Violie

Violie walks through Hapantoile for more than an hour, doing her best to get lost in the city that raised her. It's a losing battle. She knows the streets too well for them to swallow her up, though as she tries to disappear into the crowds, she notices how much has changed in her absence. Some shops have closed, other new ones opening in their place. Houses have been repainted, their gardens and window boxes abloom in new colors. One road has been repaved entirely—a relief, she's sure, remembering the pothole that claimed more than its fair share of carriage wheels.

The biggest change, though, is the people. She hadn't noticed when they arrived, too caught up in the prospect of seeing her mother again to pay attention to much else, but now she's acutely aware of the energy vibrating through the city. Hapantoile has always been lively and busy, but now there is a franticness in the air that is new and disconcerting.

Before long, she can pick out the Temarinians as well. Hapantoile has always had high turnover, with people moving to and from the city in droves, meaning even Violie's neighbors when she was growing up rarely stayed for longer than a few years. But she finds she can tell the Temarinians apart with ease. There is something skittish in their eyes as they push through the crowd, a protective hunch to their shoulders, an invisible wolf still nipping at their heels.

Violie soon realizes just how lucky Thalia is to have found a job at the Crimson Petal. The closer she gets to the palace, the more beggars she sees on the street, holding tin cups out to those passing by, who largely ignore them. Violie didn't bring her satchel, but she finds three asters in the pocket of her cloak and drops them into three tin cups at random. The sound of the coin hitting the tin is hollow and leaves Violie swarmed with nagging guilt.

Leopold shouldered the blame readily for what befell Temarin, allowing Elodia to lay the fault at his feet, but Violie knows that isn't fair. If there's blame to be assigned, much of it lies with her. Yes, Leopold was too oblivious to notice the rot at the heart of Temarin until it came for him, but Violie is the one who fed it.

Under Empress Margaraux's orders, Violie worked to weaken Temarin even before Sophronia arrived, intercepting letters when she worked for the duchess and sending the empress reports of Queen Eugenia's every move, along with everything she could discern about Leopold. And when Sophronia arrived, Violie was the one to finish what she couldn't.

What would have happened if Violie hadn't forged that letter from Leopold, declaring war on Cellaria? Would it have changed anything, or was the empress's plan too far along to be stopped? She'd allied with Eugenia by that point, hadn't she? Temarin would have torn itself in two with or without Violie's assistance.

Perhaps, she thinks, if the empress's plan had been executed as it should have been, with Leopold dead beside Sophronia, the empress wouldn't have met with so much resistance from its people. She would have been viewed as the savior she intended to be, her armies welcomed with gratitude rather than violence. But Leopold lived, and in doing so, he created enough uncertainty that a rebellion had blossomed.

With a sinking stomach, she understands why Leopold wants to return—not just out of guilt but out of hope—and an apology is the least of the debts she owes, not just to Leopold but to Temarin as well.

Violie returns to find Leopold still in the upstairs drawing room, but now the others have gone and only Thalia is there, sitting in the armchair with her back to the door so she doesn't notice when Violie slips inside. Leopold does, though his eyes don't waver from Thalia as she speaks, her voice soft, but with a quiet power behind it. She's speaking Temarinian, and Violie realizes that she's in the middle of the story of what brought her and her children to Hapantoile.

It's a hard story, with no lack of suffering, and one Violie doesn't particularly want to hear, but Leopold leans toward Thalia, bracing his elbows on his knees and listening intently. In the firelight, Violie can make out that his right cheek is distinctly pink—like he's recently been slapped, and hard. Thalia's doing, Violie guesses.

"I will carry your story and the memory of your husband with me always, Mrs. Eaves," Leopold says when she's finished, his voice solemn. "Had I known the suffering you and other Temarinians would feel in the chaos that followed the coup…" He trails off, only then looking at Violie before turning his attention back to Thalia. "When Kavelle fell and my wife, Sophie, was executed, I couldn't see past my own loss. I had my reasons for going into hiding, but whether it was the right choice or the wrong one, the journey changed me into someone who is no longer content to put my safety over the safety of others."

Violie watches as Leopold rises from his chair and drops to one knee in front of where Thalia sits, bowing his head.

"You have my apology, but I know it's little comfort. Perhaps a vow will be worth more to you—I swear in the name of all the stars above that I will take back control of Temarin, and if it is the last thing I do in this world, I will see you bring your children safely home."

Violie can't see Thalia's face and she's too far away to hear the words Thalia murmurs, but Leopold hears them, his mouth tightening as he gives a nod.

"I swear it," he tells her.

Thalia begins to rise, and Violie slips out of the door as silently as she came in, embarrassed to have witnessed the private moment. She returns to her room and sits cross-legged on her bed, and when a knock sounds at her door a few moments later, she calls to come in, knowing before he enters that it's Leopold.

When he closes the door behind him, he leans back against it and for a long moment, they just look at each other.

"We'll leave at dawn," she says finally.

Leopold pushes away from the door, shaking his head. "I told you, I can't go with you to Cellaria—"

"You and I," Violie interrupts, stopping him short, "are going to Temarin. Pasquale and Ambrose will have to rescue Beatriz on their own."

"They'll need your help," Leopold protests.

"You need my help," Violie retorts.

Leopold gives a halfhearted smile. "I did, once," he says. "And I know I wouldn't be standing here now without you, but you've taught me well. I can do this on my own."

Violie isn't sure he's wrong about that. The na?ve boy he was when they fled Temarin is gone, and the man standing before her now is strong, savvy, and more than capable of taking care of himself. She can't pretend she's going with him for his sake.

"You wish to atone for the ways you betrayed Temarin," she says softly. "So do I. But I'm not sure how much help I'll be—I was trained to destroy countries, Leopold, not put them back together again. Do you have a plan?"

"Right now my plan is to return to Temarin and see for myself what is happening there," he says.

"If what Elodia said is true, the empress's men and a Temarinian rebellion are fighting one another," Violie points out. "It's possible the Temarinians will rally around you when they learn you're alive, but if this Temarinian rebellion is anything like the last one, they may want you dead even more than the empress."

Leopold absorbs this with surprising ease. "Then I'm Levi again," he says, noting the common name he went by after fleeing Temarin.

It's still dangerous, Violie knows, but Leopold knows that too. She nods. "We'll have to tell Pasquale and Ambrose our plans have changed," she says.

Pasquale and Ambrose aren't surprised when Violie and Leopold tell them they'll be parting ways instead of continuing on to Cellaria and Beatriz with them.

"It's the right thing to do," Pasquale says as they eat supper together in the kitchen. The Crimson Petal couldn't close for the evening without raising suspicions, so Elodia and most of the other women who work there are upstairs in the sitting room, greeting and flirting with the clients who are visiting. In an hour or two, the clients will speak to Elodia and coin will exchange hands, at which point couples will move to more private rooms, but now the sounds of music and conversation and laughter waft through the walls.

Violie's mother did take the evening off—not unusual, given her recent illness—and she's sitting at the supper table with them, quiet but with a deep crease in her brow as she looks down at the bowl of parsnip soup in front of her, which she has yet to touch.

"You can get to Beatriz on your own," Violie tells Pasquale and Ambrose. She's careful not to phrase the words as a question, but Ambrose must hear the uncertainty in her voice anyway, because he laughs.

"The difficulty will be in not being recognized once we're in Vallon," he says. "Graciella was kind enough to draw up a thorough map of how she was brought to the king's chambers covertly, and since even Pasquale had no inkling the woman existed—a true feat considering the swiftness of gossip in the Cellarian palace—it seems like the surest way to get into the palace without being noticed."

"Getting out will be trickier," Pasquale acknowledges.

"Take all of the stardust Daphne gave us," Violie says, but Pasquale is already shaking his head.

"We couldn't do that," he says. "You'll need it as well."

"She gave it so that we could rescue Beatriz," Violie says. "Of course you should take it."

Pasquale and Ambrose exchange a look.

"Do you"—Leopold begins tentatively—"feel comfortable using it?"

Pasquale lifts a shoulder in a shrug, but his cheeks darken. "I have before," he says. "To get Ambrose and Gisella out of the dungeon before we fled Hapantoile the first time."

"It may bring trouble, if we're caught with it in Cellaria," Ambrose says.

Troubleis an understatement. Violie isn't sure if King Nicolo has the same inclination toward burning people to death as King Cesare did, but possessing stardust has been a capital crime since long before King Cesare's great-grandfather was born. Still…

"If someone is suspicious enough of you to be searching your belongings, you'll already be in enough trouble that the possession of stardust will hardly signify," Leopold points out. "Take it from a king who's been in hiding before. Carrying stardust is going to be the least of your concerns."

"Besides," Violie adds, "I don't see a way you can succeed in escaping the palace with Beatriz if you don't use stardust. If anything, the fact that it's outlawed is a boon—no one will be prepared to stop you or use stardust of their own."

Pasquale nods slowly. "You're right," he says. "And Beatriz will know how to use it—as I said, I've only used it once, and Beatriz told me exactly how to word my wish."

"You should take a vial, though," Ambrose offers.

Violie shakes her head. "It isn't for me," she says.

"But you're the only one of us star-touched," Ambrose points out. "If you need to reach Daphne or try to reach Beatriz for any reason, you'll have it. Even if you can get stardust in Temarin, it won't be the Frivian kind and it won't have the same effect."

Violie opens her mouth to protest but quickly closes it again.

"He's right," Leopold says softly from beside her. "We all have the same goal—to sever the empress's hold on the continent and her daughters. It will help if we can coordinate."

Violie hesitates a moment longer before nodding. "Fine," she says. "If Beatriz can't get you all out of Cellaria with twelve vials of stardust, she wouldn't be able to do it with thirteen."

Violie's mother clears her throat, stirring her parsnip soup idly though she still doesn't eat any. "Alternatively," she says softly, "all four of you could sail away somewhere the empress couldn't find you rather than storming into danger."

Violie looks at her mother, surprised, though that surprise is quickly chased away by shame. The last time she left, she told her mother she had secured a job working for a duchess in Temarin—not a lie, but not the full truth, either. Her mother had no idea about the training Violie had received or the danger she was facing as a spy. And that danger was nothing compared to what she and Leopold face now, marching back into a country where almost everyone wants him dead for one reason or another.

She reaches out to take her mother's hand, squeezing it tight. "We can't do that," she says.

"I know," her mother tells her with a sad smile. "But I had to suggest it anyway." She slides her gaze from Violie to Leopold. "Elodia was harsh with you earlier and she's too proud to apologize, but I will on her behalf."

"No apologies are necessary," Leopold says, shaking his head. "I was a terrible king, even before the siege."

"You weren't," Pasquale says, his face clouding over. "A foolish king, perhaps, and a na?ve one from what I've heard, but my father was a terrible king and there's a difference between neglecting your role and abusing it."

Violie is confused for a moment until her mother sighs. "Graciella shared more than a map with you, I take it."

Now Violie understands. When Graciella first arrived at the Crimson Petal, she was skittish and quiet, but in time she shared details about King Cesare, what he did to her behind closed doors and what he did to others while his court egged him on.

"Killing him is one thing I'm grateful to my cousins for, I'll admit," Pasquale says softly. "I believe Graciella took some comfort in the manner of his death when I relayed it to her. He didn't go quickly or quietly in the end."

"Nicolo and Gisella killed him for their own reasons," Ambrose says, shaking his head. "It wasn't some noble choice, Pas."

Pasquale doesn't agree. "I'm not keen on defending them for most of the choices they've made, and I'm not na?ve enough to believe they poisoned my father for purely selfless reasons, but I also don't believe it was purely a pragmatic, self-serving decision either. Both things can be true. And Gisella spared our lives, in case you're forgetting."

"I'm not," Ambrose says. "But one small mercy doesn't change anything in the grand scheme of things."

Violie agrees with Ambrose. She might not have met Gisella personally, but from everything she's heard, the few redeeming qualities she might have aren't nearly enough to make her someone worth sympathizing with. A small voice in the back of Violie's mind scoffs at that thought—after all, could the same not have been said of her mere months ago? She pushes that voice away before she can examine it too closely.

"It might," Pasquale says, his voice quieting as his eyes drop away from Ambrose, focusing instead on the table between them. He studies the grain of the wood, tracing its whorl with his thumb as he considers his next words. "It might change everything if it means there's a line she won't cross, not even for all the power in Cellaria. I think Gisella and Beatriz are far more alike than either of them cares to admit."

Ambrose smiles slightly. "Please, promise me you'll say that to Beatriz's face when we see her again. I'd give just about anything to see her reaction."

They leave early the following morning, and when they say their goodbyes to the women of the Crimson Petal, Violie struggles to keep her emotions from spilling over. It's already too difficult to release her mother from their embrace, to smile when Elodia tells her how proud she is. It's more tempting than Violie wants to admit, even to herself, to leave again. Once, she wanted to leave, to see the whole wide world and everything it had to offer. Now, that might still be true, but she finds she has a better appreciation for what she's leaving behind here—it isn't a life she wants for herself,but it is family and acceptance and love, and she knows now how lucky she is to have those three things together. Luckier than those born in palaces.

She is still thinking about her home and her mother as they ride out of the bustling city of Hapantoile and back into the Nemaria Woods, where they pause for more goodbyes and well-wishes before going their separate ways, Pasquale and Ambrose south to Cellaria and Violie and Leopold west to Temarin.