Daphne

The empress spends most of her first full day in Friv resting, but Daphne knows that her mother has eyes and ears everywhere, so she isn't surprised when she receives a pointed summons, demanding that Daphne join her mother in her rooms before dinner. She knows it will be about Violie and Leopold's sudden departure from the castle.

"This isn't Bessemia. She has no power to issue orders as if Friv is hers," Bairre mutters from his place sitting cross-legged at the foot of their bed, watching as Daphne bustles around their bedroom, fussing with her hair in the vanity mirror, checking that her gown is pristinely pressed and fitted. If she has a hair out of place, her mother will notice. Daphne can see her, amber eyes fixed on any imperfection she perceives, nostrils flaring, mouth pursed. That look has haunted Daphne's nightmares for years, and she wishes she could say that that fear has gone away these past weeks, but it hasn't.

She knows there are bigger issues at play than how she looks, but it feels like one small thing she has control over.

"I think you'll find that my mother believes she has power everywhere she goes," Daphne tells him, pinching her cheeks to bring color to them. "But we have power too—enough that we know she hasn't sent scouts out of the castle to find Violie and Leopold. Not yet, at least."

"And that worries you more than if she had sent scouts," Bairre says.

Daphne's eyes find his in the mirror and she turns to face him, smoothing her hands down the front of her velvet skirt. "My mother is always a step ahead," she says softly. "So yes, I would prefer to know the direction in which those steps are heading."

Bairre pushes himself up to stand, crossing the room toward her, his expression so somber that Daphne has to fight the urge to smooth the furrow in his brow away with her fingers. "I'm not worried about Violie and Leopold," he says, reaching a hand up to cup her face, his callused palm against her cheek. "I'm worried about you."

Daphne forces a smile, trying not to give away her own fears, not only for herself, but for him, too. "We could always run," she says. "Leave Friv, leave Vesteria altogether. Head somewhere warm—a tropical island where no one has even heard the name Empress Margaraux before."

Bairre smiles too, but it doesn't reach his eyes and she knows he is only humoring her. "We could spend our days lying out on a beach, sunburn the biggest threat we face."

"Paradise." Daphne says the word on a sigh, wanting that life so badly it hurts. But then she thinks about Beatriz, about Violie and Leopold, Pasquale and Ambrose, about Cliona, Rufus, Haimish—even King Bartholomew and Lord Cadringal and everyone else in Friv who doesn't yet realize the threat her mother poses. About Friv itself, a country she was prepared to hate but has come to love. About the rest of Vesteria and what it will become if her mother gets her way.

Daphne knows she can't find paradise while the world around her burns, and looking up at Bairre, she knows he feels the same.

"Stars above, I wish we could be happy in paradise," he says, taking the words from her.

"So do I," she tells him. Then she kisses him all too briefly on the lips and pulls away, steeling herself to do battle with her mother. When she reaches the door, she pauses, turning back toward him.

"Do you have any more stardust?" she asks.

Bairre frowns. "We gave all of it to Violie and the others," he says.

"But can you get more?" she asks. "I want to try to talk to Beatriz again tonight."

Bairre opens his mouth—to argue, Daphne expects, to tell her that it's foolish of her to try again when her attempts haven't worked the last dozen or so times she's tried. But instead, he catches himself. "Do you think this time will be different?" he asks.

Daphne hesitates. Her mother said Beatriz had gone to Cellaria, but Daphne knows her sister wouldn't have gone without a fight. Her mother would have had an easier time of it drugging her, and if she'd been drugged, Daphne wouldn't have been able to reach her. It's possible that if she tries again, it will work. But does she truly believe that, or does she just want to try again out of habit and a growing sense of desperation? She casts her thoughts to Beatriz, several worlds away.

"I think…I think it'll work this time," she says quietly. "I just…feel it."

She half expects Bairre to laugh at her, but he doesn't. He just nods. "I can call in a favor," he says.

"Thank you."

"They're gone?" Empress Margaraux asks, eyeing Daphne over the top of her steaming teacup, brows raised.

Though she appears shocked, Daphne knows her mother well enough to know she isn't truly surprised.

"I'm afraid so," Daphne says, sipping her own tea. The sounds of laughter and music from the banquet hall below float up through the open window to the empress's sitting room, only serving to highlight the cold quiet.

Daphne would much rather be there, with Bairre and Cliona and the other Frivians, toasting and dancing before dinner is served, but instead she is here, struggling to perform a dangerous balancing act with her mother. She clears her throat and continues, spinning the story she and Violie devised.

"Leopold gave his excuses to Bartholomew—apparently he was alerted that one of his brothers had suffered a grave injury and he wanted to see for himself that he was safe," she said. "Violie elected to join him."

At that, the empress gives a short laugh. "Of course she did," she says, shaking her head. "I don't suppose you've managed to learn where his brothers are hiding?"

"I haven't," Daphne says, forcing a smile. It is the truth, too. When Leopold sent his brothers away from Friv for their safety, he wasn't certain he could trust Daphne, so Daphne arranged for Haimish to take them to a location only he, Leopold, and Violie would know. Haimish is Bairre's friend, and more hers than Leopold's, but his loyalty is, above all else, to Prince Gideon and Prince Reid. Now that she has more firmly earned Leopold's trust, she supposes she could have asked for the true location of his brothers, but she didn't see the point in that; she knew that sooner or later, her mother would ask her this very question, and the less Daphne has to lie about, the better. She continues. "Surely Violie will tell you when she returns—unless you don't trusther?"

She asks the words idly, tilting her head to one side to regard her mother with what she hopes is an innocent expression.

The empress smiles. "Come now, Daphne, I raised you better than that—we trust no one."

"Of course not, Mother," Daphne says. "But I could hardly follow along, could I? And I'm sure you wouldn't have hired Violie if you didn't understand who she is and how she operates."

Her mother makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. "At any rate, I'm not concerned with Leopold or that girl, whatever name she's calling herself now. Temarin is mine, after all, and if he has an ounce of sense in that brain of his, he won't try to take it back. What I still do not have is Friv."

Daphne tries to hide her expression by taking another sip of tea. "As I shared in my letters and I'm sure your spies have told you, Friv is on the verge of a civil war and it is only a matter of time before it's vulnerable." A shade of truth, if not all of it. "I've been urging things along, stoking tensions between Bartholomew's court and the rebels—though they are one and the same in quite a few cases. Now that I'm officially princess of Friv and queen-to-be, I'll be able to redouble my efforts. Patience, Mama. Friv will fall."

The empress's nostrils flare, but that is the only visible reaction she has to Daphne's words. "If I truly believed you had the matter well in hand, I wouldn't have dragged myself up here in the dead of winter, Daphne," she says.

The words pierce through Daphne's armor, wounding her. Despite everything Daphne knows to be true of her mother, despite how much she tells herself she doesn't need or want her approval, the words still sting.

"The situation in Friv is complicated," she says tightly. "But I don't believe anyone could do a better job of driving it to war—not even you."

The empress's eyes spark, and a cruel smile curls over her lips. "I'd like to see that for myself," she says. "You mentioned in your letters that Lord Panlington was heading the rebellion?"

Daphne nods even as she curses her past self, so anxious to impress her mother that she'd told her far more than she should have. She was such a fool.

"I've issued an invitation for him to join me for lunch tomorrow and he's accepted," the empress says. "You'll joinus."

Daphne's stomach sours, but she manages to maintain her smile. "Of course, Mama."

"You'll bring your husband, too," the empress adds.

Daphne laughs. "That's hardly necessary—Bairre doesn't know anything about anything."

When her mother's red-painted lips purse, Daphne knows she's misstepped. For a moment, her heart stops, panic turning her blood to ice.

"My spies tell me differently," the empress says slowly. "But then, I think you know that, Daphne."

Mind awhirl, Daphne takes a moment to gather herself.

"I'm sure your spies have told you that Bairre fancies himself part of the rebellion," she says carefully. "But he's nothing more than a pawn."

Daphne knows her mother won't believe her, but she doesn't need her to. She needs the empress to misunderstand the reason for Daphne's lie, so she lets a blush rise to her cheeks as she glances away, biting her lip. She summons the way Sophronia always used to look when she spoke of Leopold in their mother's presence, like she is trying—and failing—to hide just how much Bairre means to her.

Her mother clicks her tongue. "Oh, Daphne," she says. "I raised you better than that."

Daphne pretends confusion. "I don't know what you mean, Mama," she says, forcing a bright smile that doesn't actually feel forced at all. Better that her mother believes her a lovesick fool whose loyalties have shifted because of tender feelings for her husband than the truth.

"I'm sure you don't," the empress says, not even bothering to make the words sound true. "But all the same, I expect you and your husband at lunch tomorrow, and I'm sure you don't wish to disappoint me."

At that, Daphne's smile does feel strained, the souring in her stomach all too real. "Of course not, Mama," she says before standing. "We should get to dinner—the Frivians are beasts; if we tarry too long there won't be a crumb left."

Saying the words makes Daphne's skin crawl, but she knows she needs to maintain the illusion, now more than ever, that she detests Friv, that she views the people who live here as less than human.

Dinner passes in a blur, Daphne barely able to maintain small talk with the nobles seated near her as she keeps an eye on her mother across the table, noting who she's speaking to and doing her best to read her lips without anyone—her mother especially—taking note. As far as Daphne is able to tell, though, her mother is also only engaging in small talk, speaking about the weather with Lord Fulcher and about the design of her gown with Lady Uster. The empress is wearing what Daphne and her sisters used to call her court smile, the one that can brighten a room and entrance anyone she directs it at. The one that can fall away in an instant as soon as a door closes behind her, like a mask dropping at the end of a masquerade.

Daphne knows her mother well, though. She can see the subtle flare of her nostrils when she takes her first sip of Frivian ale, the nearly imperceptible flinch at Lord Fulcher's thick highland accent, the way her eyes linger disparagingly on Lady Uster's gown, pretty but unforgivably plain by her mother's standards. The empress's revulsion for Friv and its people is clear, to Daphne if no one else, and while that angers her, she's also deeply embarrassed by it—in no small part because she knows she acted the same way when she first arrived in Friv.

Daphne thought the stars would all tumble from the sky before the day came when her mother would mortify her like this, but the woman across the table isn't the untouchable goddess Daphne always viewed her mother as, a flawless, looming figure who could do no wrong and whose word was law. Instead, each time Daphne looks at her mother, she's struck by how sad she is.

Still dangerous, of course, but painfully human.

By the time dinner is over, Daphne feels a bit light-headed from one too many mugs of ale. She knows she should have kept her wits about her better, especially with her mother so close, but it feels nice, for just a moment, to enjoy the alcohol buzzing through her veins, the heavy feel of Bairre's arm around her shoulders, the way her body fits so perfectly against his as they stumble back to their rooms, Bairre every bit as tipsy as she is. They say good night to the guards outside their rooms and Daphne tries to ignore the knowing look the guards share, as if they know exactly what Daphne and Bairre will be getting up to tonight.

They're wrong, of course. As much as Daphne would like to spend the rest of the night wrapped up in Bairre, she won't. Now, more than ever, it's important that their marriage remain unconsummated, to prevent her mother from taking control of Friv should anything happen to Daphne. Should anything happen to both of them, she corrects herself, the thought sobering her. She glances sideways at Bairre as he opens the door to their rooms and ushers her inside, his hand at the small of her back.

Her conversation with her mother wasn't a shocking one, all things considered, but it felt like a bucket of ice water over her head all the same. If Daphne had been any less selfish, she would have tried to send Bairre off to Cellaria with the others, but she knows Bairre would rather have cut off his own hand than leave Friv. She loves him for that.

She loves him.

The thought is fuzzy and ale-soaked, but it sticks in her mind like tar. She loves him.

Also not shocking, but also like being soaked with ice water.

She should tell him as much. The words rise to her lips—I love you—but before she can give voice to them, Bairre reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a vial of stardust.

"Do you want privacy?" he asks her.

Daphne blinks before remembering their earlier conversation—she's going to try to talk to Beatriz again.

"No," she says, taking the vial from him. "Will you stay with me?"

"Of course," he tells her.

He shrugs out of his coat and helps her out of her own, hanging them side by side in their wardrobe. She walks from their sitting room to their bedroom, Bairre at her heels, and sits down cross-legged on their bed, her velvet gown surrounding her like a flower's fallen petals. After a brief hesitation, Bairre sits next to her.

Daphne looks down at the vial of stardust, turning the cool glass over in her hands. She's tried so many times to reach Beatriz that she's lost count. What if she's too late, what if her mother was lying and Beatriz is already dead? What if this attempt doesn't work either, if she is never able to speak to her sister again? The thought turns her stomach and she clutches the vial tighter in her hand.

No,she thinks. The stars themselves aren't going to keep her from her sister, not again.

She unstoppers the vial and smears the dust over the back of her hand, letting her eyes flutter closed.

"I wish I could speak to Princess Beatriz Soluné."

Everything is still and silent, Bairre's presence beside her the only thing Daphne is aware of. It didn't work. Disappointment seeps through her. She is just about to open her eyes when she feels a shift, her sister's presence as recognizable as the sound of her own name.

"Beatriz," she says, though she knows her lips don't move.

"Daphne?" Beatriz's voice is as clear as if she were standing next to Daphne.

At the sound of her sister saying her name, Daphne feels the tension go out of her, a breath filling her lungs completely for the first time in more than a week. Distantly, she's aware of Bairre's hand on her back, anchoring her.

"You're alive," she says, relief overwhelming her until she's dizzy with it.

"I'm alive," Beatriz confirms. "Fine, more or less, just inCellaria—"

"I know," Daphne interrupts. She doesn't know how long this connection will last and she doesn't want to waste time. "Mama made it sound like you went of your own volition, but I knew that wasn't true, even before Pasquale confirmed it."

Beatriz pauses as she processes this. "You've seen Pas?" she asks finally.

"Yes, he and Ambrose are fine. They're on their way to you now, along with Violie and Leopold."

At that, Beatriz lets out a low curse. "Why would you send him here? They'll kill him in Cellaria," she snaps.

Irritation flares. It strikes Daphne as almost funny that she can go from being relieved that her sister is alive to so annoyed with her in just a few seconds, but it's hardly the first time her feelings toward Beatriz have swung so wildly.

"Considering that Mama is in Friv, there seem to be few places he can go where someone doesn't want him dead," Daphne replies, her words sharp. "I thought he had a better chance in Cellaria, and I ought to add that I doubt I could have stopped him even if I'd wanted to." Beatriz sighs, and Daphne feels herself soften. "He's fine, Beatriz. I didn't have the chance to get to know him well, but he seemed to know what he was doing. And at any rate, Violie is with him."

"That does make me feel better," Beatriz admits after a moment. "I'm sorry I snapped—I didn't realize Mama was there in Friv. How are you?"

A sharp laugh forces its way out of Daphne. "Alive," she says. "Trying to stay that way."

"Does she know your allegiances have shifted?" Beatrizasks.

It's a question Daphne has pondered herself, but she can't come to a conclusion. It feels as if she and her mother are acting out an elaborate play each time they talk, speaking lines and pretending to be other people. But is that because her mother knows of Daphne's betrayal? Or is it because her mother has always been playing a part with her and Daphne is merely recognizing it for the first time?

"I don't know," Daphne admits. "She arrived when she received word Sophie was alive. She wanted to see it for herself."

At that, Beatriz laughs truly, and the sound wraps around Daphne like a warm hug. "I would give anything to have seen her face in that moment," Beatriz says.

"One day, I'll describe it to you in great detail," Daphne promises. "What about you? I'm imagining you being kept locked away in a tower somewhere in Cellaria."

"It isn't quite so bad," Beatriz says. "I'm managing things as best I can. Nicolo wants to marry me, and I think I can use him. It's Gisella who concerns me. I believe Mama's given her instructions to kill me. It's part of the wish she made with Nigellus before we were born—we have to die on the soil of the land Mama is conquering, by the hand of someone from there. By Cellarian hands, on Cellarian soil, is what he said about me."

So Daphne will need to be killed by Frivian hands, on Frivian soil. Which might explain why her mother hasn't made her move yet.

"And you can't simply…wish your way out?" Daphne asks.

There's a pause. "Pasquale told you?" Beatriz asks.

"He said you were an empyrea. I confess, Beatriz, I can scarcely believe it," Daphne says.

"Neither can I," Beatriz admits. "Especially since I can no longer do it."

"Oh," Daphne says, feeling herself deflate. "Nigellus must have told Mama—perhaps she's given you something that's muting your powers?"

"No," Beatriz says. "I have no illusions about who Nigellus was, but I know he didn't tell Mama anything about me. It wouldn't have been in his best interests to."

"Then why—"

"I killed him," Beatriz interrupts. "Nigellus, I mean. He was trying to wish on the stars, to take away my gift, and I…I couldn't let him do that."

Daphne goes still, words leaving her. She knows Beatriz had the same training she did. They learned how to kill side by side, with poisons, with daggers, with their bare hands if necessary. Daphne herself has killed her fair share of people since coming to Friv—the assassins in the woods; Ansel, who held a dagger to Prince Gideon's throat; Eugenia in her sickbed. But try as she might, she can't imagine Beatriz doing the same. But she did.

"I have to wonder if it's a punishment from the stars," Beatriz says when Daphne doesn't respond. "They gave me this gift, and now they've taken it away because I killed him."

"From what you've told me, Triz, if the stars hold his death against you, then I curse the lot of them."

Beatriz doesn't respond, but Daphne can feel her smile. "What, then?" she asks finally.

"I don't know," Daphne says. "But I'd wager I'll have a better chance of discovering what happened here. And when Pasquale and the others reach you, they'll have enough stardust with them to get you out no matter what power you may or may not have."

"It's dangerous," Beatriz says.

"It's worth it," Daphne replies, just before the magic cuts out and Daphne is alone in her head once more.