Daphne

Harsh, cold light slashing across her darkened vision wakes Daphne, her eyelids blinking rapidly as she tries to adjust to her surroundings. The last thing she remembers is standing before her bedroom window, gleaming stars before her and her sister's voice in her head. She remembers pressing the wish bracelet her mother gave her between the windowsill and a book, the words passing her lips as she crushed the stone and released its magic—I wish Beatriz had full, unimpeded access to her magic again—and then she remembers nothing at all.

"Daphne?" a voice asks. The last few times she's come to like this, Bairre has been close at hand, but now it isn't his voice that greets her, it's her mother's.

Just turning her head causes a bolt of pain in her neck, but Daphne manages. Her mother is sitting in a chair beside her bed, still in her gown from the last time Daphne saw her, with her jet-black hair pulled back in a simple knot at the nape of her neck. As far as Daphne can tell, her face is free of cosmetics, making her mother look older than she usually does, but even so, at thirty-five her mother is not an old woman by anyone's standards, except maybe her own.

Even through the fog rolling through her head, Daphne understands this illusion her mother has crafted for her—the image of a worried mother, holding vigil at her beloved child's bedside with little care for her own needs or vanity. It's a charming illusion, but an illusion all the same. She opens her mouth to ask where Bairre is before closing it quickly again—that won't be what her mother wants to hear, and Daphne still needs to tread carefully. Especially since she doesn't know if her wish worked, if Beatriz has gotten her powers back. Meet me in Bessemia, she told Beatriz. If her wish worked, she'll see her sister soon enough.

She settles on a different question, one no less pressing than her husband's whereabouts.

"What happened?"

"No one is quite sure, my darling," the empress says, leaning forward and taking one of Daphne's hands in both of hers. "A maid came into your apartments late last night to ensure that the fire in your sitting room was properly banked, and she happened to see you through your open bedroom door, collapsed on the floor in front of the window. Your head was bleeding—it appeared you hit it on the windowsill somehow."

Daphne can imagine it, how after making the wish, she collapsed, knocking her head on the way down. She reaches for her head, and though she doesn't find a wound, the place above her eyebrow is tender.

"The physician had to use common stardust," the empress says, noticing the move and wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Apparently Bartholomew has allowed his empyrea to roam about wherever and whenever she wishes, so she was unavailable to heal the wound properly. Imagine if you'd been more badly hurt! You might have ended up permanently scarred."

It isn't lost on Daphne that her mother views having a scar on her face as a worse fate than any other injury that could have befallen her. Even so, the information about the Frivian empyrea is more concerning. "Aurelia still hasn't returned to court?" she asks. "Where is she?"

The empress scoffs. "Bartholomew hadn't the slightest idea, if you can believe that. There's a reason warlords make such poor kings, Daphne. The man has no idea what's going on in his own court."

Part of Daphne is inclined to agree with her mother on that—while Bartholomew has always been kind to her and tried to rule Friv fairly, she knows he's very far out of his depth. Even since before Daphne or her mother set foot in the castle, he was surrounded by enemies and none the wiser about it.

Still, Aurelia's extended absence from court nags at Daphne. There's been no sign of her since she tried to convince Cliona to bring her Gideon and Reid. Daphne expected her to lie low at first, since whatever she planned for those boys hadn't been ordered by Lord Panlington in service of the rebels like she told Cliona, but Daphne thought she'd have returned by now, especially with Lord Panlington dead.

"I'll ring for the doctor," her mother says, giving Daphne's hand a final squeeze before releasing it and reaching for the bellpull beside Daphne's bed, giving the velvet rope a sharp tug. "What on earth happened?"

Daphne swallows. "I don't quite remember," she says, staying as close to the truth as she can. "I was sleeping, but I remember waking up and wanting to fetch an extra blanket. I must have tripped getting out of bed." She frowns as if searching her memory. "I do remember stumbling," she says. "And bracing my hands on the windowsill, but I suppose I didn't catch myself in time."

"I suppose not," the empress says. "What an unfortunate accident, but you're awake now. Are you well? I intend for us to leave for Bessemia by the afternoon."

Any move, even breathing, makes Daphne's body ache inside and out, and the thought of being jostled around in a carriage is unbearable, but Daphne suspects she could be at death's door and her mother wouldn't change her plans. "I'll be better when we reach Bessemia," she says with a smile. "I'm looking forward to being more fully healed by an empyrea there—you have replaced Nigellus, haven't you?"

"Empyreas don't exactly grow on trees, Daphne," the empress says airily. "But a search is certainly underway. Can you survive without one, or would you be more comfortable if we delayed our trip?"

Daphne understands that her mother isn't so much asking a question as demanding a particular answer.

"I'm fine," she tells her, ignoring her pain and forcing herself to sit up, smothering any outward sign of discomfort as she does.

"Good girl," her mother says.

Just then, a knock sounds at Daphne's bedroom door and the court physician enters. It's only when Daphne feels herself deflate that she realizes she expected Bairre to enter with him—does he know she's awake? Does he know what happened last night? She remembers what her mother said—a maid found her, not Bairre. He never came back to their rooms at all. Unease weaves through her. He might be angry with her, but avoiding her this way isn't like Bairre. What if something is wrong?

She stays quiet, letting the doctor check her pulse and her head until her mother excuses herself and leaves the room. Only then does Daphne turn to the doctor. "Has my husband been updated about my recovery?" she asks.

The doctor looks down at her, perplexed. "I believe every effort has been made to find him, Your Highness, but I've been told he isn't currently in the castle."

"Oh?" Daphne says, trying to hide her growing worry. "Were you told where he is?"

The doctor clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I believe he went into town last night, Princess. He hasn't yet returned."

Daphne schools her expression into one of practiced disinterest. "Oh, of course. I remember now—he told me as much yesterday, I simply forgot." She understands that the doctor's discomfort is about more than Bairre's going out last night—it's who he was with. Daphne would wager every jewel in her collection that he was with Cliona, that it's the implications of her husband's spending the night out with a woman who is not her. "He and Lady Cliona had plans—they are old friends, you know."

The doctor shows some relief at the words. "As soon as they arrive, I'm sure they'll both be distressed at your injury, Princess," he says.

Daphne knows Cliona won't be, but she smiles, relieved that Bairre is safe but also annoyed. She knows it shouldn't bother her, that she told Bairre to speak with Cliona, to hear from her own lips what Daphne did to Cliona's father. These are merely the consequences of Daphne's own actions—consequences she was aware of, that she even wanted. Getting what she wanted shouldn't hurt, but it does.

When the doctor leaves and Daphne is alone, she ignores the doctor's advice that she rest and forces herself out of bed. Every muscle in her body protests. If all that happened to her was hitting her head on the windowsill, surely the rest of her wouldn't hurt this badly, would it? She thinks about the one time in her life when Nigellus pulled a star from the sky to make a wish, to end the drought that had overcome the whole of Vesteria. He didn't get out of bed for days afterward. Is that why she feels this way?

The bracelet her mother gave her wasn't the same as an empyrea making a wish, but perhaps in wishing for Beatriz to get her own empyrea power back, with Beatriz herself in her head, some of the consequences of that magic rebounded onto her.

The bracelet.Dread coils in Daphne's belly. In all the confusion of the morning, the bracelet itself slipped her mind. She remembers using the book to crush it, but she passed out before she could clean up the mess left behind. The maid must have found her with the book and the broken bracelet still on the windowsill. Which raises a further question—was her mother telling the truth about what she knew of Daphne's accident, meaning the maid hid the full context of it from her? Or did her mother know more about what Daphne had done than she let on? If she knows Daphne used her wish, can she guess what she'd used it for?

Daphne turns that question over in her mind as she hobbles across the room, willing the tightness in her muscles to loosen with every step she takes. She feels as if she and her mother are still circling each other in that elaborate dance, only now Daphne has been blindfolded and the steps of the dance have changed without her realizing.

The doctor left three vials of stardust on her bedside table to help with any pain, but when Daphne limps toward them, taking one and uncorking it, she doesn't use it to wish away her aches or the pounding in her head. She smears the stardust over the back of her hand and wishes to speak with Beatriz again.

Nothing happens, just as it did before. She clutches the empty vial tight in her hand, resisting the temptation to throw it against the wall.

The door behind her opens and Daphne whirls around, half dreading to see her mother again, but instead Bairre stands in the doorway, his face drawn and eyes wild. When he sees her, his eyes sweep over her and the tension leaves his shoulders, but the wild look in his eyes doesn't quite fade.

"What happened?" he asks. "Am I allowed to know that much?"

The sharpness in his words feels like a well-placed punch, but Daphne knows it's more self-defense than anything else.

"Do you want to know?" she asks, perching on the edge of the bed to lessen the pain in her aching legs. "I'm sure Cliona told you everything last night. I'm surprised to see you here at all after that."

She doesn't mean for her own words to come out bitter, but they do. It was so much easier, she thinks, when she kept everyone at arm's length. Now that she's let him in, it's hard to go back to the distance she so carefully maintained before.

Bairre doesn't say anything for a moment. "Cliona did tell me everything," he says slowly. "And I don't know how to look at you right now, much less talk to you about Lord Panlington. I can't believe you would sit silently and let him die. If you expect me to assuage your guilt and tell you that you did nothing wrong, I can't do that."

It's no more or less than what Daphne expects, but she still feels the words like a dagger. This is what she's always known would happen, since the first moment she met Bairre—that one day he would see her for who she truly is and walk away.

"I fully intend to discuss it further, but not when you're recovering from what sounds like a bad head injury," he finishes.

Daphne looks up at him, surprised. "Discuss it further?" she asks.

Now Bairre looks confused. "You allowed your mother to kill a man right in front of you—a man you might not have liked but certainly didn't hate. And, if nothing else, you know Cliona loved him, and that I did too, in a way. I don't believe you would have done that without a reason, even if it's a reason I don't agree with."

Daphne continues to stare at him, too shocked to speak.

"Right now, though," Bairre says, misreading her silence, "I want to ensure that you're all right. I'm sorry I wasn't here last night. If I had been—"

"Don't," she interrupts. A large part of her wants to tell him the truth about her injury, how she spoke with Beatriz and used her wish to give her sister her magic back, though she doesn't know if the wish succeeded. But she can't—the more Bairre knows, the more danger he's in from her mother. "I'm fine. A little sore, perhaps, but I'll live. We're leaving for Bessemia today."

It's Bairre's turn to go speechless. "You're in no state to travel—the doctor said he doesn't know how serious your injury is."

Daphne shrugs. "We'll monitor it, then," she said. "And make use of stardust should it prove a problem."

When Bairre doesn't look convinced by that, Daphne lets out a long sigh. "Getting to Bessemia is more important than anything else," she tells him.

"But why—"

"I know my body," she says, snapping more than she means to. "And I know my fate. I'm not asking for your opinion or permission to do what needs to be done. We leave for Bessemia today."

Bairre stares at her a second longer, like she's a cipher he doesn't have the key to. "Is that how things are to be?" he asks her finally, his voice low.

It's how things have to be,Daphne thinks, but the words lodge in her throat, threatening to choke her. Instead, she gives a curt nod.

"All right," he says. "Cliona will be joining the trip as well, then."

Daphne blinks. "What?" she asks.

Bairre lifts a shoulder in what she imagines he means to be a blasé manner, but she sees the tension in it. Try as he might, he can't hide how much he cares, which is precisely the problem. Because if she can read him this easily, her mother will be able to as well. "She asked last night and I wanted to discuss it with you, but since we aren't seeking opinions or permission, I've changed my mind."

Daphne knows she can fight him on this, and she knows that even if he remains stubborn, it's up to her mother who is invited to Bessemia, and Daphne can convince her that Cliona's presence is more trouble than it's worth. But she also knows that she's asking for—or more accurately, demanding—blind trust from him. She's willing to grant him the same. And despite the current state of their friendship, Daphne does trust Cliona as well, and she'll need all the allies she can get to take down her mother.

"Fine," she says. "But if she intends to kill me, ask her to wait until after we cross into Bessemia, otherwise she'll play right into my mother's plans."

When Bairre's brow furrows in confusion, she elaborates. "I have to die by Frivian hands on Frivian soil for her to gain control of Friv," she reminds him.

"Cliona doesn't want to kill you," Bairre says, though he doesn't manage to make the words sound convincing.

Daphne shrugs, remembering the way Cliona looked at her in the chapel, the harsh bite of her voice. The last thing you need is another enemy. "All the same," she says, "make sure she knows what's at stake."

"We all know what's at stake, Daphne," he says, shaking his head. "This isn't only your fight. You aren't the only one with something to lose."

Daphne opens her mouth to retort but quickly closes it again. He's right—she knows he's right. If her mother's plan succeeds, Friv will fall to ruin. Her mother has no love for this country, no understanding of it. She sees it as just another gem in her crown, and if she manages to conquer it, every person and creature who calls Friv home will suffer.

"I'm tired," she says instead, the words true enough. "I doubt I'll sleep in the carriage, so I'd like to take a nap before we go." She doubts she'll be able to sleep, but she knows she can't keep arguing with him.

Bairre hesitates a moment before nodding. "I'll stay with you," he says.

"That isn't necessary," she says, standing up to pull the duvet back so she can crawl into bed once more.

"After last night, I beg to differ," he says, crossing to sit in the armchair her mother vacated earlier.

"Right now, I think I'd prefer another head injury to you pestering me," she says, aware even as she says it that she doesn't mean it. Bairre seems to know that as well, because the ghost of a smile flickers over his mouth.

"I'm not asking for your opinion or permission," he replies, parroting her own words back to her.

Already, she regrets saying that. Not only because he continues to use it against her, but because it's a half-lie.

She rolls onto her side to look at him. "I always want your opinion," she says softly. "Even when I do hate hearing it."

Bairre looks surprised at the admission, but after a moment he nods. "As I want yours, Daphne," he says. "And I'm not going anywhere, no matter how hard you try to push me away."

The words surprise her. Beatriz has always called her a ruthless bitch, and even with Sophronia, there were times when she would look so wounded after Daphne had said something unkind, when she wouldn't speak to her for days. The only reason either of them ever forgave her was because they were sisters, but Daphne has never expected that loyalty from anyone else. No one else is supposed to be able to love her, she thinks. Her mother didn't raise her to be loved.

"We made vows to each other beneath the stars," Bairre continues.

"But you didn't choose me," she reminds him. She can't help herself. As perfect as his words are, she can't bring herself to believe them.

"Not at first," he agrees. "But for as long as I've truly known you, I've chosen you. And I'll keep choosing you, even if the stars go dark."

Daphne doesn't know how to respond. She has never been good at expressing her emotions, and now especially she's terrified of saying the wrong thing. But perhaps she can give him a sliver of honesty.

"If my mother realizes how deeply I care about you, she'll destroy you. Do you understand that?" she asks softly.

Understanding flickers behind Bairre's eyes. "Then hate me," he says. "Give me as much vitriol as you need to. I can take it, Daphne."

Daphne shakes her head. "I need you to hate me back."

One corner of Bairre's mouth lifts. "I hate you," he says, but Daphne hears I love you instead.

"I hate you, too," she tells him softly. "So much it scaresme."

Bairre shucks off his shoes and coat and climbs into bed beside her, pulling her back to his chest.

"I know who you are, Daphne," he tells her, his voice quiet in her ear. "And I'll remember it even if you forget."

They stay like that, neither one speaking, for an unknowable stretch of time, until Daphne falls asleep with the rhythm of his heartbeat matching her own.

When afternoon comes, Daphne lets herself be dressed in a traveling dress and cloak, her maids maneuvering her limbs like a doll's, each movement aching. They don't pack much for her—after all, as far as they know the trip will only be a visit, and the weather is so different in Bessemia as to render her Frivian wardrobe unwearable—but Daphne instructs them to bring her jewelry box and cosmetics case. The weapons hidden within are ones her mother knows about, but they might still prove useful.

Finally, she, Bairre, and Cliona are loaded into what Daphne suspects is the same Frivian carriage she and Cliona traveled in from Hapantoile what feels like a lifetime ago, when the two of them were strangers. They feel like strangers again now as the carriage sets off, following the powder-blue-and-gold carriage her mother has to herself and the retinue of smaller carriages containing her entourage. Silence swamps the three of them as they make their way toward the castle gates.

"I'm surprised you chose to join us instead of your mother," Cliona says, her voice pointed though she doesn't look at Daphne, instead keeping her green gaze focused out the window.

"My mother prefers to travel in solitude," Daphne says. It used to bother her as a child, when her mother would force Daphne and her sisters into a different carriage for long trips, claiming they irritated her nerves, but now Daphne is grateful for it. She doesn't know how she would survive the long trip to Hapantoile in such close proximity to her mother, both of them masked in layers of secrets.

"I envy her that," Cliona says under her breath, but the carriage is too small to keep the words to herself.

"Cliona," Bairre says, his voice a warning. "It will be a long trip if you start already."

"Oh, give her more credit, Bairre," Daphne replies. "I don't think she'll struggle to fill two days with insults, will you, Cliona?"

Still, Cliona doesn't look at her. She also doesn't answer her question, instead keeping her gaze steadily out the window.

In the silence that stretches out as the Frivian castle disappears behind them, Daphne suspects she would prefer two days of insults from Cliona to two days of this.