Violie

Violie is already awake when the soft knock sounds on the main entrance to the suite of rooms she and Leopold are sharing at just after five in the morning. During the year that Violie worked as a servant, she grew accustomed to rising early to get as much cleaning and cooking done before the royalty and nobility she worked for woke up. It is, she finds, a difficult habit to break now that she is acting at being royalty herself.

Most mornings since she's become Sophronia, she busies herself by reading some of the Frivian books left in the bookcase in the sitting room. Her Frivian was perfectly serviceable when she was acting as a common-born servant, but she has found it helpful to broaden her vocabulary, and reading has helped her to do that. Occasionally, she files away words to ask Daphne, Cliona, or Bairre to define, but mostly she can figure them out from the context.

Today, though, she is bustling about the rooms while Leopold sleeps—dead to the world around him—ensuring that everything they'll need for their journey is packed and ready to go. She is about to wake him up when the knock at the door comes.

Violie grabs her dagger from her bedside table as she makes her way toward the door. She knows it's most likely Daphne, and that anyone sent by the empress certainly wouldn't bother knocking, but one can never be too careful.

Sure enough, when Violie opens the door she finds Daphne standing there, and her grip on her dagger loosens. But Daphne isn't alone. Bairre is at her side, with two familiar faces just behind them.

"Ambrose, Pasquale," Violie says, careful to keep her voice quiet as she ushers the four of them into the room and closes the door behind them. As soon as that's done, she gives both boys a quick, fierce hug. "I can't say I thought our paths would cross again," she admits.

"I hoped they might," Ambrose says with a smile. "Though I can't say I would ever have guessed I'd find you a princess the next time they did."

"Playing at one," she corrects. "And not for much longer."

Just then, Leopold appears in the doorway to their bedroom, bronze hair wild, hand raised to his mouth to cover a yawn. He blinks, taking in the sight of Ambrose and Pasquale in their receiving room. For a moment, he looks as if he suspects he's still asleep.

"Ambrose?" he asks, making his way toward them. "Pas?"

The three boys greet one another with firm hugs of their own.

"They arrived at our door just moments ago," Daphne says when Leopold and Pasquale break apart. Seeing the two of them side by side, it's still difficult for Violie to detect the family resemblance. They're only cousins, she supposes, but they couldn't look more different—Leopold broad-shouldered and strong-jawed, with the sort of golden good looks one would expect in a young king, Pasquale with his hair so dark a brown it's nearly black, and though he's a few inches taller than Leopold, he holds himself in a way that makes it look like he's trying to make himself smaller.

At least, that's how he used to stand. Looking at him now, Violie notices that Pasquale holds himself a little taller, stands a little surer.

"Beatriz—is she safe?" Violie asks him.

Pasquale glances at Daphne, whose face remains inscrutable, before looking back at Violie. "We don't know," he admits. "We escaped from the Bessemian palace and were on our way here—Beatriz spoke to you, then, didn't she?" he asks, looking at Daphne, who gives a jerky nod. "We reached an inn for the night; Ambrose and I stayed in one room, Beatriz and Gisella in one down the hall."

"Gisella?" Daphne interrupts, frowning.

"Oh," Ambrose says with a strained laugh. "There is more to catch you up on than we realized."

"Gisella is my cousin," Pasquale supplies. "Once, I considered her and her twin, Nicolo, to be friends. He and Beatriz…well…" He trails off, cheeks reddening.

Daphne rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath that to Violie's ear sounds like shameless.

"Long story short, Nicolo and Gisella betrayed us and Nicolo took the Cellarian throne after my father died. They're the reason Beatriz and I were banished to the Sororia and Fraternia in the mountains in the first place."

Events are clicking together in Violie's mind, but Pasquale isn't done.

"Gisella came to Bessemia just after we arrived, hoping to smooth things over with your mother, but she was imprisoned there instead. She helped Beatriz brew a poison to use on the empress, and in exchange, Beatriz promised to release her from the dungeon."

"I take it the poison didn't work, then?" Daphne says.

"It did, just not on your mother," Pasquale says. "Nigellus attacked Beatriz and she used it on him instead."

"Nigellus is dead?" Violie asks, and Pasquale gives a quick nod.

Margaraux said Nigellus paid the ultimate price for his foolishness, so she isn't surprised at the news, but Nigellus has been the most powerful empyrea in Bessemia since before Violie drew her first breath, and it is difficult to imagine that a man like that could simply die. But to hear Pasquale tell it, he isn't just dead, but killed, and by Beatriz no less.

"Gisella double-crossed us," Pasquale says, getting back to the story. "At the inn, we woke up early that morning to find them gone and a note."

Ambrose reaches into the knapsack he carries, bringing out a folded piece of paper and passing it to Daphne. Violie peers over her shoulder to read it as well.

Pas,

I won't ask forgiveness for this, but it's the only way. Run, now, before the empress realizes I didn't kill you. Never set foot in Cellaria again.

G

"Your mother was telling the truth, then," Violie says to Daphne, who nods.

"Apparently," she says, folding the letter again.

"Your mother…," Pasquale says to them before trailing off, his face turning a shade paler. "Wait…how did you know the poison didn't work on her?"

"Because at this very moment, she's in a guest suite down the hall," Daphne says. "Which is why you can't stay here."

"They can't come with us, either," Violie points out. "Considering that we're heading to Cellaria, where half the country wants him dead."

"Ah, but the other half wants to see him on the throne," Daphne counters. "That's certainly better odds."

"You're going to Cellaria?" Pasquale interrupts, looking between them. "For Beatriz?"

Daphne nods. "According to my mother, she returned there of her own volition to marry King Nicolo after you were tragically killed," she says. "Even before you arrived, I knew that wasn't true."

Pasquale, still pale, shakes his head. "In Beatriz's own words, she wouldn't marry him if he were the last person in Cellaria. And she told him so after threatening to throw him out a window."

Daphne gives a snort. "Always dramatic," she says, but there is more than a little fondness in her voice. "I've been trying to get in touch with her again using stardust, but I haven't had any luck. Do you have any idea why that might be?"

Pasquale and Ambrose exchange a look. "No, but there is one more thing you should know—she's an empyrea."

Daphne's dark eyebrows arch. "Gisella?" she says. "A Cellarian empyrea—I never thought I'd see the day—"

"No," Ambrose says. "Beatriz."

For a moment, Daphne stares blankly at Ambrose, then at Pasquale as if expecting him to correct Ambrose. When he doesn't, she laughs, the sound coming out half hysterical. "You're joking."

"We're not," Ambrose says. "Before he…died, Nigellus was training her. He said she had the gift to take stars down from the sky without killing them…or perhaps the gift to rebirth stars, it was too soon to say."

"That's impossible," Bairre says—the first words he's uttered since entering the room.

"Apparently not," Pasquale says. "But Nigellus also believed it was killing her to use her gift. Each time she did, she became more ill."

Daphne doesn't respond, her expression drawn tight.

"Still," Pasquale says slowly, "I thought, given that she'd been kidnapped, she might view using her gift as worth the risk to her health. Beatriz isn't the cautious sort."

"That's an understatement," Daphne says. "So why didn't she? If she's an empyrea, why not wish to be out of Cellaria? Why not wish herself here?"

"Unless she can't," Ambrose suggests. "What if there's something keeping her from using her magic? Maybe it's also keeping her from being able to communicate with you."

"Your mother," Leopold suggests quietly.

"She didn't know," Pasquale says. "That Beatriz was an empyrea, I mean."

Daphne reaches up to rub her temples, giving a humorless little laugh. "One thing I am absolutely sure of, Pasquale, is that my mother always, always knows everything."

"If that's true, Beatriz is in more danger than I thought," Pasquale says, his face turning a shade paler. "When are we leaving?"

"We?" Ambrose echoes, gaping at Pasquale. "Pas, Gisella said it herself—if you set foot in Cellaria again—"

"If I had my way, I'd never set foot in Cellaria again," Pasquale interrupts, his voice coming out harsh. "A week ago, I'd have said Nicolo was welcome to it, but he can't have Beatriz, Ambrose."

"From what I understand," Daphne interjects calmly, "my sister isn't your problem, Prince Pasquale."

Pasquale whirls to face Daphne. "Then you understand very little, Princess Daphne," he says. "For one thing, contrary to how you view her, your sister isn't anyone's problem."

Daphne blanches, looking, for the first time in Violie's memory, truly shocked. "That isn't…I didn't mean it like that."

Pasquale looks at her for a moment before softening slightly. "I know," he says. "It's true that Beatriz and I are married only in the most technical of senses, but we are friends, and we promised we would take care of each other. She's upheld her end of that promise time and time again, and it'll take more than a threat from my power-mad cousins to keep me from doing the same now. So, I will ask again: When are we leaving?"

Violie clears her throat. "Now," she says. "I'm sorry you won't have the chance for more rest—"

"I don't need it," Pasquale interrupts, glancing at Ambrose. "You don't have to come with me, Ambrose. The empress never saw you in person—you'll be safer staying here."

Ambrose shakes his head. "No, I go where you go, Pas," he says. "Though I'd have preferred a bath and a night's rest in a real bed," he adds in a murmur, earning a grin from Pasquale.

"You'll need to take stardust with you, and a lot of it," Daphne says. "Do you have an issue with using it?" she asks Pasquale.

Again, Pasquale and Ambrose exchange a look. Both of them were born and raised in Cellaria, where using magic and stardust is a sin of the highest order. Under Pasquale's father's reign, people were burned at the stake for breaking that law.

"No," Pasquale says, his voice coming out sure. "We'll take as much as you can spare."

"Take this, too," Daphne says, holding out her left wrist and unhooking the bracelet there—the same one Sophronia wore, Violie remembers. The one holding a single wish, more powerful than mere stardust.

"No," Violie says. "You should keep that. If your mother—"

"My mother knows exactly what it is," Daphne interrupts. "And I doubt she'll let me keep it if she views it as a threat to her—I'd be shocked if she wasn't conspiring to steal it even as we speak. Stars, if we didn't know Sophronia's and Beatriz's bracelets worked just as she said they would, I'd suspect they were tricks, meant to make us feel safer than we were."

"Why did she give them to you, then?" Leopold asks. "If she hadn't, Sophronia wouldn't have been able to save my life, and Beatriz wouldn't have saved Lord Savelle, complicating her plans in Cellaria."

Daphne turns to Violie with a furrowed brow, but before she can ask the question on her mind, Violie shakes her head. "She didn't tell me all of her plans," she says. "She only told me what I needed to know, and that certainly wasn't part of it."

For a moment, Daphne just stares at the bracelet in her hand; then she shakes her head and tries again to pass it to Violie. "Take it, for Beatriz," she says.

Violie shakes her head. "If I try to give that to Beatriz, she'll likely break my nose all over again for putting another one of her sisters at risk, and I doubt she'd offer me stardust to heal it this time. Keep it."

Daphne hesitates a moment, the bracelet outstretched toward Violie, but when Violie makes no move to take it, Daphne lets out an annoyed huff and reclasps the bracelet around her own wrist.

Daphne and Bairre go to gather the necessary stardust, leaving Violie, Leopold, Ambrose, and Pasquale to finish packing and make their way down to the stables, where the stablemaster has saddled two horses for them under Daphne's instruction and is quick to saddle two more. Just as the four of them are ready to mount their horses, Daphne and Bairre return, each carrying a bulging leather satchel.

"Courtesy of the rebellion," Daphne says, passing her satchel to Violie while Leopold takes his satchel from Bairre.

"Thank Cliona for me, then," Violie says.

Daphne snorts. "Oh, trust me, when she discovers it's missing, I'll be giving you the lion's share of the blame," she says before her smile slips and she grabs hold of Violie's hand, squeezing it. "Be careful, Vi."

"The same goes for you," Violie says. In truth, if she had to choose between trekking across the continent into a hostile country to rescue an imprisoned princess and sleeping beneath the same roof as Empress Margaraux for one more night, it would be an easy choice. But even if she doesn't envy Daphne her role, she knows that if anyone can survive the empress, it's Daphne. She has more practice than almost anyone else, after all. "Anything you want me to tell Beatriz for you?" she asks.

Daphne opens her mouth to answer, then closes it again, releasing Violie's hand and taking a step back. "Plenty," she says. "But bring her back here so I can tell it to her myself."

Violie nods. "I will," she says. "Try not to get yourself killed before then."