Beatriz

I wish Beatriz had full, unimpeded access to her magic again.

Beatriz hears her sister's words and feels the echo of them deep in her bones, thrumming through her and drowning out everything else.

Almost.

Gisella squirms beneath the point of the stake, apparently worried that Beatriz has gone too mad to care about the sharp bit of wood at her throat.

Beatriz doesn't care—she's only vaguely aware of her own body hurtling toward the window, the clatter of the wooden stake against the wooden floor, the much louder sound of Gisella's chair crashing to the floor as she hurls herself backward, the wooden chair splintering. Beatriz doesn't care about any of it—she throws open the curtains she drew earlier and braces her hands on the windowsill, heaving deep breaths of evening air, feeling like she's been drowning until this moment and now she can't breathe deeply enough.

Gisella must have gotten her hands free, because she removes the gag and screams, but still Beatriz doesn't turn around, not even when the door to the dining room swings open and the heavy boots of her guards approach, not even when they take stock of Gisella still half bound to the broken chair, the empty vial of stardust and the smear of it on the back of Beatriz's hand—evidence of the fact that she used it.

Beatriz is barely aware of any of it. She's held in rapture by the light of the stars just coming into view in the darkening sky. She feels their light against her skin wrapping around her like an embrace. She feels their magic in her heart, burning hot and spreading to the rest of her, unbearable and euphoric all at once.

When one guard reaches her, wrenching her arms around her back and dragging her out of the room, Beatriz doesn't fight. Instead, she stares at the stars until she can no longer see them, and she smiles.

Daphne's wish worked—she can feel her magic at her fingertips once more, begging to be used. And as soon as she stands in the light of the stars again, she'll indulge it, no matter what it costs her.

The guards bind Beatriz's hands and leave her on the sofa in the sitting room, muttering to themselves in bewilderment as they go to free Gisella. They've been guarding Beatriz since she returned to Cellaria; surely they realized they were keeping her imprisoned as much as they were keeping her safe, but she's still a princess of Bessemia, soon to be the Queen of Cellaria, and so they don't know what to do with her—take her to the dungeon? Surely not.

While they're untying Gisella, Beatriz marvels at the magic she still feels rushing through her from her brief moment at the window. Daphne's wish worked—that much she knows. Even experiencing what she did, even feeling the magic still tugging at her in this windowless room, she can't quite believe it.

Beatriz can't wait to throw her arms around Daphne and thank her—and she will. As soon as she gets out of this palace, she's going to Bessemia to find Daphne.

"Is she securely detained?" Gisella demands of the guards, walking into the sitting room as she rubs her wrists where they were bound and are now chafed and an angry red. Gisella doesn't wait for the guards to answer her, looking at Beatriz with narrow eyes. "Good. Then fetch my brother at once—both of you."

"Surely one of us should stay with you, Lady Gisella," one guard says.

"That isn't necessary," Gisella says coolly. "Go. Now."

They hasten to obey her, hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind them firmly. When they're alone, Gisella turns to fully face Beatriz, and in the soft glow of the fireplace, the place on her throat where Beatriz drew blood stands out even more starkly, a smear of crimson against her fair skin. Beatriz hopes it will leave a scar—something for Gisella to remember her by.

"What," Gisella says through clenched teeth, "in the name of the stars was that?"

Beatriz knows she needs to play this carefully. If Gisella suspects she has her power back, she'll have Beatriz sealed away in a dark room for the rest of her days. But Gisella saw her reaction; she knows something happened to her to cause that.

"My sister is dead," Beatriz bites out, summoning tears to her eyes that come readily enough. She's always been good at crying on command.

"That isn't news," Gisella says, frowning.

"Daphne is dead," she clarifies. "She used Frivian stardust to slip inside my head in her last minutes. I felt someone plunge a knife into her heart; I felt it like it was happening to me." She chokes out the words.

Something akin to sympathy flashes over Gisella's face, gone quickly but not quickly enough.

"Don't tell me you're going to offer condolences," Beatriz snaps at Gisella, knowing that pure sobbing grief won't be believable. She needs to pretend shock, to lean into anger. "The only thing you're sorry about is that her assassin managed to kill her before you could kill me."

Gisella swallows, glancing away from Beatriz. "Well, I wasn't going to stab you in the heart," she says after a moment. "That's an ugly, painful way to die. I intended to let you die in your sleep."

"How kind," Beatriz says, each word dripping in acid.

Gisella shrugs. "I never claimed to be kind," she says.

Beatriz stares at Gisella for a moment. Blasé as she tries to sound, something in her expression cracks. But Beatriz isn't inclined to allow her even an ounce of self-pity.

"Tell me," she says. "Will your deal with my mother hold if I'm killed before I marry Nicolo? I'm supposed to die a queen, after all. Not a traitor and heretic. It won't be easy for her to use my death as an excuse to invade Cellaria if my death is warranted."

Gisella laughs. "You think Nicolo will order you executed?" she asks.

Not before she has a chance to see the stars long enough to make a wish, Beatriz hopes. "I think that's far more likely than him marrying me now," she says.

"Oh, Beatriz," Gisella says, shaking her head. "You don't understand anything at all, do you?"

Before Beatriz can ask what she means, the door opens and Nicolo enters, flanked by Beatriz's guards. He takes in the scene—Gisella's bloodied throat, Beatriz's bound wrists. His dark brown eyes are pensive, though he doesn't look at all surprised.

"Leave us," Nicolo tells the guards, his voice surprisingly mild. "And if you speak a word of what happened tonight to anyone, you'll regret it until your final breath—which won't be very long in coming."

The guards mumble their assent and offer deep bows before leaving the room. When they're gone, Nicolo is quiet for a minute more. Deciding which of them he wants to hear the story from first, Beatriz realizes. She resolves not to give him a choice.

"Did you not tell me to keep Gisella close? I was simply following your advice," Beatriz tells him, keeping her voice light. She's managed to wrap Nicolo around her finger before, though doing so with Gisella present is infinitely more challenging.

"She brought stardust into the palace," Gisella interjects. "And used it."

Beatriz frowns, schooling her expression into one of bewilderment. "I absolutely did not," she says.

"If you don't believe me, look at her hand," Gisella tells her brother.

Nicolo approaches Beatriz, expression unreadable. The guards bound her hands in front of her, so when he takes hold of her wrists, there's no hiding the glittering dust smeared on the back of one of them.

"Fake stardust," Beatriz tells him, a story taking shape as she tells it. "It looks convincing, doesn't it? I told you that your sister wanted me dead, and since you refused to help me, I took matters into my own hands. It was quite a ruse, convincing Gisella I'd procured stardust when actually it was just a bit of crushed pearl and ash from my fireplace." She sighs. "Yes, fine, I knocked her unconscious and tied her to a chair for a few hours. I don't think you can truly fault me for that, all things considered. But I wanted us to come to an…understanding before the wedding and I thought if I tricked her into believing I had stardust at my disposal, she'd be more amenable to my demands."

"Demands like her not killing you," Nicolo says.

"Precisely." Beatriz beams at him, gratified to see his own lips curve like he's fighting a smile.

Gisella sees it too. "Nico, you can't be such a fool to believe that," she says. "When the most obvious explanation is that she used stardust to try to escape."

"If I did," Beatriz says slowly, pursing her lips as if a thought has just occurred to her, "why would I still be here? As you said, I used it." She holds up her bound wrists as proof. "If I used it, what did I wish for?"

Gisella opens her mouth to reply but then quickly closes it again. There's no answer she can give, not without explaining to Nicolo that Beatriz is an empyrea with a smothered gift. She could go down that road, but if she didn't tell Nicolo the truth from the start, it will certainly sound like an opportunistic lie now. Gisella must realize this too, because she changes direction.

"She still kidnapped me," Gisella tells him. "She knocked me unconscious, held me hostage for hours, put a makeshift weapon to my throat, and cut me." She gestures to the gash in her throat. "Besides which, she was trying to escape the day before your wedding. Can you imagine what a fool you'd have looked like if she'd succeeded?"

"Oh, I wasn't going to escape," Beatriz says, laughing. "Why would I, Nico, after everything we discussed?" She lets the words hang heavy in the room, certain that Nicolo doesn't want Gisella to know about the agreement they came to. She sees the warning in his eyes even at the mention of it. Beatriz smiles.

"No, that wouldn't have been prudent at all," Nicolo agrees before turning to his sister. "Well, you're the injured party this time, Gisella. What would you have me do?" he asks her.

Gisella's eyes have been darting between Beatriz and Nicolo. Beatriz is sure she has plenty of questions on her tongue, but none that she'll voice until she and Nicolo are alone. She considers his own question for a moment.

"It's less than twenty-four hours until the wedding," Gisella says. "Are you still intent on going through with it?"

"I am," Nicolo says.

"Then I believe we should ensure that nothing else goes…amiss," Gisella says. "I can brew a draught that will make her sleep until just before the ceremony. To keep her from causing any further trouble."

"I'm not taking anything she brews," Beatriz protests. "She wants me dead."

"I do not," Gisella says, scoffing like the idea is ludicrous. Beatriz herself is aware that she sounds paranoid, but she isn't willing to take chances and she needs to get out of Cellaria tonight. She can't do that if she's drugged.

"What would you suggest?" Nicolo asks Beatriz. "You did attack her, after all, and if you try to escape again the night before the wedding, Gisella is right—it would make me look like a fool."

"Of course," Beatriz says, swallowing back a sharper retort. She thinks through what she can give up right now and what she can't. She summons the way she used to smile at him, when she was so foolishly infatuated. "I do want to marry you, Nicolo, and I want the future we discussed. But if it would help ease your mind, I'll agree to take a sleeping draught on one condition."

"And what might that be?" he asks.

"Gisella takes the same potion I do," she says. "I want her to tell the guards exactly what ingredients she needs within my hearing, then I want them to fetch those items for her. I want her to brew it here, where I can see everything she does."

Nicolo considers that, but Gisella's face has soured. It will mean Beatriz has to wait another day and hope that she's able to see the stars before she marries Nicolo, but at least she can be sure she'll wake up tomorrow.

Nicolo nods once, decisive. "A fair compromise," he says, looking to his sister. "Do you find it agreeable?"

Gisella looks like she wants nothing more than to say no, but she must realize she can't do that without all but confirming she's planning to assassinate Beatriz, because she gives a loud exhale. "Fine," she says. "I agree."