of Lake Olveen can be quite restorative. Write back soon, your poor mother worries over you so. You have always been my stone in the storm.
The letter bears her mother’s signature, but knows there is more to it. Lake Olveen, she thinks as she crosses the room to her jewelry box, rifling around for a yellow sapphire pendant the size of an overripe strawberry—far too big for ’s taste in jewelry, though it wasn’t designed to be worn.
Returning to her desk, she smooths the letter flat and brings the taper closer. She bends over the desk so her face is mere inches from the letter and lifts the yellow sapphire to her right eye, closing the left.
More faint words come into focus through the yellow tint of the stone, also written in her mother’s hand. As reads them, her stomach twists like a fish on a hook before finally sinking.
I ’ ve received word that the kidnappers who have captured the princes of Temarin intend to flee Vesteria on a ship from Tack Harbor but, due to the weather, no ships are leaving for another week. They should be hiding somewhere near Lake Olveen until then.
Temarin ’ s rebels are beginning to rear their heads again, and I fear that some of the same villains who executed our dear Sophronia are still at large, intending to find and use the princes as weapons against us in order to reclaim Temarin for their own. The only way to protect yourself, Beatriz, and me is for the princes to disappear altogether.
You must find them first and leave nothing to chance. Do it as you see fit, but Sfelldraught would be the most merciful, should you be so inclined.
reads the message three times, sure she has misunderstood before finally convincing herself that she hasn’t, that her mother is truly giving her instructions to kill Gideon and Reid.
Sfelldraught would be the most merciful. If she had any doubt about what her mother intended, it disappears now. Sfelldraught is one of the more merciful poisons learned about in her lessons, and one of the easiest to administer. Just a few drops mixed into water—scentless, tasteless, quick. It isn’t easy to acquire, but knows there is a vial of it in the false bottom of her jewelry case—enough, certainly, to kill two boys with.
She doesn’t doubt her mother’s intelligence about the boys being near Lake Olveen. She wouldn’t have sent word to unless she was absolutely certain. And has enough confidence in herself to know that she will be able to find them there with relative ease.
No, the finding and the poisoning will be easy enough to accomplish, all things considered, but still the idea weighs down on ’s shoulders until she feels she might collapse.
Kill Gideon and Reid.
She tries to imagine it, the boys she met only briefly, dead. Dead by her own hand.
was raised for this, she reminds herself. And it will hardly be the first time she’s killed, but this will be different.
The only way to protect yourself, Beatriz, and me is for the princes to disappear altogether.
Those words send a shudder down ’s spine. Her mother has never been prone to dramatics. If she is saying that, it’s the truth. has already lost one sister—could she stand to lose anyone else? Is there anything she wouldn’t do to prevent that?
The question leaves feeling nauseated. She moves to throw the letter into the fire, just as she did with Beatriz’s, but pauses, hand stretched out toward the low flames, letter dangling between her fingers.
It doesn’t feel real to her, that this is what her mother has instructed her to do. If she burns the letter, it will be easy to convince herself that she never received it, that her mother never asked her to kill two innocent boys. She needs to remember just how real it is.
Rather than burning the letter, folds it into as small a square as possible. She goes back to her desk and finds her sealing wax, heating it over a candle before letting a drop spill onto the folded letter. Before it dries, she opens one of the small drawers on the right side of the desk and presses the letter to the top of the drawer, holding it there until the wax dries and the letter sticks, hidden from sight.
—
tries not to think about her mother’s letter over dinner in the banquet hall, instead focusing on keeping a close watch on Eugenia, though she pretends not to. She notices, though, how several widower lords pay Eugenia special attention, offering to refill her ale and fretting about her each time she shivers.
It isn’t surprising, supposes. Eugenia is quite pretty, and she’s sure the Frivians find her blend of Cellarian and Temarinian accents charming. The surprising thing is how shocked by it all Eugenia is. Each time a man pays her a compliment, Eugenia looks like she expects him to douse her with ice water at any moment.
filters through the information she learned about Eugenia in Bessemia. She wasn’t privy to the same intelligence Sophronia was given, since surely her mother didn’t foresee their paths ever crossing, but she remembers the basics, if only because her mother would often use Eugenia’s story as a warning to and her sisters.
Eugenia had been in the Temarinian court since she was only fourteen, though her marriage to King Carlisle wasn’t consummated until she was sixteen, but she’d never fully assimilated to life there, in large part because the courtiers refused to let her. They still saw Cellaria—and by extension Eugenia—as the enemy. The more thinks about that, the more sense it makes. is quite sure that even after King Carlisle died, no man dared flirt with the widow he left behind.
doesn’t pity Eugenia, not for that at least, but it does add another layer of understanding for the woman.
It doesn’t, however, give her any clearer idea of whether or not she should trust her. In all likelihood she should. Her mother’s letter recommended her, and Eugenia didn’t break into her bedchamber, threaten her life, and then knock her unconscious with ’s own poison ring. Eugenia said Violie was the one responsible for Sophronia’s death, and has no reason not to believe her.
And yet. There is something not right, some piece of the puzzle is missing, compounded by her mother’s letter and instructions to kill Eugenia’s younger sons. And on top of that, Beatriz’s letter implied that she should trust Violie, and protect her. doesn’t know what to make of it all.
“Did you hear a single word I said?” Bairre asks from beside her.
blinks, realizing he’s talking to her, has been talking to her for quite some time, apparently. She offers him a guilty smile.
“I’m sorry. My mind is elsewhere tonight, I’m afraid,” she says.
“Seems to be a habit,” he mutters, but before can respond, he speaks again. “I was telling you that I’m leaving tomorrow morning for Cillian’s starjourn.”
“Oh?” asks, focusing more on what Bairre is saying. She learned about the starjourn during her studies of Friv—a mourning ritual where the ashes of the dead are scattered beneath the northern lights. Frivian folklore says the northern lights are the dead, reaching down from the stars. There are stories of the dead’s making contact, but those stories were listed right along with tales of fairies and talking animals, so doesn’t give them much credence. Still, she can appreciate the tradition, and the northern lights are said to be an indescribable spectacle—one she is curious to see for herself.
“My father can’t go,” he says. “There’s too much to do here. But I need to.”
“Is it northern lights season already?” asks, blinking. As soon as she says it, though, she realizes it is. She’s been in Friv for more than two months now and winter has arrived in full force.
“I should have gone earlier, but with the wedding, it wasn’t feasible. Though, doing it now, I can be back before we try again.”
The way he says it, he doesn’t even bother making it sound real. He knows there will never be a wedding, and still hasn’t figured out how to force one.
“Where will you go?” she asks, wondering if his absence will be a boon to her or a curse.
“Lake Olveen,” Bairre says, and nearly drops her glass in surprise.
“Lake Olveen?” she echoes, struggling not to laugh. What are the chances of that? “Is it necessary to travel so far?”
“Cillian and I spent many summers at the palace there. He loved it, so it seems an appropriate resting place,” he says, shrugging before taking another sip of his ale. “And,” he adds, lowering his voice, “it will serve a double purpose—I told you there were rumors of the princes being seen near Lake Olveen, and they’ve only gotten louder.”
hides her expression by taking another sip of her drink.
He misreads her silence as skepticism. “They can’t simply have disappeared into thin air.”
isn’t so sure about that. There are many ways to dispose of bodies, after all, and more than a few that leave nothing behind but dust, ash, or animal excrement. Yet if her mother and Bairre have received word that the princes are near Lake Olveen, that word must be solid.
“Were you planning on inviting me to come along?” she asks, keeping her voice neutral.
Bairre frowns, glancing sideways at her. “You would hate it,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re constantly shivering here—Lake Olveen is far colder this time of year. And besides, Cillian—”
“Was my betrothed,” she interrupts. “Did it not occur to you that I would like to say a proper goodbye myself?”
“It didn’t,” Bairre says, and the words irk , though she has to admit that had her mother not instructed her to go to Lake Olveen, there wouldn’t have been enough stardust in the world to convince her to do so.
“Well, I would,” she tells him.
Bairre still shakes his head. “The aurora borealis is unpredictable,” he says before pausing. “There’s no telling how long we’ll be gone—a day, a week, a month.”
“Goodness,” says, forcing a flirtatious smile that even Beatriz would commend. “You’re telling me that we might be together, away from the prying eyes at court, in an empty castle for a whole month.”
Bairre’s cheeks flush, but he looks away from her and clears his throat. “Not alone,” he says. “A small party is coming along with me. Rufus, Cliona, Haimish—people who knew Cillian well.”
That isn’t all those people have in common. assumes Cliona has at least tried to turn Rufus to the rebellion by now, and she knows Cliona can be quite persuasive. She wonders if they’re going to Lake Olveen for more than the starjourn—and for more than the princes.
She turns to look at Bairre fully. “I’d like to go,” she tells him.
Bairre’s gaze searches her face. “Why?” he asks, sounding truly perplexed.
forces a nonchalant shrug, trying not to think about her mother’s letter, about Gideon and Reid and what she is meant to do. “When else am I going to see the aurora borealis?” she asks him.
Bairre lets out a belabored exhale, shaking his head. “Then you’d best go pack,” he tells her. “We’re leaving at first light and I won’t make an exception to my plans by waiting for you.”