Daphne
felt half asleep when their party of seven left the castle, the sun just barely risen. Now, she guesses it is close to noon and they are on horseback deep in the Trevail Forest. The forest takes up a large swath of central and eastern Friv, bleeding into the Garine Forest toward the west, though isn’t quite sure where the line between them lies. It stretches all the way to Lake Olveen near the eastern coast.
If her mother’s intelligence is correct, that eastern coast is where the kidnappers are taking Gideon and Reid, in order to get them on a ship out of Friv. Wherever Bairre has gotten his information, he doesn’t seem to know that part yet, but knows Bairre well enough by now to know that he’ll figure it out sooner rather than later. Her mother made it plain that needs to get to them first.
Her stomach lurches at the thought, but she shoves it down, focusing on Bairre. On his horse ahead of her, Bairre is deep in conversation with Haimish and a boy doesn’t recognize, though he looks close to Bairre in age, with hair as black as her own and what looks to be a permanent furrow between his brows. There is something familiar in his face, but try as she might, she hasn’t been able to place him. She knows she couldn’t have met him before, though—his accent is notably from the highlands, and she’s certain he wasn’t one of the highland guests at her failed wedding. But he seems to be a servant and it’s entirely possible she’s merely seen him around the castle and not heard him speak.
She shifts her gaze to Bairre, and as if feeling her eyes on him, he turns to look over his shoulder and gives her a small smile that she tries to return, even as the thought of what her mother has tasked her with continues to weigh her down.
He’ll never forgive you for it, a voice that sounds like Sophronia’s whispers in her mind. tries to dismiss it—after all, there are plenty of other things Bairre won’t forgive for when he discovers them—but it isn’t so easy. isn’t quite sure she’ll be able to forgive herself for murdering two innocent boys.
“I’m surprised you wanted to come along,” Cliona says beside her, jerking out of her thoughts. She turns to look at the other girl, riding her jet-black mare. Cliona doesn’t bother trying to mask her suspicion, and can’t quite blame her for that—in fact, if Cliona did believe truly wanted to make this trek in the freezing cold of winter, would be terribly disappointed inher.
“I might say the same,” says, deciding that the best way to throw off suspicion is through deflection, “given how you plotted against Cillian and his family. Did your father put you up to it?”
“No, actually,” Cliona says, turning her gaze back ahead of them. “But contrary to whatever you may think of me and my aims, I did care for Cillian. We were friends. I’d known him for as long as I could remember.”
glances at her sideways, unsure if Cliona is in earnest or if this is some new manipulation. If it’s the latter, isn’t sure what is to be gained by showing vulnerability. Cliona certainly can’t expect that it will cause to lower her guard or underestimate her. But if she is earnestly expressing regard for the dead prince, that’s even more bewildering, though Cliona herself has pointed out that they are friends, or at least something resembling friends.
Before the wedding, almost agreed, despite the fact that she’d never had a real friend before, but now it seems laughable. If Cliona knew what ’s mother had tasked her to do, even she would turn on her.
“You have some way of honoring that friendship,” says.
“My work with the rebellion was never about him personally,” Cliona says, shrugging. “I like to think he would have understood it, supported it even in time—Bairre thinks he would have.”
’s eyes drift back to Bairre, who is now focused on the boy she doesn’t know, nodding along to something he’s saying.
“Who is that?” asks, nodding toward him.
“I believe his name is Levi,” Cliona says, following her gaze. “A servant in the castle kitchens, though not one I’ve seen before.”
There’s a thread of suspicion there that picks up on.
“Is that unusual?” she asks. She hardly knew all of the servants at the Bessemian palace, and while the castle in Friv is smaller, with a smaller staff, knowing everyone on sight would be quite a feat.
“Perhaps, or perhaps not,” Cliona says. “There was quite a bit of turnover after the wedding.”
“The bomb, you mean,” corrects. “I can see how many people would find the castle an unsafe place to seek employment after that.”
Something that might be akin to guilt passes over Cliona’s face, but it’s gone before can say for sure. doesn’t want Cliona’s guilt, though. If anything, she’d prefer a reminder that the two of them are cut from the same swath of stars—ruthless and cold, doing what their parents decide is best without question. Certainly without guilt. Cliona can’t falter in that now, and neither can .
“Why is he coming along?” asks to change the subject. They brought a handful of guards with them—primarily for her benefit, she would guess—but no other servants. Not even her lady’s maid, to her disappointment.
Cliona shrugs. “That was Bairre’s decision, though Levi claims to be from near Lake Olveen,” she says, something in her voice setting on edge.
“Claims?” she asks. “You don’t believe him?”
Cliona watches Levi a moment longer, a frown tugging at her mouth. “I’m not an expert on every Frivian accent— I doubt anyone out there is—but I can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before.”
follows Cliona’s gaze to Levi and frowns. “Who do you suppose he really is, then?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” Cliona admits, seeming to hate saying those words aloud. “But I can assure you, I’ll find out. Will you help me?”
glances at her, surprised. In this, though, they are on the same side, she supposes. “What did you have in mind?” she asks.
—
The starjourn party has stopped for the night at an inn about a mile south of the Notch River, nestled in a clearing in the forest. A limited number of rooms is available, so and Cliona share one, while Bairre, Haimish, and the six other men traveling with them split two more rooms between them. After changing out of their riding clothes and taking turns bathing in a copper tub behind a trifold screen, and Cliona make their way down to the public room, where the rest of their party is already seated around a large table laden with mugs of ale and bowls of stew.
has eaten so much stew since coming to Friv that she believed herself sick of it, but after a day of riding, the smell of spiced beef makes her mouth water as soon as she joins the table, sitting between Bairre and Cliona, directly across from the unfamiliar servant boy—Levi, Cliona called him.
As Bairre passes her a bowl of stew and a mug of ale, notices that Levi is watching her—not staring outright, but his eyes keep darting over her, sometimes accompanied by a small frown. Perhaps it is only because she is a princess, and Bessemian, and he quite likely has never met a person who is either of those things before, let alone both.
“At the pace we’re traveling, we should make it to Lake Olveen by tomorrow night,” Bairre is saying to the table, dunking a piece of bread into his stew. “The summer castle isn’t officially open this time of year, but my father sent a letter ahead of us, so they’ll be readying a wing of it for our stay.”
recalls the map that hung in their mother’s office, how Friv’s summer castle sat on the eastern edge of Lake Olveen. It had been her hope that her time in Friv would be short enough that she’d never see it in person. She is, however, looking forward to seeing the northern lights. She finds herself thinking that she’ll tell her sisters about them one day, before she catches herself and remembers Sophronia. It is still such an easy thing to forget, still impossible to wrap her mind around. She pushes Sophronia to the back of her mind once more and hopes that this time, she stays there. It is difficult enough to think about what she is meant to do in Lake Olveen—the last thing she needs is the ghost of Sophronia here to judge her for it.
And Sophronia would judge her for it, she knows. Beatriz would too. But that is why their mother relies most on , why she chose her to be her heir. can’t let her down and put them all in danger.
As the conversation at the table breaks off into different groups, turns to Levi, eyeing the mug of ale in his hand—his first of the evening, she would reckon, though if Cliona’s plan is going to work, it won’t be his last.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” she says, offering him her most charming smile. “Lady Cliona says you work in the kitchens?”
“Aye,” he says, his eyes darting around the table as if he is looking for rescue, which strikes her as odd, though again she attributes it to his being unused to royalty. He seemed to have an easy enough time speaking with Bairre, but then, Bairre still balks anytime someone treats him like a prince rather than a bastard.
“I can’t imagine what could have brought you on this somber journey,” comments, never losing her smile, though Levi seems utterly uncharmed, even wary of her. Nevertheless, she presses on. “Did you know Prince Cillian?”
Bairre must sense Levi’s discomfort, because he turns away from his conversation with Haimish and toward them. “He’s from near Lake Olveen,” Bairre explains. “He’s familiar with the area, and he offered to join us.”
“Oh,” says, glancing between them with raised eyebrows before her gaze settles on Levi. “Will you be wanting to visit your family, then? Is their town on the way?”
“Afraid not,” Levi says. “They have a farm to the west of the lake.”
“Well, perhaps we can pass by on our return,” says, looking to Bairre. “It wouldn’t take much longer.”
Bairre stares at her like he’s never seen her before in his life, though after a moment, he shakes his head. “It will depend on the timing of the northern lights. They may show up tomorrow night, or not for another month, but if it tends to the latter we’ll be in a hurry to return to Eldevale.”
“Well, we’ll keep our fingers crossed, then,” says, turning back to Levi. “Do you have any siblings there, or is it only your parents?”
Levi appears a little flustered by the question, but after a second he gathers his wits. “I have a sister,” he says, and now his eyes don’t dart away. He holds ’s gaze. “Her name is Sophie.”
feels like the air has been knocked from her lungs—it isn’t an uncommon name, not the shortened version, though she would imagine it’s short for Sophia rather than Sophronia. Still, it takes her a moment to find her voice again.
“Oh,” she says, dimly aware of Bairre reaching out to touch her arm. “Older, or younger?”
“Younger,” he says without missing a beat.
“How old?”
“Fifteen.” His answers are coming quicker now, without much thought to them, which is exactly what wants. She pushes aside her discomfort over the name of his sister and continues.
“And how long has it been since you were home?” she asks.
“Six months,” he answers. “My wife is from farther north, near the Tack Mountains, but the cold isn’t good for her lungs and we decided to travel to find work in Eldevale, where the weather is more agreeable.”
can’t imagine Eldevale weather being called agreeable, but she supposes anything is warmer than the Tack Mountains.
“And your wife didn’t wish to join?” asks.
“Not in this weather, no,” he says. “She’s just getting settled in her job at the castle so we decided it was best she remain there.”
“And have you worked in kitchens before?”
“No, actually,” he says. “I was hoping for a job in the stables, but the cook required more assistance after what happened at the wedding.” He pauses, frowning. “I actually don’t know what happened at the wedding, since I arrived afterward and no one really said. They only talked around it.”
’s smile tightens. “A bomb went off,” she tells him. “Planted by Frivian rebels. The royal empyrea, Fergal, was killed in the explosion.”
He nods, considering this. She watches his expression closely, wondering if, perhaps, he is working for the rebels after all, or at least sympathetic to them. Cliona claims to know everyone loyal to her father, though unless the rebellion is even smaller than believes, Cliona must be exaggerating. But instead of discomfort or sympathy, a flare of anger brightens Levi’s blue eyes before he smothers it.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says after a second, taking another drink of his ale. “But I’m glad no one else was harmed.”
glances at Cliona next to her, where she is pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversation. For just an instant, Cliona meets her gaze.
“I am as well,” says.
“Especially after what happened in Kavelle,” Levi adds.
sits up a little straighter, struggling to hide her frown, though she can see the confusion on Cliona’s face as well. Most people in Friv, regardless of status or education, care little about what happens outside its borders, and they speak of it less—yet for a farm boy from northern Friv not only to know about the rebellion in Temarin but also to know the name of its capital city? It stretches the limits of ’s imagination.
There is no doubt left in her mind—Levi is not who he says he is.
—
leaves dinner halfway through to allow Cliona time to perform her own interrogation of Levi. By the time Cliona makes it back to the room they’re sharing, it’s past midnight. At her entrance, stops her pacing and looks up.
“Well?” she asks her.
Cliona sits down at the edge of the large bed, removing her shoes and stockings. “Someone trained him with a false history,” she says. “But after a few drinks, he did forget the details. He said his sister was thirteen, that his wife was from the Crisk Mountains, not the Tack Mountains, and he was very emphatic that we not go out of our way to travel by his farm so that he could visit his family.”
“And there was his knowledge of Temarin,” adds. “How many farm boys do you think know the capital of Temarin?”
“I would wager most nobles don’t,” Cliona says, shaking her head. “He isn’t a rebel spy—even if he was and I somehow didn’t know him—”
“His distaste for the rebellion was genuine,” finishes.
Cliona nods, her brow furrowed. “We should tell Bairre,” she says. “It isn’t safe to keep traveling with someone whose motivations we don’t know. You said yourself that whoever wanted you dead might still be out there.”
suspects she has a point—if he was sent to kill her, that might explain his discomfort around her—but still she shakes her head. “It’s better to keep him close so that we can keep an eye on him. If Bairre knows, he’ll dismiss him. He’s less of a risk if we understand exactly where heis.”
Cliona chews her lip, considering this, but after a second she nods. “There was something else he mentioned to you that I thought peculiar,” she says carefully.
frowns, searching through her memory of the conversation for anything suspicious, but nothing noteworthy comes up.
“He said his sister’s name was Sophie,” Cliona says. “Isn’t that the nickname you used for your own sister?”
“A coincidence, I’m sure, but there are plenty of Sophies in the world,” says.
“Perhaps,” Cliona allows. “But not in Friv. It isn’t a name I’ve heard of anyone here having, because…well…what does it sound like in Frivian? So-fee?”
has to think about it, though as soon as the answer hits her, her cheeks warm. It sounds like the Frivian word for a male appendage.
“Exactly,” Cliona says, reading her expression. “It’s difficult to imagine someone choosing to call their daughter that.”
“Then why…” trails off, a theory slamming into her that would explain everything—including why he would insist on coming on this journey. It would be a foolish decision, but from what she’s heard, King Leopold is a fool several times over.
“You know who he is?” Cliona asks, her voice sharpening.
thinks quickly, because if she is correct, the last thing she wants is for Cliona to know the truth. She decides to hew as closely as possible to the truth in her lies. “Bairre mentioned that there were rumors of the princes being seen near Lake Olveen,” she says. “Perhaps Levi isn’t Frivian at all but Temarinian—sent by Queen Eugenia to search for her sons.”
Cliona frowns. “It doesn’t make sense, though. Why not simply send him to Lake Olveen on his own? Why put up the farce?”
“Because she must suspect we had something to do with their disappearance,” says. “Bairre and I were the last people to see them, after all.”
Cliona shakes her head. “It doesn’t make sense,” she says.
“She’s a grieving mother,” says, shrugging. “I don’t expect her actions to make sense. But it does answer every question, doesn’t it? Even his distaste for the rebellion—he’s just lived through a rebellion of his own in Temarin.”
“Once again, they are not the same,” Cliona replies.
rolls her eyes. “Assuming I’m right, he doesn’t mean us harm,” she says.
“Assuming you’re right,” Cliona echoes, doubt lacing each syllable.
Let Cliona doubt her, thinks. She needs to see Levi again to be sure, but it explains why he looked so familiar to her. And if she is right, she needs to tread carefully—if he suspects she knows his true identity, he’ll run, and doesn’t expect he’ll fall into her lap a second time.
mentally drafts a letter to her mother as she tries to fall asleep that night, imagining how proud she’ll be when she learns that has solved her most pressing issue. But as she does, she realizes she knows exactly what her mother will tell her to do to keep Leopold from undermining their plans.
Her mission for this trip has gone from killing two Temarinian royals to killing three.